Hello again world! Long time, no blog. I wish that I had a good reason for being absent, but unfortunately all I can really blame it on is sheer and utter life obsession. Or rather, relationship obsession. This is going to be hard for some people to read. It is not meant as a bash or pointing fingers. It is simply meant to help me express my understanding of a life event that I believe other readers can appreciate and, more than likely, relate to.
I am going through a break up. It doesn't matter which side of the break up I am on in my opinion, because whichever side you are on, the breaker or the break-e, it is going to be messy and ugly and hard and terrifying for both parties. Hopefully, anyway. Whoever invited break ups should just... hmmm maybe before I finish that sentence I should do a little bit more self inquiry.
When I was younger, as in ten years ago, my life revolved around relationships. Who I was with, who I was going to be with next if it didn't work out, how the person I was with wasn't fulfilling my needs, blah blah blah. I'm a serial monogamist. I have been for years, and I finally had a realization one day that it wasn't because I actually wanted to be with these men (ahem), but because I needed them to fill some void in my life. Some empty space deep within my gut that was begging to be fed. Apparently being a child of an alcoholic does not help this at all. In fact, it could have a huge part to do with my need. I was so terrified of being alone that I would suffer, and hate him, and then ultimately hate myself for being so gullible as to stay in a situation that did not make me feel good. A situation that did not make me feel more full and alive and... dare I say "happy"? What a concept.
Well, even though lessons have been learned over the years, I am here again. In the same break up boat that's sinking 50 miles off the shore line.... in shark infested waters... at dusk. Oh what a predicament this is!!
Wait... what? How did I get here? I thought it was supposed to be forever. In fact, I was SURE that this time it would work out. (Do you hear God laughing at me? Maybe it's just the AC unit outside)
Well it didn't work out. This is where it gets serious by the way. I am heart broken. I am trying to be strong, but it's that crazy question and answer that still runs through my brain. If you don't know if it will work out, how can you trust it? And my answer? You just do. I know it seems crazy but you just have to trust that one day it wont end. With my particular relationship (or what lasts of it) I believe that there was some lesson that we were supposed to learn from each other. Maybe I helped him learn something about himself that he didn't know was there, or he knew was there and was maybe hiding from. Maybe he taught me to fight for myself even when it runs the risk of being alone and starting over. Again, two situations that I have FOREVER been terrified of. Maybe it was just two people that were/are in love and just trying to make it work against all odds. It could be a million things. But I guess the most important thing to remember is that it didn't work, but that doesn't mean that my life and my loving is over. I have a whole life to live that will be full of souls that I will connect with and love without attachment. Maybe there will be one that I'm supposed to be with "for better or for worse"? Who knows? I hope so.
When I moved to Chicago, three years ago, it was the first time that this guy and I broke up. I know. I know. After that, the transition to get better never really happened. I was anxious all the time, and hurting, and missing him terribly. I think that he was going through the same things, which is probably why we got back together. But the universe has a different plan for me. That plan is to learn something about myself that has to take a whole lot more heart ache to discover and nurture to full bloom. Sitting in my situation (moved back for a guy that said he wanted everything I wanted, and then decided that he didn't anymore) I could sit around being angry at him and at the world and at myself for letting it happen again. But I believe that I am going through this for a higher purpose. I am not the same girl that moved to Chicago to escape from love, and escape from my mother's death. I am stronger now. I know what I need to be happy and move on. I have taken the first step towards real self acceptance. That is why in my deepest gut and layers I know that I will be okay.
So, in ending, I suppose the purpose of this blog wasn't meant to vent that I am sad. It is meant as hope. When thinking back on the last three years of my life, I shock myself at my own strength. I keep looking towards the heavens asking for guidance. From God and from my mother. And I think that my questions are heard... and they will eventually be answered. I hope, wherever you are, whatever life event is currently sitting on your kitchen table, that you can find peace. Peace in the knowing that you DON'T have to know everything right now. You don't have to understand it. Just live it, and know the more you focus on the positive and amazing things that the universe has to offer, the more you will cultivate it in the living present moments of your AMAZING life. Namaste.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Gluten free veggie soup recipe
Here is a veggie recipe I made yesterday that is hearty and delicious! You will be full for hours! Try it with a dollop of sour cream and some sharp cheddar cheese sprinkled on top. Happy eating!
Veggie Soup
2 tbs unsalted butter
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 medium jalapeno, finely chopped
4 stalks celery, chopped
10 oz chopped carrots
1 15oz can white hominy, drained
1 15oz can diced tomatoes with green chilis
1 15oz can diced tomatoes, zesty chili style
3 small zucchinis, diced
5 cups fresh green beans, snapped to bite size pieces
6 cups fresh kale
4-5 cups water or broth
1 tbs cumin
3 tbs chili powder
1 tsp paprika
2 large bay leaves
salt & pepper to taste
optional:
cilantro
sour cream
cheddar cheese
Saute butter, onion, carrots, celery, and jalapenos over medium/high heat until tender. Add remaining ingredients. Simmer on low for about 3-4 hours.
Freeze or refrigerate remaining soup.
Veggie Soup
2 tbs unsalted butter
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 medium jalapeno, finely chopped
4 stalks celery, chopped
10 oz chopped carrots
1 15oz can white hominy, drained
1 15oz can diced tomatoes with green chilis
1 15oz can diced tomatoes, zesty chili style
3 small zucchinis, diced
5 cups fresh green beans, snapped to bite size pieces
6 cups fresh kale
4-5 cups water or broth
1 tbs cumin
3 tbs chili powder
1 tsp paprika
2 large bay leaves
salt & pepper to taste
optional:
cilantro
sour cream
cheddar cheese
Saute butter, onion, carrots, celery, and jalapenos over medium/high heat until tender. Add remaining ingredients. Simmer on low for about 3-4 hours.
Freeze or refrigerate remaining soup.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Follow your heart? or follow your heart?
My father is getting remarried this weekend. Sunday actually. Two days from today. *sigh*... Not *sigh* because I am not happy for him, because I am. *Sigh* because of everything else that has surfaced since his decision to remarry (which I might add was six weeks ago... but I digress). The decision was hard on my family. We have only met his fiance a few times, we have not met her son who will be moving into our old home, and we were barely made known about the wedding plans. It all seemed to be moving so fast and we couldn't figure out why. I suppose though that every marriage my father has been a part of happened rather quickly. Two days before my father was supposed to marry my mother he got into a car crash and was on crutches. But he didn't want to push the wedding back so they got married in the hospital. The man is persistent is what I am saying.
All of my mothers things were still in her closet up until two days ago. My sister, who recently flew in from Afghanistan for the wedding, and I drove out to Sunset to "help" pack up our mothers things. China, antiques, clothing, memorabilia, things that reminded us of her. He told us to take all of the pictures too. He didn't want anything that had her name or photo in the house. His words twisted my heart like a wet washcloth, but I tried to not think about that. My sister and I removed the items from the home. We cleaned the slate that was the home that my mother built. She created the memories, and the decorations. The roosters in the kitchen are hers. The dishes and the pots and pans are hers. But they will be used by a new family. A different family. A family that doesn't say the name LORI. LORI. LORI. Yet for me... the name is my mother.
Ever since my mother's death, a little over two years ago, I have been on a constant journey in trying to come to peace with everything. I have had to deal with guilt of her and my relationship the last couple years of her life. I have also had to fight the anger that I had towards her and the disease. I could never wrap my head around it. What set her off, what made her so unhappy that she couldn't put the drink down. Well... while we were cleaning out my mother's closet we came across a very interested folder. It was about two inches thick stuffed with postcards, letters, faxes, emails... I pulled out one of the papers and read:
"Honey, is it really true, can you really care for me this much? It was nearly impossible to return to Hemingway after our conversation; I found myself reading entire paragraphs without comprehension, thinking about you as I was. I imagined you sleeping, envisioned those long lovely limbs of yours, saw your pretty braid lying across the pillow. As much as I love to read baby, even Hemingway can't compare to you in the milieu of my thoughts. Maybe someday, no, someday we will lie together in a cool bed and mix the two loves of books and us. How I would love to love on you this morning... If I was a lumberjack I would chop through whole redwoods by myself this morning, my girl. As it is I'll simply write a novel by noon."
20 years ago my mother had a relationship with another man. A man that I recall briefly in my memory. I remember that he and I shared blueberry pancakes on a trip. When I first read the letter I said a lot of cuss words in astonishment. Then there was a brief moment of anger. How did I not know about this?!?! Once the shock subsided I continued to read and saw how deeply they felt for one another. The conversation of my father and how he was never home and she wasn't happy. How this man vowed to care for her (and my sister and I) and to love us completely... "When you told me of how Elizabeth looked in her new outfit I loved the tone in your voice, the love present. I want to share those times with you, and be there to have an arm slung casually around Erin when showering compliments on Elizabeth. I can still recall the physical embrace from my father during the Army days, and would like the girls always to remember not only yours buy my embrace as well. My father was not good about showing preference for one son over another, and I promise you I'll think about such things and work hard to pull them equally to my heart."
I took the letters, stuffed them into my bag and didn't look at them again until today. I read through them. I talked to family members and and divulged more information from them. I asked about the relationship and what happened, etc. etc. They didn't tell me much except that my mother ended it because she didn't want to break up the family. She stayed because she thought it would be too hard for us. She sacrificed her happiness for our well being. My mother wrote in a letter to "he that shall not be names" and in the letter she said, "Cite me an example of a relationship, any age difference or none at all, where the possibility of a painful end doesn't exist. I'm waiting..." *sigh*
Shortly after their "break-up" my mother started to drink heavily. And the years of Alcoholism and depression and "family torn apart" really began. We were happy, we were loved, and then there was a shift and I never really understood what caused that shift. That is until I read these letters. I know that some people are reading this post and judging my mother for being an "adulterer"(I almost feel like I'm writing a book report on the scarlet letter). Maybe saying she deserved what was coming to her? What can I say? All is fair in love and war? The heart wants what the heart wants? Love it and leave it? I don't know what you want me to say. All I know is that she chose another's (her children's) happiness over her own and it killed her. I have been sitting and wondering how my life would be different had she left my father for this man that she had a great love affair with (She always loved the English Patient and now I know why). Maybe she would still be here.... coulda, woulda, shoulda I suppose. That is just me missing my mother.
More than anything, these letters and this revelation has made it painfully obvious how IMPORTANT it is to follows the path of our hearts. In yoga, we spend so much time listening to our bodies and our minds and our souls, but do we really respond? Do we remove ourselves from situations that are painful to us and search (even if we are desperately lonely for a time) for something that truly serves us and makes us feel like bigger and stronger and more vibrant human beings? My mother also wrote in the same letter about two friends, "I don't see any passion or great love between the two of them. It's as though they have settled in a nice, comfortable routine and don't have the energy to change it. I sometimes wonder how many people stay with the wrong mate or a bad situation, not out of love or commitment, but out of habit- that insidious, deadly anesthetic." Amen. I could probably count on one hand (at least) things in my life that I hold on to that do not serve me. Bosses and boyfriend, fear not. It is nothing as dramatic as this, but is it any less important?
My mother has taught me, and at an unimaginably desperate time in my life, that if I am not working from my heart it could literally kill me. Ugh dramatic right? I am not advocating for adultery. I am simply saying that I applaud her for being able to love so much. I wish she had the courage and the knowing that if she had left we would have been okay. But life goes on.
The last letter I read was a letter to my beautiful Mother. The author should remain anonymous but I will say that she is my soul sister. When I read this letter it brought tears to my eyes and a fire in my heart and made me too want to "forage ahead" and take on the world with an open heart! This had nothing to do with the relationship. It simply describes the strong woman that my mother was at this time in her life:
"In your thirties you have moved towards a place of strength and purpose that is utterly unlike anything I've seen in you, ever. There was no hint, really, to me anyway, that you were going to actually make it to this place. You are strong, yes, always were. But there was a fork somewhere back there, and the odds were just as stacked towards the possibility of another reality: Lori the snob suburbanite. You know, the rich wife who stays shut up in the Big House all day feeding her discontent... laying old dreams on a shelf to gather dust or throw back jeering reflection's of failure and emptiness when looked at... You showed 'em all up. All of the women of the old neighborhood, the Sunview Drive people, their little lives...And the greatest gift is that, as you stopped judging yourself by those fake gold lame society standards, you also stopped judging those around you...So girl, set the pace, forage on ahead. When the last kid, Lizzie B., is safely in route to her own life, we'll go. WE are the writers, we should be living out there on the edge. My recent descent back into my interior spiritual journeys- zen, psychic energy, meditations, God, love- are all hands on the compass pointing me out into open ocean. I'll strain my eyes, looking for the residue of your wake. Big sister, if I should fall behind, wait for me..."
Wherever you are mom, whether you are looking down on me or not, thank you for this life lesson years after I lost you. You are a Warrior Goddess and I salute your bravery and your strong heart.
Your little Tortuga,
Lizzie B.
All of my mothers things were still in her closet up until two days ago. My sister, who recently flew in from Afghanistan for the wedding, and I drove out to Sunset to "help" pack up our mothers things. China, antiques, clothing, memorabilia, things that reminded us of her. He told us to take all of the pictures too. He didn't want anything that had her name or photo in the house. His words twisted my heart like a wet washcloth, but I tried to not think about that. My sister and I removed the items from the home. We cleaned the slate that was the home that my mother built. She created the memories, and the decorations. The roosters in the kitchen are hers. The dishes and the pots and pans are hers. But they will be used by a new family. A different family. A family that doesn't say the name LORI. LORI. LORI. Yet for me... the name is my mother.
Ever since my mother's death, a little over two years ago, I have been on a constant journey in trying to come to peace with everything. I have had to deal with guilt of her and my relationship the last couple years of her life. I have also had to fight the anger that I had towards her and the disease. I could never wrap my head around it. What set her off, what made her so unhappy that she couldn't put the drink down. Well... while we were cleaning out my mother's closet we came across a very interested folder. It was about two inches thick stuffed with postcards, letters, faxes, emails... I pulled out one of the papers and read:
"Honey, is it really true, can you really care for me this much? It was nearly impossible to return to Hemingway after our conversation; I found myself reading entire paragraphs without comprehension, thinking about you as I was. I imagined you sleeping, envisioned those long lovely limbs of yours, saw your pretty braid lying across the pillow. As much as I love to read baby, even Hemingway can't compare to you in the milieu of my thoughts. Maybe someday, no, someday we will lie together in a cool bed and mix the two loves of books and us. How I would love to love on you this morning... If I was a lumberjack I would chop through whole redwoods by myself this morning, my girl. As it is I'll simply write a novel by noon."
20 years ago my mother had a relationship with another man. A man that I recall briefly in my memory. I remember that he and I shared blueberry pancakes on a trip. When I first read the letter I said a lot of cuss words in astonishment. Then there was a brief moment of anger. How did I not know about this?!?! Once the shock subsided I continued to read and saw how deeply they felt for one another. The conversation of my father and how he was never home and she wasn't happy. How this man vowed to care for her (and my sister and I) and to love us completely... "When you told me of how Elizabeth looked in her new outfit I loved the tone in your voice, the love present. I want to share those times with you, and be there to have an arm slung casually around Erin when showering compliments on Elizabeth. I can still recall the physical embrace from my father during the Army days, and would like the girls always to remember not only yours buy my embrace as well. My father was not good about showing preference for one son over another, and I promise you I'll think about such things and work hard to pull them equally to my heart."
I took the letters, stuffed them into my bag and didn't look at them again until today. I read through them. I talked to family members and and divulged more information from them. I asked about the relationship and what happened, etc. etc. They didn't tell me much except that my mother ended it because she didn't want to break up the family. She stayed because she thought it would be too hard for us. She sacrificed her happiness for our well being. My mother wrote in a letter to "he that shall not be names" and in the letter she said, "Cite me an example of a relationship, any age difference or none at all, where the possibility of a painful end doesn't exist. I'm waiting..." *sigh*
Shortly after their "break-up" my mother started to drink heavily. And the years of Alcoholism and depression and "family torn apart" really began. We were happy, we were loved, and then there was a shift and I never really understood what caused that shift. That is until I read these letters. I know that some people are reading this post and judging my mother for being an "adulterer"(I almost feel like I'm writing a book report on the scarlet letter). Maybe saying she deserved what was coming to her? What can I say? All is fair in love and war? The heart wants what the heart wants? Love it and leave it? I don't know what you want me to say. All I know is that she chose another's (her children's) happiness over her own and it killed her. I have been sitting and wondering how my life would be different had she left my father for this man that she had a great love affair with (She always loved the English Patient and now I know why). Maybe she would still be here.... coulda, woulda, shoulda I suppose. That is just me missing my mother.
More than anything, these letters and this revelation has made it painfully obvious how IMPORTANT it is to follows the path of our hearts. In yoga, we spend so much time listening to our bodies and our minds and our souls, but do we really respond? Do we remove ourselves from situations that are painful to us and search (even if we are desperately lonely for a time) for something that truly serves us and makes us feel like bigger and stronger and more vibrant human beings? My mother also wrote in the same letter about two friends, "I don't see any passion or great love between the two of them. It's as though they have settled in a nice, comfortable routine and don't have the energy to change it. I sometimes wonder how many people stay with the wrong mate or a bad situation, not out of love or commitment, but out of habit- that insidious, deadly anesthetic." Amen. I could probably count on one hand (at least) things in my life that I hold on to that do not serve me. Bosses and boyfriend, fear not. It is nothing as dramatic as this, but is it any less important?
My mother has taught me, and at an unimaginably desperate time in my life, that if I am not working from my heart it could literally kill me. Ugh dramatic right? I am not advocating for adultery. I am simply saying that I applaud her for being able to love so much. I wish she had the courage and the knowing that if she had left we would have been okay. But life goes on.
The last letter I read was a letter to my beautiful Mother. The author should remain anonymous but I will say that she is my soul sister. When I read this letter it brought tears to my eyes and a fire in my heart and made me too want to "forage ahead" and take on the world with an open heart! This had nothing to do with the relationship. It simply describes the strong woman that my mother was at this time in her life:
"In your thirties you have moved towards a place of strength and purpose that is utterly unlike anything I've seen in you, ever. There was no hint, really, to me anyway, that you were going to actually make it to this place. You are strong, yes, always were. But there was a fork somewhere back there, and the odds were just as stacked towards the possibility of another reality: Lori the snob suburbanite. You know, the rich wife who stays shut up in the Big House all day feeding her discontent... laying old dreams on a shelf to gather dust or throw back jeering reflection's of failure and emptiness when looked at... You showed 'em all up. All of the women of the old neighborhood, the Sunview Drive people, their little lives...And the greatest gift is that, as you stopped judging yourself by those fake gold lame society standards, you also stopped judging those around you...So girl, set the pace, forage on ahead. When the last kid, Lizzie B., is safely in route to her own life, we'll go. WE are the writers, we should be living out there on the edge. My recent descent back into my interior spiritual journeys- zen, psychic energy, meditations, God, love- are all hands on the compass pointing me out into open ocean. I'll strain my eyes, looking for the residue of your wake. Big sister, if I should fall behind, wait for me..."
Wherever you are mom, whether you are looking down on me or not, thank you for this life lesson years after I lost you. You are a Warrior Goddess and I salute your bravery and your strong heart.
Your little Tortuga,
Lizzie B.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
A time of self discovery vs. running for the hills
So... since I've moved back to Greenville I've created a delightful ritual of spending about two hours in the afternoon (normally between noon and two p.m.) vegging on the couch watching Felicity. Do you remember that show? If you don't, it's an old WB show where Keri Russel stars as a NYU student searching for love and meaning in life, etc. etc. You know. Basically everyone's experience of being in their twenties... in a nutshell. Well, I've reached season three (probably in record time) and the episode I was watching today centered around Ben and his alcoholic father. Ben went to his first Al-anon meeting (Al-anon is like AA but it's for the relatives of the alcoholic). I got particularly worked up watching this episode. In the episode, it was the second meeting that Ben had been to, and he decided that he would share his story. He started with the usual, "Hello, my name is Ben." And everyone responded with, "Hello, Ben." And then he said "My father's an alcoholic. And I hate him." That's all he said. And for a moment I was like "well, that's lame. Find your words Ben." ...I'm assuming at this point you realize that I thought more about it. I mean I am writing a blog about it for &^$% sake. As I write this blog I am still ironing out the details of what exactly I am feeling.
I have never been to an Al-anon meeting. I decided to deal with my emotions about my mother's death and addiction the old fashioned way; by pushing it to the back of my mind and moving to a big city. Let's be honest. I made the decision to move two and half months after one of the biggest and life altering moments in my life. I dealt with my grief by going inward. I did yoga. I meditated. I tried to pin point my relationship to my mother so that I could apologize for what I needed to apologize for. And also so I could forgive her for things that she never got to apologize for. I can safely say that there is a part of me that still feels like Ben. The way my mother and I left it wasn't exactly good. It was partly because of the addiction and partly because of our pride that we couldn't talk about how we were feeling. And more importantly we couldn't apologize.
When I moved to Chicago I was in a terrible place. I was heart broken in probably all the ways that I could be. I said that I was leaving because I needed to figure myself out. I needed a change of scenery to see what made me tick and see what broke me down and what made me stronger. I think that these things are true. But I also think that I was scared to stay in Greenville. I'm not really sure what I was scared of. Maybe I was scared that I would have a constant reminder of my mother. Maybe I was scared that I would be stuck in a monotonous relationship that I stayed in because of fear even though it no longer served me. I was just scared. And let me tell you something. Fear is either like cement, or the biggest catalyst you will ever experience in your life.
There were moments in Chicago that I actually felt like I as over it. But then one day I would be crying randomly at silly little things like commercials on the television or a glass of orange juice. The reverand at my mother's funeral said that grief is like a spiral. You start at the point in the middle and the spiral gets bigger. There will always be highs and lows, but the more that time goes by the further apart the highs are from the lows. The more that time goes by I realize that this is absolutely true. There are moments when I can thank God for the time I got with my mother and all the amazing things that I learned from her. Then there are the moments that I miss her more than words and realize that I will never see her again. At least not while I'm on this earth. And sometimes that realization is too much for me to handle. Maybe I am having one of those moments right now. Maybe that's why I am writing this post.
I guess the point of this post (and the point of this blog really) is that it doesn't matter if you are running away or if you have control over the situation you are in. It doesn't matter if your heart is shattered or you have never experienced anything that you would label as real heartbreak. At the end of your journey you will be where God intended you to be. Whether I was broken when I left, whether I left because I was on a journey of self discovery or if I was scared, I was supposed to be where I was. Just like I am supposed to be where I am now. There are still things that are hard for me to see. Random everyday things: boiled peanut stands, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, anything related to fall. All these things remind me of my mother. But I am strong enough to see past the bruised heart and cherish them as things that I shared with her. They are things that I will pass on my children as cherished items because they will see how much I love them. And I am sure when I am gone they will have a similar pang in their heart when they see them. That's love, I guess. It's a sharing of things most dear.
I will end saying that I wouldn't change anything. My mother's death brought new light to all of the other relationships in my life. My sister, my aunt, my father. I even talk to cousins and family members that I hadn't before. It's amazing how a time of such devastation can make you realize the things that matter most. I cherish the singing of birds and the smell of a delicious meal. I pay attention when I am hugging a friend. There are times that I don't, but now I realize that it is important to come back to the small things. These things we take for granted are the fruit of our life. They are the things that we will be known for after we take our last breath. For that I am grateful.
Who knew a TV show could bring this out of me. Well done "Felicity". Well done.
I have never been to an Al-anon meeting. I decided to deal with my emotions about my mother's death and addiction the old fashioned way; by pushing it to the back of my mind and moving to a big city. Let's be honest. I made the decision to move two and half months after one of the biggest and life altering moments in my life. I dealt with my grief by going inward. I did yoga. I meditated. I tried to pin point my relationship to my mother so that I could apologize for what I needed to apologize for. And also so I could forgive her for things that she never got to apologize for. I can safely say that there is a part of me that still feels like Ben. The way my mother and I left it wasn't exactly good. It was partly because of the addiction and partly because of our pride that we couldn't talk about how we were feeling. And more importantly we couldn't apologize.
When I moved to Chicago I was in a terrible place. I was heart broken in probably all the ways that I could be. I said that I was leaving because I needed to figure myself out. I needed a change of scenery to see what made me tick and see what broke me down and what made me stronger. I think that these things are true. But I also think that I was scared to stay in Greenville. I'm not really sure what I was scared of. Maybe I was scared that I would have a constant reminder of my mother. Maybe I was scared that I would be stuck in a monotonous relationship that I stayed in because of fear even though it no longer served me. I was just scared. And let me tell you something. Fear is either like cement, or the biggest catalyst you will ever experience in your life.
There were moments in Chicago that I actually felt like I as over it. But then one day I would be crying randomly at silly little things like commercials on the television or a glass of orange juice. The reverand at my mother's funeral said that grief is like a spiral. You start at the point in the middle and the spiral gets bigger. There will always be highs and lows, but the more that time goes by the further apart the highs are from the lows. The more that time goes by I realize that this is absolutely true. There are moments when I can thank God for the time I got with my mother and all the amazing things that I learned from her. Then there are the moments that I miss her more than words and realize that I will never see her again. At least not while I'm on this earth. And sometimes that realization is too much for me to handle. Maybe I am having one of those moments right now. Maybe that's why I am writing this post.
I guess the point of this post (and the point of this blog really) is that it doesn't matter if you are running away or if you have control over the situation you are in. It doesn't matter if your heart is shattered or you have never experienced anything that you would label as real heartbreak. At the end of your journey you will be where God intended you to be. Whether I was broken when I left, whether I left because I was on a journey of self discovery or if I was scared, I was supposed to be where I was. Just like I am supposed to be where I am now. There are still things that are hard for me to see. Random everyday things: boiled peanut stands, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, anything related to fall. All these things remind me of my mother. But I am strong enough to see past the bruised heart and cherish them as things that I shared with her. They are things that I will pass on my children as cherished items because they will see how much I love them. And I am sure when I am gone they will have a similar pang in their heart when they see them. That's love, I guess. It's a sharing of things most dear.
I will end saying that I wouldn't change anything. My mother's death brought new light to all of the other relationships in my life. My sister, my aunt, my father. I even talk to cousins and family members that I hadn't before. It's amazing how a time of such devastation can make you realize the things that matter most. I cherish the singing of birds and the smell of a delicious meal. I pay attention when I am hugging a friend. There are times that I don't, but now I realize that it is important to come back to the small things. These things we take for granted are the fruit of our life. They are the things that we will be known for after we take our last breath. For that I am grateful.
Who knew a TV show could bring this out of me. Well done "Felicity". Well done.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
I am here now. I let go.
I went to an amazing yoga class the other day. But it wasn't because of the asanas (Even though they were great too). It was the mantra. The teacher, Liz, led us through a mantra where every inhale you said to yourself silently, internally "I am here now". Then on every exhale you said to yourself silently, internally "I let go". It has stuck with me ever since.
In case you haven't caught on from past posts, I am a bit of a busy body A-type. I am constantly moving from thing to thing. Therefore, naturally, the hardest part about yoga for me is being present; staying in my own space, on my own mat, in my own body and mind. I'm pretty sure after years of doing yoga, I just recently stopped/lessened comparing myself to other yogis. Staying present has been even harder lately because I have gone through a pretty big move. I moved from Chicago, a booming metropolis, to Greenville S.C., which is a bit smaller than a booming metropolis ;). I'll be honest that the first couple of days scared the hell out of me. I couldn't help but think "did I just make a huge mistake? Were all of my friends right?"... Well... they were not.
Liz's class helped me to step back and look at the big picture. It made me think how it is so easy for us to get into these routines of worry. We concentrate on the what if's and the why's instead of just enjoying the moment and not worrying about the outcome. It's easy to do that though. The worrying part I mean. It is almost like our ego thinks that we deserve to know all of the answers. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. It never does. The best that we can really do is go with our gut and hope that we are happy with the outcome. But the beautiful thing is that if we aren't happy, we can try again tomorrow.
This move to the south was the second guteral reaction move I have made in my life. The first was moving to Chicago. And I wouldn't change that for the world. My little less than two years in Chicago was my "I am here now" lesson of my life thus far. The move was, to say the least, incredibly hard. I had just lost my mother. I moved away from my boyfriend and my family, pretty much leaving everything in my life behind to explore a whole new world. And when I got there I literally had the "well now what?" reaction to my crazy endeavor. I moved without a job and not much of a plan. And whatever plan I had was quickly thrown out the window. I was forced to say "I am here now" and then I listened to my body and my mind to tell me the direction to go. And it did. Although at first I still controlled the reins. What can I say? I'm a pitta! I practiced "mindfulness" (tried to) almost every day for the first year I was there. I dissected my emotions until they were nothing but dust. I over analyzed everything from why I couldn't decide what to wear to why the stranger was looking at me like that on the subway. I had to be so in tune with myself to know what I needed, because I knew that if I wasn't careful I was going to get sucked into a city that I couldn't survive in without mindfulness. And one day it happened. I LET GO. I stopped trying so hard and just let myself be. I realized that I wasn't going to die in this giant city, I was going to thrive. Because that is what I was supposed to do. I took my fear and love of this new adventure and wrapped them together and rode them like a raft through my life. I accepted that there was good and bad in my life, and I let go of this idea of failing. If I missed my mother I wasn't failing. If I missed my sister I wasn't failing. If I messed up in yoga class. I wasn't failing. I was living.
The years spent in Chicago, and now entering into my new life here, are perfect examples of staying present and then letting go and letting the universe take control. All we can do is accept the good and the bad and ride our breath. If only I can keep remembering that. :) Deep inhales. Deep exhales. I am here now. I let go. I am here now. I let go. I am here now. I let go. Namaste.
In case you haven't caught on from past posts, I am a bit of a busy body A-type. I am constantly moving from thing to thing. Therefore, naturally, the hardest part about yoga for me is being present; staying in my own space, on my own mat, in my own body and mind. I'm pretty sure after years of doing yoga, I just recently stopped/lessened comparing myself to other yogis. Staying present has been even harder lately because I have gone through a pretty big move. I moved from Chicago, a booming metropolis, to Greenville S.C., which is a bit smaller than a booming metropolis ;). I'll be honest that the first couple of days scared the hell out of me. I couldn't help but think "did I just make a huge mistake? Were all of my friends right?"... Well... they were not.
Liz's class helped me to step back and look at the big picture. It made me think how it is so easy for us to get into these routines of worry. We concentrate on the what if's and the why's instead of just enjoying the moment and not worrying about the outcome. It's easy to do that though. The worrying part I mean. It is almost like our ego thinks that we deserve to know all of the answers. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. It never does. The best that we can really do is go with our gut and hope that we are happy with the outcome. But the beautiful thing is that if we aren't happy, we can try again tomorrow.
This move to the south was the second guteral reaction move I have made in my life. The first was moving to Chicago. And I wouldn't change that for the world. My little less than two years in Chicago was my "I am here now" lesson of my life thus far. The move was, to say the least, incredibly hard. I had just lost my mother. I moved away from my boyfriend and my family, pretty much leaving everything in my life behind to explore a whole new world. And when I got there I literally had the "well now what?" reaction to my crazy endeavor. I moved without a job and not much of a plan. And whatever plan I had was quickly thrown out the window. I was forced to say "I am here now" and then I listened to my body and my mind to tell me the direction to go. And it did. Although at first I still controlled the reins. What can I say? I'm a pitta! I practiced "mindfulness" (tried to) almost every day for the first year I was there. I dissected my emotions until they were nothing but dust. I over analyzed everything from why I couldn't decide what to wear to why the stranger was looking at me like that on the subway. I had to be so in tune with myself to know what I needed, because I knew that if I wasn't careful I was going to get sucked into a city that I couldn't survive in without mindfulness. And one day it happened. I LET GO. I stopped trying so hard and just let myself be. I realized that I wasn't going to die in this giant city, I was going to thrive. Because that is what I was supposed to do. I took my fear and love of this new adventure and wrapped them together and rode them like a raft through my life. I accepted that there was good and bad in my life, and I let go of this idea of failing. If I missed my mother I wasn't failing. If I missed my sister I wasn't failing. If I messed up in yoga class. I wasn't failing. I was living.
The years spent in Chicago, and now entering into my new life here, are perfect examples of staying present and then letting go and letting the universe take control. All we can do is accept the good and the bad and ride our breath. If only I can keep remembering that. :) Deep inhales. Deep exhales. I am here now. I let go. I am here now. I let go. I am here now. I let go. Namaste.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Anniversary
The anniversary of my mother's passing is coming up this July. It will have been two years. It still feels like it just happened. Maybe it will feel that way forever. I wanted to share something I wrote a few months after she died. I turned heavily to meditation right after she passed and there was one session in particular that really shook me to the core. It was as if she had hopped into my head and body and showed me exactly what I needed to see at that moment. As soon as I came to, I rushed to a pen and paper and wrote it down. I tweeked it a little afterwards for grammar, etc. :) I thought, in lieu of the anniversary, I would share what I wrote. Enjoy.
I dig my toes into the sand. I sit with her, feeling the grains underneath and all around me. The sound of the waves is slow and soothing. The water is gold with the reflection of the sunset. We sit together. Occasionally our hands find each others. Her hands are soft. She has a soft grin; a content face. She watches the waves slowly come in and out. We see the tide coming nearer and nearer to our sandy toes. I hold my breath every time it almost touches.
“Walk?” she asks.
“Ok.” I say.
We slowly walk along the shore. There is ocean to the left, nothing to the right.
“I’m sorry.” I say. “I’m so sorry.” I look at her. Her face has changed. She is younger. Her long hair is in a braid; her face is softer than I remember. She grabs my hand with more intensity and just smiles at me. She grabs me around the shoulders and takes long strides across the sand. It is hard to keep up; her legs are longer than mine. I feel her hand on the back of my head occasionally (Almost her reminder to me that she is still there).
“Oysters!” she cries. Ahead there are dozens of oysters glistening in the sand. They have an almost silver glitter to them. She grabs one out of the sand, opens it with ease, and slides it into her mouth. She turns to me giggling and hands me one. I delicately take the oyster. Not knowing if I am trying to savor the moment or the oyster, I slowly slide the oyster into my mouth with my eyes closed. It is cool and salty. Perfect. I open my eyes and see her smiling at me. She grabs my hand to keep walking.
I continue to stare out into the ocean. The ripples and waves are gold and blue. The sun is under the water yet there is still so much light. I turn to find her. There are three people there, playing in the sand; the braided woman, an older woman with yellow skin in a nightgown with short hair, and a little girl. They all turn to me and smile very different smiles. The young girl has a smile of innocence and play. The braided woman has a smile of maturity and love. The older woman’s smile almost looks sad; tired. I walk heavy footed through the sand to them and sit. They are drawing in the sand. I can’t take my eyes off the older woman. She barely looks at me. Her hands are fragile and shaky as she draws in the sand. She looks in awe at the other two. I touch her hand. It is dry but still soft.
“They’re so beautiful”, she says without looking at me.
“Yes.” I say.
“The ocean is so beautiful.” She comments as she glances at the ocean. Her eyes are glistening with old tears. She digs her hand all the way into the sand till it is covered. She pulls her hand back out and opens it to reveal a million tiny sparkling pieces of sand. She smiles at her hand and looks at the young child and woman. They move into each other and stand. I watch them walk away briefly, and then run after them.
We walk in silence. She is a mix of all three now, slowly morphing and changing.
Ahead a row boat lightly bounces in the water.
“Look!” She cries as the younger her. Her little body runs to the boat.
I follow her, watching as she pushes the boat into the water and climbs in. I hold my hand out to her in attempts to pull her back in.
“I can’t go with you!” I yell as the boat starts to float away from shore.
“I know”, she says with a knowing smile. That is all that is said.
She sits in the boat, golden from the sun and oceans reflection. She moves further and further away. She leans forward in the boat propping up onto her knees and yells, “I’m happy!” Then she settles back into the boat. She is not looking at me anymore but towards the open ocean. She holds her arms out to the sky and I can’t hear her but I know that she is laughing.
Tears stream down my face as I wave back. I have nothing to say. There is still sand in my hand where she touched it. I still feel her arm around me as I watch her sail into the distance. Then she is gone. I sit down in the sand and watch as the last bits of light fade from the oceans waves. I sit enjoying the warmth from the light the last few moments that I can. The wind dances across my face and I bury my toes into the sand and close my eyes, remembering the last time I was here.
I dig my toes into the sand. I sit with her, feeling the grains underneath and all around me. The sound of the waves is slow and soothing. The water is gold with the reflection of the sunset. We sit together. Occasionally our hands find each others. Her hands are soft. She has a soft grin; a content face. She watches the waves slowly come in and out. We see the tide coming nearer and nearer to our sandy toes. I hold my breath every time it almost touches.
“Walk?” she asks.
“Ok.” I say.
We slowly walk along the shore. There is ocean to the left, nothing to the right.
“I’m sorry.” I say. “I’m so sorry.” I look at her. Her face has changed. She is younger. Her long hair is in a braid; her face is softer than I remember. She grabs my hand with more intensity and just smiles at me. She grabs me around the shoulders and takes long strides across the sand. It is hard to keep up; her legs are longer than mine. I feel her hand on the back of my head occasionally (Almost her reminder to me that she is still there).
“Oysters!” she cries. Ahead there are dozens of oysters glistening in the sand. They have an almost silver glitter to them. She grabs one out of the sand, opens it with ease, and slides it into her mouth. She turns to me giggling and hands me one. I delicately take the oyster. Not knowing if I am trying to savor the moment or the oyster, I slowly slide the oyster into my mouth with my eyes closed. It is cool and salty. Perfect. I open my eyes and see her smiling at me. She grabs my hand to keep walking.
I continue to stare out into the ocean. The ripples and waves are gold and blue. The sun is under the water yet there is still so much light. I turn to find her. There are three people there, playing in the sand; the braided woman, an older woman with yellow skin in a nightgown with short hair, and a little girl. They all turn to me and smile very different smiles. The young girl has a smile of innocence and play. The braided woman has a smile of maturity and love. The older woman’s smile almost looks sad; tired. I walk heavy footed through the sand to them and sit. They are drawing in the sand. I can’t take my eyes off the older woman. She barely looks at me. Her hands are fragile and shaky as she draws in the sand. She looks in awe at the other two. I touch her hand. It is dry but still soft.
“They’re so beautiful”, she says without looking at me.
“Yes.” I say.
“The ocean is so beautiful.” She comments as she glances at the ocean. Her eyes are glistening with old tears. She digs her hand all the way into the sand till it is covered. She pulls her hand back out and opens it to reveal a million tiny sparkling pieces of sand. She smiles at her hand and looks at the young child and woman. They move into each other and stand. I watch them walk away briefly, and then run after them.
We walk in silence. She is a mix of all three now, slowly morphing and changing.
Ahead a row boat lightly bounces in the water.
“Look!” She cries as the younger her. Her little body runs to the boat.
I follow her, watching as she pushes the boat into the water and climbs in. I hold my hand out to her in attempts to pull her back in.
“I can’t go with you!” I yell as the boat starts to float away from shore.
“I know”, she says with a knowing smile. That is all that is said.
She sits in the boat, golden from the sun and oceans reflection. She moves further and further away. She leans forward in the boat propping up onto her knees and yells, “I’m happy!” Then she settles back into the boat. She is not looking at me anymore but towards the open ocean. She holds her arms out to the sky and I can’t hear her but I know that she is laughing.
Tears stream down my face as I wave back. I have nothing to say. There is still sand in my hand where she touched it. I still feel her arm around me as I watch her sail into the distance. Then she is gone. I sit down in the sand and watch as the last bits of light fade from the oceans waves. I sit enjoying the warmth from the light the last few moments that I can. The wind dances across my face and I bury my toes into the sand and close my eyes, remembering the last time I was here.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Wake up to Stress
How do we keep missing the signs? Our bodies are trying to tell us something. Our hearts are trying to tell us that we are in pain. "Trauma is the biggest killer" according to clinical psychology. Personally, I always say that I am fine. I might say that more than anything else.
It's safe to say that we all have a vision for how we want our life to play out. Whether it's a big house or a job at the firm or a smoking hot partner. Maybe it's smaller. Maybe it's internal. Maybe your search is for happiness. Or meaning. Or maybe it's less selfish. Is your life goal to provide a great life for your child? Or maybe you are in mission work. Whatever it is, it is still a goal. And with goals there seems to undeniably be a load of stress. These set backs or blockages in the road aren't always dealt with head on. They are brushed to the side. Do we not think that they are important? Maybe not. Maybe it's just because we don't have time to worry about them right now. We are too busy getting to the next step to even bother taking care of ourselves and our needs in this PRESENT moment. Present moment. I'm always only thinking about the past and the future. I seem to either be dwelling on the past or stressing about the future. My boyfriend shared a quote with me the other day that stopped me in my tracks. "Be aware of the power of the present moment". Yea! Exactly! God, why didn't I think of that before? Why didn't I think about it before I was crying for no apparent reason! I think that there is no apparent reason, but the reality (if I could just force myself to sit down and look at it) is that I have had opportunity after opportunity to fix it. Now comes the question, "what is it?" Well shit... I don't really know anymore. Now it's a multitude of things. A million emotions that have been tucked deep into the pockets of my body. I'm that person that has no idea how stressed I am until it is too late. I'm "6-feet under" so to speak. I get irritable. I get grumpy. I close down.
Why, as humans, do we do this to ourselves? We push ourselves to our breaking points, and then when we get there we say that we are "fine". The worst part is that we really don't even realize it until we are at that cliff, one inch from being pushed over the side into the deep end. It makes me think about how adults always say that kids and teenagers think that they are indestructible. That's why they drive too fast, or drink too much, or play with matches. Well, what about us adults? We might not being be playing with fire in a literal sense, but we sure are in metaphoric sense.
I always tell my students "see what will happen". At that moment that you want to drop out of a pose because your legs are burning, just stay in it. See what happens. When you want to look at your neighbor to see if you're as deep in the pose as they are, don't. Turn your gaze inward, and see what happens. So I have to ask, what would happen if we (yogi or not) stopped to look at our emotions/ our traumas/ our let down expectations in the face right when they happened. Would we be better or worse for it? Why not "see what will happen"?
It's safe to say that we all have a vision for how we want our life to play out. Whether it's a big house or a job at the firm or a smoking hot partner. Maybe it's smaller. Maybe it's internal. Maybe your search is for happiness. Or meaning. Or maybe it's less selfish. Is your life goal to provide a great life for your child? Or maybe you are in mission work. Whatever it is, it is still a goal. And with goals there seems to undeniably be a load of stress. These set backs or blockages in the road aren't always dealt with head on. They are brushed to the side. Do we not think that they are important? Maybe not. Maybe it's just because we don't have time to worry about them right now. We are too busy getting to the next step to even bother taking care of ourselves and our needs in this PRESENT moment. Present moment. I'm always only thinking about the past and the future. I seem to either be dwelling on the past or stressing about the future. My boyfriend shared a quote with me the other day that stopped me in my tracks. "Be aware of the power of the present moment". Yea! Exactly! God, why didn't I think of that before? Why didn't I think about it before I was crying for no apparent reason! I think that there is no apparent reason, but the reality (if I could just force myself to sit down and look at it) is that I have had opportunity after opportunity to fix it. Now comes the question, "what is it?" Well shit... I don't really know anymore. Now it's a multitude of things. A million emotions that have been tucked deep into the pockets of my body. I'm that person that has no idea how stressed I am until it is too late. I'm "6-feet under" so to speak. I get irritable. I get grumpy. I close down.
Why, as humans, do we do this to ourselves? We push ourselves to our breaking points, and then when we get there we say that we are "fine". The worst part is that we really don't even realize it until we are at that cliff, one inch from being pushed over the side into the deep end. It makes me think about how adults always say that kids and teenagers think that they are indestructible. That's why they drive too fast, or drink too much, or play with matches. Well, what about us adults? We might not being be playing with fire in a literal sense, but we sure are in metaphoric sense.
I always tell my students "see what will happen". At that moment that you want to drop out of a pose because your legs are burning, just stay in it. See what happens. When you want to look at your neighbor to see if you're as deep in the pose as they are, don't. Turn your gaze inward, and see what happens. So I have to ask, what would happen if we (yogi or not) stopped to look at our emotions/ our traumas/ our let down expectations in the face right when they happened. Would we be better or worse for it? Why not "see what will happen"?
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