catching a cloud

2011-12-02T19:19:00.000-08:00

I was just looking over last years' posts - the ones in December that were a part of a month long posting meme entitled "30 days of truth." I was actually thinking of doing it again, because I know in some cases the answers would be different. And, by doing that exercise everyday, I can see how it propelled me forward toward growth much faster than I would otherwise have gone. It also helped create the tone for this blog - one in which I treat very much like a diary, although I do leave some things out because it isn't actually a diary. Even as open as I am, I do appreciate some privacy. Some things, while true, aren't always necessarily beneficial.

But I think that exercise is no longer necessary, at least with those specific questions. I could create my own, new and improved version, but I have so many other projects on my plate that this would just be a distraction, and blogging is already a bit of a luxury, although something I feel I need to do - first, to create a bit of a record for later on in life, and second, to express myself as a way to dig deeper into the truth - there's a bit of a therapeutic quality to it.

So much has changed since last December. Different, bigger house, N. has moved out, I have a job and thus my own bank account, I lost over 20 lbs, I have a new appreciation and love for my friends, I did some art (!!!), I have a conscious, open relationship with an amazing man (D.) who gets me, adores me, and doesn't let me get away with using my neuroses as excuses, and I feel more confident in who I am and who I am not - which is something I'm discovering more and more everyday, Seth has lost teeth, started school, and is becoming ever more independent.

It's been a tough year. There were times of intense sadness, loneliness and grief. There were times of intense joy, connection and happiness. It's a refiner's fire, really, this personal growth process, this awakening. The non-essentials are falling away, revealing the essence of my being.

I know that there will be times of sadness in my life, as well as happiness. I learned long ago that accepting this fact is actually the key to getting out of a depressive funk (sometimes this is easier than others). I also know that as I let go of my need to control people and things, as I let go of my expectations that things be other than they are, and as I allow myself to feel the way I feel and thus dissolve those feelings as they occur, and as I continue to practice gratitude and presence, I will be able to ride the wave of sadness and happiness with joy, knowing that without one, there couldn't be the other, and that this is all part of life. A life which I have chosen to participate in. Fully.

schooling, revisited

2011-11-30T00:46:00.001-08:00

Yesterday was Seth's first day of kindergarten. I really struggled with having to make this decision, but a couple of things calmed my heart and gave me more things to process.

When bemoaning to D. about my worries of Seth being bullied and picked on because he's so different (aren't all our children?), he pointed out to me that I was letting my own painful school experiences color a projection of what Seth's experience would be, and that perhaps I ought to allow for the fact that it won't be the same for Seth. My initial response was one of denial, that I wasn't doing that, and that my school experience wasn't bad, that I'd loved school. But as the words left my mouth, I realized just how much I'd been in denial, and I cut myself short.

The reality is that I did not love school, but that I'd some how learned to say that I did. I love learning, that is true, but that is not the same as school. I loved the initial excitement that starting school brings, but after a month or so, it wore off, and I was looking for more interesting things to do. I was constantly behind in my homework (which I rarely did, or when I did, I turned in late) and even in college I rarely actually read an assigned text and am amazed to this day that I managed to finish school with the decent grades I did. I was bored. I would find ways to hide novels behind my math book, do word puzzles in science class. I would purposely misspell words on spelling tests because they were too easy.

The other reality is that I was teased and bullied mercilessly. Admittedly, in the fifth grade I became a bully, but that was short lived because I actually wanted to have friends. Because of my reaction to protect myself by physical means or through angry outbursts, I was not seen as someone who was being picked on, but that I was equally responsible, and I would often get in trouble along with the boys who were picking on me. And perhaps I was responsible in a way, because I couldn't say no to a good fight (I still have difficulty in this).

And, so, yes, my fears for Seth were founded in my own repressed wounds that were now brought to the surface. (God, I love D., he's so perceptive and wise.)

I could see this clearly as I watched Seth through the window to his classroom - he was so excited, he was safe, no one was treating him badly. At the end of the day, he was excited to tell me about the obstacle course, which was his favorite part of the day.

Yes, the large school overwhelmed me. But that is my feeling, not his. Yes, I was a little tripped out when I saw when the end of recess bell went off, all the children stopped in their tracks and waited for instruction. But that is mine.

These fears made me think about my own early school years, of which I have little memory. I moved around a lot between the ages of 3 and 7 - 4 places, to be exact - a different school for kindergarten, first grade and two different ones in second grade. So, of course I was afraid and overwhelmed by the giant school. And, I thought, perhaps I'd spent a little too much time with Gatto and Holt, using their arguments as my own to support my own feelings of distrust in schooling (do not fear, unschoolers, I have not thrown away all I've learned!).

So I made a promise to myself. That as long as Seth is enjoying himself, I will be happy for him and support him as I can. When he's not, I know exactly what to do, and I will make it work, somehow. I've never willingly become a victim to any system, and I'm not going to start now.

Habits for self-care

2011-11-27T20:29:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about this for a while: creating new habits to create a life that supports the direction I want my life to take.

I'd read somewhere that the best way to do this was to spend one month doing one habit and to start with something small and easy to do. I'd done this very thing this past spring/summer with exercise - I'd started out with 10 minutes of exercising at the gym, and then later turned into running a bit of the nearby trail until I was able to run the entire thing. Unfortunately, some major life changes left me unable to continue (moving away from the trail, for one). But it inspired other growth and an understanding that I didn't lack self-discipline as I always thought I had. It's more that I didn't understand the importance of the making self-care a priority.

But I do now. And have been slowly been working on changing that. So I've decided to set up a new habit to develop each month, beginning in December. I've already written down several that I'm hoping to accomplish. I'd also read that sharing openly with others what I'm wanting to do is also helpful, so each month I'm going to share my new habit and the progress I'm making.

So, the first habit I'm creating is one that I used to have but fell by the wayside when I began school last year: creating a weekly dinner menu and then cooking dinner each night. It sounds strange, probably, to hear that from me - someone who loves food and loves to eat and loves sitting down for dinner with the people she loves.

It wasn't only starting school that caused it to fall by the wayside. As I made dinner tonight - which I found I had to force myself to do, since Seth is at N.'s, there was no one to cook for, but myself - which I suppose only highlights a belief that I have, which is that I'm not worth spending the time and energy to cook for - I considered the fact that I wanted to make meals for N. and Seth, to enjoy as a family, but that I rarely felt appreciated for my cooking ability by N., or that he even cared about us sitting down and eating together. I realize that my feelings on this matter don't necessarily reflect the actual truth - I'm sure he did appreciate my cooking and sitting down together. But, because of this feeling, I stopped cooking so much, until I wasn't cooking much at all.

So here I am, making lasagne and confronting feelings I didn't even know I had. Feelings of lack of self-worth, feelings of doubt about my ability to cook (which, as I would say to others, "Cooking is not my thing" or "I can't cook", I knew to be somewhat of an untruth - the reality was that I didn't want to cook for people would wouldn't or couldn't appreciate what I'd make), and feelings of loss over the family I'd tried so hard to make, feelings of anger over not being able to recapture something from my childhood that was so meaningful to me - mealtimes where connection/reconnection happened.

Now that I have more awareness, I can move forward creating a life of my own, facing those fears. Fortunately, I'll have a lot of good food to eat! And Seth is wonderful company, and in need of a connection and reconnection with me now more than ever.

Tomorrow: Pork Chops, Rice and Spinach.

oxygen mask, or learning the art of self-care

2011-11-19T17:28:00.000-08:00

I have never been great at self-care. I forget to plan meals and then, when famished, end up eating whatever I can wrangle together or really late at night. Or just don't remember to eat. I pick up clothing off of the floor, smell it, and if it's not too bad, wear it. For a long time I didn't shave, wear make-up, spend a whole lot of time shopping for clothing that fit properly or that I liked.

That has all be slowly changing. This week alone, I plunked down some money on a sexy, sparkly bra and panty number and had serious hair removal done. No, I'm not doing some form of extreme DIY self-makeover. I've been working myself up to this since April, I think.

It started with shaving my legs. I had this inner conflict - the angry feminist in me abhorred the idea of shaving off hair for someone else's titillation; the natural earth mama in me wanted to honor the naturalness of my body; the environmentalist/economist in me wanted to avoid using a whole lot of products; and the rebel in me just wanted to be different.

Wait, I take that back. It started when I started culinary school, with the simple act of wearing make-up. I wanted to look nice and professional in my uniform, and I knew how wearing make-up made me feel - there's a reason they call it a mask! So, I got in the habit of wearing make-up more, as well as general facial care. A lot of my blemishes (mostly self-imposed, I'm a zit-picker) decreased greatly as a result of both wearing make-up and the fact that touching one's face is a no-no in the kitchen (unless you want to be constantly washing your hands!).

But that was pretty much it, until I started considering shaving my legs and armpits. Finally, I decided to sanction the posse in my head on grounds that they were not considering how I felt. It feels good to shave. Well, not the act itself so much as the result. I like how my skin feels, I am not self-conscious that people are looking at me, thinking how gross my unshaven legs are. So I decided that I was going to do it for that reason alone - because I wanted to, because I liked it.

Up next was clothing, but only because I'd lost so much weight that my pants were uncomfortable to wear cinched around my waist, and I didn't feel sexy in them anymore. And it's important for me to feel sexy and attractive, since I am, after all dating (around), and it's important for me to feel confident. Fortunately, I had a few pairs of pre-pregnancy jeans in the bottom of my drawer. But then I had to get a pair of black pants for my graduation. So I found two I liked, and bought them both.

Also, as a result of the weight loss, I needed new undergarments, specifically, bras. Because I knew how much fun he'd have, I invited D. to shop for these things with me. Of course, I regretted it the moment we walked into the store. I suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. The angry feminist was pissed because of the tiny plastic mannequins made her feel insecure again, as shopping of most kinds generally do. But D. wasn't going to let me get away with making another excuse to not shop, and we finally found some things I found tolerable (I find animal print and pink to be both aesthetically atrocious and utterly annoying), tried them on, felt sexy, and away I went, with my purchases.

At this point, I may have reached a "if you're going to do it, you might as well go all the way" mentality; I tried on the sexy panties and realized that there was some serious trimming that needed to happen, and since all other voices were quashed, posed a query on FB for a place to get waxed (again, with the "go big or go home" attitude!), decided to go with sugaring instead, based on a referral from a friend who I refer to as the queen of self-care, C. (so much I can and am learning from her, and she probably doesn't even know it) and booked the appointment.

I feel good. There are some voices who are trying to rise up with the guilt trip, but for now I'm ignoring them - saving them for a good session with S., perhaps. I've never been this "high maintenance" and I did warn D. that I was probably going to become a little high maintenance as I find balance, because I'm the kind of person who has to go to extremes in order to figure that out.

It's not that I think that I have to do all these things to feel good, some of them I knew already made me feel good, the shaving, the make-up, the sexy bras. Others, I have to try on for size to know. For the most part, though, as I spend more time focussing on caring for my body, the better I feel about it. It feels as though it as an act of love. And it helps me share that love with others more readily.

I often think about the oxygen mask analogy - you know, on the airplane, where they say to put your mask on first before assisting a child or someone who's having trouble. These things are my oxygen mask. I've been so deprived of oxygen, however, that I've needed several good inhalations to clear my head well enough to then focus on helping others.

Up next? Botanical Body Wrap? Hot stone massage? Sounds fun and relaxing, but I think I need to focus on getting my diet under control (and I don't mean a special diet, just the act of eating regular nourishing meals). And there's a whole other posse in my head that has opinions to weigh in on this...

a birth story

2011-11-18T19:09:00.000-08:00

Six years ago today, Seth was born, making me a mother, for the first, and so far, only time.

I've not really written our birth story, although I did tell it once, a couple of years ago, in the Red Tent. So, since I'm thinking about it, here it is.

For the better part of my pregnancy, I was depressed and a bit lonely. I was 4 months along when we moved from Japan, where I'd been living for 5 years (hello, reverse culture shock!), to Port Hueneme (Ventura County), CA. N. was getting sent on deployments that lasted 3 weeks at a time, and I knew no one. And I couldn't drive.

I quickly found a midwife, K., which I'd researched online before even moving back to the States; I knew I did not want a hospital birth long before I'd ever gotten pregnant - after reading John Robbins' "Reclaiming Your Health" I wasn't going anywhere near a maternity ward or an OBGYN. Through her, I found a group of women, some of whom I'm still friends with, even though now it's long distance. I would even say I'm better friends with them now than I was then; I was so socially inept at friendship and scared of intimacy of any kind I kept most of them at arms length (I did this with K. too, thinking we needed to maintain "professionalism" - although I really, really wanted to allow myself to be mothered by her). "Am I being rude by being blunt? Did I say something wrong? How do I know what's rude or not? Will they think I'm being too permissive a parent? Too strict? Am I natural enough? Am I progressive enough? I'm not a vegetarian anymore, will I offend? Wow, she's so pretty, how does she keep it together? Wow, her house is so nice and tidy, I'd better not invite her over..."

Although I still sometimes think these things, for the most part, I've tossed them aside for a more gentle and less judgmental, relaxed, 'being myself' Maria. And I have friends. Really great friends. Who care appreciate my directness, and don't mind that my house is messy.

But I digress!

So, I spent my pregnant summer in this manner: for the second trimester I went swimming a few times a week - I'd been training for a marathon when I got pregnant, but I was so unhinged by the unplanned and unexpected pregnancy that I'd immediately stopped my training (running was more difficult, I got tired a lot quicker and it was harder to control my breathing) and almost given up exercise entirely. We had cable TV, and, having grown up without a TV and feeling the need to "catch up" with my peers (who in HS and college made fun of me for not understanding certain references - I still get that sometimes, but have given up attempts to catch up) I watched a lot and knitted and crocheted. I knit a throw for the couch, crocheted a baby blanket for Seth, and then knit a bunting for him to take home from the birthing center in. I also read a lot, although it was hard for me to maintain long periods of reading like I was used to; something about being pregnant made it difficult to concentrate for long. I read books like Naomi Wolf's "Misconceptions" and Ina May Gaskin's "Spiritual Midwifery." I also read Viktor Frankl's "Man's Search for Meaning." Those are actually the only titles I remember reading, although I know I read more. K. would give me all kinds of articles to read, which I devoured. I watched a lot of TLC birthing reality shows. I'd shout angrily at the TV when one intervention led to another in a hospital birth, and cry with joy and happiness when they showed a drug-free water birth in a birthing center.

I also really liked to watch crime shows and remember that the night before I went into labor I'd been watching yet another "Law & Order." I remember this because I'd known I should have gone to bed at a decent hour, but chose to stay up until midnight instead. A couple of hours later, I woke up with contractions. After a couple more hours, I had N. call K. She instructed N. to bring me in around 7am. So, we did, timing the contractions through the early morning, and, on our way to the birthing center, seeing the Ventura Hills ablaze.

I made myself comfortable in the room immediately. It was a familiar place - all of my hour-long appointments had been in there. And it was comfortable and homey, with beautiful art on the walls, a nice quilt on the bed, plants, calm music playing - a really warm and inviting place. K. insisted that I drink gatorade to remain hydrated, and the waiting game began. I can see now, that I was there much too early. Hindsight's always 20/20. N. massaged my back and feet, mostly my back, which was in excruciating pain - K. determined that I had back labor, the result of the baby being face forward, instead of face backward, and said to me, at one point, "I know it hurts, honey, I'd take it away from you if I could." At one point, I said to her, "I don't know if I can do this anymore." She suggested that she check to see how far along I was, and then we'd make a decision about whether to go to the hospital for an epidural. I was 7 cm dilated. In a moment of rationality, I thought through what going to the hospital would mean: I'd have to get dressed (I'd stripped after the first or second trip to the bathroom, and I'd been in the tub for a bit), get into the car, drive to the hospital, get out of the car, go into the hospital, fill out paperwork, then wait for the anesthesiologist to come and give me an epidural, which was going to be painful, all while going through contractions. Whether it was logic or pure laziness, I decided against it - I was over halfway dilated, how much longer could it be? I wasn't really watching the time, although I then hopped in the tub, and spent the remainder of my labor in there, because it felt much better than any other place or position.

I'd had a fantasy of having a water birth. So I was preparing for that by being in the tub. During each contraction, I stared in focused concentration on the clock above the doorway. I have no recollection of the time during any of those staring sessions, I was looking through the clock, not really at it. At one point, I looked to N. and saw that he was crying. My thought was, "You gotta be kidding me! Well, I guess I'm truly in this alone." It was then that I realized that there was no one who could help me do this but myself.

I did not have the water birth I fantasized about. I got out of the tub and ended up birthing on a Dutch U-shaped birthing stool (appropriate given my heritage), N. sitting on the bed behind me, and K. poised to catch. There were a few minor complications: my water still had not broken [we had thought it did earlier when I was laying on the bed, pushing, but it ended up being pee] so she gently told me that she was going to have to break it - maybe she asked, but I trusted her to make the right decision at this point, I would have said yes to anything for her. When she did, she said there was a bit of meconium, and that she was going to have to cut me to get him out faster, because of the danger that posed. I remember thinking dissapointedly, and perhaps I even said it, "oh, well, I won't have the ring of fire feeling then," which was immediately trumped by the extreme pain of my unanesthetized perineum being cut. Somewhere, during this time, I was also given an oxygen mask (no surprise there, now that I think about it, I have a tendency to hold my breath or not breathe). I pushed his head out, she told me to stop pushing, I think the cord was around his neck and she was gently pulling it over his head? and then I pushed some more and there he was, on my naked chest, covered in a towel.

I sort of zoned out; I think I'd gone into shock. N. helped lift me onto the bed, and K.'s assistant, B., was trying to help me latch Seth onto my breast, so that it would cause more contractions to help the placenta out. The placenta wasn't coming out, K. stabbed my thigh with a pitocin shot, and a few moments later, told me to push it out. I said weakly, "I can't." She said, "I know your yoni hurts, Maria, but you have to push it out." I mustered some last bit of strength and pushed it out. She inspected it and found that a small piece had torn, Seth was given to N. and I was shuttled to the bathroom to get cleaned up. I remember there being a lot of blood. There was more attempts at nursing, there was weighing and cleaning Seth(not by me, by K.) K. wanted to keep me there for a while, just to make sure I'd be okay, because of the torn placenta. But because there were two other women who were possibly going into labor, she needed to clean up the room, so I took up residence on the couch in the living room. N. fell asleep on the floor while I laid there, holding my baby, wide awake. We finally went home around 10 or 11 that evening (Seth was born at 4:09). I lay in my bed, with Seth next to me, wide awake - I should have been exhausted, but my body was in some sort of flight/flight mode, I think - and every little murmur Seth made, I'd reach over and say, "Mama's here" and the moment he heard my voice, he quieted. He knew my voice and it comforted him. I have no idea what thoughts were coursing through my head, or feelings (it's been so long that I can no longer recall them) and eventually, I must have fallen asleep.

I've struggled over the years with feelings of inadequacy as a mother, feelings of resentment of how becoming a mother has changed my life in many unalterable ways. I can't say that I wouldn't trade it for the world - that's what I'm supposed to say, that the wonder of my child trumps those feelings, because I'd be an evil, child-hating bitch otherwise - because sometimes I've wanted to. I can say, however, that these feelings do not diminish in the least the feelings of tremendous love and gratitude I have for Seth and his presence in my life. The work on my own personal development has been jump-started and inspired by his presence. I remember once, when I was pregnant, hearing a woman say her daughter was her guru, and I didn't really understand. Now, I know exactly what she means.

Happy Birthday, my darling sweet Seth. You are my favorite boy in the whole wide world.

[Here is the link to the site of the wonderful midwife who supported my wish for a respectful, natural, non-medicalized birth]

polyamorous me

2011-11-17T16:59:00.000-08:00

For the last few months I've been in a somewhat monogamous relationship with D. Mostly by default. Mostly because we felt as though we'd finally found each other after years of looking. Our connection was so strong from the start that we wanted to spend as much time with each other as possible. Since neither of us was gainfully employed at the time we met, we were able to do so.

I'd had a four month "relationship" with M., a man not previously mentioned here, mostly because it was sporadic and what I'd call 'relationship lite' because it consisted mostly of movie nights at his house followed by a sleepover (yes, the adult variety). He was a very busy doctor, but beyond that had several relationships, of which I was probably the lowest priority, and I often felt I was just a fun diversion for him. Not that I didn't have my own similar reasons for seeing him - there was probably a bit of an escapist factor. We then took a trip to Seattle with his primary partner (a very lovely lady with whom I got along well), and while fun, it seemed to enhance some incompatibilities of our characters (ironic already that he was a doctor - I have an unhealthy disrespect for doctors in general). And I had just met D. the night before, who I'd fallen for. So, without even trying very hard, our relationship slowly ended, mostly because I'd stop texting him and arranging dates.

During this time, of course, I was also engaged in a "long distance relationship" with L., who was a busy but also slow-to-warm up kind of man - we mostly spoke on the phone, having great conversations for an hour, but often a couple of weeks or a month apart (I could sense his caution, and I was also tired of being the pursuant, so I just allowed it to evolve naturally, without too much effort on my part). I had a dream in which he called me and asked to meet, and that very day, he did (I had another dream about him a few weeks ago, and he called that same day again; today I dreamt of him, but instead of waiting to see if he'd call me, chose to call him instead). We finally got together about two months ago, but I made a grand scheduling error and ended up having to take Seth along (no worries, we went to a park, and he likes children so he was quite forgiving). After that false start, and then a lot of busyness on both our parts, we are finally going to spend some quality time together this weekend, and I'm very excited.

I've never really had two emotionally and physically intimate relationships of this sort simultaneously, and there is a possibility of this (I'm working very hard at not having any expectations, but I've got a bit of a crush, and that doesn't allow me to remain very grounded or detached). So, of course the big question is, "I talk a big talk, about love being everywhere, in everything, for everyone; that it expands the more it's felt and shared with others; but can I really live it?"

It really requires a certain fearlessness or sheer courage because intimate relationships require exposing vulnerabilities. And I'm not particularly good at allowing myself to be vulnerable. I have layers upon layers of armor protecting my heart. It was an adaptive strategy I learned to protect me as a child. But when we lock ourselves in, we also lock others out. My relationship with D. has really pushed me to unlock myself and to allow myself to be loved (and thus giving me the ability to love myself). As I slowly reveal myself, and find myself loved as I am, it allows for those tender wounded areas oxygen and light and the chance to heal.

So, whatever unfolds with L. also brings this sense of vulnerability exposed - just today while talking, I shared something with him that I am very afraid to share with anyone, it's not the kind of thing that one 'shouldn't' share, but rather for me it's very personal and close to my heart and something I want to "keep safe" and protect from others' judgment. Yet, share I did, and found myself not judged as perhaps I thought I might, and that perhaps any judgment I think others might have is really judgment I have on myself.

I've also found that since the tiff I had with and for D. (written about in the post entitled "anger management") the level of intimacy and depth of feeling I have with D. is that much bigger and deeper, which has allowed me to open up to L., so now I have stronger feelings for him that I didn't have before (and thus a bit of a crush).

Because D. and I have been pretty much otherwise monogamous but have defined our relationship as open, the possibility of another relationship has found it's way into our conversations with each other, and brought out some interesting things. D. recently shared with me that he's not interested in being with anyone but me. I asked him if he needed me to be monogamous, to which he responded, "No" and to which I replied, "Good, because you know I couldn't do that." I certainly would try, because I love him, but the reality is that I cannot promise something that is tantamount to imprisoning myself and it wouldn't last very long, and would likely damage the trust we're building in our relationship, perhaps even beyond repair. And I've already been there, done that (not quite in the same way, but the damaging of trust and attempting to repair it once it's crushed to smithereens, is even too hard for me, at least right now).

Sometimes, I think it's strange, that I'm choosing to engage in relationships with more than one person - the strange part being that I'm actively choosing and seeking this, not the multiple relationship part - but then I think of how wonderful it is to be so empowered to make choices that further enhance my personal growth. S. (spiritual life coach) once told me that I can choose how fast or slow I want to go. Apparently, I'm an adrenalin junkie, because I'm going fast. And showing no signs of slowing.

not all me

2011-11-16T17:11:00.000-08:00

I feel anger brimming inside of me. It feels like it should be explosive, but it doesn't have the quality of anger that I normally feel.

In an effort to protect N.'s reputation, I've largely remained silent on certain maters - but since neither of us are prominent in our communities nor do I have a large readership - I'm not sure where this comes from. Perhaps a selfish need or desire not to be perceived as a vindictive bitch by slandering N.

And here's where I allow myself, just for right now, to express some feelings of victimhood.

Because I'm kind of pissed. Mostly because I feel as though things are not fair. That I've been made out to be the mean bitch in this whole situation, when in reality we are both responsible for our parts (and I'm fine with owning my mean bitchiness, but taking it all on? I don't think so, buddy!).

I'd written a whole diatribe laying out the shit that makes me feel a high level of disrespect for him (aka, blaming him and tipping the scales in my favor), but decided perhaps it's too much and it's going lower than I know should. Apparently, I have some integrity.

The reality is that there are things I want to say to him - to get him to admit are true - things that make him realize that this is just as much the result of his own choices as they are mine, just so I can respect him a little bit in this whole thing.

But he won't. He takes the victim's stance and puts me in the perpetrator's role. And that's what pisses me off and makes me anticipate his moving out, which can't happen soon enough, at this point (it's happening on Saturday, the day after Seth's birthday - my reaction: "who does that? It's not hard enough for Seth that we're splitting up, and you choose to move out the day after his birthday? WTF!"). It's not all my fault, and I'm not going to take it all on.

My own introspection of my whole internal disturbance is one of wondering: "what's this really about? Why do I suddenly want and need to 'share my side' and recruit people to see that I'm right, and he's wrong?" And, it's true, even if it's low, that I do want someone on my side, to say that I'm in the right, that it's not all my fault. But mostly I want him to see my side of things, to admit his own culpability, to show me that he sees his role in this whole mess. And the likelihood that I'll get that? So long as he believes he's the victim to his life's circumstances, he'll never take an responsibility for his own choices. So I can't hold on to any hope for that. I've got to let it go.

But I don't want to. Why?

dropping balls

2011-11-11T22:58:00.000-08:00

I've realized that I've bitten off more than I can chew. My eyes usually aren't bigger than my stomach - not literally anyway, I can eat some people under the table as it were - but trying to handle two jobs with all the commuting, single-momhood, handling living in a house as opposed to an apartment (I never knew there would be as many as 4 different utility bills, good grief!), schooling of a child, fostering a relationship that has helped me grow immensely and brought me much joy, and then furthering my education, online? It's not happening. Balls are dropping all around me.

The first ball to drop was the second job, which I already posted about. I'd been thinking throughout this week that the online school might not be handle-able, but wanted to give it a go. Then I finally realized today - when I was locked out of the portal because I'd failed to get the proper financial aid paperwork in on time (and not to mention not posting my homework yet this week, which I was going to do tonight, my night off), that perhaps it was a sign that I'm trying to do too many things at once.

I didn't spend too much time feeling like a failure, which is good, because usually once that downward spiral sets in, things get pretty ugly, and quickly. There is a sense of, "when will I learn to think before I act?" but, apparently, this is the path, this is the when and the how. I tried on the relief, which felt nice. Then I wrote a letter to the admissions counselor with my regrets and apologies. More relief. And of course, thoughts about more mess that I have to clean up. I guess this is how one also gets good at cleaning (my house is another story, but in my defense, I'm not the only one making the messes).

I suppose the value of my current situation in it's entirety is that with awareness and willingness to learn, allows me to see just how much I am capable of, and how much I'm not. It also serves to highlight the kind of expectations I have for myself, and for me to inquire where some of them come from, and encourage me to show compassion for myself much in the way I most certainly would if a friend were to bring this all to me.

As much as I'd like to be the kind of high-energy person of super-heroine proportions, the reality is that I feel best when life is simple, routine, and organized, with plenty of relaxing down time. Sounds boring, I know, because even I think that from time to time. Seeing shiny people flurry about excites me and makes me want to do it too. Yet, having a stable home to come to, a schedule I can rely on, and things nice and tidy and slow feels like freedom to me. I've often thought about the amazing women who managed medical school while single, with a couple of kids and pregnant, and wonder how they ever managed that, because it seems so out of my realm. And since they amaze me with their strength, I would have to try something similar. And fall flat on my face...a few times, just for good measure. Dust is easily brushed off and bruised pride looks a lot worse than it actually is.

I know that some of my expectations are dormant ones I absorbed growing up in a highly academically driven household. Of course, I know now that degrees do not equal intelligence level or success. But it took me a long time to really know that, and of course, I'm still learning to accept the love I receive from my family without thinking that they surely must think I'm a lesser being for only just graduating with an Associates at 33 (who's really thinking that? I am! huh). Even thinking about this brings up feelings of comparison and insecurities. It was the weekend that my family was visiting that I applied and enrolled in the BA program, and I was feeling an acute sense of failure about my relationship with N.; this can be no accident - was I trying to buoy myself up? It seems so.

I also know that I'm a hands-on kind of person; it's one of the reasons I was able to successfully finish culinary school - most of that was about showing up and giving it your best. Online school is a whole different ballgame. Perhaps it reminded me of all the other undergrad schooling I attempted and was unsuccessful at because there seem to be so many more silly, and at times, arbitrary hoops to jump through. Hoop jumping wasn't so bad when I was able to bring home breads, cakes, croissants and chocolates. Show me the next hoop, please! I'll even wear a cheesy uniform while performing, if that is what makes you happy, and I'll make it fun and sexy!

So, this juggler is taking a break. Let the balls fall where they may. Some will certainly land in my outstretched hands. The world will not end and life will not cease. All will be well and all is well.

inner guidance

2011-11-09T19:20:00.000-08:00

A post a day, eh? So far, post-a-day FAIL. I'm not beating myself up much, though. Life happens. I've had a lot of ideas of what to write, just not as much time or energy (one and the same for the profoundly sleep deprived, which I've been as of late).

I decided to quite one of my jobs. Although it appears to most as something that was done quickly and lightly, that's just because my process is quick, and I generally don't want to bog people down with all the details. But this is the place where I can share all the details, and if you feel bogged down, perhaps there's another blog you'd like to read more? (Say it ain't so! hehe)

I've been enjoying my graveyard baking job for over a month and a half now. I recently even received carte blanche to spin things up a bit and make different things, so long as I make the other menu items. So it's gotten that much more fun, and challenging - which for me equals more fun!

I'd also gotten hired a couple of weeks ago at what I thought was a prestigious French-style bakery (the owner won a MOF which is like winning the Gold in Pastry Olympics). But as I continued with my training, not only was I becoming ever more sleep-deprived (the schedule did not coincide with my night work during the week), but also found myself getting sick, and knew that it was only a matter of time before my body completely gave out and I'd find myself in bed for a couple of days with the flu. A couple of times I briefly fell asleep behind the wheel on the freeway. Not good. Not good at all.

Most importantly, though, was the feelings I'd have every time I thought about going to work there, or when my alarm would go off. It was a "Ugh, I don't want to go." My response to myself was, "What? You wanted this job so badly! You enjoy it when you're there - for the most part, it's training, training is always a bit of a pain, but you'll find your groove. Suck it up!"

Some friends suggested that I didn't feel I deserved the job. But that didn't feel right - I think rather highly of myself, actually. In one of my first interviews for a job I was not offered, I asked for a much larger rate of pay than what is typically offered to Bakers, even ones with some experience. When it comes to my own value of my self-worth, it's more likely to be inflated.

Then I thought perhaps it was because I didn't have a day off, and felt like I was always go, go, going. Which is true. I did feel that way. But it was more than that.

As I thought about it further, I found that there were little things that I was observing at this bakery that showed I had higher expectations of the place than was reflected. I'd already known, before I got hired, that the laminated products (Croissants) were ordered from France. So I knew I wouldn't be learning to make those. And I thought I was okay with that. Turns out, I'm not. I thought I'd be seeing and working with the Pastry Chef who owned the place, but he's more of a business owner now, so that was also a bit disappointing. I also didn't know that they used a machine to shape the baguettes. And I'm not okay with that. Part of what defines Artisanal bread is that it is hand-made. But apart from that, I enjoy shaping bread, and work at refining my baguette-shaping skills every night at my other job, and looked forward to continuing to do so. I also started to realize that it was going to be several months before I even made my way over to train with the pastries and desserts, if that ever was going to be a possibility, and felt that I was ready to move on to pastries, already having worked on my bread skills. Finally, there was a bit of a feeling as though the place was an "overpriced tourist attraction" that just felt wrong to me, although I'm not entirely sure where that's coming from. There's a certain sense that the environment is easily reproduced and a bit sterile, and lacking in depth of personality.

Essentially, I started to see a very low ceiling closing in on what I thought was a great opportunity opening to me. And when I feel something closing in, I have to get out. I've never much liked being caged or tethered, and usually find myself sabotaging things by skipping work, not communicating, or just doing a poor job. This time, however, I have the awareness to tap into my feelings and allow them to instruct me before burning too many bridges.

It was amazing the feeling I had when I finally admitted to myself that I was going to have to let go of this job. Sweet relief. A calm, warmth surrounded me. I was able to relax and focus on taking care of other business. I felt that I was loving myself by making this decision. And I started to get excited about having two days off, and thinking about how I can spend some of that time working on refining the recipes for the Bakery I'd like to open in the future (and now knowing more about what I DON'T want it to be like).

So, I wrote the manager a nice email (because it was easier than getting him on the phone, and sometimes I'm a bit of a coward when it comes to these things) explaining that it wasn't feasible - I was already getting burnt out, feeling sick a lot and the commute was more costly to my time and energy and money. Although D. encouraged me to be completely forthright and share my other thoughts and feelings, I decided that I didn't have that kind of relationship with the manager to really feel safe sharing that.

I'm finding that the more I practice tuning into what I'm feeling and asking myself questions about that, that not only are the answers already there, within me, but they also come a lot more quickly - this whole process probably took place over a 24 hour period. Eventually, I'd like to be so in tune that I'm able to check in with myself before I make choices that I then have to reneg on. Always a work in process...

thank u

2011-11-03T18:01:00.000-07:00

I am thinking about the lyrics to one of my favorite songs by Alanis Morrisette. I am fortunate to be able to listen to music while I work (and I get to choose what that music is, so the Alanis Favorites Playlist it was last night). Here they are:

How about getting off of these antibiotics
How about stopping eating when I'm filled up
How about them transparent dangling carrots
How about that ever elusive kudo

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

How about me not blaming you for everything
How about me enjoying the moment for once
How about how good it feels to finally forgive you
How about grieving it all one at a time

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

The moment I let go of it was
The moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it was
The moment I touched down

How about no longer being masochistic
How about remembering your divinity
How about unabashedly bawling your eyes out
How about not equating death with stopping

Thank you India
Thank you providence
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you nothingness
Thank you clarity

Thank you thank you silence

The line that stands out the most to me right now is, "The moment I let go of it, was the moment I got more than I could handle" mostly because that is how I'm feeling right now, reflecting on my New Year's Intention to Let Go and seeing the path I've traveled since I made that my intention and how I never meant it to lead me here. But that's the point, isn't it? In letting go, I was opening myself up to where the path would lead, all the while attempting to keep my eyes on my truth (although sometimes losing sight of what that was).

There has been much grieving this year, and there continues to be moments. Letting go and allowing things to be, while acknowledging one's truth creates considerable loss. Perceived loss, really, because ultimately, it was an illusion that I had nearly as much control over things as I thought I did. It's more like moving from illusion into realness, and the contrast is so stark as to leave one turning to go back, but then seeing that it's not possible - it's the red pill and there's no going back, the door is closed, the bell cannot be unrung.

"Thank you, disillusionment."

going from unschooled to schooled? over my dead body

2011-11-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a friend, I decided to participate in National Blog Posting Month, and given all the drama in my life as of late, I thought I'd have plenty of fodder for writing about. Alas, my brain is in a bit of a fog right now. I went into work late last night - later than usual - dragged (or is it drug?) my feet making the baguettes - apparently I'm not loving that activity as much lately - and ended up not getting home until 7 am. And then to be so rudely awakened by Seth's constant insistence on ice cream and his upset when I said no. So I slept off an on until about 4:30. And I'm still tired.

And now inspiration has arrived.

I've been struggling with a series of decisions, and one of them has been weighing on me more than others. As some of you know, I'm very serious about unschooling. I've done a lot of reading about education (I've read my Gatto and Holt and A.S. Neill!) and am generally against sending Seth to school of any kind, particularly public school. Yet I now find myself in the position of not being able to continue our unschooling lifestyle and the possibility that public school may be the only option (there is a local Waldorf school that does make allowances for low-income, but I'm not sure my low income is quite what they have in mind, but I won't know until I ask). I'm intimidated by the idea of going into a place that I not only abhor, but also have no idea how to navigate - I went to small private schools for most of my school life. Just the very idea of walking on the grounds of a public school repulses me.

On the other hand, I know enough of Seth's personality that I think he might actually enjoy school and even do well (which again, frightens me: children who do well in school, in my mind, are children who make good followers aka sheeple, and that is not the kind of mentality I want to foster in my own child; I want him to think for himself and rebel against the status quo as much as possible). I have already explained to him the possibility of going to kindergarten and he is excited about it, even though in the past I would "unsell" him on school by telling him as much negative attributes about it as possible (you have to do what you're told, sit still, no talking, no playing, no bringing toys). Admittedly, that is not really the unschool way - unschoolers will tell you that their role is to provide tools, experiences and environments for learning based on what the child is interested in, and if the child is interested in experiencing school, then by all means, assist them.

So, then, it is really my fear of what that is preventing me from embracing this new change? Fear of not belonging to a "fringe" group and being different, for one. Fear of not fitting in with the "regular" school parents (which I'm already aware of just by living in the neighborhood that I do). Mostly having to navigate a system that I know will frustrate the shit out of me because I detest jumping through arbitrary hoops (can't go to kindergarten if your birthday if after Sept. 1? What? Shouldn't it be based on the developmental level of the child?). Oh, and then I think of all the things that my son will be exposed to - bullies, name-brand materialism, agism and sexism.

There must be a way to turn this around so that it can be a positive experience for both of us. I know from experience that every cloud has a silver lining. I just can't see it yet.

anger management

2011-11-01T17:36:00.000-07:00

One of my biggest challenges throughout my life has been my inability to control my temper and fly into a blind rage. A lot of it has to do with my need to be in control, and some of it has to do with my not feeling heard. So, at the beginning of this year, when I set my intention to let go, specifically of control, I seemed to improve my ability to not lose my temper as easily when I became angry.

Of course, lately, the stress of some major changes has made this difficult, and last week, I had a bit of a meltdown, and this time, the target was D., who I've only been seeing for a few months. I am already aware of tendencies I have toward sabotaging my relationships, and this probably originated with that end in mind.

Normally, such a loss of temper results in my being ignored, laughed at, walked away from, but mostly, with fear and an attempt to get me to control myself or ways to make me happy so I wouldn't get upset.

But this time was different. D.'s response was something to this effect: "I am not N. When you can stop yelling and talk to me respectfully, I'll be happy to hear what you have to say. Until then, bye." Click. (It was on the phone.) I have never been talked to that way before. I've never had someone not afraid to confront me while I'm angry.

Of course, once I took a breath, I called him back and we were able to talk about it and reach peace and forgiveness. His ability to forgive me allowed me to reach self-forgiveness much more quickly, instead of being stuck in days of self-loathing. There was no one telling me I needed to be different than I was, that I had some deficiency that needed to be fixed, that I was someone to be afraid of.

An interesting side note: I told my brother about the exchange by prefacing it by saying that I'd found someone who wasn't afraid of my anger, and he asked, "is that person named Maria?" Of course, it wasn't, but it has inspired a whole new line of inquiry about my own fears of my anger and it's perceived destructive power - and an image of myself as someone with a destructive force within her, one to be hidden, locked away or rooted out. Things to think about...

I had recently finished a relationship workshop during which one of the facilitators encouraged us to do something different, pick someone different than we would normally. This is definitely evidence that I've done so. Relationships are mirrors and opportunities for healing, and for a while I wasn't sure what reflection I was seeing or what kind of healing the relationship with D. would bring. Now, I've had a glimpse, and while it scares me, it also excites me.

speaking one's truth and receiving, gratefully

2011-10-30T19:45:00.000-07:00

When I wrote last, I was feeling very overwhelmed and stressed out by my current reality. When I finally wrote down my thoughts and then also shared with my friends that I needed help it was amazing that in just doing that - speaking my truth and by doing so, hearing my own truth, which was that I was feeling alone and overwhelmed and vulnerable - took some of the overwhelm and stress away.

Of course, asking for help also meant that I now had to allow help to be offered and to accept it in whatever form it arrived. It's a double-edged sword for me; I not only have a difficult time admitting I need help and asking for it, but I also find it challenging to receive what is offered.

My friends have been nothing but supportive in their offering to help me out in the ways that are available to them. I have always sought to develop friendship and community for this very reason - to help one another out - but I think I generally felt better to be on the giving side (or neutral as I'd been for a while lately, because of my own inability to help). In fact, giving and offering support comes very easily for me, and it took me a bit of selfishness last year to step back and realize that I can't always help everyone I want to, nor is it always prudent for me to do so (words of support and hugs, absolutely, but I tend to go to extremes, overestimating my abilities and energy).

I am so grateful to be surrounded by amazingly supportive friends - friends who may not understand exactly what's going on because I've felt to ashamed to share it with them - who are holding me up when I feel that things are too hard and reminding me when I get myopic and feel alone that I'm not. I hope that I will be able to return the favor and offer assistance when they need it. At the very least, they have my love.

As they say when the offering basket is passed around at the Unitarian Universalist church I used to go to: "Your gifts are now gratefully received." Indeed.

letting go

2011-10-27T19:23:00.001-07:00

It's been a while, and a lot has happened. I am coming to see that this year has provided me with many opportunities to put my New Year's Intention of Letting Go to practice. And just when I thought I'd let go of enough stuff and started to relax, it was just allowing me a small window to collect myself before I was stretched again...and again...

Seth's dad is moving out next month. I had this utopian ideal of us living peacefully together to co-parent Seth, but after a few months of trying it, and it not being so peaceful, I came to the conclusion that it just wasn't working for me. I felt trapped; I felt annoyed just seeing him around; communication with him was still challenging - he still talks about things as though we're working on our non-existent marriage relationship, and I'm so done with that. I'd had a conversation with S., my spiritual life coach only a few weeks ago, and he asked me some questions and reminded me that I have to seek out my truth, acknowledge it, and speak it. As soon as I acknowledged and spoke the words, "Living with you is just not working for me, I can't do it anymore" I had a feeling of amazing relief.

And then, on the night of my culinary school graduation, feelings of intense failure. As in weeping, feeling depressed. In a moment of clarity last night (working with bread dough is an amazing catalyst for this process) I noted that the "black death" is coming - a feeling of darkness accompanied by desires of wanting to cease to exist, which I now know is a part of the process of acknowledging my truth, letting go of expectations and judgments, and ultimately the death of real or imagined reality. How fortunate I am to be able to see this - otherwise, I'd be in my bed vegetating right now, and sabotaging the great things life has brought into my life as of late (more on that later). It is appropriate that I am experiencing another little death at this time of year - a time when death is all around us and I can smell it in the air.

Of course, with death there is ALWAYS birth - it's transformation, really. And I have been birthing so many things lately, it's only natural that this death might have a larger impact on me.

I've been dating a wonderful man since mid-August, and am very much in love with him. We'll refer to him as D., since he'll probably pop-up from time to time in my future posts. We'd felt a kinship almost right away, and since both of us were in between jobs at the time, had plenty of time to devote to developing our relationship. It's amazing to have a relationship in which the communication level is high, to feel as though we speak the same language and to have a commitment to fostering that in openness and with honesty. I've even been questioning my own previously conceived idea that I'm a polyamorous poster child, because even though our relationship has been characterized from the beginning as open, I don't seem to have the time, and he doesn't seem to have the desire.

I've also been working the graveyard shift as the primary baker at a cafe in Portland, and then recently got hired on part-time at another bakery that I'd been wanting to work at for some time. So, trying to figure out how to manage my time, make sure Seth is cared for, D. is cared for, as well as caring for myself has also been on my mind. I think the most exciting thing about having my own job is having my own bank account. I'd forgotten what that was like, and it has been very empowering.

I've also started to explore my latent artist. My parents sent me all my art things from my youth and early 20's when I was an art major in college, and it inspired me to break out the pencils and paints and explore that creativity. D. has also been instrumental in encouraging me, as he is a graphic designer and artist himself.

My personal/spiritual growth is important to me, and I like to spend a lot of time reading and working toward this. Lately, though, this has taken a back seat - although I participated in a great workshop on relationships (unfortunately, missed a couple of them, which was a bummer, but I learned a LOT from the ones I went to).

With N. moving out, I'm reeling from the stressful thoughts generated by: the possibility of having to move after only just moving a few months ago (although I think I might see if I can't get a roommate); Seth now having to go to school and the letting go of my desire to unschool and keep him free of the public school system; figuring out childcare and commuting to my jobs; working with N. on a visitation schedule; which we'd not worked out yet, along with child support (neither of which we'd worked out yet, as technically, we're not legally divorced yet - oh, god, another thing that needs to get done! sigh); and then, with the visit of my parents and some of my siblings this past weekend for my graduation, the pressure that I come and visit with Seth over Christmas (I haven't even got Seth's Halloween costume yet, so definitely NOT thinking about Christmas, a holiday we don't even celebrate). And of course, all of this is covered by the weight of worrying about doing the best for Seth while at the same time honoring what's best for me.

What I find the most interesting about this process is that in my letting to, my body has also seemed to respond by letting go of the weight it's been carrying and I've lost about 20 lbs so far. While I would say that some of it was the result to exercise, I'm more inclined to think that it has more to do with my moving closer to my truth and pursuing a life the reflects that (because I've worked out even more intensely before and lost negligible weight).

So there it is: all opportunities to let go of how I thought my life was going to proceed and be open to all the new things it has to offer, bringing about learning and growth along the way. Sometimes, I wish I wasn't a "learn the hard way" kind of person. Because this feels all a little "too" hard for me.

every death is a new birth, or, more truth-telling

2011-07-04T16:14:00.000-07:00

I've not written in some time, mostly because I was unsure about continuing to share such personal information. Truthfully, I was afraid. I was afraid that if I shared what I'm about to, that I'd be thrown the "told you so!" So basically, I started caring about what others thought about me. And that they might judge me. And thinking that I needed to be an example of how wonderful an open marriage could be; how Nate and I were healing our relationship and how awesome we were at it.

The truth is that open marriages are wonderful for some people - I know a few couples who've successfully pulled this off for many years. But we're not one of those couples. And the truth is that Nate and I are healing our relationship and we are being really awesome at it. Just not as a married couple.

There, I've said it. How did this come about? If things were going so swimmingly; if we are healing our relationship, then why separation and divorce?

About two months ago, I had a conversation with a friend about opening up married relationships; I'd asked her if she and her husband were open, and while she said that they were, that she fully intended to spend the rest of her life with him. I'd also been reflecting on X.'s comments about his wife - he'd often say to me, "God, I love her so much!" (You'd think this kind of thing would drive me batty, since I love him and was in love with him -yes those are two very different things - but it didn't, it surprised me that I didn't wince once with even the teeniest bit of jealousy.)

So, I reflected on my own feelings for Nate and found that I really couldn't say either of those things with any sort of conviction or passion. And then I realized that I owed it to him to tell him, to free him, since it was becoming clear that he is not really quite as polyamorous as I am. Put simply, monogamy is more his style, and he needed to be free to pursue the kind of relationship that he felt he needed and desired. I'd already known for some time that he'd fallen out of love with me, considered marriage a prison, and had already considered divorce on a couple of occasions. This time, however, I was to be the one to present divorce as an option, and stick to my guns, no matter how much it hurt.

And it did hurt. A lot. There was weeping on X.'s shoulder. There was my naturopath giving me a grief remedy. We're talking about a death of a very big dream. The dream had already started to die when I embraced our open relationship, so it was almost as though this was the last remnant to go.

We continue to see our counselor together, this time with the new goal of disengaging the negative energy that at times has us locked in battle, and learning how to communicate and work together to co-parent Seth. We have also chosen to remain living together as roommates and friends, because we are friends. We've been through a lot together. We trust each other a lot, we don't hate each other most of the time. Mostly, it's for Seth. And, luckily, it's more economical (and solves the problem of who's going to look after Seth when I go to work at 4am!).

We've been struggling about who to tell, and when, and how. For the most part we've not really told our close family (although some of them are probably reading this and finding it out now "Hi!!"). Since both of our families live very far away, there's really nothing much they can offer in the way of support, so really, what's the point? But the silence has been eating at me, and I feel as though I'm not being entirely truthful, and by now, dear reader, you know how I feel about being entirely truthful. It's beyond the borders of confessional.

Interestingly, I also ended my relationship with X. shortly after Nate and I decided to change the nature of our relationship (divorce just doesn't seem to capture what we're doing, even though legally, it does). It ended well, we are still great friends. We both discovered more of who we are through our relationship and that we have different needs that neither can meet with each other. It's the first time I've ever had the most drama-free breakup in my life! I still love him, of course, and miss seeing him as much as I used to, but I know that he'll always be up for coffee, should I ask.

On a side note: I'm still exploring polyamory, finding my groove, if you will. I've made some mistakes, but nothing too earth-shattering. There is discovery of the power of intentions as well as desires and preferred outcomes, as well as seeing that each person who manifests in my life is there because I need them to be - to be who they are, to love as they are, for me to discover more of who I am, and to love myself as I am. It has been very freeing and healing for me to embrace this side of me.

I know many people cannot understand this; I know that this situation is unusual and beyond anything some have ever even considered possible. I ask only this: please do not pity me or feel sorry for me. I am boldly blazing a trail for a new kind of divorce, one that doesn't have to be angry, hurtful, destructive, but rather one that can be loving, open, conscious, and constructive. Everything happens for a reason, and the universe never gives us more than we can handle. I know this to be true, and I rest peacefully in that assurance.

Mother

2011-05-08T17:36:00.000-07:00

It's Mother's Day, so of course, I'm thinking about my mother. And of myself as a mother too, as the two are inextricably linked for me. Here's what I wrote on her Facebook Page:

"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being my Mom. Some of the best things you taught me: that loving one's neighbor did not require liking them, to be strong in the face of adversity, how to stay calm in emergencies, to seek information when I didn't know something, and that doing one's best is all that matters. You were and are the best Mom for me. I love you!"

This is not, of course, how I've always felt about my mother. I used to hate my mother. I even stopped talking to her for almost a year, several years ago. We are not, and never have been, best friends, like some friends of mine, who talk with their mothers on a daily basis.

By many people's standards, and mine in the past included, my mother was not a model mother. It is not my wish to slander her, so I will only say this: I was hurt deeply by her emotionally and physically. I think most of the time, it was not her intention to hurt me; I can see that very clearly now. She was simply doing the best she could with what she knew. And, for goodness sake's, she had eight children! As a child, I loved her so much; I wanted to be like her. Then as I grew, I wanted very much not to be like her. Becoming a mother has allowed me to see the ways in which I am like her and the ways I am not, and by accepting both, allowed me to accept her, forgive her, and, ultimately love her as I can today, and in turn, accept and love myself as the mother I am.

I don't know why I so often recall hearing my mother saying, "Jesus didn't say "like your neighbor", he said "love your neighbor" but I can appreciate the profound distinction and wisdom in that statement.

I know that I share my mother's tenacity for life: she stared down many illnesses, including breast cancer, and came out strong. My own illnesses fought were of the mental-emotional kind, but here I sit, mostly stable, rational and unmedicated. I can see now that the awful fights we'd get into were merely two strong women who didn't know their own strength and who thought they could only gain their power through aggression.

It was my mother who taught me to knit and bake, both of which are now passions of mine. And she'd respond to queries with "Go look it up!" which is sort of a mental mantra of mine whenever I want to know something (thank the stars for Google and libraries!!). The idea that one could find information on anything they wanted to know is revolutionary, really. Who cares about how poorly I did in school; I learned the most important thing to know, which is how to access information for oneself.

She always said that she wasn't much of a teacher, but in this case, she couldn't be more wrong. She taught me so many things, things that I didn't know I was learning, and things she didn't know she was teaching.

I would not be the person I am today - a person I like being, most of the time - if it were not for her. And so I can say, genuinely and with love, that she was the best mother I could ever have had.

reflections of myself

2011-04-23T09:21:00.001-07:00

This week has been filled with some amazing ups and downs that I've had the presence of being to observe. Things were said by me - perhaps impulsively, but good-naturedly and in fun - which were misinterpreted, and I reacted. Strongly. By crying. And climbing into my bed, depressed. And then there was anger. And then, finally, after about a day, I was able to release it all. My morning walk really helped. But wow, my mind was busy. Busy with self-loathing, busy plotting revenge, busy trying to figure out a way to control both the other person and myself (I didn't want any of these feelings!).

I'm not even sure how I was able to let it go. I have been reading "The Diamond in Your Pocket" by Gangaji, and in it, she talks about experiencing the fear, and it was a reminder to me to allow things to be, so perhaps it was that.

I have thought for sometime that other people with whom I have close relationships act as giant mirrors. And, that, I too, act as a giant mirror. And that most of the time I really, really don't like what I see there. So I create strategies to avoid the mirror, to ignore what I see, or alternatively, to get really close to the mirror in order to critically pick at one little detail, and in some extreme cases, attempt to destroy the mirror.

So here I was, standing in front of the giant mirror, who, for the most part was reflecting back positive aspects of myself, and then, suddenly, I saw something I didn't like. I saw rejection of myself and feelings of deep loneliness and unworthiness crawling all over me. It was not something I was prepared to meet, although, in hindsight, of course I was, otherwise it would not have presented itself. And, having spent so many years strategizing ways to avoid both of these feelings, I responded the way I always do. The only difference was that this time I could see this habitual pattern for what it was.

When I was finally able to see all this, and able to let it go, I realized the great gift that had been given me. So I thanked him.

the wisdom of staying

2011-04-07T08:28:00.001-07:00

Over the last several days, I have found myself in conflict with Nathan. It's not out and out fighting or really even arguing, just each of us reacting to something the other said, and in some cases, taking out our own suffering on the other in a kind of snarky way.

I've noticed that now that my own anger (and thus raging) has dissipated greatly, just how and why we've had such a tumultuous relationship in the past. Although Nate almost never yells, he does know how to say things that can cut right to the heart. And then, there's the walking away, sometimes with the cursory, "I don't want to talk about this right now." Mostly, though, he takes a lot of what I say personally. Not that I don't take things personally, I know I do. All this makes it very hard to communicate.

So, a few days ago, when I was puttering around the kitchen, we were talking about something (I honestly can't remember what), and something he said sort of bugged me, mostly in the sense that I could see him causing his own suffering...and of course, by letting it bug me, I was causing my own suffering - I'm totally aware of the irony. I didn't really react, I just noted it, and thought to myself, "And that's why you're going to stay, Maria. Because until you can let that not bug you, let go of your need to control or fix him or fix life for him, you must stay." It was almost as though some wiser self had taken over my mind! But I saw the truth and wisdom in this, and then decided to share it with Nate.

His response: "If you want to f***in' leave, then f***in' leave!" I was not expecting that, for I was merely opening up to share this realization with him, and it was like an arrow straight to my heart. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to not react, but it stayed with me for the rest of the day. Of course, it just reinforced my earlier realization; that I must stay, if only to resolve those feelings within myself.

I am starting to see that I must stay to learn how to communicate gently with him. Blunt, and often unkind honesty on my part has characterized our relationship for several years, to it's detriment, I can see that now. And I must stay to learn to recognize what is my crap and what's not. And mostly, to learn to accept, allow, and love him as he is, in each moment. And, perhaps to learn to accept, allow and love myself as I am, in each moment.

venus rising

2011-04-01T20:18:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago, this image came to my head and I've been using it to describe to people what sort of change that has been occurring in my life. It's Botticelli's "Birth of Venus." I felt, in some ways, I was being reborn, yet fully grown, riding a wave into a new world.

At first, I didn't mean that it had anything really to do with love or sexuality. I really, really didn't. But, images appear to us for a reason, nothing is random or coincidental, just synchronicitous.

Several years ago, when I read Jean Shinoda Bolen's "Goddesses in Everywoman" I found that I really identified with Artemis (aka Diana). She is the huntress, the moon goddess, the goddess of midwives and young women. Strong, self-sufficient, protective. Whatever part of me that wasn't Artemis, wanted to be Artemis. I have worked very hard to become strong and self-sufficient. And you will not find a more protective friend. (I remember a couple of weeks ago, hearing about the upheaval of Nate & A.'s relationship - she had called a pause, and I angrily told him, "If she breaks your heart, I'm going to rip her head off." Needless to say, she did not, and there was no need for the rolling of heads.)

But, now, Venus (Aphrodite) rises within me. Was she there all along, hidden? Reflection of my past seems to indicate this possibility. And, of course she would have to remain hidden, given the cultural climate in which I became a woman: a Dutch-Calvinist (think Puritans) preacher for a father, attending small private Mennonite (think Amish with electricity & cars) school. She was not safe; only small parts of her were able to be revealed - creativity, romance, and empathy were considered the most acceptable, and fun always in good moderation. She needed a protector, and she found that in her sister goddess, Artemis.

I can see now, as Venus rises within me, Artemis is reluctant to give up her role. She stands ever at the ready, bow and arrow drawn, to slay anyone who dares do harm. I quietly remind her, her job is done, and done well, Venus is safe. For she, too, is an independent goddess, fully capable of holding her own. And, she has her own arts. Which are blossoming into a most beautiful creative reality.

love & freedom

2011-03-30T12:52:00.000-07:00

I've been reading "The Way To Love" by Anthony DeMello over the last couple of days - well, I've been picking up different books and reading snippets from them (that's actually standard operating procedure for me; I have a stack of books on my bedside table for this purpose), and this small one pulled me in.

I picked it up the night before I was anticipating X. to come over. Which was, for those who know me well, just the motivation I needed to tidy up the house, something I'd been dragging my feet on. Of course, I was still dragging my feet in the kitchen, I struggle with loving that task, but while I was puttering around, a sudden feeling of depression bloomed in my core. I had, of course, been thinking a lot about X. and this new relationship we've embarked on, and I'm human and the cultural conditioning runs deep, so I saw feelings crop up of wanting my place in his world to be something it may not be or ever become. I also saw that there was something else I was unwilling to acknowledge. There was a "ugh, what is going on?" feeling.

So I plopped down on the bed (my favorite reading spot), and picked up "The Way To Love" which I had already been using to procrastinate from the "loathsome" housework. Here's what I read (it's a rather long passage, so bear with me):

"Here is a mistake that most people make in their relationships with others. They try to build a steady nesting place in the ever-moving stream of life.

Think of someone whose love you desire. Do you want to be important to this person, to be especial and make a difference in his/her life? Do you want this person to care for you and be concerned about you in a special way? If you do, open your eyes and see that you are foolishly inviting others to reserve you for themselves, to restrict your freedom for their benefit, to control your behavior, your growth and development so that it will suit their interest. It is as if the other person said to you, "If you want to be especial to me then you must meet my conditions. Because the moment you cease to live up to my expectations, you will cease to be especial." You wanted to be especial to someone, didn't you? So you must pay the price in lost freedom. You must dance to the other person's tune just as you demand that other persons dance to yours if they want to be especial to you.

Pause now and ask yourself if it is worth paying so much for so little. Imagine you say to this person whose special love you want, "Leave me free to be myself, to think my thoughts, to indulge my taste, to follow my inclination, to behave in ways that I decide are to my liking." The moment you say those words you will understand that you are asking for the impossible. To ask to be especial to someone means essentially to be bound to the task of making yourself pleasing to this person. And therefore to lose your freedom. Take all the time you need to realize this.

Maybe now you are ready to say, "I'd rather have my freedom than your love." If you could either have company in prison or walk the earth in freedom all alone, which would you choose? Now say to this person, "I leave you free to be yourself, to think your thoughts, to indulge your taste, follow your inclinations, behave in any way that you decide is to your liking." The moment you say that you will observe one of two things: Either your heart will resist those words and you will be exposed for the clinger and exploiter you are; so now is the time to examine your false belief that without this person you cannot life or cannot be happy. Or your heart will pronounce the words sincerely and in that very instant all control, manipulation, exploitation, possessiveness, jealousy will drop. "I leave you free to be yourself: to think your thoughts, indulge your tastes, follow your inclinations, behave in ways that you decide are to your liking."

And you will notice something else: The person automatically ceases to be especial and important to you. And he/she becomes important the way a sunset or a symphony is lovely in itself, the way a tree is especial in itself and not for the fruit or the shade that it can offer you. Your beloved will then belong not to you but to everyone or to no one like the sunrise and the tree. Test it by saying those words again: "I leave you free to be yourself..." In saying those words you have set yourself free. You are now ready to love. For when you cling, what you offer the other is not love but a chain by which both you and your beloved are bound. Love can only exist in freedom. The true lover seeks the good of his beloved which requires especially the liberation of the beloved from the lover."

Yes, I found myself exposed as the clinger and exploiter that I was. And I could see that I was clinging to and exploiting Nate this way, wanting to cling to and exploit X. this way, and even Seth...and that I had done this with many people I "loved" in my life. I uncovered a deep source of what had made my life so full of suffering, to the point of my wanting death, time and time again.

In this, I realized that in an attempt to not be sucked in, like a silly schoolgirl (see that judgment?!), to my feelings of infatuation, I refused to look at them at all; I denied I had them, shoved them away. And that was the source of my suffering in that moment. I was not even allowing myself to be "free to be myself: to think my thoughts, indulge my tastes, follow my inclinations, behave in ways that I decide are to my liking."

So, I said to myself that I am "free to be myself: to think my thoughts, indulge my tastes, follow my inclinations behave in ways that I decide are to my liking" after whispering that to Nate, X. and Seth (none of whom were in the room, but it was for me, really, as are most things of this nature). Shortly afterwards the feeling dissipated and I was still left with the "loathsome" housework, which of course, I continued to avoid by reading more.

I can see that I still have more work to do in this area where Nate, Seth and myself are concerned - and what a wonderful, daily opportunity I've been given with them. It is easy to wish freedom for those with whom one is infatuated or doesn't know well. It does give me an approach to healing the relationships in my past where I could not allow others to be as they were. Ultimately, it's forgiveness at it's most simple and profound. "Mom...Dad...Sisters...Brothers...Past Lovers...Friends...Past Self: "I leave you free to be yourself, to think your thoughts, to indulge your taste, follow your inclinations, behave in any way that you decide is to your liking."

physical manifestations of emotional resistance

2011-03-29T09:24:00.000-07:00

I've been ravenous for a week now. And I mean this in the literal "I'm starving and need food, now" sense. No matter what I eat, nothing satisfies, or, it satisfies for a very brief amount of time. I have had this sensation before; it accompanied a leap of growth I experienced last summer around the time that Nate and I were considering divorce.

When I told S. about it, he suggested that I just allow it to be, and so I did, since I had already discovered that nothing would satiate. Eventually, it went away, and I didn't spend too much time looking at it, because there was so much more to look at, and I welcomed the distraction.

So here I am, again, feeling so hungry, and, after attempting to make it go away by feeding it, quickly seeing what it was, and just sitting with it. Of course, again there are distractions, but fewer of them, and I'm more willing to look at this and see what it can reveal to me.

I have a tendency to comfort eat. About two years ago, I decided I was getting nowhere by both demonizing certain foods and struggling to find the will-power to resist them, and so I decided to just allow myself to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted to. There were days when I ate just chocolate or donuts or bread and then there were days when I ate smoothies and oatmeal and other "healthy" stuff. (I have actually come to the belief that food, prepared with love and anticipated and received with love cannot be bad for someone, and seek to be a producer of such food; therefore a delicious chocolate cake is not "unhealthy" in my book...unless of course you are allergic to chocolate!)

The good thing about this process is that by allowing myself to do this, I was able to come to see that I did not really want those things, that I was simply avoiding dealing with some uncomfortable emotions....but the source of the uncomfortable emotions was anyone's guess. Since then, I have worked through a lot of the thoughts that created the negative emotions that caused me to comfort eat, so I do it a lot less (I can actually turn down a donut!). Which frees me up to focus on allowing myself to see what is going on now, as I sit here, hungry.

In Adyashanti's audio-presentation, "Spontaneous Awakening", he talks about how emotional resistance shows up physically. He also talks about how during the awakening process, the body goes through different re-wiring processes, as it readjusts to a life of openness and allowing. Some people have headaches, while others find themselves sleeping much less.

So what does this mean for me, exactly, as I sit here, wanting to fill my stomach with anything to satiate it? Yes, the desire is strong. I haven't quite figured it out yet, but I know this: I have lived a life heavily resistant to change - even as a child, it was more difficult for me to adjust than for most other children - and not only am I beginning a new relationship with a new person, and one that is much different and in some ways frightening, I am also, in a way, beginning a new relationship with Nate, which presents it's own challenges because of our history together. So this is quite a change.

I also know that I've been traversing the path toward awareness, picking up speed the last few months, and culminating in a moment of heightened awareness that I experienced last week (it seems to fluctuate in levels of intensity, but seems to be here to stay). And so, my body is responding in kind.

I have not eaten yet today, and I may not eat at all, or I may, just to see what happens. I feel that it is not forever, and am not troubled at all by it...because resistance, as I've learned, is futile.

unconditional acceptance & love

2011-03-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been with someone who accepts you exactly the way you are, without need or desire to change you, but only to know who it is that you are? I think few of us can truly say we experience this; most relationships and love are conditioned, and conditional as a result. The first time I experienced this, it was with my spiritual teacher/coach S. It took me a long while to realize that at no point was the other shoe going to drop. His unconditional acceptance and lack of judgment of me provided a safe place for me to explore those parts of me that I was too scared to explore, because even I was judging them (often before really seeing them for what they were).

I also experienced this with X. (previously referred to as "rocking-of-my-world-man" in an earlier, much read post). As we got to know each other, I found that his spirit brought out in me those things which I was, again, not sure if I wanted to explore (some of which I didn't even know was there at all, because of my refusal to explore them). Like S., he accepted me as I was, and provided a safe place for me to explore them. Whenever I expressed some truth about myself that I felt some shame or guilt about, he went further than just allowing and accepting, to loving and blessing them, in his way (no, there was no wand waving or declarations made). Knowing what a process like that did for me in other areas of my life, I could see my own personal growth begin to unfold almost instantly. Unlike with S., who patiently waited and held the space for me to trust him, I knew shortly after I met X. that I could trust him. Kind of crazy, I know. But every time I looked into his eyes, there was some sort of recognition (like maybe we knew each other in another life? Of course, I have no way of knowing this, so it's just a fun speculation). Being a highly rational person, I cannot explain this in any rational fashion, because it's quite mysterious.

While we were in a rather passionate embrace, there was sudden awareness and clarity. It was as though I was looking at a Magic Eye picture, and suddenly saw the 3-D image that I'd been striving to see for so long. I looked at him and said, "I think I'm awake now." He understood exactly what I was referring to (and said something to the effect of "glad you could join us"), and if you're read any of the zen/buddhist spiritual teachers, you do too. It's a clear awareness of being one with the universe; being in the divine flow of things...

Since then, I continue to see the one-ness of the universe all around me. And love and divinity, all around me. I also feel pretty fearless. Most of all though, I feel free. There is literally nothing in my way of being free, except those pieces of the story of Maria that I might choose to believe and identify with. But everything is illusory, and now, when I look around, there's a sense of seeing things for the first time, exploring it without judgment, yet knowing it's a part of me and me, it.

I have no idea where this relationship will go, if anywhere at all. It's relationship lite; we have a very specific arrangement about the kind of relationship it is, and it defies most definitions I know for intimate relationships of this sort, but I think that's generally par for the course with polyamory. I literally have no expectation for any kind of outcome; and it is not my wish, nor my intention, to make it into something it is not or cannot be. I certainly have preferences, but am able to go with the flow. In the meantime, I'm going to flirt like crazy, mostly because it's fun!

"the moment I jumped off of it..."

2011-03-26T20:42:00.000-07:00

"...was the moment I touched down."

Probably my favorite lyric in Alanis Morissette's "Thank you", well, second only to "Thank you clarity/Thank you, Thank you, silence." It's really capturing a lot of how I'm feeling right now. I can't seem to embed the video, so click the link below to watch it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OOgpT5rEKIU

the truth comes out

2011-03-24T22:08:00.000-07:00

So much has changed, transformed, since I last wrote. I do regret that I did not write during that time only because it would have been a great chronicle of such change.

When I set my intention at the beginning of this year to "Let Go", it was more about letting go of control, which, I've now accepted is an illusion (and a very nice one at that, and one that I'm slightly addicted to). But, it was vague enough to create some other freedoms as well.

Mostly the reason I did not continue to write was because not only was I not willing to confront the truth that lay before me, but I was unwilling to share the deeply personal goings-on that I feared most people would not understand, and would lead them to respond with judgment.

The truth is:

My relationship with Nate had taken an ugly turn, and my life was very unhappy. It went slowly downhill after I had Seth, and then Nate was deployed for 6 months which left me full of resentment, despite the knowledge that he would not have gone if he could have chosen not to. So much living in fear, in those days. I resented Seth (and if I'm truly honest, sometimes I still do). I resented him for the fact that his arrival had interrupted my goal of becoming a child psychologist (because I realized later, I felt I had to prove to my family that I was worthy of love, and a degree is what would earn that love). Oh, and running a marathon would earn me some love too (I was also training for this when I got pregnant with Seth). I lived as a functioning depressive for 4 years after Seth was born.

And then I made a decision, for myself, despite what the two respected opinions told me - Nate's and my brother Tim's opinion was that I didn't need to go to culinary school, I already was a great baker. But I needed to get out of the hellhole I had created. I had to figure out a way to be a good mother and get the fuck out of my house and do something sans child. (note to self: post about how loneliness is great for one's personal growth!)

Culinary school has been great, but of course, did not solve everything. And then I started seeing S. a few months later, mostly because I figured it couldn't hurt to get a little direction in my life. And his teaching/coaching has been amazing. I actually have come to a point where I'm wondering if no longer need him, which is both amazing and scary at the same time.

Shortly after I worked my way out from under the heap of my own karmic junk through S.'s guiding/healing hands and was learning how to accept and allow and forgive and love and bless everything and everyone in sight, Nathan (who, actually, was the hardest to do all those things with) suggested a divorce. We hadn't had sex in several months, and were constantly fighting (well, mostly my screaming like a banshee and him walking away). At first, I moved toward accepting a divorce as inevitable, but, overwhelmed with the possibility of traveling through this world alone (and with a child), it was too much for me. I completely removed myself from him, energetically. I would not let him touch me and any talking we did was purely related to practical matters. At one point he suggested an open relationship, which I vehemently opposed (on what grounds I now can't really remember). I still wanted to control him, and bend him to my will, because I had a dream for us, and he wasn't conforming to it. I found myself crumpled on the floor of my kitchen, weeping, refusing to allow him to comfort me. What was the point, he didn't want me, and I was going to have to figure this shit out alone anyway, wasn't I?

My dearest brother was also one who has been instrumental in our coming to be where we are today (read on, and you'll see where that is!). It pained him to see us going through this; he didn't feel that we were quite so incompatible that we couldn't make it work, and mostly he loved me and spoke the truth, gently. S. also suggested that perhaps we weren't doing everything we could to work things out; we hadn't pursued counseling yet.

So I finally made a concession (because, at some point, Nathan didn't want a divorce anymore, because he could see how it was eating me up, and of course, he loved me). I told Nate that if he didn't file the divorce papers by the end of the month (October I think it was), we were going to counseling. In a flurry of drama, he picked up the papers and burned them on our patio. I almost cried with joy? fear? relief? It's hard to say.

So then I found a counselor that I thought Nate would like and that I could tolerate. So much irony at our early sessions. Even though I was the one who set up the appointments, I loathed being there. T., the counselor, was somewhat bemused by this, sensing my resistance to the whole process.

Slowly, the healing process began. I finally started to release the grip I had (on what? water, or a cloud maybe?) and relax. And things got better. There was physical contact. There were little love notes - oh, the giggling I did when receiving a text while riding the MAX home from school one day - I was like a teenager again.

Things were going so well, until about two months ago, Nate dropped this bomb: we were talking about spiritual things and relationships, and he confessed that he was in love with someone at his work. I had the presence of mind to continue knitting and listen, quietly pushing back my own feelings and thoughts, and actually hearing what he had to say. Some might call it grace, I know not what it was, other than bloody amazing, given my reputation as a seasoned harpy. Somehow, I was able to see how sad and in pain he was, and I loved him and did not want this for him.

[This bomb came only three days after I finally allowed myself to go to the place I knew I needed to with S., but kept avoiding: the topic of my body and sexuality!!]

And then the harpy came out, about a week later. I was so upset; all this hard work for what? Nothing, it seemed. No difference, he still wanted someone else. But then in counseling, he revealed that no, he didn't want someone else, he wanted another someone, also. I scoffed in T.'s face when he joyously mentioned something about there being a large polyamory community in Portland, I barely knew what that was, and, never mind that, it wasn't like I was looking to join some subset group of slutty commitment-phobes.

After losing my temper in counseling (seemed like such a bad thing to do in a house full of quiet energy workers and massage therapists), later that week, I went to see S. We talked a lot about the feelings I had - the anger and disappointment - but also about really seeing what was true and accepting and allowing that and even blessing it. I mentioned it also to my brother, who suggested that I consider an open relationship (my reply: this wasn't theoretical, dear brother, the husband actually is in love with someone else!). Within a few days, I was able to see that what I was asking of Nate was not coming from a place of love. That I needed to really let go. And so I told him. Yes. You may do as you please with whomever you like.

The more I thought about it, the more it grew on me, and within a week, I sort of thought to myself, "hey, I want someone to have fun with!" I didn't really know what to do with that; I had no intention of pursuing a polyamorous lifestyle myself, I was just moving toward the path of least resistance. And all during this time, Nate opened up more to me, loving and wanting me more than ever, as I continued to push toward unconditional love (when he suggested that he and his lover spend quality time in the car, I surprised myself and him with suggesting that they come to the house while Seth and I were out).

Then there was some sadness and loneliness. He was coming home for work later and spending extra time with his amour, and I felt like I was languishing, alone to deal with my own desires and wishing I had someone to share any of this with. I was also grieving the loss of the last vestiges of my own "picket-fence" style dream (although this one featured a dome-home with a farm, possibly with some sheep and a horse).

I continued to have thoughts of "hey, I want someone to have fun with!" and shared them with T., who was pleasantly surprised as how quickly I was able to open up and expand. I discussed with Nate how I might actually find someone to have fun with, and came up with nothing - I actually don't spend a lot of time outside of home, school being the exception, and no one had really caught my fancy on that front, so what was a married mother to do?

I found my answer one evening while surfing around the internet. Online dating. Why not, I'd done it in the past (although 12 years ago, it was very different, and I mean that in a seedy underworld kind of way). And my brother (not the aforementioned one) had met some lovely lady online (although apparently, since I'm on the end of the 'phone tree' in the family, I only just found out they broke up - not sure if it was the long-distance Ethiopia-Laos thing or what, there). Still she was lovely, and my brother's not an axe murderer, so maybe there'd be something of value in it.

So, off I went, creating my profile and looking at numerous other profiles. Simultaneously, I decided to do more research on polyamory, since many of the profiles I read mentioned it (apparently T. was right, there is a fairly large polyamory community in Portland, go figure!). It was so hard to wrap my head around, the fact that it wasn't just guys wanting to get laid more often since the wife had lost interest. I did initially worry that I was at a strong disadvantage, being both married and having a child, and well, not being all that attractive. I spent some time approaching it like marketing: I contacted several men who caught my fancy, figuring the more I did, the higher the chance of at least one person responding.

I began three weeks ago. So far, I've met three men (two of which turned out to be "umm, no"), and have corresponded with at least 5 other men who are interested & interesting. The third man who turned out to be a "hello, there! & yes, please" has pretty much rocked my world despite the fact I'd only met him a few days ago, and spent probably a total of 6 hours with. Since this post is practically a novel, I save the rocking-of-my-world-man for another time. It's its own post anyway.

So, that is where I'm at. Discovering a world of unconditional love being expressed in the most amazing of forms. Being expressed in myself. Being expressed in Nate. Being expressed in another man (and his wife, yeah, that will blow your mind). Now, to be a little more mindful and present and express it to my child. Well, perfection doesn't come all at once.

"death is not the opposite of life"

2011-03-05T10:19:00.000-08:00

I have been making my way through Eckhart Tolle's "Stillness Speaks" for the last two weeks; reading a little bit before I go to sleep each night. Since the chapters are short, with little paragraphs, sometimes as short as a sentence.

Here's what's blowing my mind at the moment:

"When you walk through a forest that has not been tamed or interfered with by man, you will see not only abundant life all around you, but you will also encounter fallen trees and decaying trunks, rotting leaves and decomposing matter at every step. Wherever you look, you will find death as well as life.

Upon closer scrutiny, however, you will discover that the decomposing tree trunk and rotting leaves not only give birth to new life, but are full of life themselves. Microorganisms are at work. Molecules are rearranging themselves. So death isn't to be found anywhere. There is only the metamorphosis of life forms. What can you learn from this?

Death is not the opposite of life. Life has no opposite. The opposite of death is birth. Life is eternal."

releasing resistance, or, accepting what is

2011-03-04T14:30:00.000-08:00

The evening after I skipped class (Tuesday), I read this passage in "Stillness Speaks" by Eckhart Tolle:

"How often each day, if you were to verbalize your inner reality at that moment, would you have to say, "I don't want to be where I am"? What does it feel like when you don't want to be where you are - the traffic jam, your place of work, the airport lounge, the people you are with?

It is true, of course, that some places are good places to walk out of - and sometimes that may well be the most appropriate thing for you to do. In many cases, however, walking out is not an option. In all those cases, the "I don't want to be here" is not only useless, but also dysfunctional. It makes you and others unhappy.

It has been said: wherever you go, there you are. In other words: you are here. Always. Is it so hard to accept that?"

Talk about synchronicity. It was almost as though some divine hand of the universe had conspired to make sure I read that that night, because that is exactly what was going on.

And then, later in the chapter this:

"Surrender, one could say, is the inner transition from resistance to acceptance, from "no" to "yes.""

A little further:

"Whatever you accept completely will take you to peace, including the acceptance that you cannot accept, that you are in resistance."

I have been struggling with my cake decorating class since the first day. Actually probably a bit before that, when I learned I'd have another instructor with whom I was not familiar, and probably also when I found out it was going to be at 7am (although I didn't have any seemingly negative thoughts about the early morning hour, I did find some had crept in when I wasn't paying attention). I had several stories that helped form the resistance to what is: My instructor seems a little ditzy and sometimes authoritarian. Most of the other students were unwelcoming. Some of the other students are just plain rude and don't seem to like me (because, of course, why wouldn't someone like me?). It's too early; it's hard to get to bed on time. I'm not interest in cake decorating, I want to make actual food. And on, and on...

I knew that this was going to be a challenge for me, but I was so immersed in my stories that I was unable to see my own resistance (supported by the stories). So, when I read this, it was as though a light clicked on, and I could see myself in complete resistance to what is my life situation right now. This is not to say, however, that my resistance lessened or went away completely. And, even now, I see myself in resistance to what is - that I don't want to go to this class (the "no") and wanting to change it to a desire to go to this class (a "yes"). The stark truth is that I don't want to go. I have very little curiosity to learn what we're learning; my mind is bored, and I don't feel at all productive.

It is true that yesterday and today, I did find myself more at peace. Oh, I'm still waking up in the morning thinking, "I don't want to get up and go to school this morning." But, I've found my instructor's seeming ditziness less ditzy and more refreshing - she doesn't take things personally - she enforces rules because that's part of the integrity she feels for her job - not because they're rules that must be followed, she wants to have fun and be silly, and I actually really enjoy her laugh (it's this cute little girl giggle that just cracks me up).

And, of course, operating in a space with people who aren't acting the way I want them to, or liking me as I feel they automatically should is so revealing of more deeper stories residing in my psychic landscape that it's actually a great gift.

At this point, I can say I accept the fact that I'm resisting how things are. It's a start, in any case, and my experience tells me that whether I get there or not, it doesn't matter. When one seeks the truth, it always sets one free.

receiving graciously

2011-02-28T20:01:00.000-08:00

My parents visited over the weekend and I'll admit, it was intense. Fortunately, not "tense." And I'll be the first to admit that most of the intensity was from expectations I had of myself and assumptions I had about the expectations my parents might have. I'm so grateful I have the awareness to realize it because I can't imagine things going as well as they did, if I did not.

My mother insisted, even before arriving, that we go shopping. I didn't quite know what she had in mind, but, because I know that she likes to shop, was willing to humor her. In the end, I received a much rejuvenated wardrobe, which was my mother's intention all along. My parents also insisted on paying for my sewing machine to be serviced, as well as some treats from the local Dutch Store (they are Dutch immigrants, so I thought it might be a fun little thing to do).

When I wasn't worrying about them having enough to eat (and making things that I hoped they'd like), resting enough or being entertained enough, I was overcome with all kinds of guilt about these gifts that they were able and happy to give me. Not only was I already feeling guilty because I did not have a room to put them up, which meant they needed to stay in a nearby hotel (which turned out to be great fun for Seth, as it had an indoor pool), but then I was worrying about them spending money on us.

In short, I was unable to express gratitude to my parents for all the things they wanted and chose to do for me. I realize now that I had been given a chance to practice receiving graciously, but in those moments I was not able to recognize it nor make use of the opportunity.

Of course, there is still an opportunity here; recognizing my inability to receive graciously, particularly when it comes to my parents. And, it's still a reminder of how I'm still grasping for control of things outside of my control; showing me another way in which I am to allow and let go.

Yet another lesson in letting go...as well as receiving graciously.

2011-02-21T12:58:00.000-08:00

I've sat down and started to write several times now, but then found myself distracted by more important matters...or not as the case with Facebook may be (I have a little bit of an 'addiction' to the FB - just because I'm a bit introverted doesn't mean I don't like to keep in touch with friends).

I'm also having to reorganize my life, yet again, as my class time has been schedule for 7 am. So, learning how to get to bed on time, and remember when I get home that it's only 11:30, and that I actually have more time to do things like make yeasted dough products, because I have more time in my day...

My parents are coming to visit this coming weekend, the first time they've ever come and visited me since college, so I expect all kinds of interesting things will come up (which = more topics to write about).

So...if you're been wondering what happened, well...that's it in a nutshell, as much as one can put that in a nutshell. I'll be back, and soon.

what happens when you over-extend yourself...

2011-02-06T12:41:00.000-08:00

...and forget to take care of your own basic needs?

You get sick. Very sick.

I am a homebody by nature. I am very sensitive to a lot of stimuli, and I really don't like a lot of going to and fro, which seems to be par for the course these days. I also forget to eat, and when I do, I often eat the wrong things (mostly carbs, and I confess, way too much sugar). I also don't pay attention to the time, and end up staying up far later than what is good for me, ending up very sleep deprived.

So when I woke up nauseas and dizzy Friday morning, it should have been no surprise. I pushed through it to attend class, in which, like my hunger often does, the feelings seemed to go away as I concentrated on tempering chocolate and finishing all of my truffles. The moment I was finished, the feeling returned and hit me with full force and I felt like I was going to keel over. Using my good sense, I called Nate and had him come and get me rather than taking the train home, and immediately hopped into bed where I spent most of that evening and the entire Saturday. I'm not sure what was worse, the pain I felt over my entire body or the fact that because Nate had to work, Seth was left to his own devices, which meant watching TV and playing video games all day (after I had promised to take him to the library and a party).

As I lay in bed, with pain in my gut, I remembered something S. had asked me in one of our sessions, when I had a similar pain in my sternum, "What does it want?" So I asked it what it wanted, and waited for an answer. I realized that it wanted me to stop resisting and allow it to do what it needed to do to restore equilibrium to my body. As soon as I recognized that, there was a sharp pain, and then it dispersed and within 10 minutes it was gone. Although the pain throughout my body increased as I spent the entire day detoxing, and I simply had to remind myself to allow my body to do what it needed to do. I was finally well enough (and hungry!) to have some chicken soup that evening. As I write this, my body still hurts a little.

A hindsight analysis shows that my body was reflecting the imbalance of my lifestyle - the dizziness was the first thing I felt, even the night before (I had simply assumed it was because I was up until 2:30am). I think it's time to see a naturopathic doctor. And to schedule another visit with my chiropractor. And to make some lifestyle changes that include being more mindful of my eating and sleeping habits. And, as much as I don't want to, stop over-extending myself.

"to go where no one has gone before"

2011-02-03T20:20:00.000-08:00

When I was 10, I wanted to be an archaeologist when I grew up. I told my father, who, unknowing how this would effect me, said, "but you won't be able to have a family and do that at the same time." How was I supposed to know he was wrong? And in his own mind, he probably didn't see how a woman could birth children and be an archaeologist and travel so much. So I benched the dream (I did this with a lot of my dreams). It's okay, I've forgiven him, and that's not really what this is about anyway.

In many ways, I have become an archaeologist. I excavate my psyche, and my tools are Sharp Uncomfortable Questions and the Cold Hard Truth. Often they are People, who do not know they are catalyzing growth in me just by simply being. (And often by being a jerk.)

So, like an episode of Star Trek, I find myself face to face with aliens and uncharted, unknown astronomical phenomena on a regular basis. As I get used to facing these creatures and sharpen the tools I need with which to deal with them, it becomes a little easier. There is more willingness to stay and face them than there is to run from them. And as I do so, I see that they are not the scary aliens I thought they were, but really only dark reflections of myself.

Onward I go, boldly, where no one has gone before, seeking out new life and exploring new worlds. Length of mission? A lifetime.

letting go of perfection

2011-02-02T02:32:00.000-08:00

On Monday evening, I participated in a beautiful Imbolc ceremony. Imbolc, or Imbolg (or Candlemas or Bride's Day or St. Bridget's Day), is the pagan new year. The days are getting longer, the earth is warming up, making way for spring. As part of the ceremony, we all wrote on parchment paper things we wanted to put behind us, to let go and release, and then burned them, all the while chanting "Let go! Let go!". I wrote a few things down, but ultimately, they all had to do with one main idea (which was what I also wrote down): to let go of my need to be perfect.

As I look around me, my living room a mess, and thinking about all the things I need to do, or ought to do, I might be inclined to think that I've already let go. And, my current GPA at school (along with the fact that I've since given up on studying for any written tests at all), might also be an indicator of reaching for less than perfection. But giving up isn't the same as letting go. And, essentially, while it may appear to both others and myself that I am clearly not a perfectionist, I know this not to be true. I read in a book long ago about a character trait called "the disillusioned perfectionist" whose qualities were very similar to mine - if one cannot get it perfect the first time (or in the allotted amount of time one has) one may as well not do it at all. This seems to describe me.

Again, giving up is not the same as letting go. And, as I lit the parchment on fire and placed my intention before me, speaking it aloud to the group, I wondered if I was even really ready to let go of my need for perfection. What is the need I have to be right, to be so darn perfect?

If I am not perfect, what then? What if I make a mistake on the first try? What if I don't get an A? What if my house is a mess?

The answer is the same and simple: then it just is. Then I'm not perfect. Then I don't get it right on the first try. Then I don't get an A, and my house is a mess. There is no inherent meaning about me in these things. They just are. I can attach meaning, if I want to, but I'm starting to see that as I do this, I only cause myself pain (and often others, because the Queen of Perfection demands only from others what she also demands from herself).

Of course, this is only the icing on the cake. There is deeper stuff hidden underneath this facade of perfection. I think much of it has to do with an idea of perfection that I've created, out of fear, out of a desire to make the world be something I want it to be, rather than seeing it for what it really is: the result of cause and effect working naturally...perfect.

So...

I release my need to be perfect and open myself to all that this life has to offer.

the truth shall set you free, or, the transformation of 30 days of truth

2011-01-28T17:55:00.000-08:00

On my way to school this morning, I was thinking about the transformation that has occurred over the last two months. A transformation that is enough of a change that it can be called a transformation. It feels transformative, in any case.

I was reflecting on a post that I made toward the beginning of the 30 Days of Truth - Day 4 or 5, I think, and it had to do with a person I wished I could forgive. In that post (which I have purposely not linked here, for reasons you'll soon see), I spent a lot of time writing about the ways she hurt me, and in some ways, used it to reinforce my position of "rightful grudge-holder."

I realized this morning that I had, somehow, found a way to forgive her; thinking over the story, I found it no longer angered or saddened me, and that when I thought of her, most of the negative feelings seemed to have dissipated greatly. Although there are some last vestiges of judgment here and there, I am able to recognize it for what it is, thereby not giving it the energy it needs to grow.

It is true that it was not just the 30 Days of Truth meme that caused this transformation alone; I was reading a wonderful book, "The End of Your World" by Adyashanti that also played a part. And, I cannot forget to mention the spiritual life coach, S., who has assisted me in the most loving of ways.

However, it was my willingness to confront the truth, as painful as it was, and to share it with others (in a non-partisan way), that allowed me to move closer to forgiveness.

About two weeks ago, I was chatting online with my brother when he told me that I might contact her. Not to rehash the old stuff, but, I gathered, primarily to allay some worries she had about me. Despite some reservations and just feeling like I didn't want to chat, I contacted her anyways, and the very next day, we were chatting face to face via Skype. I was nervous, I know how easy it is to trigger old patterns in myself, and wondered what would come up. There were some awkward moments, I felt, but all in all, it went well.

As with recent conversations with my parents (who I struggled for years to forgive), it was almost as though I was meeting her for the first time. In many ways, I was. With the shades of anger, resentment and bitterness now removed from my eyes, I could see that she is not my enemy. She has not elevated to dear friend status, and she may never be. But I can be in the same room with her now, without cringing, and that's something.

Facing the truth is a pretty scary thing, at first, but when I found that I was still okay, and often better for it, I began to seek it out. The more I am willing to see things for what they are, and accept them as they are, the more freedom I find.

dry spell

2011-01-24T17:01:00.000-08:00

Over the last several days, I've sat down, begun to write but found myself interrupted, by life and by lack of sufficient inspiration. Hence the lack of more consistent posting...but, life has a way of creating many, many opportunities, and so, one is sure to drop in my lap soon enough.

the freedom to not paint

2011-01-19T09:50:00.000-08:00

I used to love painting. I did it a lot as a teenager, and was an Art major in college. Until I "dropped out." It was my dream to become a painter the likes of Vincent Van Gogh, and somehow, I bought the story that I couldn't be a bonafide artist if I didn't have some chosen medium and then didn't pursue it with a freakish madness (oh, and add in depression and mania for good measure). So for a decade, I longed to return to painting and found excuse after excuse for not doing it. Confused? I know, that doesn't really make much sense to me either.

In a session with S. he asked me what I really wanted to do. I said, "I want to paint again." We talked about finding a space and the fears surrounding that and the creation of art. I went away from that session pondering what it was exactly that made it so difficult for me to face these fears...and just what were these fears anyway?

So, fast forward a week to January 2, 2011. I had contacted a woman via craigslist about seeing a studio space. I was excited, I told her I wanted the space. I wrote a friend asking if he would send some of my art supplies that were stored in the bowels of his basement. The space wouldn't be available until the 15th, which worked for me, I could get a little organized. On the 7th, she wrote me, saying that they had decided to lease the space to two people, but they had another space which I would share with another if I was still interested.

And then, clarity. I realized that I not only didn't want the space, but that I didn't need the space. That had I the true desire to paint, I would have found a way throughout the years to do so; I certainly did as a teen. More importantly, I realized that I am an artist - I am creative in my daily life (we all are actually, a lot of us are in denial). I am not any less of an artist if I use food to create than if I use paint.

It was like being set free; going from a dark cell into the sunshine. I no longer had this weight on my shoulders, the weight of "you must paint to realize your dream of being an artist." I can look at my paints and canvases without guilt, knowing they are there for me to pick up at any time. Or not.

ungoals and letting go of control

2011-01-18T23:23:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about goals for a while now. I'm sure that's due, in part, to the New Year, and the resolutions that seem to come with it. If you've been reading for a while, you already know that I have not really made any resolutions per se, but rather have made it an intention to let go and engage in life fully. I've also been reading a book which talks very heavily about goal-setting and goal-acheiving. (I haven't finished yet, so I can't opine on that just yet.)

I've slowly been coming to terms with the fact that there's really very little I can control. And, given this reality, I've come to recognize that goals, while alluring with their illusions of control, are, in many ways useless. It's a pretty big concept to wrap one's head around, really. Sometimes I don't know why I even understand this to be so.

I ride the train (aka MAX) to school everyday, and I realized that life is sort of like a train. There's the beginning of the line, and the end of the line, with a variety of stops along the way. But I cannot get to the next stop faster by walking to the front car of the train; I arrive when the train arrives. I cannot really predict what sorts of people I will see at any given stop, what time I'll get there (although perhaps a rough estimate), or whether I will find what I need (I always seem to be in need of a tissue), or that I'll even get to the next stop.

Are your socks sufficiently scared off? Oh, I was so scared to let go of control, as if it would become this wild roller coaster as soon as I loosened my grip. Ironically, I can see how my life before, with my white-knuckled grip around this illusion of control, was a wild roller coaster ride. Now, as I loosen the grip, it's become a much smoother gondola ride through the canals of Venice. Imagine that.

So, now that I'm "floating along," I'm thinking about the things I'd like to do in life - the stops I'd like to get off at, if you will. A basic itinerary is now forming in my head. I am not worried that I won't "meet my goal" of opening my own bakery, I know it's a stop on the line, and it's just a matter of time before I get there and there are other stops along the way. This knowing is an amazing feeling. So peaceful. No striving, no worrying. It's hard to explain how I know this; I suppose it's intuition.

My life, in some strange way, has a "plan" which unfolds before me, I am merely along for the ride to observe and enjoy.

I am a bell that cannot be unrung.

inviting all the fairies

2011-01-15T18:30:00.000-08:00

Today, I had the honor and pleasure of participating in a beautiful Blessingway of a friend. [For those of you who don't know what a Blessingway is, it is a ceremony in which a pregnant mother is honored and wished well as she makes her way to complete her journey of becoming a mother and to prepare for the new child's welcoming through supportive and creative intention.] We went around the circle, sharing our intentions and hopes for H., the birth, and the new baby. When it was my turn, I remembered and shared a story I had heard when Nate and I were participating in a Birthing From Within class before Seth was born.

It's the story of Sleeping Beauty (not the Disney version) in which there were 13 fairies in all the land, but because no one really cared for the 13th fairy, she was not invited to the christening of the princess. Discovering this, she crashed the party, and left her curse.

What does this have to do with birth? Birth is a very natural process that cannot be controlled (as much as Doctors, hospitals and we would like to do so). Even the idea of a "birth plan" while it may feel empowering to birthing mothers, is really only a bit of an illusion, because in reality, no matter how perfect a plan you have, something will always end up being different than what you had intended. Just as it is important to invite the 12 "good" fairies, it's equally important to extend an invitation to the 13th "bad" fairy as well; to be open to whatever outcome arrives.

I did not really understand this until recently, and in hindsight, I can see the "curse" the 13th fairy left when she crashed my birthing party.

All of life is really about inviting all the fairies, including the "bad" one. By extending this invitation, accepting and allowing her to come, I make room for truly amazing things to happen. Opportunities and wonderful experiences often arise from her visit. But more than that, I can go forth, prepared and never dreading when she'll show up and what kind of curse she'll leave.

Just as it was my intention for H. to remain open to whatever fairies arrive at her birth, it is my intention to remain open to whatever fairies arrive at my door on a daily basis. Such is the path of letting go.

New Year's unresolutions, Day 10: Speech & Action

2011-01-14T22:45:00.000-08:00

What will ground me in my speech and actions?

Our words and actions are the culmination of myriad energies flowing through us. When they are grounded in our deepest convictions, our words and deeds can be great blessings. Use the nine previous questions and your answers to them to help ground you as you interact with the world in 2011. Embrace what gives you a sense of connection to yourself and life. Do your best to walk your talk, and align your talk to your heart and highest aspirations.

I suppose, in a way, the last nine posts have culminated in a realization that I am not resolving to do any of those things I wrote about, but that I am doing, somewhat naturally, things which foster them. Hence the "unresolution" part.

The answer to all of these questions, I am finding, are all the same. It has to do with awareness. The more I am aware of the thoughts that masquerade as reality for what they really are, just thoughts, I am able to find more compassion, peace, joy, loving-kindness, wisdom, renewed commitment in my life. Thus, I come full circle to my deepest intention, which is to let go, and fully engage in life.

So, awareness will ground my speech and action. Simple, yet a minutely challenge.

New Year's unresolutions, Day 9: Commitment

2011-01-13T10:08:00.000-08:00

How can I strengthen my commitments?

A bedrock of our lives is the commitments we make and honor. Are you finding yourself wavering in them? What forces are working to pull you away from fulfilling them? Reconnect to the energy you felt when you made your commitments. See if that energy helps revitalize and strengthen them, or leads you to realign them if they have changed. Reconnect to the meaning your commitments bring to your life.

When I think of the word "commitment" I think of relationships, and one in particular - my relationship with Nate. We never had a wedding ceremony, and therefore never exchanged vows. I think at the time I viewed vows as unnecessary - I loved him and told him so, and sought to show him in my everyday actions, wasn't that enough?

In retrospect, I don't think it was. Although I find the traditional wedding ceremony terribly antiquated and often uninspiring or unenlightened (I have had many a gag reflex whenever I hear the woman vow to "obey" her husband), I think it's important to have a meaningful ceremony that reflects the commitment one makes to another.

Once and a while, when I think about weddings and our lack of one, I think about us having a commitment renewal ceremony of our own. And when I think about it now, the more I really, really like the idea. Now I just have to see what Nate's opinion is on the matter. Maybe he'll be sold if I suggest going on a the honeymoon we never went on? :D

New Year's unresolutions, Day 8: Peace

2011-01-12T23:15:00.000-08:00

What will bring more peace into my life?

Deep peace comes when you are in harmony with your essence. If you find yourself in conflict, whether in relationships or at work, how can you bring more of your essence, the part of you that is radiant and loving, to help ease the conflict? What is in your power to change that will bring you more peace?

I have found that it is always when I'm in conflict with what is reality and what I want reality to be that causes distress. But I'm finding that I don't so much as need to ease the conflict per se, but rather observe it taking place in my mind as a product of my mind and not really a reflection of what is really occurring. There is very little that is within my power to change that will bring me more peace other than this quiet observation. I cannot change anything other than myself, and I'm starting to question whether I can even really change myself (this line of inquiry is still being pursued).

In a more real world application, two weeks ago our marriage counselor suggested that Nate and I exchange love notes to each other. I groaned at the assignment; I don't like being disingenuous, and such notes felt as such to me. This, of course is right up Nate's alley - he's the romantic one - and the very same day I received a text from him saying "You're pretty." I was riding on the MAX, and giggled like a school girl, texting him back. As we've continued to do this - Nate leaving notes and chocolates in locations I'd find them - bedside table, on the computer, behind the steering wheel - and my texting him and flirting with him on Facebook, our conflict has significantly dropped from full out battling to minor annoyances. This has allowed me to observe my inner voice from a more objective point of view and see what is "story" and what is real and true. As I do this, I am able to practice short-circuiting the pathways that are so used to firing faster than the speed of light, and things are a lot more peaceful around here.

New Year's unresolutions, Day 7: Joy

2011-01-09T16:48:00.000-08:00

How can I move forward with joy?

There is great potential in all of us to do meaningful acts, both great and small. What is in the way of moving forward with a joyful spirit? What is the payoff in holding back? Align yourself with your deepest intention to break through obstacles. Connect to a higher purpose and rejoice in striving to achieve it.

I've found I'm most joyful when I'm able to practice gratitude. Also, when I take the time to really see what's going on around me. Nature often has this effect on me. I often walk through my days, either without ever going outside, or without noticing what is around me when I am walking, lost in my own cycle of thought. It's so ironic to see that Nate and I are constantly telling Seth to "watch where you're going" (because he seems so accident prone, and some times bulldozers over things), when in a sense, we're not really paying attention to where we're going either.

It's a challenge, being aware of what's going on around me and looking at things with "new" eyes. But, when I'm able to do this, I find joy in the "little" things: dead brown leaves in the gutter, trees covered in moss, Seth's laugh or his saying "poopify!", Nathan's excitement about a sunny day on which he can ride his motorcycle, what dessert we're producing at school.

I can see now, that all of these things I've been writing about the last seven days have to do with my deepest intention, set on the first day, to let go, and fully engage in life. When I let go of trying to control life, and allow it to happen as it will - because it will, no matter what - I can appreciate life and find joy. So onward I travel, slowly loosening my grip.

New Year's unresolutions, Day 6: Compassion

2011-01-08T11:30:00.000-08:00

How can I be more compassionate?

Compassion flows when you appreciate the interconnectedness of life. It is particularly difficult to be compassionate to someone who is feared or seen as a problem. Examine what is rejected along with what is accepted both within and outside of yourself. Seek to be more inclusive as you open your heart to the inherent interconnectedness of life.

I am finding that the more I am able to be compassionate with others, the more I am able to be compassionate with myself. The reverse is also true: the less compassionate I am with myself, the less compassionate I am with others. When Jesus said, "Love others as you love yourself" he was talking about how the love of others and oneself are interconnected; one cannot do one without doing the other.

Being more compassionate requires that one accept things as they are and forgive when they are not as one would want them to be. I have very high standards for myself, which often translate to high standards of others, although I am generally more forgiving of others than I am of myself when there is a failure to meet these high standards.

In an effort to better myself, I have embarked on a journey to excavate what the truth is and have found a glaring disparity between my expectations and what reality truly is. Little did I know that it would require forgiveness and compassion. It is very difficult, I have found, to be compassionate toward someone of whom I have high expectations and when I choose to blind myself to reality.

The reality is that people have "flaws" (I put this in marks because I think that human nature is not really flawed, it just is what it is, but is perceived as flawed because our ego wants to control things it can't, so there is dissonance that gets defined as such). Nate will leave the cupboard doors open. There are two paths to take: I can continue to hold on to my high expectations that he won't do this after I nag him about it OR I can accept that he may do this from time to time, and forgive him for it, quietly closing them myself.

There are moments, daily, hourly, sometimes minutely, where we are presented with opportunities for compassion. One might say that yesterday, when I sought to avoid a certain person, I was not taking advantage of an opportunity presented me. Awareness is key; the more aware I am of the stories I tell myself and how incongruent they are with actual reality, the more I can see where I can practice more compassion.

New Year's unresolutions, Day 5: Boundaries

2011-01-07T09:37:00.000-08:00

How can I set my boundaries and limits more effectively?

Are you the kind of person who gives so much you find yourself exhausted and unable to give to yourself? Or, do you find yourself isolated and lonely because you are busy protecting your self image? Endeavor to set your boundaries wisely in order to take care of yourself as well as others. Learn when it is healthy to say no, and when it is healthy to say yes!

As a result of saying "yes" to too many people and often committing to things I didn't want to do, I've started saying "let me think about it" or "no" more often. The ratio has tipped more toward "no" than "yes" these days. Even when I come up with ideas to volunteer myself, I hold back. I'm trying to find the delicate balance, where this is concerned.

On the other hand, setting boundaries are tricky because most of us are pretty sensitive people who tend to take things personally. Today I actively sought to avoid having to spend the 40 minute train ride home with a new classmate who, because I've proven myself a kind person, willing to listen and treat him with dignity, would talk the entire way about things that are not all that interesting to me (he did this yesterday). I treasure my trips home, it is when I am able to put on my earphones and music, pull out my book (or stare out the window) and get some quality time with myself. But how do I set this boundary without offending him? The reality is that I don't particularly care for him and, admittedly, find him to have other traits that are somewhat annoying. I have my boundaries, but it seems as though unless I actively go out of my way to make them known to others, they are not really respected. This seems to be an issue for me: protecting myself vs. not hurting others, and often I choose that which does not hurt them, but ends up hurting myself instead.

In the end, I can see that honesty is really going to have to come out. I just have to find a way to do it in love, and before that, I'm going to have to find a way to love him, as hard as it may be. Perhaps honesty, shared lovingly, is the only true way to set boundaries for oneself.

New Year's unresolution, Day 4: Loving-kindness

2011-01-06T21:15:00.000-08:00

How can I express more loving-kindness?

"Loving-kindness is connected to giving in the spirit of generosity. What motivates your giving? Do you expect something in return? Notice when it is easy to give and when it is difficult. Use the difficult times as opportunities to uncover what is in the way of expressing more loving-kindness."

This is such an interesting thread; I am generally a quite giving person. But there are times when I find myself resisting. I have a love-hate relationship with the homeless in downtown Portland, for instance. Sometimes I'm in a space where I generally feel kind and loving and gracious to them, and other times, I am just annoyed. Same with the panhandlers at the on and off ramps.

I try to remind myself that whatever reason they are asking for money, it's not my place to judge that. All that is asked of me is to treat them with dignity and answer honestly. I remember one day I was in a place where someone asked me for a quarter so she could use the pay phone. I didn't have a quarter; I had a dollar bill. I felt like giving it to her, so I did. Another day, I was grumpy with a headache, and so when a woman came up to me saying it was her birthday and could I spare some change, I replied, "and I'm the queen of England. No." Yeah, it was not one of my best moments.

There are other things I have a hard time giving. Initially, when someone asks me to make something for them, I am happy to say yes, but when it comes to actually making it, I am suddenly dragging my feet and then being nagged about finishing said thing. It's sort of ironic because I love making and gifting things to people; but if they know what it is and are expecting it, suddenly, the love is gone and all I feel is obligation and sometimes, even resentment - at them for expecting me to make it for them and at myself for signing up for it in the first place.

I know that in some way, my inability to give is tied with my need to control, especially in the latter case. I'm still working at uncovering the layers of myself that are fascinated with the illusion of control. I know that I'm more able to practice loving-kindness with others when I do this with myself. This would be when I'm looking after myself and have a sense of well-being and joy, which come from looking after myself with care and compassion.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 30

2011-01-04T19:03:00.000-08:00

A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself.

This was such a challenge to do...it took two days to write.

Dear Maria,

I love that you are extremely and intensely creative and how passionate you get about new ideas. I love how you are able to see a variety of solutions to any one problem. I love your general craftiness. Oh, and how I love your baking.

I love that the more challenging the task, the more energy you put into it; and that you don't shy away from the really, really hard stuff (like climbing Mt. Fuji and excavating the very depths of your psyche). I love your determination to better yourself. I love that you find ways to make lemonade out of the lemons life hands you.

I love that you are kind, compassionate and generous. I love that you keep your heart open to give love to others, no matter who they are, where they came from, or what they've done, or not done. I love that you seek opportunities to help others; that you befriend and protect the weak. I love that you give others the benefit of the doubt, and are often quick to forgive.

I love your sense of humor, quick wit and lively imagination. I love your readiness to smile and laugh.

I love that you care deeply for the earth and all it's inhabitants and that you are are very passionate about making choices that reflect this.

I love that you have an open mind, are curious, and recognize that you really know very little and that everything is an opportunity to learn something new and amazing. I love that you question everything.

I love that when you see people, you really see them, you see through the differences and recognize them as the beautiful beings they are.

I love your strength, your resilience, your ability to weather any storm. I love that you can come out of it more graceful and wise.

I love your eyes. And your smile. And your toes, even if they are ice cold most of the time. And your very dexterous (knitting) fingers. And your singing voice.

Love,

New Year's unresolutions, Day 3: Listening

2011-01-03T13:40:00.000-08:00

How can I deepen my listening?

"We have numerous voices clamoring for attention in our heads (as well as outside of them). Some are innocuous, some benevolent and some out for destructive purposes. Take time in a quiet place and consciously listen to the competing voices. Align with the ones who will support you in your quest for growth. When listening to an outside voice, find that quiet place inside to allow space to truly hear what someone is saying."

I have become more aware of the voices in my head, voices, which, sound very much like my own. Some people call it thinking, and essentially, it's the same thing. The the thought patterns have different personalities, hence them being called "voices." Most of the time, I vacillate between what I call "regular" thinking - thinking about what I'm doing and what I need to do - and "therapy voice" thinking - which is my telling some 'story' about my past experiences to someone I trust, usually my brother or S. And then recently I discovered a whole committee that gets called on when decisions are being made (I wrote about my fourfold excuse process here).

In August and September 2010, I spent many mornings in meditation for about 30 minutes, which essentially was my becoming aware of the voices in my head. I really struggled with certain expectations of what meditation was going to "do" for me and stopped. Because of this, I overlooked the fact that I was actually making progress by beginning to identify the voices. And it helped me start my day in a much calmer, clearer way. So I've known for a while now that I need to return to this practice.

As for listening to others; I'm actually a pretty good listener, the exception being those closest to me, specifically Nathan, and sometimes Seth. There's a dynamic that Nate and I have gotten into that makes communicating particularly challenging for us; I have a need to win every argument, or to come out on top somehow. And this makes listening to him very difficult, because apparently, that part of me is very threatened by the possibility of losing or somehow being less than.

I also have a difficult time listening to others when certain topics that carry a lot of emotional weight are brought up. I find myself making mental judgments about the other person, or hearing only part of what they're saying, as the little red warning light goes off in my head, indicating a imagined threat.

Again, I think that returning to meditation practice will allow me to better my listening skills.

New Year's unresolution, Day 2: Wisdom

2011-01-02T10:39:00.000-08:00

What will make me wiser?

"A hallmark of wisdom is seeing a greater picture than what your ego wants you to believe is true. Is your vision narrowly focused on personal gain? Imagine a larger vision of yourself as a powerful person living to fulfill a greater good. Strive to achieve outcomes in what have been difficult situations that embrace your larger vision of yourself."

Experience has taught me to spend less time thinking about action, and instead to act intuitively. I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to come up with the most rational or efficient or practical action, that often, I do not have a chance to act, because the opportunity has passed. This is the process that took over from my more natural proclivity, which is to make choices based on intuition and which I used to do a lot more frequently, and disconnects me from a natural intuitive wisdom that exists with in me.

I remember one specific time last year, when Seth was invited to sleep over at his cousin's (who he barely knows), and Nate strongly pushed me to say yes. I did not feel it was a good idea, but I did not have the logical reasoning to back me up, other than, I just didn't feel like it was such a good idea. And sure enough, later that night, my sister called to tell me how Seth was having a hard time falling asleep, and that my sweet babe wanted to talk to me. I started crying, because here I was, an hour and a half away, unable to drive to get him and he needed me (it was cold, wintry, Canadian weather, late at night, which neither Nate nor I have experience driving in, much less with my other sister's car). As it turned out, Seth didn't crash until around midnight, watching TV with my sister, and then ended up getting sick the next morning. All things that he needed his mama for. And I knew it, yet, I ignored it.

A lot of time, my intuition is much quieter; the aforementioned story is one where it was screaming loudly at me, and still I chose to disregard it (years of training). So, tuning into and trusting in this inner guidance system is something that will make bring out the inner wisdom that already exists within me and provide me with a lot more objectivity than any rationalizing does.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 29

2011-01-02T09:16:00.000-08:00

Something you hope to change about yourself.

Right now, I'm just working on accepting myself as I am. Oh, the paradox! But I think self-acceptance is key toward improving myself. Otherwise, I will just stay in the Guilt Laden path, which leads to the Slough of Despair. And I've visited that place often enough, it's time to follow the path not taken; or, at the very least, less traveled. So, onward I go, toward more self-acceptance and self-love.

New Year's unresolutions, Day 1: Intention

2011-01-01T12:23:00.000-08:00

What is my deepest intention?

"Whether you are aware of it or not, an intention underlies any thought or action. As you journey into the New Year, examine your underlying intentions. Discover whether there are conflicting ones that will sabotage efforts at self-improvement, or ones that do not serve your most cherished goals. When you discover your deepest intention, use its energy to help propel you forward."

To let go of trying to control things and more fully engage in life. I know the more that I do this, the more everything else will change for the better.

I really struggle with giving up control and this effects every aspect of my life in a negative way. The reality is that I can only control myself, and even that's difficult, although more likely to happen when I'm more fully engaged. Because then I realize that there's a LOT outside of my control and so I am able to give up expectations and simply accept things as they are. Which means I can enjoy life a LOT more. I have made some pretty big leaps since I started this work in 2010, but I am constantly approached by opportunities to practice, some of which get passed over because I'm still clinging to my control patterns and expectations.

So, to let go and fully engage. That is my deepest intention. What's yours?

30 days of truth (meme): Day 28

2011-01-01T09:37:00.000-08:00

If you were pregnant, what would you do?

I'd be very surprised. I mean, VERY surprised. But other than, that, what is there to do? Get ready for the baby. Start eating a LOT better, find a midwife, prepare for my home-birth, invest in a breast pump, and buy new cloth diapers (since I gave mine away), ask my friend (who's got numerous slings) if I can have the sling I gave her back...pick out a name...the list is long.

I would probably struggle with a lot of feelings of loss, because of how drastically my life would change; and let's face it, although I'm better at dealing with change, that's never been easy for me.

Although I have often thought about adoption, child bearing is pretty much a "been there, done that, got the onesies" situation with me. I have little desire to birth another child.

New Year's unresolutions

2010-12-31T10:34:00.000-08:00

I don't know when I started to make New Year's Resolutions, but by the time high school came around I was a pro and would work on The List as soon as the last Christmas gift was opened. It was revised and rewritten several times and was often a large notebook page long, and was to be completed before the New Year officially began (usually New Year's Eve). The obsession became worse as I got older; later in the year I'd discover my list under a pile of clutter I was sorting, and seeing that most of it I had failed to complete, I'd be at once wracked with guilt, but also motivated to rewrite the list and again achieve all these ideals. Finally, last year I decided I'd had enough of this creative self-torture, and chose not to make one. The sky did not fall; it did not bring about the apocalypse. A year later, I do find myself thinking about resolutions and The List; the pathway in my brain so entrenched, the un-training of this habit may be long.

Then a friend posted this article on Facebook, and I wondered if I could at least make a blog post (or posts) out of it. It's gentle, there's no requirement of productivity or achievement, but rather a focus on self-development and spiritual growth. Which was really always the intention behind The List. Both things that happen without a list, and often in ways which cannot be planned or imagined.

So, for each day for 10 days, I will focus on each question. I don't know what will come out, except that whatever it is, it will be an excavation of what is true for me, in that moment. Which reveals more than I could ever plan by making The List.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 27

2010-12-31T09:00:00.000-08:00

What’s the best thing going for you right now?

It's a toss up between the marriage counseling, the personal counseling, and culinary school. At any given time, one of these three things is probably making my life both unspeakably happy and dreadfully uncomfortable. So, my general feeling is that good things must happening.

First, marriage counseling. Nate and I were going to get a divorce this summer; we had even filled out the paperwork. So, it's supposedly saving our marriage - results are still being tabulated. I was not the one who initiated the divorce, and so it was intense relief when, in a dramatic display of renewed semi-committment, Nate burned the papers and agreed to go to counseling with me. Sometimes I think we're getting better, and then there are days when I think we're getting worse.

Which brings me to the second thing, the personal counseling. S. is really a spiritual life coach, and I originally sought him out because I didn't really think psychotherapy would have what I needed and I wanted something more than to just rehash my "shitty" hand in life. And, as it turned out, it was what I wanted and much more, so much more. I've learned a lot, let go of so much, healed and become a more whole, peaceful, joyful, compassionate person. Of course, there are the days when this is not the case, like the aforementioned marital relationship struggle. Or, the slough of despondency, that seems to get frequently visited. But, he's there, to gently pull me out and redirect. This process of "days of truth" is actually serving to augment our work together, since that is essentially what we do: excavate the truth.

For the most part, I really, really enjoy culinary school. I don't really care for the schoolish aspect of it (homework, tests, papers, teacher-student dynamic, military-style uniform requirements - students are not even permitted to dye their hair "unnatural" colors, despite the fact that a hat is to be worn on campus at all times). I actually think that it detracts from the program, because this kind of school attracts those who are very artistically expressive, and, those are the people that one really wants in this sort of field. But, back to what I love about it: it's like being in an art studio where you get to eat your creations, which adds a whole new sensory experience! I originally just wanted to get experience making a variety of baked goods, mostly breads, but cooking has turned out to be loads of fun, and apparently, even I can make a decent cake, complete with icing roses. My favorite most recently learned skill is tempering chocolate and piping words. I'm eager for my next session of classes to begin: Advanced Patisserie...not sure exactly what I'll be learning, but that's half the fun.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 26

2010-12-30T02:50:00.000-08:00

Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?

If you've been following since I started, then you'll already know the answer to the first part. For those who haven't, in one word, Yes.

I believe that first time I thought I was better off dead occurred when I was seven years old. I vaguely remember singing, "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I guess I'll go eat worms" and my mother, hearing it and concerned, asked me about it. I remember a feeling of care and love and and exchange of hugs. I imagine the reason I felt this way was because not only had my mother just given birth to twins (our family size going from 6 kids to 8), but we had also moved across the country from Michigan to California, and that sort of thing was very challenging for me.

I think I put that sort of thing out of my mind, for the most part, until I hit puberty. Life, for me, took a wild turn for the worse. I would imagine all sorts of horrible things to happen to myself or family members who I disliked intensely (mostly my mother, who I did not get along with from this time until I left for college). I would think about running away, mostly. Or getting dismembered. Or dying either by my own hand or the hand of others.

Then, my freshman year of college, past emotional pain collided with new and more intense emotional pain, as my world fell apart (it was a combination of sad events like the death, break-ups (not even my own!), family illnesses and job loss, and my own cognitive dissonance about my religious beliefs and the hypocrisy I saw all around me), and I contemplated swallowing a whole bottle of pills. As I looked in the mirror, I saw my little brothers (those aforementioned twins) and thought, how could I do that to them? How much would it hurt them, so young and vulnerable? So I didn't go through with it.

Another time, where I actually started cutting myself - to practice for the final act - was while I was in the Navy. I had gotten myself in a whole bowl of trouble by yelling at my supervisor, who already disliked me and was always looking for ways to make things difficult for me. The irony was that I was taking Paxil, an anti-depressant. Which was clearly NOT working. I never made it to the final act, it was too painful, and the whole point of wanting to die, was to escape the pain.

There were more times when I thought about running out in traffic or other elaborate ways to go quickly. A lot of it is habit of mind. Mostly, now, I think about death a lot, although not necessarily in the sense of "I hate myself, the world is shit, so goodbye" anymore. My most recent fancy (and I say fancy, because I'm not wholly serious about it as I used to be) is to wander off into the forest and die of exposure (hopefully with some decent hallucinations) and finally be eaten by wild dogs, my body being returned to the earth from which it came.

Yet this question begs more than that of suicidal ideations. Yes, I would come to this after I've regaled (and bored) you with several anecdotes of my own ideations.

I think the reality is that there are a lot of little ways in which I've already "given up on life" as it were...where I'm not really living fully, hiding behind my stories, excuses, and judgments, tuning out with large doses of media and sugar, disconnecting from others, from nature, from life. Now, I'm at a place where I have to decide whether I want to fully reengage in life - being the perfectly painful messiness that it is - and how I want to do that. I'd like to think that I have, for the most part, chosen to reengage. There's a lot of lost time to make up for...I'd better get busy!

30 days of truth (meme): Day 25

2010-12-29T11:15:00.000-08:00

The reason you believe you’re still alive today.

First, let me say, I try to avoid "believing" in all it's forms; I prefer knowing. Second, I could come up with a myriad of mystical reasons, but the only thing I got is this:

Because I'm not dead.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 24

2010-12-28T03:00:00.000-08:00

A song you'd "give" to someone in need (title and artist).

Hrm. Well, it depends on what they need. A song isn't going to do any good to someone who's hungry or has no place to sleep. Music is so personal, and this would be a matter of a case-by-case basis...and then, of course, a matter of taste.

So.

I have been listening to one album for the last month or so, Tori Amos' "Midwinter Graces," and there's someone I think of a lot when I hear some of the songs. I'd like to share them with her, but am unsure how to do it in a way that it will be well received, given that she's a Christian, and "Midwinter Graces" is really a paganish, Winter Solstice album (with some Christmas song variations). But, I think she would really like most of the songs, because I think of her whenever I hear them - and she's the type for whom it's the thought that counts.

To my sister Stephanie, who's voice I could hear singing along, I give these songs:

and:

(Not a fan of fan-made slide shows, but this was the best version I could find)

and finally, my own favorite:

Love,

Maria

"It's the end of the world as we know it...and I feel fine"

2010-12-27T15:30:00.000-08:00

I've been pondering this question for a while: "Why would I prevent myself from doing things that make me happy?"

First I started to notice every time I thought of something fun or exciting (or was suggested such from another), I came up with some sort of excuse. Actually, a plethora of excuses that are intertwined into some elaborate story of doom. Yes, doom.

Excuse #1 is always money related.

Excuse #2 is always environmentally-conscious related.

Excuse #3 is always is-it-oppressing-some-poor-people-somewhere? related.

Excuse #4 is always "what does this mean about me as a person?" related.

So, we couldn't get a flat screen TV because it's a lot of money, and all that plastic and the electricity it uses is harmful to the environment, and it was probably put together by some poor children who are forced to work till their hands bleed for mere pennies, and I don't want people to think I'm a couch potato who's obsessed with the latest show because there's so much more ( and better) things I could be doing with my time and I want people to know I care about the earth and my fellow humans, and am creative, and intellectual and productive.

Yeah, that's the crazy that takes place in my mind. That is slowly dying. Because wow, do I make excuses for not doing almost EVERYTHING I would find enjoyable. Can we say self-sabotage on maximum speed?

Then I realized that I've gotten so good at denial, that I literally live in Limbo Land. The paradox of Limbo Land: choices are made because I won't make a choice. Ones that I'm not happy with, but that ensure that I will remain in victimhood forever, blaming everyone and everything for my unhappiness (including myself, which seems logical, but is not really helpful in this case).

And that's what led me to understand that it's my stories that I wish to keep alive that have me doing this. I need those victim stories. It gives me an illusion of control in a universe that is mostly outside of my control. And it allows me to "control" others (by making them feel guilty or using these stories as reasons to hurt them).

I was writing something the other day about the unfairness I felt about chores in my house growing up when I realized that not only did I exaggerate some of the facts (in favor of my being a victim), but then why even tell this story at all? And then I started to see other similar stories that I continuously tell, over and over, as through they were the ONLY truth, and as though they were true now. All this story-telling does is to serve the purpose of maintaining a position of victimhood, placing others as perpetrators, instead of seeing things as they were, objectively: uncontrollable events that simply occurred.

So, my world is changing, as I reflect on past events comparing a more objective view with the story I have been telling. It's making forgiveness come fast and simple.

I'm by no means at the end of this investigation. I don't have all the answers; this is what I've managed to come up with so far. Perhaps another long shower and some more baking...

30 days of truth (meme): Day 23

2010-12-27T11:27:00.000-08:00

Something you wish you had done in your life, but didn't when you had the opportunity.

My first reaction when I read the question just now was: "Oh, I know this one so well."

I think it was during my sophomore year of college that a trip to Peru was offered for art students, specifically to visit Machu Pichu. It was during the January "Interim," so only a month long. I wanted to go, but didn't think I'd be able to afford it. I didn't even try to find out if it was possible; I just wrote it off. I know now that I could have found a way to go (because the next year I used that time to visit my brother in Japan), and I really, really, really wish I had.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 22

2010-12-26T13:16:00.000-08:00

Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.

Oh, regret. There are many little things I regret having done, and a lot of them I work to undo, as it's possible in some cases.

I have two big regrets that I sometimes feel.

1) That, unable to reach out and get the support I needed, I began using the TV to babysit Seth (when he was only one) so that I could find some relief from what I felt as the depressing and lonely drudgery that was mothering and housework.

2) Giving up on my dream to be an artist and stopping painting, believing that I wasn't not a "real" artist because I was not like what I thought artists were like - flamboyantly expressive, naturally great, and always drawing on everything and everywhere (not my process - I do my best when cocooned, and often working into the early morning hours, skipping meals and ignoring all regular life habits around me).

There is not much I can do about the first; I did make it a goal when we moved to Oregon to seek out a community of friends as soon as possible, to avoid some of the loneliness I felt in California, but ultimately, it had more to do with my fear of rejection if anyone knew who I really was - that being a horrible person and mother - and therefore avoiding forming deep relationships with people I really wanted to have in my life. Knowing this, of course, is half the healing: since I now know that I can't control people's thoughts, judgments or feelings about me, I put myself out there and see what I get.

And then there's the matter of TV. It's on a lot, which is pretty stressful for me. I'm pretty sensitive to a lot of stimuli. Seth's being himself is often enough on some days. Add in TV and whoa. I have made some choices about the sorts of things he watches: PBS only (I just can't do anything with commercials), and movies or recorded episodes of TV shows. I particularly enjoy the Watch Instantly feature on Netflix for this reason. But I'd prefer it greatly if the TV wasn't on so much. And that Seth would be more creative and play quietly for long periods of time (I'm aware that this is an unrealistic expectation and the sooner I let this go, the happier we'll all be, but this is how I truly feel). And so, I blame myself for the state of things as they are.

As to the second, I am working towards painting again. Because I work best in a room of my own, that is the first order of business, and I've been looking for affordable studio space. Next, I may have to make another trip to Michigan, where all my art supplies and things are, since attempts to get my brother and friend to send them to me have failed. When these logistics are worked out, I can realize my wish of becoming an artist again. This does not mean that I won't continue with my dream of having a bakery - that is a more practical creative endeavor that will allow me the freedom to make art. Ultimately, it's a matter of seeing through the excuses and making a way for me to do what I feel is an impulse running through my veins.

I think ultimately, to live a life without regrets asks that one forgive oneself for being human and to keep moving forward instead of dwelling in a pool of stagnant self-blame. One cannot change what was; one did the best they could with what they had at the time. Easier understood than remembered, I daresay.

A book that changed your views on something, revisited

2010-12-25T21:24:00.000-08:00

Being the navel gazer that I am (and obsessive editor), I was re-reading my post about the books that have really influenced me, and discovered one that I had forgotten to mention, that deserves recognition.

I don't know where I saw the title or how it got recommended to me. I had been reading Tori Amos' autobiography "Piece by Piece" and traveling through pagan mythology with her, when this book landed in my hands: "The Dance of the Dissident Daughter" by Sue Monk Kidd (better known for her novels "The Mermaid Chair" and "The Secret Life of Bees").

About four years ago, I traveled to Michigan (from California) to visit a friend and tie up some loose ends and had put the book in my bag for airplane reading and that's where another small journey for me began.

It's an autobiographical account of a woman who one day sees the church in the patriarchal light in which it dwells, a place that has little room for women. Of course I was hooked; the title alone spoke to my own dissidence as the daughter of a Calvinist minister, my own youthful faith rejected and replaced with so many questions my brain and heart hurt.

I have my own experiences of when I started to see the small ways in which women were oppressed within Christianity: I went to a small, strict Mennonite-influenced Christian school where the dress code for the girls was twice as long as it was for boys; in my own home, my brothers were allowed to wear casual clothing to evening services, yet I had to wear a dress (I don't know that I specifically "hated" to wear dresses, but I did hate what I saw as inconsistent rules). There were other rules that seemed to be gender specific and I came to hate being a girl and wish I was a boy a lot of the time.

I couldn't make sense of the issue of women being ministers in the church was (which was a pretty big deal when I was growing up). No one could answer what made them less qualified to share God's love with others. No one had a problem with them being missionaries - wasn't that essentially the same thing? Some churches wouldn't even allow women to teach sunday school...and I couldn't understand what being a woman had to do with any of these restrictions, there were never any satisfactory answers, when I dared to ask (which was rare). I loved God so much, was so faithful in serving an every possible way I could (as a teen, I used to take notes during the sermon!), and even at one point wanted to be a minister myself, so I couldn't understand why this was closed to me simply because I was female.

So, you can imagine when I read this book, it was like a letter from an estranged heathen feminist aunt. She introduced me to a face of paganism that had been kept from me, under the guise that it was a satanic cult. It reframed spirituality for me as a woman and gave a voice to my own pulse of the dissident daughter I felt but didn't know how to express, except through vitriolic rants against Christianity (which despite their "cathartic" appearance do nothing to help heal my wounds).

I suppose this doesn't really provide much information on the book itself; I actually remember very little of the book itself, only the title, author, and the direction it pointed me toward. I think this is a book for women who, regardless of faith or lack thereof, can find a place for them on their spiritual path. I might just have to pick it up again.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 21

2010-12-25T11:13:00.000-08:00

The original question was: "Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?" Really, I mean, REALLY? Part of being friends means that you will argue and be there when the going gets tough -that's what makes you BEST friends. What kind of person is the author of this question that it would even be a question?

So, since today is Christmas day, and I don't have anything else to do, I'm going to make up my own question.

New Question: What's a bad habit you have?

It's convenient that I've already been thinking about this a lot...hence the question.

Actually, there's a few bad habits I have, but let's just start with the top five.

1) Either in my head, or out loud, call myself names like: idiot, dumbass, loser (I actually wasn't even conscious that I did this aloud until Nate told me that I do this in our marriage counseling session).

2) I find reasons why I can't do something I'd really like to do: not enough money, we can find something cheaper, we should do something free instead, it's not environmentally friendly enough, etc. Sometimes, I even make up elaborate stories about imaginary persons who are harmed in the making or producing of fun item or service. Yeah, good times up in my house (being a conscious consumer is hard!!).

3) In a state of overwhelm at the chaos that is our home, I simply do nothing, and then tell people that it's not that I can't do it, but that I would rather spend my time doing other "more important" things instead and that the mess makes me feel "comfortable" and "at home". Apparently, copious amounts of time on Facebook, Gmail, and blog reading are "more important" than having a comfortable, calming and peaceful environment in which to enjoy my family and hobbies. Oh, and then I feel incredibly guilty whenever Nate cleans the house. Which he does, mostly, in a spirit of gentleness and love (he is a very awesome partner; I'll devote an entire blog post to him soon).

4) I agree to do things or make things for people that I later realize I actually didn't want to do...or rather, I would have loved to do, except now that they know, I feel obligated, and I strongly dislike feeling obligated, so I put it off, and off, and off...(I promised to make a sweater for someone, and it's sitting my basket, half-made, haunting me and preventing me from starting a new project, sigh.)

5) I was about to delve into some gross physical habits that I have which include occasional nose-picking, scab-picking, and zit-popping, but I'll save you the details and say that I'm working on those. Oh, and that whenever I'm in a kitchen making food I ALWAYS wash my hands after I touch my face in any way (I'm actually very compulsive about hand-washing in the kitchen - just cracking eggs warrants a scrub down.) We can thank Nate for pointing them out for me to work on; they're kind of, hrm, 'normal' habits in the family I grew up in.

See now, wasn't that so much better? I feel somewhat cleansed now that I've confessed. Oh, crap, I hope this isn't an actual question for another day...

30 days of truth (meme): Day 20

2010-12-24T13:17:00.000-08:00

Your views on drugs and alcohol.

I probably should have read through all of the days thoroughly, because really? This is starting to become "30 days of opinions." What's that saying about opinions being like...well...anyways...

While I avoid prescription drugs as much as possible, and would love to spend more time learning herbal remedies, I recognize that I have my own "legal" addictions to the following drugs: sugar and cocoa (and possibly bread and raw cow's milk). And then there are addictive behaviors and mental states...but I digress.

Some might want to know if I think marijuana should be legalized, or what my thoughts are on the whole "war on drugs." Well, sure, legalize the stuff...so I can sell special brownies in my bakery (I mean, what kind of authentic Dutch bakery would it be if it didn't have some "Amsterdam Brownies?"). I do think, however, that it if is legalized, that all the people who've been fined or imprisoned for having some on their person, or smoking some, or dealing some, should be repaid and set free. The whole "war on drugs" is such a farce. It doesn't seem to be accomplishing anything, at least anything good other than creating the illusion that something's being done about this "drug problem" we have (oh, oh, the irony!!), so we can go about our day safely recharged on yet another latte.

Alcohol...remove the age limit. The underagers are just binging anyway, and making poor choices on top of that...imagine if we took that stigma away (I'm sure they'd find something else, in this society, which means there's a more complex problem underneath).

As you can see, I'm a bit of a hardcore libertarian (actually, I'm almost an anarchist at heart). But, I do recognize that in both of these cases, the safety of others is at stake, and to really be free, we have to find that line of responsibility while not infringing on the rights of others. There is a difference between the weed smoker who's just chillin' and eating brownies, and a coke addict who will kill to get their next fix (or the alcoholic who's beating their child). Let's stop spending so much time punishing the former, so we can truly help the latter.

None of these problems can really be solved unless we get at the roots of the matter, which is that people are anaesthetizing themselves...and why? Let's heal that, so we don't have to make laws or spend time expounding on views of the matter...

30 days of truth (meme): Day 19

2010-12-23T22:51:00.000-08:00

What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?

I'm pretty sure I covered a little of both of these in the post about what I could live without.

Religion: it's a disease of the ego. Politics: more disease of the ego. Both: not up to the highest standards of human potential.

I hope you, my dear reader, have by now realized that my truth-telling is very politically incorrect. And I don't think that one ought to avoid these topics in polite conversation, because polite conversation is boring, irrelevant, and quite frankly, full of half-truths and lies and mostly bullshit. (This is why I probably seem to many people as socially inept; I vacillate between saying the wrong thing or not saying anything at all - with smug look on face, most likely. And if I waver in the middle, things just come out jumbled.)

Unfortunately (or fortunately, if this topic is uncomfortable for you), you got me on a day when I'm tired and don't feel like expounding on either at the moment. I will have to revisit. Brain will self-destruct in 5..4..3..2..1........................

30 days of truth (meme): Day 18

2010-12-22T23:35:00.000-08:00

Your views on gay marriage.

For me, there's a short answer (also, the simple political dichotomous one) and a long answer (more complicated anarchistic libertarian ideal one). Since this is my blog, and I'm all about excavating truth, I'll give you both.

Short: Why is this even a question? Of course gay couples should have the same rights as heterosexual couples!

Long: It's an illusion that the system is broken. It functions exactly how it's supposed to - majority rule, ostracism of the few who refuse to follow the rules. Why would we want to "fix" it or make it be something it cannot be? Why spend so much energy on that? Resistance is futile; what you resist, persists (the Borg, meet Dr. Jung; Dr. Jung, meet the Borg). So let's break away and create something new! A society that values all people, and understands that love is expressed in a myriad of ways (I think we don't even know all the ways). A community in which every voice is sought out, heard, and honored. A place where love and joy is expressed when others are being true to themselves.

This brings me to another interesting thought: sure, we live in a homophobic enough society, I'll grant you that. But we also live in an incredibly AGE-IST society. Children have very little rights. And, how many of those people who want their gay marriage would also say, "yeah, kids should be able to vote; yeah, kids should be able to choose whether they go to school or not; or to choose to live with their parents; or drive a car when their 10; or drink alcohol; or all those other things that PEOPLE under the age of 16 or 18 or 21 are not allowed to do." (There are some who do many of these things, but they are often the exception to the rule or considered to be truants, runaways, vagrants, etc.) Words cannot fully express the disgust I feel at how children are talked about and treated.

But this brings me back to the first point: the illusion of a broken society that we currently live in. I get that. So let's head back to that wonderful anarchistic libertarian ideal world...one where children can vote (EVERY voice is heard), drive when their able to learn (clearly before the arbitrarily chosen age of 16), can choose where they live (and in my ideal world, choose to live amongst their parents because their parents are loving and understanding), understand everything in moderation, and choose their learning environment. And, grow up knowing that if they love someone of the same sex, no one is going to stop them, make fun of them, or hurt them in any way for it, but instead will be happy and wish them joy, supporting the relationship in every way possible.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 17

2010-12-21T11:10:00.000-08:00

A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.

Well, that would be every book. One cannot read something without coming away altered in some way. Of course, there are some that have had a greater impact than others...so I'll go with that.

I would be remiss if I did not recognize the role that "The Holy Bible" placed in my life. But, make no mistake, it was pivotal in my becoming unchristian. The more I read and compared with the doctrine I was being taught, the more I questioned my beliefs, finally discarding them when they did not stand up to reason or serve the greater good. This is not to say that I have discarded all of what I learned there; I find the teachings of Jesus to be very valuable (and very similar to those of the Buddha) and I often find myself thinking about certain passages with a new understanding.

There are three other books that I can think of that have created course corrections for me. First, "The Road Less Traveled" by M. Scott Peck. I remember reading the first 30 pages, and then it sat on my bedside table for a few months before I was even able to pick it up again. It was instrumental in my opening my eyes to things I did not want to see or accept; the famous first sentence: "Life is difficult" being one of those things.

Second, "Reclaiming Our Health" by John Robbins. I had read his other book, which had encouraged me to choose a vegan diet (I'm no longer a vegan, or even a vegetarian, but a conscientious omnivore). It was in this book that I was introduced to midwifery and led to my decision to birth Seth outside of the hospital. This decision threw me into a world I cannot extract myself from (nor wish to). One of natural and alternative health care options, environmental consciousness, holistic living, attachment parenting, and finally, unschooling.

And finally, "A New Earth" by Eckhart Tolle. I actually think I didn't quite get it when I was reading it, and that I might need to go back and read it again. But it had the effect of raising my consciousness a bit and preparing me for work that I began in April with my counselor/life coach.

I can see that someday soon I will have to post a Top 10 Influential Books List, because I can think of some others that I've read and know that there will be more that I will read.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 16

2010-12-20T09:56:00.000-08:00

Someone or something you definitely could live without.

I could live without religion and war. The two are intertwined; wars are always waged because of some sort of belief system (any system based in belief is a religion, even ones that are not typically recognized as such).

We hurt ourselves just as much as we hurt others when we wage war and seek to indoctrinate others in what we believe (as opposed to knowing) to be right or true (which is often neither). Maybe I'll live to see most people awaken to this fact, but I have my doubts, despite my generous view of the good in most people.

I do not keep up with the news anymore; there is so much war featured and it's too much for me to bear, seeing people fight over everything. Even for rights that people ought to already have. All I'd like is peace and love, and I know (not believe, KNOW) we are capable of that.

"He doesn't go to school"

2010-12-19T18:19:00.001-08:00

Seth turned 5 only a month ago, and until then, I was able to avoid uncomfortable conversations with others about his school attendance, even now, I can still say, "oh, well, he wasn't 5 by the start of the school year, so..." Heads nod in understanding.

But there's no more time to be wishy-washy now about a decision that both Nate and I have made that we feel completely comfortable with - we just don't want to be in a position to defend our position. Or, I don't, anyways. Nate is much more at ease with this than I am.

Then, in a marriage counseling session we were talking about parenting, I blurted out: "He doesn't go to school." Fortunately, our counselor is progressive enough to actually know about unschooling and asked right out if that was what we were going to do. Since it is the closest thing to what we're doing, we answered in the affirmative. And thus, our journey along the uncomfortable conversation path begins in earnest.

He asked the standard question about socialization, to which I again surprised myself with a ready answer: "It depends on what kind of socialization you want..." I suppose years of reading and thinking about what other homeschoolers/unschoolers have to say on it was good preparation.

I want to make it pretty clear that I do not label our family as "unschoolers," although some might do it for us. I detest labels in general, and there seem to be some very strong opinions about what unschooling is and isn't. I would say, however, that it is our intention to live an unschooling lifestyle as much as we can, and that Nate and I, having been heavily schooled (myself more than him, even) have a lot of deschooling to do to get to a place where we could call ourselves unschoolers with any sort of confidence.

We do have some house rules and Seth has a bedtime (although it's actually quite flexible, and mostly based on observation of his needs - it is not really an arbitrarily set time, so much as us helping him get the sleep he needs). We do have him shower and wash his hair once a week. We don't have restrictions on TV or video games, although there are times I really want to enforce some. Oh, with one exception: We do not tolerate Qubo channel. Between the subtle religious indoctrination (and disinformation) and annoying commercials, we just can't do it. We don't EVER make him eat something he doesn't want to, and we allow him to eat sweets whenever he wants to (he prefers chocolate to candy; at the store, he is all about the fruits and veggies, even some I don't care for). He is not required to do chores; his allowance is given freely.

Mostly, for me, his not attending school is more a matter of avoiding the following things:

- hating to learn because he is forced to learn something he's not interested in

- being labeled as ADD because he can't sit still or learning disabled because he's not interested in learning to read (and learning that something's wrong with him because he's developing at his own unique rate)

- learning to sit and absorb information instead of learning by doing

- believing that someone bigger than him knows better for him than he does

- learning to be a consumer and be a automaton factory worker to support his consumption habit

- having his unique self-expression made fun of, demonized or squashed

- wasting time learning things that really have no practical relevance to daily life, especially when he's not interested in it (i.e. memorizing whole sections of shakespeare when all he wants to do is design a robot)

- learning that the only people who are authorities on certain subjects have degrees and certificates; instead of finding out things for himself and being his own authority

- learning that there are only certain occupations worthy of following instead of figuring out a way to do what he wants and make enough money to live on (or that they have to be the same thing)

What I would like for Seth is this:

- to continue to learn in his own natural way

- to be as active as he needs to be, when he needs to

- to learn to read when he's ready and wants to (even if it's not till he's 10 - I say this even as a part of my brain screams, "What? But...!")

- to know that he can figure out anything he needs to know; that he doesn't need to believe everything he sees/hears/reads

- to be free to express who he is without being afraid of other people's reactions

- to follows his interests, just like his parents do

- to know that he can be or do anything he'd like to and how to make it happen

- to memorize Shakespeare if he wants to

- knowing the difference between people who have his interests at heart and those who don't

Ultimately, I want for him to create his own life, on his terms. So, unless he really desires to go to school, we will not send him. I know that he'll learn everything he "needs" to learn, here with us.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 15

2010-12-19T01:08:00.001-08:00

Something or someone you can't live without, because you've tried living without it.

The reality is that I've not really tried living without the things I truly can't live without: water, food, and air (and as a friend says, "a safe place to sleep"). So, the question begs mockery of the true wealth I really have that I would even blog about this as though what I "can't" live without would be so very horrible. I mean, really? We are talking about being truthful here. How do we excavate the truth, if we don't recognize this truth?

I honestly don't know how to answer this question. If I change the "can't" to "don't want to" then there are a few items and persons I can think of. And, then, I can't really say I've tried living without some of these things (after living with them first) although there are some that have been an absence of for a time. But here are things I'd prefer not to live without and am grateful to have access to in such an abundant and wealthy society, in order of priority:

1) Love

2) my dear child, Seth

3) my life companion, Nathan

4) my brother, Tim

5) bread

6) chocolate

7) artistic/creative expression of all kinds

8) nature, untouched

9) quietness and warmth

10) friends

Letter to Seth upon turning 5 (written a month later) to be read when he turns 18

2010-12-18T03:05:00.000-08:00

Dear Seth,

A couple of days ago, I had this idea that I should write a letter to you every year on your birthday, for you to read when you get older, so that you can know two things: 1) I love you very dearly, and 2) that I didn't always get things right, and there is nothing wrong with you, as you are.

If we have managed to live this long together, than you know by now that seeking and seeing the truth is very important to me. Even if we have somehow parted, I hope that you know this about me.

I did not want to have a baby, and becoming a mother was very difficult for me. There are some days where it continues to be a challenge for me. I get trapped in my own mind, and then depressed, and it's very difficult for me to disengage from that, and engage in the world around me. You are five now, and I think I've done a pretty good job of messing things up (despite all good intentions). I've not listened to you when you were asking me something. I've yelled at you, I've hit you, I've shamed and manipulated you, I've even threatened you. Sometimes I was so depressed that I didn't give you food. I've sent you away when all you wanted was my attention for a few moments. I've sent you outside or to your room because I didn't know how to deal with your anger and sadness or excitement and happiness or pure boyness. Sometimes I even locked myself in the bathroom because I was afraid I'd hurt you more.

I want you to know that your memories of those things are correct. But more importantly, MOST IMPORTANTLY, to know that it was NEVER your fault, and that you were NOT a bad boy. You are my dear boy, my favorite boy in the whole wide world, and nothing can change that. Know that I've spent a lot of time feeling horrible about these things, and that I almost always apologized to you...and do so again now.

I hope that the memories you remember the most are the ones about the times we snuggled together, the trips to the grocery store (where you got the biggest chocolate chip cookie, every time!), the "horsey stories" I'd tell you ("Once upon a time, there was a little horsey, named Seth..."), the lullabies I sang to you at night, and all the "too tight!" hugs and monster kisses I'd give you. Or the time when we were supposed to be falling asleep and you laughed over nothing, which made me laugh, which made you laugh, which made me laugh even more... These are some of my favorite memories, and I'm sure you'll have even more; it's my hope, in any case.

There is one little lie I would tell you, though. I didn't really like your guns. They are loud and noisy and flashing and they make me tense up when I hear and see them. But I knew you liked them and they made you happy, so whenever you asked me, "Mom, do you like my guns?" I would say, "Yes!" I hope you'll forgive me. It was always my understanding that you weren't really asking me if I liked them, so much as showing me how cool you thought they were. Do you remember the holster I made for them out of an old umbrella case? We thought that was the coolest thing ever! I was pretty proud of myself for thinking of it, and you just thought it was awesome.

You are so excited about celebrating the Winter Solstice this year. You count the days on the advent calendar - and have the chocolate first thing in the morning! I was worried when we decided not to celebrate the Christian holiday Christmas that you would be sad, because you loved Christmas in the past. But when I told you that we'd get to open the presents 4 days earlier, you didn't mind...in fact, you insisted on calling everything Solstice - the tree, the presents, the cookies - and were fairly sure your friends were wrong when they called it a Christmas Tree.

You have also taken up humming the Harry Potter movie theme song, alternately with the Star Wars and Pink Panther tunes. And you love trance and hip hop, two things I could do without, but the world doesn't revolve around me, so I am happy for you to listen to them on you iPod with headphones in the car.

Next week, we are going to Mt. Hood. I'm excited to take you somewhere where there'll be snow. I hope I remembered to take a lot of photos.

I love you,

Mom

30 days of truth (meme): Day 14

2010-12-18T01:53:00.000-08:00

A hero that has let you down.

I don't really do heroes. But, if one were to say, "someone you looked up to, who disappointed you," well, then, my life would be littered with those. But that's more my fault than theirs, really. I had high expectations regarding human potential.

I remember being very let down by both the church pianist and my Bible teacher in high school upon learning that both of them smoked cigarettes. It seemed inconceivable to me that they would have such a dirty, horrible habit; although it was only people I really respected that caused me such disappointment, I had no problem accepting this from people I didn't really care for to begin with. I'm sure psychology has a name for that, but I can't remember anymore.

I know that I really, really looked up to one of my elder sisters (not the previously mentioned one who I'd like to forgive). Everything about her was amazing, wonderful and perfect. I wanted to be just like her. There were opportunities to let me down, but somehow, I never felt let down by her, even if/when I was hurt by her (which, I seem to recall, wasn't very often - or perhaps her other qualities more than made up for that?).

Ultimately, I think that what makes someone a hero is their ability to overcome their own self-interested nature to be do something really, really difficult. Like forgiving your molester. Or not hitting a child when everything in you is telling you to. Or leaving someone who you love, but who's love means pain. Or protecting your child from another's raging violence. Or walking again, when everyone else believes you won't ever be able to. These are heroes to me. And they never let me down or disappoint. Because it was their single act of super-humanity that got them that distinction. Not a trained skill of shooting hoop after hoop; not producing movie after movie or record after record. They cannot disappoint for there is no further expectation from them, only gratitude and celebration for their small acts for the good of the larger whole.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 13

2010-12-17T02:36:00.000-08:00

A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days (write a letter).

This will come as no surprise to those who know me best: Tori Amos.

Dear Tori,

I have often thought about writing you a letter, but then I realize that you have no idea who I am, and when I think about it, fan letters are a really bizarre phenomenon. A thank-you card is probably more appropriate. But, I'm doing this truthy-bloggy-thing, so...

When my brother shared your first CD "Little Earthquakes" with me the summer of '98 - yeah, I wasn't hip to your scene in High School, I confess (I was still listening to Christian Rock music, although I did secretly like Alanis, Garbage and The Cranberries, what little managed to sneak past the guards of indoctrination) - it was love at first listen. I was primed and ready by the time '98 rolled around; I had been in college two years, majoring in art (the visual kind), becoming very disillusioned with Christianity, and struggling with depression. And then I heard "Crucify" and "Precious Things" and I felt like someone had been inside my head, putting my thoughts to music. Then I read somewhere that your dad is a preacher too, and it kinda sealed the deal.

I do listen to your music obsessively, I'll admit. But a lot of your art is so cryptic and requires a lot of listening to understand and interpret it. To be honest, there are still a LOT of songs I really don't understand. But somehow, I feel it, and it's beautiful, and that's what gets me.

Right now I'm listening to your 'holiday' album, "Midwinter Graces" a lot (okay, pretty much to the exclusion to everything else). It's just what I need to get me through this time of year: something that is reminiscent of the music I used to love growing up, but different - more pagan, less christian. It's really helping me create a new meaningful holiday tradition - keeping the parts I love, the music, the mythology, the darkness, the candles; and tossing the rest. And, because of course, there'd be a sad song or two on there, it's helping with the mourning of the death of an old life, at the start of a new one.

So I thank you, for sharing your art with the world.

Love and best wishes,

Maria

30 days of truth (meme): Day 12

2010-12-16T02:43:00.000-08:00

Something about which you never get compliments.

I'm not sure if this means I'm supposed to pick something I just don't get complimented for because well, it would be a lie, or something I ought to get complimented on that no one seems to notice.

I usually don't get complimented about being a great beauty. But that's because even I would know that that person was full of shit. Sure, I'm not ugly, but let's be real here.

I'm trying to think of something I'd like to get complimented for which I haven't been, and to be honest, I'm not coming up with much.

Wait a second, here are some compliments I don't receive:

1) for keeping myself alive during depressive episodes (complete with all kinds of morbid suicidal ideation)

2) for not getting my child taken away from me by CPS

3) for not murdering my parents in their bed (or elsewhere)

4) for finding a way to be compassionate for Hitler and then "defending" him in debate

5) for managing to find and get unusual or out-of-print books via the Library WorldCat system (got a book from Vancouver, BC once, and another currently from Utah)

6) for beings such a good cryer - if someone is crying, in real life or on TV/movie, it's a guarantee that I'll be choking back tears

7) for being such a perfectionist that I'd rather not do it at all if I can't do it right the first time

Okay, I'll stop there...

If you see me, you know what to do (you can start with no. 1). :D

30 days of truth (meme): Day 11

2010-12-15T12:18:00.000-08:00

Something about which people seem to compliment you the most.

I'm nice/sweet. And my smile. Apparently it's worth remarking on, although it's nothing compared to Julia Robert's famous smile.

Years of wanting to please everyone and make no enemies, has trained me to be nice. I'm a sensitive person, and I care about my friends, and people's well-being in general, so perhaps that accounts for the comments on my "sweetness."

It's pretty pathetic that I had to think about this for a long time to even remember something I get complimented about - either that I don't get compliments (which I'm pretty sure isn't true) or that I work so hard to undo the compliments that I forget that I even got them (which is probably true - Nate says I can't even take a compliment).

Of course, these compliments often feel like an insult. I'm not sure why. I feel as though people don't see me for who I am, when they comment on those things. Often the compliment of my being sweet is spoken right before what I'm offering is being rejected. "Oh, Maria, you're so sweet. But..."

Maybe I should start being savory?

30 days of truth (meme): Day 10

2010-12-14T02:51:00.000-08:00

Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.

I think more than any person, I need to let go of my ideas and expectations about persons in my life that do not serve me. Primarily in this case, it would be my parents and most of my siblings.

I think it's pretty safe to say this, since it's unlikely that my parents or siblings read this. I guess I'll know for sure after I post this.

Just before Thanksgiving, I had a counseling session that really opened my eyes. Being the time of year that it is, I start to dwell more on my family and my relationship within/to it. We talked about one particular sibling, and I went away with the sense that I'd be mourning the loss of a relationship that I would never have, as well as the idea that this would be something applied to most of my family members.

And so, throughout the last few weeks, I find myself in mourning. Sometimes, it's a sad smile of recognition that they are who they are; other times, my body is wracked with keening.

I cannot say that I wish they weren't in my life; at the same time, if we were not related, they would not be in my life. There is actually very little we have in common; spending time with them is, at times, more than my heart can bear. The more I have learned to keep my mouth shut, the more invisible I seem to have become. There can be no closeness, not if they want to hear what I really think or feel, and most of the time, they don't. They never really did.

I have each of their birthdays memorized, down to the year. I see things that remind me of one of them: "oh, she would really like that" or "he would find this hilarious" or "he/she might find this interesting." I remember the pranks we'd play on each other, or the rolling around on the floor with laughter and wish things could be this way again, and always.

I often wonder if they think of me as much as I do them. They certainly don't seem to know me. They all seem to have plenty in common with each other, and their lives intertwined in the same protective bubble. I am on the outside, looking in. I am alien, and they are a different planet.

For now, there will be no more attending the bi-annual family Christmas event. No more participation in the annual name exchange. No more writing of "Updates from the NW" on the family email list. No more pretending I'm not who I am, or that I'm excited to see people I'm not really excited to see, or that I support endeavors I don't really support. No more trying to convince them that my point of view is just as valid as theirs, or making them see me for who I really am. I will send my love to them from afar, wish them the best, and be happy for them when they find joy. It's all I can do. (And sometimes, I don't even know if I can do that.)

So much letting go...

30 days of truth (meme): Day 9

2010-12-13T21:20:00.000-08:00

Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.

My sophomore year of college (when I was on the college right after HS path), I found a kindred spirit in a freshman girl who lived down the hall. She was different than anyone I had known or met. She inspired me to be courageous in ways I would never have dreamed to be. We laughed so hard together; I loved her so much. We agreed to be roommates the coming fall. I was so excited, I had never had a close enough friend to be roommates with (I went "potluck" the two previous years).

Shortly after school ended that spring, I visited her during the summer, and she informed that due to financial reasons, she would not be attending that fall. I was heartbroken, but I did my best to keep it to myself. We would visit each other during college breaks and during the summer. We emailed each other almost daily. But when I joined the Navy and moved to Japan, I started to feel the drift. She had been struggling with an eating disorder, and unbeknownst to me while in training, had been admitted to a care facility for anorexics, weighing in at 89 lbs (she's 5 ft 9 in.). I felt like a horrible friend. I sent her a care package and as much snail mail as I could when I discovered the details from her mother.

I later took leave to visit her (as well as my current boyfriend at the time, an Naval Officer stationed in Iceland who was on leave in Maryland), and we had a fabulous time together. It was October or November; she was living with her parents in Vermont, and the leaves had turned. It was like we had never been apart. Of course, it was always like that with us, picking up right where we left off.

That was the last time I ever saw her in person. She's still alive, and well, from what little information I gathered from her Facebook page (which she now no longer keeps). I don't know what happened; I often wonder if I was too needy a friend. When I returned to the states pregnant with Seth, we spoke once and a while on the phone, but often we'd get mysteriously cut off, and she wouldn't answer when I re-called her or call me back. The last time this happened, I remember thinking that our friendship was dying.

It wasn't until after we moved to Oregon almost three years ago, that I realized that she had already moved on and I was the one still holding on. Slowly, I accepted this, but I'm still sad sometimes when I see a picture of us together, wishing that there was some way for us to remain friends, in whatever incarnation that would be.

[Agent Kensington, if you ever read this, know that I loved you much and am ever grateful for your friendship at a time when I felt I had no friends. And I wish you well, always. Dr E.]

30 days of truth (meme): Day 8

2010-12-12T09:35:00.000-08:00

Someone who made your life more difficult, or treated you poorly.

I have to admit I'm a little annoyed at such negative navel gazing at this point. I resist victimizing myself as much possible, and this smacks of victimization. Or maybe I don't want to face the truth? What is the truthful answer to this question?

The truth is that there were several someones who treated me poorly, thus making life more difficult (although, I'm inclined to think I'm the one making my life more difficult by believing/identifying with these victim stories). And, ultimately, it's through this poor treatment, this difficult life that I've been able to grow, become the person I am, and ultimately become more conscious.

I will say that most of the people in the Navy made my life hell. The exception being Nathan, a Chaplain, and the Japanese Air Traffic Controllers I worked with. Most of the others were male chauvinists, who had very little respect for women (I even heard uttered - and unchecked by higher authority - "women shouldn't be air traffic controllers"). I was constantly ogled (I developed a determined walk with a very intense look on my face; Nate said when he first saw me, he was a little afraid of me. This was not the first time I'd heard that.). Conversations in the workplace were often pornographic. I was even sexually assaulted by an acquaintance. Even though everyone was trained to use and respect the "green/yellow/red light" system, it was largely ignored, and those who used it were treated with even more disrespect, given the most unsavory jobs. Often small offenses were punished harshly to provide examples for others (fortunately, in this case, I had the navy legal system on my side).

The religious vacuum I grew up in was also it's own kind of hell, although I'm sure it wasn't just the religious part, but was intertwined with a very dysfunctional family that made it so painful.

I was teased relentlessly by boys at school. I remember on one occasion in 6th grade, an 8th grader threw my book bag out a second story window into the snow drift below. My things were constantly being taken from me on the 30 minute bus ride to and from school. I guess these days it would be called bullying. My mother said that it just meant the boys liked me. I'm pretty sure she was wrong; they just wanted to see my reaction, since I was pretty dramatic and lost my temper pretty easily (still do, unfortunately). Nothing was done, I was perceived as someone out of control for reacting the way I did (which, I don't necessarily disagree with, but I think those who had the ability to, might have provided more protection when they saw how sensitive I was).

I'm beginning to think I have some serious karma issues.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 7

2010-12-11T15:39:00.000-08:00

Someone who has contributed to your life in a meaningful way.

I think that most people in my life have contributed in a meaningful way. I would even go so far as to say that it's the negative experiences with several individuals that have contributed the most and in both a meaningful and positive (!!) way (albeit painful at the time, and sometimes still). Usually, most people tend to think of some hero, or inspiring person who encouraged them. I can't really think of such a person; although I was a bit of a goody-goody in HS and the teachers liked me there wasn't one I was very close to.

Ah, but now I have it, after thinking on it more. His name is Bob, and he was a counselor I went and saw regularly while in college. It was at the recommendation of my father upon leaving home. Apparently, one of my sisters had also been to see him and had a positive impact and my father wanted me to see him "so that I knew that everything between my mother and I wasn't all my fault." (It wasn't until years later that I really comprehended what he meant by that.)

So, off I went, to visit this Bob guy. They were weekly counseling sessions akin to psychotherapy, pretty standard, for whatever that means. And my world unraveled. Literally, I started to fall apart. By the end of my sophomore year, my depression had taken a turn for the worse, and he suggested I see a Psychiatrist. Who promptly informed me what Bob had refrained from, that I was abused (and here I had spent almost 20 years of my life thinking there was something wrong with me!) and prescribed Prozac. I did that for a while, until my first boyfriend broke up with me - a very short stint of dating for probably less than 2 months, but I was in love with him almost immediately - he said yes when I asked him out, and was also my first kiss. I sunk so low that I spent most of my junior year sleeping, working, or painting. That's mostly what I recall, anyways. I don't recall any sort of social life whatsoever. I think I may have even stopped going to my sessions with Bob. I can see the progression of this all reflected in my college transcript and GPA (although GPA-wise, I was never an A student).

Then, as it turned out, I had frittered away my time at college taking classes because they interested me (because I was there to learn, after all!), and could no longer afford any more loans to continue. So I joined the Navy.

But I digress. One of the things I remember so vividly was Bob commenting on my feelings. "Feelings are not right or wrong, they just are." Another was to encourage me to stop saying "should," a word that seemed to be in almost every sentence I uttered. Finally, when I recounted what the psychiatrist had said, without pause, he said, "Yes, it's true. I knew, but I didn't know how to tell you." Some counselor, eh?

So how does he get to be in such a place of honor? Because he was someone who was instrumental in the unraveling of my world, the person who gave me permission to seek my own path: to express the feelings I had that were destructive when repressed as they were; to think differently than my family, my church, my peers; to ask questions I didn't think were allowed to be asked. And, I'm so much the better, freer, for it, despite the days, weeks, sometimes months of despondency I have.

But a bell, once rung, cannot be un-rung. And, although those years were very painful, I can only wish Bob well, wherever he is, and thank him for holding out his hand to assist me.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 6

2010-12-10T15:05:00.000-08:00

Something you hope you never have to do.

Kill someone. That's all I can think of. I hope that if I was instructed to do so, I'd rebel. And that if it were a matter of survival, that I'd be able to figure a way around it. Even in a matter of self-defense, I'd hope that somehow there'd be another alternative.

The only instance where I might consider this a positive thing in which I would participate would be assisted suicide (and what I mean by this, is those with terminal illnesses who are ready to be done with the pain). In which case, may I be granted the strength to honor such a wish and to proceed lovingly.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 5

2010-12-09T10:30:00.000-08:00

Something you hope to do in your life.

Hands down, I want to work for myself. Primarily, I want to have my own bakery. It was actually the impetus for culinary school. Initially, it was going to be a home delivery bakery, delivering fresh bread to homes, much in the way milk was delivered to the homes of our grandparents. In fact, I thought I could avoid location troubles by not having a store-front at all, which such a service would not require.

But then the holidays came and I started to reminisce about the baked goods I enjoyed as a child. My parents, the Dutch immigrants that they are, would often get a lot of Dutch goodies (so we called them) around this time of year (and occasionally throughout the year, whenever they had a chance to go to the Dutch Store in Thunder Bay, Ontario, a store in the shape of a wooden shoe, which was a 4 hour drive away from our house - I wonder if it is still there?).

So, I would like to own and operate a Dutch Bakery someday (in the near future). I know that French-style bakeries are all the rage, but the Dutch do know how to bake. For those of you unfamiliar with Dutch baking, here are two things that have made it into regular stores (albeit packaged and probably not the highest quality): windmill cookies (known as "speculaas" to us Dutchies), and syrup waffles (well, I don't know what they call them in English, that's a translation from the Dutch "stroopwafels"). If you've had either of these, than you've had a Dutch treat. I can assure you that nothing beats the real thing (I remember getting a stroopwafel from a street vender in the Netherlands as a child, so delicious!).

I recently stumbled across a blog: My Dutch Baking Blog and what it lacks in it's title it more than makes up for in it's content! I was very excited to find it, as finding anything on Dutch baking in English is actually quite difficult (again, French is all the rage, these days). I also managed to locate two books via the WorldCat system for Interlibrary loan which should come in soon. And, I can see a trip to the Netherlands is in my near future - I have only been there once, when I was 10, so twenty plus years of memories have now faded into brief vignettes that require verification. Which means learning Dutch. (Maybe a baking book in Dutch alongside a dutch-english dictionary would work?)

30 days of truth (meme): Day 4

2010-12-08T11:37:00.000-08:00

Something you want to forgive someone for.

It's hard to pick just one thing and one someone, because for me, there's so much work to be done in this area. I don't necessarily think I'm a grudge-holder, but I think it's human nature to hold on to hurts as a way to protect oneself from future hurts (but, we have this all wrong, because the opposite happens!).

At first, I'd say my family, as a collective entity. In many ways, they all acted in concert (and most likely unknowingly so) in ways that hurt me deeply. But since I have to pick one experience, here's the one that popped into my head.

It was shortly after Seth was born - he was almost six months old - and I had planned a trip out east to see my family. One of my youngest brothers (they are twins) was graduating college, and the other was getting married. I was very lonely; 6 weeks after Seth was born, Nate was deployed on a 6 month cruise in the pacific with the US Navy, and we had only just moved to our new home when I was 4 months pregnant with Seth (after living in Japan for 5 years). I also still hadn't gotten my driver's license (which wouldn't have been a problem in Japan, but America is a different story!) The plan was to visit my two eldest sisters and my parents, staying for a week or so with each of them.

My eldest sister had been pregnant at the same time I was; her son was born only 17 days before Seth. During our pregnancy, we had talked a few times on the phone, but it was very difficult for me to talk with her, and so I just stopped making the effort. One day, a few months after Seth was born, and on the day that he got his last vaccine, she called. Seth had reacted to the vaccine - not physically - but emotionally, and it was more than I could bear. When he got the shot, I remember him looking up at me with this look of betrayal. And by the time we got home, he was crying and wouldn't nurse, which was unusual for him. Being an emotional wreck, when I answered the phone, and it was her, she asked me how I was, and as I said "I'm fine," I burst into tears. She then suggested that we call each other each week to check in on each other. I liked this idea. Unfortunately, it didn't last long, as she would often forget to call me, and so I just gave up my end of the bargain.

So fast-forward to the week I spent at her house. I suspected that most of my family would have something to say about my parenting, and was surprised that my parents, for the most part did not. My sister, on the other hand, was full of remarks. I suppose she thought she was being the helpful, caring older sister. I remember one occasion when Seth really wasn't ready to sleep, but it was dinner time, and I kept running upstairs to make sure he was okay. She did not seem to like this interruption, and said something to the effect that it wasn't good to cater to him this way, because then he'd be that way when he was older (aka spoiled, although that wasn't the word she used). I just ignored it and did what I thought was best.

There were two final events that hurt me the most, that happened the last two days of my visit. It was a Friday, and it was her Mom's group day. Her son was not well, and was crying a lot, and I could see this was very hard for her and that she really, really wanted and probably needed to go to her Mom's group (sick babies weren't allowed). Both our sons were napping, so I suggested that it was no problem for me to look after them while she went. Of course, about 15 minutes before she returned, I was re-thinking this as I had both crying boys on my lap in an attempt to comfort them, Seth crying because he needed to nurse, and his cousin crying because he didn't feel well. (I had contemplated putting my nephew down to nurse Seth, but couldn't bear the thought of him having to cry without being held). When my sister returned, she seemed to feel much better, and I was glad for it.

That afternoon, we were sitting down to lunch, just the two of us, our boys napping and out of nowhere she says, "I think I have it harder than you." Slightly stunned, I reply, "well, that's all relative, really." And she says, "what do you mean, relative?" And this is where I realized that she knew what that meant (she's n intelligent woman) and that any disagreement would mean an argument with her, which I was unwilling to have, so I replied with "well, different things are harder for different people, but yes, you're right, you do have it harder." Conversation moved on to other things.

This made me so angry: how dare she compare her situation with mine and then come up with how much harder it was for her! I, who had been parenting alone for the last five months. I, who had flown 3000 miles across the country to see my family, along with a 6 month old. I, who had just held two crying babies on my lap for 15 minutes. She, who was able to sleep in every morning while her husband got up with her son to feed him (at least for the week I was there). She, whose son slept mostly through the night. She, who had a decade's worth of built up community around her to support her, visit her after her child was born. She, who had a husband there to look after her son, so she could go and do things (and a caring sister who saw that she needed some time with her mom friends!). And she had the nerve to tell me that her life was harder.

The next day, she and her husband agreed to look after Seth while I went shopping for some wedding clothes. I had been having a hard time with clothes shopping after Seth was born. I didn't lose as much weight as I thought I would and I felt as though my body had betrayed me. I finally found something I liked and returned. Thinking that I would have a sympathetic ear, I told her how hard it was for me shopping for this new body, and that I wished I had tried harder to lose the weight much sooner after Seth was born. She did not respond with empathy at all as I supposed she would; she seemed to get annoyed and told me that I shouldn't be so hard on myself, that I had such high expectations, etc. I hid my tears of hurt behind my sunglasses, and promptly went upstairs to the bathroom to remove them and all traces of crying. I knew then, that I would never be able to have any kind of close relationship with her as I had hoped, now that we both had children.

That was 4 1/2 years ago. Our relationship has been strained; although I'm pretty sure most of that feeling is on my part, she seems indifferent. The very idea of sharing these two hurts with her is laughable. She probably doesn't remember, and even if she did, she probably wouldn't think there was anything wrong on her part to apologize for. So I don't bother.

I really would like to let this go, forgive her. And goodness knows, I've tried. Now I know the topic of my next counseling session.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 3

2010-12-07T13:01:00.000-08:00

Something you want to forgive yourself for.

There are so many things, but I'll start with the what might be the worst one. I don't tell this to most of my friends, because most of them would never believe that I'm capable of this.

I want to forgive myself for what I do when I fly into a rage. Most of the time, it's just screaming (which may or may not include obscenities). I feel as thought someone has taken ahold of me and I can't get the reins back. I'm particularly quick-witted in general, so when I'm raging, I'm able to say the most hurtful things to those I love. On rare occasions, I break things. Or hurt people.

The worst was when Seth was 3 years old. I wanted him to nap so badly, but he had already gotten to a place where he wasn't napping, and generally I accepted this. But on this particular day I had decided he was going to nap. He wouldn't stay in the bed, and finally, at wit's end, in a rage, I spanked him. I pulled down his pants, and spanked is bare little bottom, several times.

I relive this in my head over and over. I was a hypocrite, because even then, I did not believe in spanking as a way to accomplish anything positive with a child. I had gone against my own moral code and now had a secret that I had to live with (not a secret now!). And, mostly, I hurt a child. My dear little defenseless boy, who just wanted to play. I cry now, just thinking about it.

And every time I get angry with him, afterwards I think of this event, and how I've just added one more little hurt on top of it. But I'm determined to do better. And to let him know I know I've done wrong. I apologize to him when I've wronged him.

I often hear parents talk about "setting up a therapy fund" for their child (usually as a way to feel better about their imperfections) and I detest this idea because it sounds like an excuse. At the same time, I wonder about the kind of man he'll grow into and just how much therapy he'll need, and how much I'll have hurt him that he'll by crying about in the therapist's office.

I wish I knew how to forgive myself for this.

30 days of truth (meme): Day 2

2010-12-06T08:32:00.000-08:00

Something I love about myself

Of course, this topic opens the door for conceit, but we are focussing on truth, aren't we?

I love that most creative things come naturally to me. I have this intuitive quality when it comes to making things and most of what I make works out in the end. And because of this, I often seem to others to have my head in the clouds, with an attitude of "it will all work out, no worries, we'll be ok." Not that I don't have my moments of freak-out, mind you. And, it is incredibly frustrating when things don't work out - like Hollandaise. I attempted to make it 4 times at school, and the fourth time was only a success because my instructor helped me fix it.

Tandem to this is my ability to turn lemons into lemonade. Some people might "hate" to make Hollandaise after that experience, but I turned it into a valuable learning experience: I realized that because things often come "easily" for me in this realm, that when something didn't, and I got upset, I was able to see the attachment I had to success and how I react to failure. I was able to see that there are things I'm not good at, and that that's okay, it doesn't really mean anything about who I am in the grander scheme of things. (But I will admit that I went to the bathroom and cried a little in frustration, before gathering myself together and trying again the final time, and it was only after that I was able to take stock and learn this valuable lesson.)

I see these two abilities are part of one, because part of my ability to intuitively create requires an adaptation of sour circumstances. And I love that I'm pretty good at both. I'm definitely someone you want on your team. I'm just sayin'. ;)

30 days of truth (meme): Day 1

2010-12-05T12:32:00.000-08:00

[A friend posted hers on Facebook, where I read it, and thought, wow, I haven't blogged in a long time, and this would be a fun way to get back into blogging, so here it is!]

Something I have disliked/do dislike about myself.

Sigh. I would say that I'm not in as much of a self-loathing place as I used to be, although there are those days. I do like myself more now than when I was in my teens and early twenties. There are a few things I dislike about myself at present, but as I just have to pick one thing...

I have a very hard time actually speaking what I'm really thinking. It's much easier if I'm writing it in an email or posting a blog or writing a Facebook Status update. But in actual conversation? Either I remain silent, or profess opinions that are sometimes not my own, but in agreement with the person I'm with. The silence is almost always a conscious decision, agreeing with someone else's opinions, not so much.

When I was in college, I had classroom speaking anxiety. I wanted to ask questions of the instructor, but was so afraid to. I sometimes had visions that I'd be hit for being impertinent (not that I was trying to be, but I had no way of knowing whether or not I was). Finally, in my junior year, I was able to raise my hand and ask questions, with a shaky voice - the kind that made it sound like I was about to cry - and when I realized that I was more and more safe to do so, I did so with more confidence and regularity. This is only one setting, of course, so the anxiety hasn't gone away completely.

Now, I just mostly want to avoid drama and confrontation. And making a mistake of a snap judgment or erroneous logic or being insensitive to someone's feelings. But I feel as though so much of the way I approach the world would sound like any or all of those three. Not that they never are actually those things, sometimes they are. But with so much reactivity in the world, it's hard to know if someone will objectively point that out to me, or react as though I've just insulted them.

I wish I could be more fearless and confident and able to speak my mind.

Two Tori Amos song lines come to mind:

"She's been everybody else's girl, maybe one day she'll be her own" (Girl)

"I said, you don't need my voice, girl, you have your own, but you never thought it was enough of" (Bells for Her)

That pretty much captures it.

I'm that Mom

2010-07-27T01:37:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Ronnie's post here.

I'm that Mom who takes my 4 year old son to the apartment pool and lets him have at it while quietly reading and not yelling "don't..." or "you can't swim in the 5 feet deep section" or "if you...again, I'll..." but instead helping him take off the goggles and adjusting them, and then adjusting them again 3 minutes later when he wants them back on, and then again 3 minutes later, patiently; and staying there until he's ready to leave, not when I get bored or feel like I have more important things I'd rather be doing.

Why not? Because as a former lifeguard, I see that fear of water is what causes accidents. That fearful parents hinder excited children from realizing that they always knew how to swim, they just have to feel safe enough to remember. And because my child has a right to my help, whenever he needs it. And being patient is being loving, and I don't want him to think he is a burden, because he's not. And that what is important to him is just as important as what is important to me. And I have stronger delayed-gratification skills.

And it heals me a little each day to be the mother I didn't have.

Grabbing water

2010-07-14T14:46:00.000-07:00

The peaceful glow is starting to wear off. Nathan and I, in our own ways are struggling with No-Bedtime-Land. Being that I don't have to get up early to work as he does 3 days a week, I am the one who can stay up with Seth. Which isn't so bad when I can chat with my brother who is half a world away. But I get tired too. And I miss the quiet of the nights when Seth was going to bed at the "appropriate bedtime." I miss watching a movie or show with Nate. Or getting a massage. Or just being able to not have to serve someone else.

I let the feelings of loss simmer, until resentment bubbled over and I let it get the better of me and forced Seth to bed at 1:30 am. Nate and I are snapping at each other, he reasserting that he never felt as though this was a good idea to begin with. My gut says to keep going, that it is myself that needs adjusting, not a bedtime routine, that will balance everything out. I can't help but feel as though I'm doing something wrong, but I don't know what, and if I could just figure it out...

What I do know that if just one person in the family is unhappy, it is not working. I also know that unhappiness comes from dashed expectations and requirements for things to be other than what is. Perhaps that is it.

It's another opportunity for practice. To practice being here, right now. To practice patience when I see it's limit approaching at the speed of light. To discover that I can let go and allow and I will be okay. To cup my hands and receive a drink instead of grabbing at the water, attempting to take, fearing not-enough. Here I go...

Explorations in No-Bedtime-Land

2010-07-01T09:24:00.000-07:00

Last year, we had attempted to allow Seth to self-regulate his bedtime. The idea is that by allowing him to do so, he would have a better grasp on what his body needs, and since he's a child, he'd already be more in tune with that than say, myself, who for most of my childhood had a strictly regulated bedtime (although my parents weren't particularly vigilant of the nighttime reading - and they wondered why I had such a hard time getting up in the morning!). This is something radical unschoolers do, and upon my foray into radical unschooler-land, I attempted to dive right in, without much emotional or mental preparation. After this brief experiment which "didn't work" because neither Nathan nor I were able to allow it to unfold, we went back to our bedtime routine. When Seth started preschool, we implemented some more interesting things to get Seth into bed (we added a "wish candle" routine: light the candle, sing a song, then blow out while making a wish).

This "worked" for everyone, although with increasing regularity, Seth started to protest bedtimes. Then I started going to night school. I don't know what happened then, although from reports for both Nate and sitter, it went well. Then I stopped going to night school, and started going to day school. Apple-cart upset! I started to revisit the idea of no set bedtime/self-regulation as Seth's preschool year came to a close; I had already decided that we would not be going to preschool again next year, because it was getting harder to get Seth interested in attending (didn't help that after Christmas, his best friend no longer returned - he was heartbroken) and we on our way to becoming unschoolers.

I finally decided, on a Saturday night, to suggest to him the idea of him choosing when to go to bed, and he finally went to bed when I told him I was too tired to stay up any longer and lay down in his bed. It was after midnight sometime. The next day, I reflected that I really wasn't ready for this...I had expectations of how this should go, and realized the time that Nate and I got to spend together in the evenings would be forever gone. So I tried to back-pedal, and told Seth it was just for that night. (I can almost feel the sighs and shaking of heads of radical unschooling parents everywhere...but take heart, I'm not finished yet!)

Of course, Seth wasn't having any of that. We spent an entire week, each day mounting into more and more struggle, forcing him to go to bed, when on Friday (only last week), I said, "Enough. My relationship with Seth is far more important than some arbitrarily set bedtime. Clearly, he's not ready to sleep; let him stay up." Nate wasn't particularly pleased, although he did agree that he didn't want to fight with Seth either. I took it upon myself to be the one to stay up with Seth, since Nate wasn't particularly fond of the entire idea and was still in a frustrated place, having attempted to force Seth to stay in bed.

I am noticing now that Seth has started paying attention to being tired. He loves to snuggle with me, so on nights that I go to bed earlier (and Nate stays up with him) he comes and snuggles with me, and after a while, mumbles something about being tired. Sometimes he'll say something to the effect of "when I fall asleep mom, will you take me to my bed?" A couple times, Nate ended up sleeping in Seth's bed, while Seth slept with me. So, now it's musical beds we're playing, as we discover a new "bedtime routine."

Most importantly: there is Peace in the household! Sure, it does mean rearranging when I can get a massage from Nate (a small loss in light of the huge gain, although one felt nonetheless).

When I start night school again next week, I look forward to seeing him when I get home and being able to wake up when I'm rested, instead of Seth pulling on my arm, begging me to give him Cheerios, and stumbling out of bed to do so, resenting his inability to help himself. It's win-win for everyone!

Current musical obsession

2010-06-19T20:53:00.001-07:00

Thoughts on motherhood

2010-06-19T15:38:00.000-07:00

I was recently attempting to explain to someone about how putting being a stay-at-home mother on my resume was problematic. He didn't get it; he responded by saying that he took a year off and traveled the world (which is fantastic for him; a mere dream for me). He didn't see how not working could negatively impact a resume (and the more power to him for it, it's a wonderful attitude to have, something I admire in him). Something about my spending 5 years at home looking after a child has meant that I've not used my time productively. Oh, sure, the lip-service of "world's most important job" is always paid. But talk is cheap, no profit is made, and thus very little dividends as a result.

I don't really care for the term stay-at-home mother. It feels like a limiting, imprisoning term. It implies that I'm a homemaker, a term that I also don't like because I don't "home make" - quite the contrary, I'm terrible at it, I'm more of a "home-unmaker." (An "un-homemaker" - have I spawned a new term, perhaps?)

I cannot respond to my son (or any child's for that matter) cries with indifference or annoyance (although perhaps the exception to this rule is whining). The whole idea of getting my "pre-baby" body back is ludicrous. Even if I whipped myself into the same shape I was when I get pregnant, it would only appear that I've got it back. The chemical bathing of my brain in pregnancy hormones as left it's mark. Sometimes it feels like an invisible titanium chain linking me to my child. There are no bolt-cutters strong enough to destroy it. But, of course, nature knows what it's doing. This link is imperative to his survival. I know this on an intellectual level.

So, what have I spent the last 4 years doing, if I haven't been contributing to society by producing something for money?
-Self-education through extensive reading on subjects such as, but not limited to: education, nutrition, arts & crafts, personal finance, the metaphysical, nature
-personal growth - learning patience, learning who I am and am not, loving myself (probably the most important growth of all and continually on-going), learning how to stop the self-flagellating in the first stroke, compassion for others
-improving my knitting skills and learning some other craftiness
-blogging and reading blogs
-improving accounting skills
-baking
-improving horrible cooking skills (which still have room for improvement)
-connecting with people via internet
-watching YouTube videos of musicians I really enjoyed, and learning more about them and their art
-dreaming
-Oh, and of course, guiding an infant to walk, talk, and other things important for his survival

I also spent a lot of this time in bed depressed, feeling lonely, waiting for the shock of the -responsibility-for-another-life to wear off, frustrated by my biology (as stated above).

There are times, that I wish I were a man, that this would somehow grant me a freedom I don't feel I have. That I could "take a year off and travel." That if I were a man, I'd be able to disengage myself from my child in a way I feel I can't as a woman. It's a similar feeling I had as a child when I saw the freedoms my brothers had that I didn't.

I have not found the present motherhood paradigm helpful in my relationship with my son; I have to create a new one. As I do, many mistakes are made and learned from. There are times when I get it right the first time, as with anything. But, I'm certainly not the same mother I was 3 years ago, or even a year ago. Or yesterday, for that matter.

Reading Frenzy

2010-06-04T19:08:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me well, can imagine how I responded when I saw that there was a Summer Reading Program at our local library. For 9 weeks, I am to record the books that I read (limited to a maximum of 5 books for one weekly Reading Record) and each week I can enter it to win any variety of prizes, although once I win one, I can't win another, the exception being the Grand Prize, which, I actually don't want - a Sony Ebook Reader.

Why? you might ask? Because, reading for me, it's all about the experience of holding the book, turning the page, and the smell. Yes, you read that correctly. The smell. And different books have different smells, although by and large, library books tend more toward the stale and dusty. Yes, that's the smell I like. Oh, and you don't need batteries or a subscription or to pay for books (unless you can check out Ebooks - and something tells me that isn't too likely). And books are bio-degradeable in a way that an Ebook reader isn't. Apparently, I've now taken an environmental stance against Ebook Readers without meaning to. Go figure. I should also mention my excitement when getting an older book and finding a letter or some sort of inscription inside it. It's like finding a story in a story. (At this point, I'm close to concluding that culinary school was the wrong move and I should have become a librarian. Ha!)

Anyways...I'll be creating my reading list soon, which I suppose I could post here. So far, I've already read "The Palace of Illusions" by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, which was well-written, but not really what I was expecting or, as I continued to read, hoping. I've been reading a little from the three following titles: "Clan of the Cave Bear" by Jean Auel (Oregon native!), "Radical Unschooling" by Dayna Martin (woman extraodinaire), and "Bringing it to the Table" by Wendell Berry (who I've just discovered by reading Michael Pollan's work). My 45 minute commute into the city is the perfect opportunity to get some quality reading done. I've often heard that Portland is considered a city of great readers, and no wonder, with a transit system like ours, why not?! Can't read sitting behind the wheel of a car.

I also signed Seth up for the Kids program, which is great because they get prizes just for signing up (free ice cream cone at Sonic, anyone? Pencil? Free mini golf? Coupon at Ceramic shop? Seriously!). And reading around here does NOT required pulling teeth - we read at least 2-3 books at bedtime (although unlike his mother, Seth is not quite obsessed about reading, so that's kind of where most of the reading happens). He was given choice of reading 20 books, for 20 days, or 20 15-minute sessions - we chose 20 books. I figured with 2-3 books a night, we'd have it knocked out in about a week. (I wonder if I could list his books on my Reading Record?)

What are you reading these days?

Herbalism

2010-05-07T11:51:00.000-07:00

Although my main focus these days is Culinary school and all that goes with that (eating a lot of sweets, it seems, these days), I have also been studying herbalism on the side. Until recently, I had only dabbled in herbalism, reading things here and there. Then, when I had to identify over a dozen common cooking herbs at school, I decided to grow my own, which spawned the Patio Garden (which if all goes well, will be a Patio Jungle by August).

I recently ordered the Herbal Medicine Making Kit from LearningHerbs.com, to get me started actually making herbal concoctions. I had my eye on it for a while, so in a moment of financial stability, I purchased it.

Yesterday, I made a Stinging Nettle Infusion, which was quite simple, really. It's like making tea, only in a larger quantity and letting it steep for much longer. I was surprised at the taste, I thought it would be pungent, or astringent like green tea, but strangely, it tastes like my mother's bran muffins (the kind she made with All-Bran cereal). It's definitely not something I guzzle (yet), but I've been sipping it off and on throughout the day. I really shouldn't be surprised that I recognize the flavor, I've drunk it as hot tea plenty of times.

Today, I made the Herbal Healing Salve. I may have cooked the herbs a bit too much; my oil turned green and according to the video and manual pictures, it should be more of a yellow-orange. Well, it could be the oil I used - organic extra virgin olive oil, purchased in a gallon container - it has a green tinge in large amounts.

Next to make is the Echinacea Tincture. I was surprised to discover that one cannot buy vodka at the grocery store, which I suppose is a good thing, and just goes to show how much I drink the hard stuff. So, I have to hunt down a liquor store for this project.

I renewed my membership at HerbMentor.com (related to LearningHerbs.com) and have been enjoying a wealth of videos, podcasts, articles that have inspired me to make herbs a part of my daily life. One of the highlights of my membership so far has been a free viewing of the movie "Numen: The Nature of Plants." Even though I had a copy of Susun Weed's "Healing Wise," I've only now started to read it in earnest. I also have a large pile of books from the library relating to herbalism.

If I keep this up, one day I might even be able to call myself an herbalist.

Patio Gardening

2010-04-25T17:48:00.000-07:00

After a few weekends of assembling tools, containers, dirt, and plants, we finally have our garden off to a great start! Just today, I received some more free starts from some folks from the Unitarian Universalist church I had started going to again in the last two weeks. (These people are great, I stopped going for all of 6 months, come back, and am welcomed, no questions or judgments!)

I envisioned having herbs all in one round container, and although it seems some of the seeds are not growing, the transplants are doing really well. The cucumber and bush bean I planted are also thriving. Oh, and the nasturtiums and sweet peas are climbing the lattice! With some help, of course. The strawberry plants we transplanted into the Topsy Turvy have not died - they actually look better than when we bought them. Nathan is constructing something to attach to one of the beds to hang it, since the patio roof above us is plastic and not at all capable of holding it. He's proven to be quite the handy construction worker.

Now most of the work seems to be keeping them watered (which really, really isn't a problem here in Oregon). And arranging them so that they all get sun and are easy to walk around and enjoy.

(I can't seem to figure out how to put the pictures up, but will do when I figure that out.)

I'd like to add a worm bin, however, I'm not sure where exactly we'd put it AND more importantly, what we'd do with the vermicompost it will produce - we can't really put it in the beds or planters, they're pretty full already. I suppose I might try giving it away on craigslist or something...

For now, I'm hoping for more sunshine and warmer weather!

Gardening for a better planet

2010-04-14T09:40:00.000-07:00

When we moved to Oregon a little over two years ago, Nate and I made another revolutionary move: to become local, sustainable eating citizens. We wanted to grow our own food, and not to be discouraged at lack of back yard, we decided to make a patio garden. At our first place, Nate built a large and very deep planter in which we grew tomatoes and zucchini. Last year we grew nothing, discouraged by a new, smaller patio, lack of any sunshine (our one-room apartment idea, while money saving, turned out to feel too much like a cave for me - so we moved). This year, we're back at it again, with more determination than ever. I picked up "The New Square Foot Gardening" by Mel Bartholomew and skimmed through it (had to return to the library, it was a MUCH desired book), and last weekend Nate built a planter that he designed just by looking at one at the local gardening center. It's not as deep as his first one, so we're hoping that this will curtail some of the growth (we had tomato plants that were 6 feet tall - or trying to be anyways - we didn't have the support for them they needed).

I went plant crazy and planted a whole bunch of herbs in a wooden tub, and our sweet peas (the first starts to really take off) are over a foot long now. Ok, sweet peas are not edible - at least not to my knowledge - but I love the smell of them. They have grown at my parents house since I can remember, and last summer, my dad took Seth out to pick some for my mother, who loves them. The fragrance fills the room; it's heaven.

For a long time, I believed that the green thumb gene had somehow passed me over - my father is an excellent flower gardener, and my mother and siblings seem to be able to keep plants alive (some do this really well!), while I have killed cacti in my day ('they're desert plants, they don't need water, right?'). In an effort to change this, I started small. Our first aloe plant, which sadly we had to leave in Japan, threatened to take over the house. Last year, at a women's group, I planted a violet, which became my "baby," cared for so well, that she's bloomed twice already, and has some new buds coming up right now.

It's true, some of my starts were not transplanted in time and some died. But what is life if not learning? I suppose I could consult books, google, or my green thumb friends about the minutia of gardening and study up on the subject, but at some point I'm going to have to just do it. So, I glossed over the studying and just dove right in. Experience is the best teacher in any case; then I will have truly gained knowledge.

In our patio garden, we are hoping to grow:

green beans
cucumbers
cantelope
spinach
brussel sprouts
tomatoes
jalapenos
carrots
potatoes
beets

strawberries (Nate bought this hanging contraption in which to grow them, not sure if it will actually work)
blueberries (Ok, that's Nate's idea, not mine...)

chives
dill
cilantro
thyme
rosemary
basil
parsley

chamomile
lavendar
echinacea
peppermint
nasturtiums (edible, never tried, can't wait!)
sweet peas
allyssum
sunflower (Seth got the seed packet and container with his Burgerville meal last week and wanted to plant it, so...)
morning glory (Seth picked that one out)

Nate has been nurturing an avocado tree he planted on a whim last year out of a seed from an avocado he used to make guacamole. The tree is about two feet tall and lives inside with us half of the year. He also bought a juniper bush and some other bright green evergreen tree.

It's exciting to see everything coming together, to learn together, to rejoice and exclaim over little shoots popping their heads above the soil. It's a family bonding project and, as Seth would say, "it lights my candle inside."

A return to learning, joy, and compassion

2010-04-13T08:48:00.000-07:00

It's time to get back to the blog. Things have changed quite a bit since I first started the blog, but the intention to chronicle our pursuits has not. I'm pretty excited about sharing our journey with others, but mostly having a journal (I'm a bit of an attention whore, so private diaries just don't do it for me) to track our progress.

When I began this blog, I was a new radical unschooling convert. And that's why I stopped blogging, because I very quickly became an 'un-convert' feeling that the unschooling community was somewhat cultish. Perhaps this is true or it was just my approach, all I can say is how I felt (which means that this was true for me, in either case). Upon re-examination, I found that while there are certain things about radical unschooling that are VERY radical for me (and sometimes even more so for Nate), both I and Nate are unschoolers at heart. We recently talked about making a family mission statement and filled out a questionnaire, and the three main words that kept cropping up were: learning, joy, and compassion. Nate and I are life-long learners.

As Seth approaches "school-age" I am so excited about the freedom of his NOT going to school will bring. I am often stressed out just hearing friends talk about their children being in school. Our trial run with a preschool co-op this year just reaffirmed this feeling that I had of needing independence - all the running around, "having" to do things that sometimes neither Seth nor I felt like doing, etc. Sometimes, we just want to stay at home in our pajamas all day.

So I've redefined my understanding of what unschooling means for our family. It's a little of this and a little of that. There are some 'workbooks'. There are bedtimes. There is also unlimited TV (sans cable, so unlimited PBS and DVD's). There is a lot of saying yes, even though there are times when "No" is also uttered.

So here's to learning and living in joy with compassion.

My Very Ambitious Summer Reading List

2009-06-29T14:10:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'm laughing at myself because the ironic thing about this Summer Reading List is that my whole life is like one long summer! Ah, the sweet life of a "homemaker/stay at home mother" (not much actual 'homemaking' happening, to be honest)! Without further ado...

Maria's Summer Reading List 2009:

Fiction:
Bodily Harm, Margaret Atwood
The Edible Woman, Margaret Atwood
Wilderness Tips, Margaret Atwood
The Robber Bride, Margaret Atwood
Eclipse (3rd in the Twilight Saga), Stephenie Meyer
Breaking Dawn (4th in the Twilight Saga) Stephenie Meyer
The Host, Stephenie Meyer
The Mermaid Chair, Sue Monk Kidd
The Secret Life of Bees, Sue Monk Kidd
The Palace of Illusions, Chitra Bannerjee Divakaruni
Queen of Dreams, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman
American Gods, Neil Gaiman
We Were the Mulvaneys, Joyce Carol Oates
I'll Take You There, Joyce Carol Oates
When We Were Orphans, Kazuo Ishiguro
Stones From the River, Ursula Hegi
Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie
Momo, Michael Ende
Clan of the Cave Bear, Jean M. Auel (husband's begging me to read it!)
Total: 20

Non-Fiction:
How To Be Idle, Tom Hodgkinson (not that I need instructions, I'm plenty idle, but it's interesting so far)
The Idler's Companion, Tom Hodgkinson
Everyday Blessings, Jon & Myla Kabat-Zinn
Wherever You Go, There You Are, Jon Kabat-Zinn
No Death, No Fear, Thich Nhat Hanh
Anger, Thich Nhat Hanh
Being Peace, Thich Nhat Hanh
Peace Is Every Step, Thich Nhat Hanh
Comfortable With Uncertainty, Pema Chodron
The Power of Now, Eckhart Tolle
A Joseph Campbell Companion
Myths to Live By, Joseph Campbell
In Defense of Food, Michael Pollan
Awakening Intuition, Mona Lisa Schulz
Solviva, Anna Edey
Total: 15

So, that's a whopping 35 books for 3 months (comes to about 2-3 books a week!). I'm already half-way through "Bodily Harm" and will no doubt finish it tonight. And, I've already started "How To Be Idle" which is a rather amusing book. And, no doubt, others will recommend books to me, and I'm pretty much game for anything (as you can see from the varied list), so I'll probably add those too!

Summer Reading List and Projects, etc

2009-06-26T23:08:00.000-07:00

In two weeks Seth and I will be going to visit my parents and brother and his kids in Pennsylvania. Woohoo. My brother and his kids are moving from Brazil to Switzerland, and so are taking a slight detour to visit my parents. I jumped on the chance for a change of scenery, the chance for Seth to see and play with his cousins, see his grandparents, which he doesn't see all that often, and most importantly for me to see my brother, to whom I am very close (yes, surprisingly so, given the distance!).

So, I am putting together a reading list for this summer...mostly fiction, although not entirely. I've already begun with Margaret Atwood's "Bodily Harm." To say that I love Atwood is an understatement, although it's rather ironic that I haven't read everything she's written since I discovered my heart beating for her over 10 years ago. I get distracted. And I like to explore other authors.

Tim (the aforementioned brother) and I are going to explore tie-dye and batik projects with the kids. So many ideas swirling in my mind. And, then there are the knitting projects to finish (and there are a few!). And painting...I...need...to...paint...

We will be there for a month! This is probably the longest I've ever stayed at my parents since I finished High School. A sister of mine used to say that her limit was a weekend, and I used to feel that way too. But so many things have changed. I've changed, my parents have changed. They nap more. I keep my mouth shut more. Well, I open it, then regret it, and then the next time I visit them I add that subject to "the list of things not to mention around parents if I want to avoid a heated argument." Last time, I actually admitted to my father I wasn't a Christian. Yeah, my father, the one who's a Protestant Minister. The ensuing conversation wasn't pretty. I take my share of the blame.

The best thing is that they generally don't dispense with parenting advice. Oh, my sweet lucky stars! In fact, they don't really meddle in my affairs in general. Oh, my sweet lucky shooting stars! I am frequently the listening ear to others who's parents give their kid a haircut or pierce the baby's ears, or say something infuriating. I don't expect my parents to be perfect. I have 31 years of experience to prove that they are anything but. Although maybe that's not quite fair. They are perfect in their humanity; they do the best they can with what they've got. Don't we all?

The next two weeks have Seth signed up for "I'm a Big Kid Camp" (he went this week and loved it), as well as Pee Wee Baseball Camp. It's actually really fun to have him not only doing things on his own, but also being around other children. I am not the same as a posse of kids, and sometimes I can tell he wishes I was. We are considering finding a child-care that is light on the "preschool" and heavy on the "multi-age group of kids" having loads of fun, so that Seth can get his needs met and I can...sit at home twiddling my thumbs and updating my Facebook status. I mean, read more Atwood. Or exercise. Or paint. Or...something.

guitars, sleep, and pineapple

2009-06-04T11:43:00.000-07:00

I'm eating some delicious, fresh, pineapple as I write this. Mmmm. The very pineapple I cut my hand while cutting last night, at around 1:00am. Yes, why was I up, cutting pineapple at 1 am? Seth was up, and after several attempts to lull him to sleep, he wasn't having any of it and I was tired. So I decided that since the pineapple was ripe and I didn't want it to rot in this warm weather we're having, that I might as well make myself useful. Wielding a chopping knife when tired and frustrated is not wise. My left hand being, of course, the case in point.

I've been towing the line, allowing Seth to discover when he's tired but I have to say, it's getting harder and harder, especially since I had expectations, which are now disappointed expectations... Sometimes it's so hard to give up the control patterns. Yesterday was no exception. At one point Nate said that Seth was "overtired" and that's why he was behaving the way he was. Actually, given Seth's sleep schedule, that was inaccurate, and I pointed out that it was more likely that Nate was overtired. He was going to clean the kitchen at midnight, and I told him to leave it and go to bed. He is after all, the one who has to get up early and go to work. After I pointed out that he was probably the one who was overtired, he finally gave in and went to bed.

So, there was no guitar practice for me yesterday. And, now with my hand being what it is, I'm not entirely sure there will be for the next several days, either. But I think of the chords and notes I've learned in my head, and I can access them, so all is not lost.

Nate showed me a youtube video in which a scientist was saying how the more neurons are fired in response to specific stimuli the more they are wired, which also means the more likely they will respond to similar-appearing stimuli. Letting go of my control patterns is like trying to cut through very dense wires with a blunt scissors. On the other hand, the more I practice letting go, the more the 'letting go' wires get solidly connected. And, of course, this also applies to learning the guitar, which is inspiring.

Yes, I got all that from a pineapple. ;)

Guitars

2009-06-01T12:16:00.000-07:00

Nate came home from clinic on Saturday raving about a guitar he saw at a nearby shop. It was hard to keep from rolling my eyes; he has two guitars, a mandolin, a trombone, a concert flute, a native american flute, a digderidoo (acquired on his Pacific tour in Australia, of course), and probably a few others I'm forgetting...along with the piano we share and the assorted percussion instruments that Seth has. Not to mention that I bought a guitar several years ago, with the intention of learning it (this particular goal always placed on the back burner). I bit my tongue, though, and let him tell me how he was going to trade in his classical guitar for it. They gave him apporximately $150 for it, and he put it on layaway, until he can pay the rest of the $250. It really is gorgeous, and I'm excited for him.

It inspired me to take out my guitar and learn a few notes...and now my fingers are sore (it's a steel string). Nate taught me a chord and I strummed while he made music on his. It was hard to loose the embarrassed feeling of fumbling in the company of others, even dear husband (who is constantly seeing me fumble around with life in general!), but a good exercise in letting go.

Seth is also now more interested in the guitars, one of which we have sitting in a stand, and randomly goes over to it and strums it wildly. Oh, to be so unfettered by self-consciousness.

Leave the Dishes

2009-05-30T16:38:00.000-07:00

In her talk at the 2009 LIFE is Good Conference, Ren Allen read this wonderful poem by Louise Erdrich:

Advice to Myself

Leave the dishes.
Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don’t patch the cup.
Don’t patch anything. Don’t mend. Buy safety pins.
Don’t even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
Don’t keep all the pieces of the puzzles
or the doll’s tiny shoes in pairs, don’t worry
who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
matches, at all.
Except one word to another. Or a thought.
Pursue the authentic-decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.
Your heart, that place
you don’t even think of cleaning out.
That closet stuffed with savage mementos.
Don’t sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we’re all eating cereal for dinner
again. Don’t answer the telephone, ever,
or weep over anything at all that breaks.
Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life
and talk to the dead
who drift in though the screened windows, who collect
patiently on the tops of food jars and books.
Recycle the mail, don’t read it, don’t read anything
except what destroys
the insulation between yourself and your experience
or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters
this ruse you call necessity.

Will re-read every time I start getting my panties in a knot about how messy the house is. Along with saying, "On my deathbed, I'm not going to regret not doing the dishes more." Seriously.

Swimming, swimming, and more swimming

2009-05-28T10:52:00.000-07:00

We've gone swimming everyday this week so far. Each day Seth is getting more and more brave. Yesterday, he walked on tiptoes, which he calls "walking on peglegs," all around the 3ft deep section. I was surprised and encouraged at his confidence. I know that part of that confidence is because of my own confidence in the water. I come from a family of "fishes" - we all had swimming lessons and a few of us (myself included) were lifeguards at some point. I always laugh at the sign that says, "No Lifeguard on Duty." When I'm there, there's always one, and even though I'm not currently "certified" I would feel obligated to jump in after anyone, not just Seth.

Today we'll be going swimming again, and hopefully there will be more kids out. I keep forgetting that during the day kids are in school or daycare, so I'm always wondering where the kids are...and then I think, isn't school out already? So, I'm still wondering where the kids are.

To spend each day at the pool for several hours: what a sweet life we have!

"Spoiling" Seth

2009-05-27T09:56:00.000-07:00

I love giving Seth new things he will love. I recently won a few things on eBay for him (it's starting to get a little compulsive): a 122 piece train set, a music box record player and a tape recorder. The last two were ones that I and my siblings had as kids, and haven't arrived yet. We received the train set yesterday after a trip to Goodwill that ended in getting a new little lego set and some games (Chutes & Ladders, anyone? Jenga?).

I question the idea of spoiling our children by giving them things that they will enjoy, including of one's self and one's time. How is it spoiling if it makes them happy and meets their needs to explore the world? This can be said of anything that we think is "spoiling." Holding a crying baby. Allowing a child to eat ice cream for dinner instead of actual dinner. Carrying a 3.5 year old. Saying "yes" when your child ask for something in the dollar store (seriously, why would you say "No?").

It is my goal to say "yes" when and where possible, and to question my own "no's". Many of my "no's" come from the socio-cultural conditioning of "You can't have everything you want" land. While in some cases that is absolutely true (I couldn't be a US Navy submariner, for instance), it squashes any creative thinking on how one might get what they want, replacing it with feelings of a sense of lack. And where there's a sense of lack, there will always be a desire for more. The cup never looks or feels full. And I suspect that's one reason why America is where it is, economically, today.

More importantly, I've found that the more generous I am with Seth, the more generous he is with others. I rarely have to tell him to share; if he has a cool toy with him at the park, and someone wants to play with it, he willingly gives it up, never once saying, "It's mine!" He knows that there's more where it came from. He insists on sharing his chips or french fries or cookies with me, even when I don't want them. He is more willing to do things with me that need to get done when I allow him to explore a little more at the store.

Imagine what would happen if more parents said "Yes!" more.

2009-05-20T10:26:00.000-07:00

We are going to our first ever unschooling conference in less than two days!

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I'm pretty excited about meeting more unschoolers (as of yet, I have no close friends who are) and learning more about this unschooling path we've chosen to follow. The only mistake we made was thinking that we could manage commuting every day, since it's only about 45 minutes away. Nathan has school both Friday and Saturday mornings, so he's going to drop us off super early, unless I can come up with an alternative plan. So far, all alternatives are spendy.

In a chat with some unschoolers, it seemed to be the opinion that we'd get a better/whole view of what unschooling looks like if we stay in the hotel, and it would provide us with a place to decompress if things get too crazy and overwhelming. I'll just have to see how it all goes. The trick is keeping Seth happy...'cause then I'm happy.

Here's another conference I'm considering going to:

It's just a matter of selling Nathan on it.

A New Favorite

2009-05-19T09:47:00.000-07:00

Seth received a mixed CD as part of a party favor at a friend's birthday party (the friend was turning 1!). On it were two tracks by Michael Franti & Spearhead. I fell in love, but music was put on the back burner, until recently I started using my iPod nano while I work out. I wanted more, so I checked out "Yellfire!" from the library and discovered I loved it all!

Here are my favorites:

Word. Rock on!