realization – I'm too old for this …

discovery, family, life lessons, loss, memories, realization, relationships

belongingness

November 21, 2020 17 Comments

The need to belong…gain acceptance, approval, support, and connection…in other words LOVE…is one of life’s basic fundamental needs. While it may not be all we need, it’s a helluva motivator. It can lead us to change just about anything…our behaviors, beliefs, attitudes, relationships, address…even our hairstyles and handbags (Birkin? 2.25? Neverfull?)

After all, being like the other kids is important.

We held our breath and gazed up in anticipation while they entered the room. All of them were smiling, nodding or waving, until Mrs. Varnes caught their attention away from us and onto her welcome to the kindergarten class. They stood watching her, unaware of the whispers between the children seated cross-legged before them on the floor. Murmurs of, “Which one is your mom?” and “There she is!”, echoed softly behind our cupped hands.

I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t. My mother did not file in along with the others. She was at home with my younger sister and brother. Did I know that she wouldn’t be there? I can’t recall, but do remember asking myself, “Why did he have to come?” It was a mother’s open house, his very presence in the room was odd…

…and felt uncomfortable.

Still dressed in his heavy-duty work shirt, rumpled trousers, and thick, black belt, I knew my father no way resembled those of my classmates. Those dads wore white shirts and ties with sharply creased slacks and suit jackets. There was no way his bulky belt could ever fit through their refined belt loops.

On top of that, his thick, black wavy hair was badly in need of a comb, swooping down on one side of his forehead with a soft curl. He scratched at the telltale shadow on his face that all the other dads didn’t get until five o’clock. To have one at ten a.m. was totally inappropriate to me.

He shifted from leg to leg, looking down at the floor, occasionally glancing over at the teacher. He didn’t know what to do with himself. When he wasn’t clasping and wringing them, he crossed his arms and tucked his hands into his armpits, acutely aware of the dirty fingernails and scars from years of handling vegetable crates and box cutters.

In the wee hours, five nights a week, my father’s business commute was to the produce market in the heart of Chicago. After procuring vegetables and fruit for restaurants all over town, he delivered them to waiting chefs and kitchen staff early in the morning, returning home to sleep while all the other fathers “officed”.

When he was with his friends on Saturday night he was a handsome guy, sharply dressed, boisterous and teasing, but that guy was nowhere to be found this morning. I watched his discomfort as he stood amongst this flock of prim, perfectly preened mothers. In another time or place, he’d be flirting with them, but here at school he was completely out of his element. Despite having three children, I believe he was inhabiting the role of “parent” for the first time in his life, and he had no idea how to do that.

Of course, he thought he did.

At home he ruled the roost, flaunting his prowess and authority by whipping that big, black belt around and yelling. Hearing the “whoosh” as he pulled the belt out of its loops would send us running for cover. Not only weren’t we to be heard, but I don’t think he wanted to see us either. It was the way he was raised and I think he thought that being a father by emulating his made him a member of that exclusive club…a desire that went much deeper than his five o’clock shadow.

As I write this, I can feel his pain. At the time, I could only feel my own.

Perhaps, just once, if he had searched the crowd of whispering, excited children to find my pleading eyes and meet them with love and a smile. Perhaps then, I could have been grateful…thankful that he showed up. Perhaps then, I wouldn’t have noticed his tousled hair or rumpled pants and happily claimed him as mine. But because he never claimed me that way, not that day or really ever, I was hurt…embarrassed, and sorry that he was there at all.

Now I see it through a different lens.

Many strange practices have manifested in the name of love. Wanting to belong sometimes causes us to focus on someone or something to the exclusion of everyone or everything else and we don’t even know it. What we do and why we do it is not always in our consciousness and plays out in many different ways. If we’re lucky, we become aware of our behavior, which allows us to forgive and change it. Remorse over some of my own has afforded me the opportunity to become a better person. I am grateful.

All these years later, I have to give my father credit for trying. Without enough time to get home and spruce up before coming to school, he chose to give it a shot…to be present. Although, he wasn’t really present, was he? Standing there perhaps, but never engaging with anyone or anything around him…feeling as if he didn’t belong there, wishing to be anywhere else. It’s how I remember him throughout much of my life. Given that, it’s not surprising that dementia set in a few years before he died. The challenge was over…presence would never again be expected of him.

Back in kindergarten…

I scanned the mothers and spotted one with dark hair and a pretty face. She was tall and slim, wearing a fitted black dress with a white collar. Her black hat had a large brim and white scarf around the crown. I remember thinking that she was e-l-e-g-a-n-t and would do nicely.

After my appropriation, I could answer the girl on my left, so I pointed and whispered, “She’s that one, in the black dress.” I lied. “Ooh, she’s pretty!” As I was smiling and nodding in agreement, I was unaware that the boy in front of us, Mark, had overheard me, his eyes following my finger. He turned around and yelled, “Hey, that’s MY mother, not yours!” Oh, God, additional mortification!

Caught in my attempted deception, I mumbled quickly. Something to the effect that, “I was only saying she was pretty, like my mother…sorry…”. Paying his mother a compliment seemed to get me off the hook. Even better, it drew attention away from the fact that my mother wasn’t there and that the father all the children were whispering about belonged to me.

Moving on…

Many years later, Mark and I shared a good laugh when I reminded him about “borrowing” his mom that morning. We spoke not long ago, each reporting the passing of our mothers, mine in March, his in May. Our fathers died long ago. I hope all of them have found peace.

I wish my childhood had been different. I think, in one way or another, most of us do. Had I understood the significance of what was happening and how things play out, it would have saved years of misunderstanding and grief. Does it ever work that way?

Forgiveness, whether you’re asking for or granting it to yourself and others, might be difficult, but it is how we heal and move on. It’s never too late to belong…gain acceptance, approval, support, and connection…whether across the table, the phone lines, or through a loving memory.

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discovery, family, loss, memories, realization, relationships, sweet story

full circle

October 23, 2020 12 Comments

When a parent dies, your brain may shut down for awhile to re-calibrate, or immediately conjure up all sorts of memories, both sweet and sour. The message could be profound and completely change your life, or be a charming, little vignette that softens your heart…perhaps a combination of both. No matter which emotions are triggered, welcome them, they have significance…they tell you something. Pieces fall into place, loose ends meet.

Wait for it.

Amongst the jewelry that came to me after my mother died this March, was an interesting, gold charm holder. She wore it dangling around her neck at the end of a very long chain. The charms were a varied collection of bells, crosses, and good luck talismans. Seeing it immediately took me back to those years of my adolescence and spoke “mom” to me.

I wanted to wear it, but not until I added the lucky charms from my own collection, making it “mine”. Removing her amulets, I began anew, combining and arranging each until the holder was full. I included all of her pieces, except for one. It just didn’t belong there anymore.

Each time I added the tiny, gold capital “E” to the mix, a voice distinctly said, “no”. I pay attention to those things, so I placed it in a box along with my parent’s wedding bands, knowing that the universe would tell me what to do with it eventually.

I sort of forgot about it. You may have noticed that the world demanded our attention elsewhere in the past several months and the universe has been busy sending more important messages to many of us.

“E” is for Eleanor

I’m sure you remember that during “lockdown” there wasn’t much need for anything except a change from day to night-time pajamas. Neither require a matching scarf, shoes, or the perfect pair of earrings. My jewelry and accessory drawers went untouched and unopened for months, as I’m sure did yours.

Once it was time to venture out of the house again, it became a journey of rediscovery Time to find each other and our place in the world, along with that forgotten clothing. Jewelry was hardly a priority, I hadn’t even worn a watch in months, so many weeks later, that exploration was my final destination.

One by one, I methodically opened each box inside of each drawer, approaching them with childlike expectation…Christmas morning on steroids. I had a wonderful time reacquainting myself with what had taken two lifetimes to acquire…both mine and my mother’s.

Reaching for the red velvet box, I had no recollection of what was inside. Cracking the lid, I spied the matching rings and the “E”. None of my nieces or nephews had been named after either of my parents, but didn’t one of the girls have “Eleanor” for a middle name? The universe interrupted my thought process with a boom. “‘E’ is also for Erik”. I had been thinking, “girl” so this obvious connection hadn’t dawned on me before. Of course, my youngest brother should have it. Duh…!

The youngest and the oldest

I was a freshman in college when Erik started kindergarten. At that time, he was doing small chores around the house to earn money…twenty-five cents for this…a nickel or dime for that. Not allowance, but payment for services rendered. A good system for kids.

He had saved “three whole dollars” to buy a birthday present for mom with his “own money”. Requesting I take him to a store that had “nice things that mom would like,” we went to Chas. A. Stevens at the local shopping mall. It was one of mom’s favorites and mine, too. Does anyone remember it?

He browsed through the finery with eyes big as saucers, blinking in disbelief at the price tags. I suggested we pool our resources and buy something together, but he wanted the gift to be from him alone. He also rejected the idea of somewhere less expensive, insisting upon a “store that mom liked”. I was tickled by his determination and enlisted the aid of a stalwart saleslady behind the jewelry counter.

She gazed down into his big, brown, hopeful eyes and was an immediate recruit. We tore through the trays of costume jewelry for something that would fall into his budget, but always came up short. Her final effort provided us with a sale basket of odds and ends.

Most of it was glitzy and just not mom’s style, but looking past the bling, I spotted a few gold-toned initial pins that had been marked down to three dollars. Bingo! Fingers crossed, I laid the remaining letters out onto the counter…no luck. “There isn’t an ‘E’ for Eleanor or a ‘P’ for Pappas”. He got up on tip-toe to eyeball the options before commenting, “But there’s an ‘M!’”

Professionally, my mother used her maiden name, but I was surprised by his suggestion. “Well, I guess an ‘M’ for Montesano would be fine”. Very annoyed with my rationale, he looked up at me and answered, “Nooooo, not Montesano…’M’ for MOM!” How could you argue with that?

A birthday surprise. .

A recent email from The Popcorn Factory asked if I wanted to repeat last years’ gift to my mother. Sugar and starch were always her preferred food groups and over the years, I’d sent her quite a variety in celebration of one thing or another. This year, I hadn’t forgotten her birthday, but I wasn’t thinking about it the same as in years past. She would have been 89 years old on November 2 and looked “darn good for an old broad” until the day she died.

In commemoration, I’m sending her birthday gift to Erik. Not the 6.5 gallon mix of caramel/cheese popcorn, but the little, gold “E” for his soon-to-be-collection of initials…because yes, he already has the “M”.

Would it surprise you to learn that while sorting out mom’s jewelry drawers after she passed, I turned up the “M” for MOM? I knew exactly what to do with it. Forty-nine years later, Erik had no memory of the event, but delighted at the story. I hope he treasures it as our mother certainly did.

I love happy endings, but I know that not all of them will be. Completion is very satisfying, nonetheless. Even if it takes fifty years…and with families, it just might! Don’t be afraid to tie those loose ends all together. When thoughts or things come around full circle, your life just might align.

Happy birthday, Mom, wherever you are!

discovery, inspiration, life lessons, realization, taking chances

fear of french and other imperfections

December 6, 2018 8 Comments

Parfait

Are you picturing the heavenly concoction made with creamy layers of luscious ice cream, stacked high in a fancy glass with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry on top? Don’t. I am not referring to that yummy dessert, but the French word for perfect. Damn, was I still craving perfection? I thought I had kicked the habit along with sugar and wheat. Guess not, for there it is, tempting me again like a guilty pleasure.

I’ve always wanted to speak French and my daughter-in-law Parisienne generates additional aspiration. Taking classes in high school led me to try various taped programs over the years…stacks of cassettes, primers, and dictionaries leaving me with considerable understanding, but not enough to communicate with anyone. Which, after all, is the purpose of language, isn’t it?

Fluency requires a comprehensive program, yet each time I contemplated taking class, I was struck dumb. I couldn’t think, my brain scrambled then went blank, and every word that I ever learned in French disappeared entirely. Frightened to death, I was unable to open my mouth to say anything. So, why would an otherwise intelligent adult be seized by fear of a foreign language?

La Juge

Diving deep into my DNA and psyche, I remember that for me, being an intelligent woman was always conditional. I’m supposed to be perfect—both visually and cognitively. If looking good is paramount and I open my mouth and sound stupid, it makes me look bad. Therefore I can’t even try to do anything that may cast aspersions, so instead, I do what I’m good at. There’s no fear when you’re assured a favorable outcome.

If you excel at many things, you tend to lose perspective and forget that you’re limiting yourself. You may not even be aware that you’re afraid of a faux pas. How many of us are like that? I can’t be the only one halting life experiences dead in their tracks, refusing to try in avoidance of my inner critic. Because, let’s face it, very few of us actually get ridiculed by anyone other than ourselves anymore.

Once attaining a certain amount of confidence or enlightenment, we leave many of our naysayers behind. However, that inner judge received its’ training from the major influencers in our lives. Parents, siblings, spouses, teachers, or friends planted seeds in our brains that have flowered and propagated, becoming louder and stronger than any words ever spoken from their lips.

Some are beautiful, others horribly ugly, but they run our lives nonetheless. That is, until we have an awareness of them. Only then can we shut them up.

“I’ve made a vow to do things that scare me…take me out of my comfort zone…aren’t expected from me…to strip away pretense and embrace authenticity. Really, it’s time to live my life without restrictions and insecurities—self or otherwise imposed. I’m too old for that!”

That quote, from my very first blog post in April 2016, evokes my mission toward personal growth, taking chances no matter how much it scares me. And I have been, but was obviously unaware of my original default programming still running in the background. I need to close the window and update the operating system. C’est possible?

Nouveau et different

Reminding myself that the reason I wasn’t skilled at French was because I hadn’t learned it yet, seemed obvious, but not to my brain. The limbic system had shifted to high alert—particularly the amygdala, or emotion center, and the hippocampus, which forms new memories about past experiences.

What does that mean? I’m no scientist, but after reading explanations from a few of them, here’s my take on it.

We know that memories and emotions are stored in your body, which includes your brain. Any new experience will remind you of an old one; whether good, bad, or indifferent. That spark of recognition causes you to respond in a similar fashion to the last time you had it.

In order to push past an old emotion, you must create a new memory involving your current experience. When you notice an old negative response coming up, break the pattern by doing something different this time.

So as your stomach turns and the heat rises through your body until your ears burn and colors your face to match a Spanish onion, move forward anyway. Jump up and down, scream, laugh, call a friend…whatever it takes to thaw your pre-conditioned, frozen state of mind.

Then, take action toward your desire.

By doing so, you’ll change the synapse in your brain and whatever caused that fearful feeling will never be quite so painful again. The worst is over. You’ve proven to yourself that you are brave.

Many are so terrified of their feelings that they don’t get out of bed in the morning. Don’t let that be you. Focus on your goal, or how much worse you’d feel if you never even tried to achieve it, and forget about the terror. I’ve discovered that it gets easier each time. Really.

***Winged Victory***
**The Louvre Museum, Paris**

Courage

I finally submit my test to the Alliance, speak with the placement advisor, and register for classes that begin the following Tuesday. Stumbling through a few French words when requesting my course manuals made me flush (yep, Spanish-onion-red) and my heart pound, but I survived.

The first class and homework gave me vertigo, nausea, and a headache. My classmates also expressed anxiety, which, despite our distress, made me feel better somehow. By the third class, we could laugh at our errors and actually had petites victoires to rejoice in. I’m still overwhelmed, and expect to be for a long time to come, but have enrolled in the next semester and will continue on until I reach some level of proficiency.

Refusing to let my feelings of insecurity determine my actions, I’m focusing on my desire, approaching those irregular verb, gender, and conjugation obstacles with both confidence and doubt. Acknowledging my fear of imperfection and charging ahead in spite of it, seems to be an effective way to overcome it and heal.

La Fin Parfaite

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discovery, friendship, loss, realization, relationships, travel adventures

joy ride

September 10, 2018 26 Comments

“What brings you joy?”

The question made my brain functions stop. The clink of dishes and silverware, chairs rubbing the wooden floor as people settled into their seats, the hum of conversation…all immediately ceased, no longer audible to me as I sought the answer.

It was the second night of our meditation and writing retreat at Tassajara Zen Monastery. “Rona”, the monk leading our meditation practice, and I were seated at the end of one of the long wooden tables in the dining hall. I could see servers intermingling with guests as all were entering for the meal, but suddenly she and I were the only ones in the room, magnified for just this moment. I took a deep breath.

Joy?

It took me a minute to speak. “I really don’t know anymore. My husband was ill for many years and there was no joy in that. It changed him. Getting through it was all I could manage. He passed away in January and sometimes, I’m still discombobulated. Without Robert, I’m untethered, searching for the ground beneath my feet because the old ways just don’t work. I feel joy with my daughter and her family and that’s a good beginning.”

I had returned to California six weeks after Robert’s funeral, in time to participate in the monthly shamanic meditation held at the house. I was grieving his loss and completely drained by both the emotions and legalities of the situation. I welcomed the infusion of clarity, healing, and energy that these rituals provided me.

During the service, a noise jolted me from my reverie. I could see a pair of hands, Robert’s hands, holding a glowing, golden box. As he laid this at my feet, I heard his voice, “Laura, I’m returning this to you. I’m so sorry that I took it from you so many years ago…it’s your joy.” I looked closer to read the little note attached to it, ”DANCE!” is all it said.

Overwhelmed with such a profound feeling of love, I burst into tears and sobbed for quite some time. Silently…not wanting to disturb the other nineteen seekers in the darkened room, entangled in their own blankets and revelations brought to light by the melodious icaros and pounding drum.

My crying ended as I was blessed with another vision. Robert again, standing at attention—strong, straight, muscular, and healthy. He was dressed in uniform, reminiscent of the Battlestar Galactica science fiction-type novels he favored… and he had wings! An enormous, feathery pair like John Travolta’s in the movie, Michael. Go ahead, laugh…I did.

Surely a sacred sign…

Then I received the significance of this powerful image. He was standing watch over me, an angelic, commanding sentinel to care for and protect me, as he did before his illness robbed him of his joy, and therefore ours. I was aware that the forgiveness and love we had expressed for each other the last days of his life had healed any and all strife between us and would continue into eternity.

Three weeks after my Tassajara retreat, I’m on my way to another Zen Center. This one is in Sebastopol, where one of our housemates, Kelli, will be ordained as a Zen Buddhist monk. Carla, her best friend from college, flew in from San Diego that morning and together with my daughter, Danielle and her wife, Anne, we are driving up to witness the ceremony and celebrate her commitment.

Driving through Napa, the perfectly coiffed grapevines line the road on either side, vivid green against the brilliant, blue afternoon sky. The top is down on my new Mustang convertible, warm air and bright sunshine washing over us as we sing along with the radio at the top of our lungs. Danielle has discovered the “70’s Road Trip” mix on Spotify, providing the perfect soundtrack for this journey. I turn the volume way up so we can hear it above the honking horns and whistling wind.

It’s Friday, at the start of the Labor Day weekend and a drive that should take us an hour, turns out to be two, but as we laugh and warble along with the Rolling Stones, Eagles, and Elton John, it’s clear that it doesn’t matter how long it takes. We allowed extra time for the holiday traffic and except for Kelli, everything we need is right there in the car—hard-boiled eggs, avocados, bananas, water, a full tank of gas, and the love between us that we are on our way to share with her.

Hearing the distinctive guitar intro and raspy voice of Rod Stewart singing Maggie May, a goofy grin spreads over my face and I ease into my seat, acutely aware of this time we have together. It’s one of those perfect moments…a snapshot to add to the album of special times that have enriched my life.

Pure joy.

Coupled with these feelings, Rod’s serenade transports me back to another road, this one lined with tall cornfields. I’m driving an old, white, sputtering Corvair with the radio blasting the newly released Maggie May. The dj’s were playing it constantly, so we know all the words.

Sandy and I attended freshman year in Chicago and savored these road trips to stay with friends in colleges all over the state. When she couldn’t get away, I would hit the trail alone, folding and unfolding my Rand McNally map as required, to chart the path through the endless farmlands of Illinois.

Living at home and working part-time was the only way I could pay for tuition, books, and supplies. It was not easy, but that is another story. I mention it only to illustrate the motivation, relief, and anticipation I experienced each time I packed up my car for one of these weekends away. Escape from the overwhelming responsibilities of homework, housework, siblings, parents, and my job provided me with freedom and hope—a glimpse of a future that I could determine without anyone else’s directives or demands, filled with enthusiasm, love and yes, joy.

I veered off the road of radical personal discovery, as many of us do. As a willing and sometimes eager passenger, detours and highways led me to others’ more conservative expectations and destinations—also, another story, but one that has come to an end. Now I’m ready to take the wheel with all the passion and excitement of that eighteen year-old girl.

My hair is much shorter now and shot with gray, my eyes surrounded by a few more laugh lines and a visor on my head to keep the sun out of them, but I’m sure the expression in them is just the same as that first Maggie May moment in time…wide-eyed wonder at the possibilities before me.

Without Robert in the driver’s seat and me riding shotgun beside him, it is not the future we planned. I’m driving now–with a GPS and custom playlist, no particular time line, and a long list of places to go and people to see. Could be that place is only as far as the hammock swinging beneath the lofty redwoods out front, a French class in Berkeley, Iyengar yoga in the Piedmont, or exploring the countless curiosities contained in Golden Gate Park.

When I do gas up the Mustang or board a plane this time, I’ll probably be sleeping in a Hampton Inn, Four Seasons, or the perfectly appointed guest room of a dear friend or client, but while on this quest, I’m not ruling out a spot on the floor or cramped backseat altogether.

Having the security, protection, generosity, and affection of Anne, Danielle, and Robert, in both this world and the mystical one, allows my spirit of adventure to take flight. Freedom and hope—a future that I alone determine, filled with enthusiasm, love…and as that winged sentinel reminded me, plenty of dancing.

Pure joy.

“Hey, Rona, ask me that question once again.”

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discovery, inspiration, life lessons, realization, relationships, taking chances

let go and move on

November 7, 2017 2 Comments

5 Lessons I Learned During My Life’s Most Difficult Situation

I had to let go of my husband. Not because he was cheating or lying, but because his illness and attitude changed him into a totally different guy, one who was unbearable to live with if I wanted to maintain my health and sanity. The two years of our separation have taken us through hell, but we are finally on good terms. As his health is worsening, it’s hard not to be pulled back into old patterns, but I know I must keep letting go and moving forward.

That’s difficult for me to report here, because once this posts, Robert will be reading it. I tried a million different ways to sugarcoat my words in fear of his disapproval or retaliation, but I got stuck every time. The words wouldn’t flow until they were honest and direct. I don’t want to jeopardize the recent truce we have negotiated, but I need to take the chance and let that go. If I’m not fully committed to telling my truth, how can I inspire you to tell yours?

Moving On

Well over a year after our separation, I left Chicago to get a new perspective on my life, driving cross-country to stay with my daughter and her wife in California. After a terrific summer with them, the voice of the Universe told me to go to Chicago to “clear things” and to stay “until it’s done.” I took that as a cue to return and empty the apartment in preparation for sale, but as it turned out, I was able to clear and let go of much more than my possessions. One of which was the animosity between Robert and I. Could be why the whole process took far longer than anticipated!

After three months of packing and purging in Chicago, I was headed back to meet the truck with my furniture and boxes in California. A week before my scheduled flight, Robert was informed that his leukemia had reached a level where chemotherapy was required and he was admitted to the hospital. My mind raced back to all those previous hospital stays — what had transpired during, between, and after them. I was distressed for him, but couldn’t help seeing it as a roadblock in my path to departure.

Make the Leap

Have you heard the story of the frog in boiling water? If you place her into a pot that’s already boiling, the frog will jump right out, immediately aware of the danger.

However, if you place her into a pot of cool water and then set it on the stove to boil, she won’t notice the water slowly getting warmer, it’ll feel natural and comfortable while the life is being cooked right out of her.

I had been living in a very warm pot. After Robert’s near death a few years ago, he returned home changed, “my guy” was gone. In his place was an angry man in a wheelchair that kinda looked like him. If he communicated with me at all, it was with harsh words. Nothing I said or did made it any better or led him to seek help. He was miserable and depressed and eventually, so was I. I knew I had to jump out of this, but my guilt immobilized me. How do you leave a man in a wheelchair?

I tried every form of counseling imaginable — traditional or otherwise. Each one helped me get clear on what needed to happen, but it was a tarot card reading that forced me to take the leap. Sometimes inspiration finds you in the most mysterious way.

Althea asked, “What is Laura’s present situation?” As the card was revealed, I could feel a blade pierce my heart and I burst into tears. I was that brunette in the red dress; bound, gagged, and blindfolded; living in a cage of swords. When faced with the image, I could no longer ignore what was happening to me.

Maybe you’re in a situation that’s “heating up” right now. Think about it — at home? at work? Conditions are less than ideal and instead of dealing with the problem now, you’re content to let it boil inside of you. What are you tolerating just to keep the peace or deny your feelings of guilt? Are you clinging to something you should let go of?

I could’ve, maybe even should’ve, stayed with Robert while the pot continued to boil, but chose to save myself and jump out. Taking the leap brought me closer to my true self and it could do the same for you.

Live Your Beliefs No Matter What

Living contrary to your beliefs can make you sick, whether you’re aware of it or not. If it seems right but isn’t right for you, then it’s wrong.

When a loved one affects you negatively, you’re in a difficult situation and certain to have conflicting feelings. After all, you love them. Doesn’t that mean you’d do anything for them? If they’re ill or going through a difficult time, don’t you put your needs on hold to guide them through it? You don’t want to make them feel worse than they already are, do you? You tend to remain silent, feeling guilty for even thinking about yourself and not putting them first. But do you want to wind up in the same condition as they are?

The internal conflict existed inside me for years. My life force was being drained, my health deteriorating, and my stress levels were to the moon. Robert’s bad attitude toward me and everything else caused me to examine the relationship and ultimately realize that even before he became ill, our mutual experiences were limited to those he was comfortable with. They were such great experiences, and I loved every moment, but my desire for a little more spice and adventure was never fulfilled. He wasn’t up for it then and now they could never happen.

I could surrender solely to his needs and limitations or make the difficult decision to live my truth. I chose the latter.

You can’t live a full and happy life with your truth silenced. If there’s a situation in your life where you’re silencing your true self to make someone else or society happy, it’s time for a deep internal dialogue with yourself to determine your next move.

Don’t Fall Prey to The Gratitude Trap

Being grateful for having something in your life doesn’t mean you can’t desire something else. Have you made gratitude a limiting belief? You can be grateful for your home, but still want a new one; grateful for your successful career, but still want a different profession; or grateful that your partner didn’t die, but still want to be more than a caregiver.

Robert and I had good years, we had bad ones. I wanted more good years but didn’t see how we could have them together. My speaking up included a great deal of yelling and crying, but has managed to “clear” much of our anger and resentment toward each other. Our relationship has shifted to one where we are separate, yet connected. I am grateful that I had the courage to act in my best interest. It will benefit both of us.

Are you happy or settling? If you’re not sure of the answer, it’s probably the latter. You have one life to live and it is too short to use gratitude as a guise to silence your ambition or wanting for more. Don’t settle for less — express thanks for what you have — then go get what you want!

You Know You Have To Go.

As difficult as it was to leave Robert lying in a hospital bed last month, I felt I had to get on my flight the next morning. I just knew that he would go through hell and then he would miraculously pull out of it. I had witnessed it oh-so-many times before and couldn’t watch it happen again. I was certain that it would kill my spirit and break my heart. So I left.

I checked in with him everyday, but one morning, a call came from the doctor. Robert had a bad reaction to chemo and ended up in ICU. I fought the urge to jump on a plane — to be there as I always had been before — for him. But at the same time knowing I had to stay right where I was — for me. I imagined nails hammered through my feet to ground me to the place I was standing and waited for the outcome.

Trust Your Voice — Always

Which, of course, was fine. As I knew it would be. I had listened to “the voice”. You know the one because you hear it too. It simultaneously tells you the things you want to hear and the truths you try to hide from. I have heard it many times before and have learned to trust it.

It is always difficult to let go of guilt, fears, resentment, anger, need for approval…and all of that conditioning we think we should do and feel, but it gets easier each time.

I will keep listening for direction and doing the things that are best for me and hope you will too. When you are coming from a place of truth, it’s also what’s best for everyone else…even if it doesn’t seem so at the time.

Get Your Free Guide — Letting Go — The Manifesto

Do you feel like you’re just going through the motions?

Feeling stuck without knowing why or the next step?

Join me and others on our path to discovering our true selves.

discovery, inspiration, realization

see me, feel me

August 31, 2017 16 Comments

While sorting out my bedroom closet, I had to lie down right there on the floor amongst heaps of shoes, bags, belts, and clothing to regain my equilibrium. My brain hurt calculating the fate of each item. That, in addition to the energy from them, reverberated off the walls and completely knocked me out.

In the past few months, I have physically handled absolutely everything it took my entire life—and Robert’s—to acquire. I never realized there was so much. I worked with Robert’s movers to get his things to his new apartment, my movers to get my things into storage, and will have another round of movers pack and ship furniture and boxes going to the girls’ house in California.

For weeks I had folding tables set up in the living room for a house sale. I kissed goodbye many of my favorite pieces, not quite believing that I was really selling them. The “good stuff” that I didn’t keep or sell has been packed up to go to a resale store. Most of my closet went to friends, consignment, auction, or donation, but there’s still a vast amount to be organized. The quantity of everything along with the varied dispersal of it, has me exhausted.

It’s not like I’ve never moved before, not like I’ve never split up a household before. Sure, the last time was twenty years ago, but it can’t just be because I’ve never been this old before.

Why is it so different this time?

When Robert and I moved into this apartment, we were moving out of two homes. Over 7000 square feet of belongings between us needed to be reduced into 2000 square feet of space. Once I completed furniture layouts, what we needed became obvious, but what we wanted was not. So we made a deal. If he hated anything of mine or I hated anything of his, we would discard it–no hard feelings–and replace it with a new item that we both liked.

The pieces that didn’t make the cut quietly left. Some went to furniture heaven, while others lived on at my office. Italian contemporary kitchen chairs gained new life at a small conference table in the sources library and tribal tapestries added character to the walls in my reception area.

Formal evening with Robert November 1995

Choices were easy—clear–and I really didn’t miss anything that had gone away, especially not the furniture and art that I saw at work everyday.

As for the clothing, collectibles, and housewares–we brought it all. They were essential to living the way we were and wanted to continue. Stylish, elegant, sophisticated…

The puzzle pieces fit.

Fit the floor plan, fit the location, fit the purpose, fit the lifestyle, and fit who I was–whom I’d been my whole adult life. I knew what it looked like to be her. I knew what she needed to complete that picture. This girl, the one lying on the floor of her closet, hasn’t really existed before–and that’s what’s making my brain freeze.

I don’t know what she looks like yet or what her needs are. I can’t conjure her up in my minds eye to see what her future requires. I don’t even know what the pieces are–let alone where they fit. What does she do everyday, where does she go? What does she like to wear, how does she entertain? Where does she live? It all remains to be seen.

For a visual person with a highly developed sense of knowing what’s going to look just right, this is unnerving.

I’m going to have to feel my way through.

I’ve always enjoyed the discovery of beautiful new things, but I realize now that I don’t have to own all of them. I am acutely aware that as activities diminish and possessions are dispersed, my senses are heightened and exposed. Sometimes I’m sad, other times overjoyed, but I’m always certain that what I’m doing is the right thing to do right now. Will I find myself somewhere underneath the piles of belongings? Have I been playing hide and seek with my feelings and emotions my whole life? Maybe.

The first floor is just about empty.

Danielle came in to help as did quite a few friends. They packed, or purchased, or provided moral support–all of which I am so grateful for. The power of a friendly face or voice can move mountains, or in this case–a helluva lot of stuff!

Traces of packing paper and a few boxes waiting to go into storage are all that remain downstairs. Both the painter and floor finisher have been scheduled to touch up the imperfections visible now that furniture and art have been removed. The pieces shipping to California have been temporarily relocated to carpeted areas upstairs and will leave in a couple weeks. It feels weird. Not like home at all.

Which, I guess, is the point. In a few weeks my home will be neutralized–ready to belong to somebody else. The few items that remain in the bedroom and bathroom so I can work, sleep, and get dressed will have little impact on the personality of the apartment. What made it mine…ours…is gone with the wind–and the moving vans.

Despite all the mechanics, I welcome the new insights and intense feelings that emerge. Even the chaos is illuminating. I hope it shines brightly upon what’s next.

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discovery, inspiration, realization

california dreamin’

July 31, 2017 4 Comments

I’m writing this from my desk in Chicago.

Yes, Chicago.

My apartment looks like a bomb went off; strewn with boxes, bubble wrap, packing paper and all of my worldly possessions. As I pull out everything to take stock, I’m convinced I opened the portal to Narnia…surely all those things couldn’t fit into these cabinets and drawers? Like a clown car at the circus, the contents belie the size of the container.

I know…the last you read; the girls and fireworks were welcoming me to Oakland after my long drive. The week getting there and the months in California that followed now feel like a dream.

Did it really happen?

Living with the girls is fun. There are four of us in the house; Danielle, Anne, and one of D’s longtime friends, Erica. Both she and I are in transition. I joke about D & A running a “home for wayward girls”, as I express my gratitude for them doing so. Everybody looks out for, respects, and really loves one another.

The house is large and the property expansive, providing areas for solitude or community, depending on your desire. The perfect site for Danielle to work with her clients for plant medicine and sound healing or for the family to just be.

Taking care of the diverse surroundings is a constant endeavor. The previous owner had neglected quite a bit, so my particular area of expertise has come in handy. I’m happy to help with design, specification, and management for ongoing construction projects or to just wash the dishes…whatever is necessary!

View from the backyard in the Oakland Hills 2017

Stranger in a strange land

In addition to the work at the house, I want to experience everything the Bay Area has to offer. Finding clarity of purpose and my place in the world is my quest, after all, so I jump right in. Why wait? How else will I discover if my place is here.

I pick up the local papers and scour them for events and places where I might find my people. To go anywhere requires a 15-30 minute drive and extra time to find a parking place– quite different than strolling down Michigan Avenue to get just about anything you want. Walking fifteen minutes from this house is pretty, but gets me nowhere.

I immediately sign up for Iyengar yoga classes five days a week. There’s a swing club that’s open on Tuesdays for instruction and dancing, an art class in Sacred Objects on Sunday afternoon, and a performance of Guys and Dolls at the Oakland Symphony the following Friday night. I join the crowd for traditional dancing at the Greek Festival on Saturday and next week take the ferry from Jack London Square to downtown San Francisco, visit the De Young Museum to see the Summer of Love Exhibit, and even check out the performance of an amateur choral group to see if I want to sing along as I had in Chicago (they were terrible—so no!).

The utter simplicity of existence is a relief. Not like a vacation or the real world, I don’t know what to call it. I’m having a good time, but keep asking myself, “What am I going to do with my life?” I need to figure it out, but know it will not become clear until I reconcile my past and present.

Then I got the email.

“I’ll be in Chicago for a wedding July 8^th. Why don’t I come in early to help you pack up your apartment?” It was my college girlfriend, Lennie.

Go to Chicago? Geez, I just got here. How can I even think of going back? I’m disturbed by the thought of it. Can’t sleep, can’t think. I know it has to be done, the apartment has been on the market for months, I’d already started to purge, but I wasn’t been able to finish. I am faced with the reason I left Chicago when I did…

analysis paralysis.

The more I thought about clearing out my apartment, the less I could do. I felt as if my head would explode trying to figure out what to do with what. The plan was to sell my apartment, go to California with the minimal amount of things I would need to live with the girls, put what I absolutely couldn’t part with into storage in Chicago, and sell or donate the rest. Then I would go back and forth as business required.

Simple in theory, but in execution… not so much.

I had to do something to change the dynamic, which is when I got into my car and left. The message was clear—it was the only thing to do. It was also absolutely the right thing to do, but I didn’t know it at the time.

Driving to and being in California was slowly diffusing my angst and bewilderment, but I wasn’t yet firm in my resolve. After Lennie’s suggestion, I was going nuts all over again. “I don’t want to go back, but it must be done and it’s good to have someone to help navigate. How long do I stay? We can’t possibly get the job done in a week. Do I just leave now and get a head start?”

The self-talk was crazy making, so I had a pow-wow with Danielle instead. Together we uncovered the source of my trepidation. It revolved around going back to Chicago and getting stuck by putting myself back into it. My stuff, Robert, the apartment, everything. The stuff represents a lifetime of working, planning, saving, wishing, and enjoying. Hard to believe it no longer resonates with who I am or who I want to be.

“let it go, let it go, let it go!”

The words are familiar and keep ringing in my ears. I hate the thought of giving up most of my possessions just to get out, although I know that this is exactly what I must do. Things have no value if they’re killing your spirit. Nonetheless, it’s daunting to step out into the abyss alone and unencumbered.

Danielle at the De Young Museum June 2017

Which is why I’m grateful for the soft landing offered me in California.

The universe (and Danielle) continues to tell me to trust that whatever I give up now will come back to me in a different way, authentic to the person I’m becoming and not the one I was. I already know that there’s no space for the new to come in if it is full of the old. Okay, okay…I’m going back to clear the apartment, but when and for how long?

I’m not driving this time, so I put an airline reservation on hold…

and prepare to listen for answers.

The little voice (I often refer to it as the universe, but it’s also our inner knowing) speaks to all of us. Most don’t hear it, and if we do, tend to ignore it. Transcendental meditation coupled with the plant medicine work has made mine impossible to ignore, she’s relentless. I don’t always like the answers to my questions or find it easy to follow her sage advice, but I have learned to do it anyway. No matter the degree of ease or difficulty, it’s always the right thing to do.

This time, I am told to wait awhile before I go back, so that I can become more grounded in California. To leave now would only return me to the maelstrom of indecision that I left. Waiting until Lennie arrived a few weeks from now, it would be easy to make the decisions necessary for efficient disposition of my belongings.

Unable to predict just how long this process would take (the voice only said, “until it’s done”), I booked a one-way ticket, and here I am–sorting, wrapping, packing, organizing and moving stuff from one place to another.

Easy, but not so simple

Without my own wheels, I’ve loaded the Lyft app to my phone to use when it’s too far to walk. Thanks to Judy and Carrie, I have cars to borrow for longer distances. It’s been nice to see friends, family, and clients while in Chicago, but everything the same feels different somehow.

As for what goes into storage here, out to the girls in California, to Robert in his new apartment, or for sale and donation, the decisions have been easy, the effort…not so much.

I’m exhausted, yet happy and determined. Despite all the moving parts, I…but that’s another story.

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life lessons, realization, relationships, travel

detours ahead

June 29, 2017 6 Comments

Another road closure forced me to reroute through Idaho instead of exiting Yellowstone’s south gate into Grand Teton National Park. I spent the night in the least offensive looking motel I could find and studied the map to plan the way to Jackson Hole in the morning.

While I was figuring out the new best route, I was reminded that traveling isn’t easy. There are starts and stops and detours to slow you down or take you off in a completely different direction. It never goes exactly as planned, so be prepared to embrace the unpredictability and improvise.

“Life is what happens while you’re making other plans.” – John Lennon

I’ve had a great deal of practice with that during the past few years. Absolutely nothing has gone according to plan and I’ve had to learn to adapt. I tried to enjoy the road I was on, contemplating all kinds of creative ways to get Robert out of his slump and continue a happy life with him. Problem was, I didn’t have a willing participant.

When it became clear that his days as a surgeon were over, I suggested we take off for a year in France or Italy. I’d study language and he could take cooking classes. He was already an excellent chef and I thought this would appeal to him and refocus our future. “Let’s have an adventure!”

My proposal was refused with a flat-out “no!”

He was so absorbed with his disability, his doctors, and his medications that what he couldn’t do completely eclipsed what he could. Our needs as a couple became non-existent. He was either withdrawn or angry. I was heartbroken, as my Robert had disappeared.

I thought he would show up again once he realized this attitude didn’t serve him. Go to therapy, PT, learn bridge—do something! That an “I can beat this!” attitude would appear and he would adapt and take action. Do whatever was necessary to get as well as he could and restore confidence and happiness to his life–and ours.

That’s what I would do,

but no matter what I suggested or tried, things only got worse.

I waited for months.

I waited for years.

If I waited any longer and continued to live my life his way, I would disappear down the rabbit hole right along with him. I was already on the descent.

We must not be wired the same way. He seems to disconnect, become rigid and angry. I’m the opposite. If I want something bad enough, I take action. Do whatever is necessary to get it done or make it happen–regardless of inconvenience, pain, or investment.

Focusing on why I’m doing what I’m doing, makes what I have to do to attain it become matter of fact. Initially, I may make excuses or feel sorry for myself, but that doesn’t last forever. I’ve learned to ditch the victim mentality, become the victor, embrace my inner Nike* and

The Grand Tetons on the road ahead. May 2017

just do it.

The radio was playing a symphony as I reached the crest of a hill; the cymbals crashed right on cue and the Grand Tetons appeared in the distance. I had to laugh. It was another “OMG! moment” getting me out of the car to pay homage and let me know I was on the right path.

I drove through Jackson and straight to the park. I couldn’t wait to see those Tetons up close and personal. Picturesque vignettes were all along the route–frozen lakes surrounded by snow-covered pines reminiscent of Hallmark Christmas cards–and those mountains! Almost uniform in their silhouette and contour, they were mesmerizing.

My evening in Jackson included a walk around town and a movie. Peering into shop windows and then sitting in the dark watching Tom Hanks and Emma Watson in The Circle was a strange departure from the activities of my past few days. I felt as if I’d entered an alternate universe, completely out of sync. Hitting the road in the morning was a far more familiar reality.

How had that happened so quickly?

It hadn’t even been a week since leaving Chicago and already it seemed like a different life. Either I was very adaptable or I was really ready for this trip. Probably a combination of both.

I thought I would spend a little time in Salt Lake City, but it too seemed like another planet. I don’t even think the full hour was used up on my parking meter before I was on the road again. Yes, it was lovely and the architecture was diverse and interesting, but the pristine environment seemed over-calculated. I longed for the handiwork of Mother Nature.

Fortunately, I got it right away. The Great Salt Lake really is great and the Great Salt Lake Desert completely unexpected. Bonneville Flats Speedway is only a tiny portion of it, I had no idea how enormous and unusual looking the rest of it was. Of course, the size is quite obvious if you look at a map, but—true confession–I’d never paid much attention to Utah before. Oops.

Nevada was not nearly as bleak, more of a living desert…complete with tumbleweed and cactus. I drove on as far as I could before tiring and wound up in a ticky-tacky little town off the highway loaded with casinos. After all, it was Nevada.

California, here I come!

I awoke the next morning knowing this would be my last day before reaching Oakland. My feelings were mixed. I was really looking forward to seeing the girls and beginning a new chapter of my life, but I hadn’t expected to enjoy getting there quite so much.

My last cross-country drive had been with Robert to our home in Palm Desert. Maybe spending more time there would improve things? Although Europe hadn’t qualified, the desert boasted of Eisenhower Medical Center, which seemed to meet his criteria. Not quite the adventure I had hoped for, but at least a start. I knew I would be the one doing the heavy lifting and maneuvering on the road, and I was okay with that, but his impatience and resentment made it difficult.

We drove by way of Denver to see friends and then down through Arizona to the Grand Canyon. It was fun to see them and a beautiful drive, but by the time Robert and I arrived at the canyon, I was hoping he would fall in…

By comparison, this trip was liberating. Silence and independence made me acutely aware of what I was seeing, feeling, and thinking. Having downloaded audio books and uploaded my playlist in preparation for hours alone, I was surprised how seldom I turned them on. The solitude was therapeutic, never lonely.

Following the California Trail, May 2017

Go ask Alice

By definition, change requires that you “make or become different” and/or “substitute or replace something”. All of that has been happening to me slowly but surely for the past few years, but it was loading up the car and heading west that reinforced the shift. My own personal “OMG!” moment.

“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”- Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

I know exactly how she feels.

“Where are you, Mom?”

“I’m just passing the zoo on the way up the hill.”

“My hill? You are! We have to get ready for you!” She hung up.

I arrived at the house a few minutes later, punched the code into the keypad and waited for the gate to open. It was dark out and at first, all I could see before me were fireworks in the driveway. As I drove in, the girls appeared in the firelight, yelling and jumping and waving their arms.

“Hooray, hooray, you’re here, you’re here!”

The perfect way to celebrate the end of one journey and the beginning of another.

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*Nike, the goddess of victory