Thursday, October 31, 2013

Small Things Matter




Every once in a while, I come across the reading that was chosen for our wedding.

At some point, I am to come to terms with the fact that I no longer have a wedding anniversary to celebrate.  It stopped at Seven years, and didn't make it to Eight. The opinionated, stubborn, black-and-white side of me will insist that there will be no celebration beyond Seven.  I do not want to be in the "it would have been Eight" state.  I don't even like hearing those words.  You either are, or are not; have, or have not.  Like pregnancy, it is all very black and white.

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Small things matter
Small things like never being too old to hold hands.
Like remembering to say "I love you" and mean it as you say it.

It is never going to sleep angry at each other.
It is keeping a sense of appreciation for each other while giving yourself fully.

It is having a mutual sense of values and common objectives.
It is standing together facing the wind.
It is creating a circle of love that draws in family and friends.
It is doing things for each other, not in attitude of duty, but in the spirit of joy.

It is expressing gratitude in thoughtful ways
and not looking for perfection in each other.

It is cultivating flexibility, patience, understanding, and a sense of humor.
It is fostering the capacity to forgive.
It is giving each other nurturance and space to grow.

It is finding room for the things of the spirit.
It is a common search for things positive and beautiful.
It is not only marrying the right partner, it is being the right partner.

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I hope I never stop learning how to be the right partner.  I hope I never forget, nor do I need to remember.  I hope it all simply becomes the fabric that makes up who I am.

It all just becomes me.  



Friday, October 25, 2013

His Jackets


I washed them.  Folded them.  Took a picture.  As if I would forget what each one looks like.  But, what is the point?  They are jackets.  On the other hand, they are my husband's jackets.  Were.  Were my husband's jackets.  


Such is a typical and somewhat pointless conversation inside my head. 

These jackets will find their ways to my friends' closets; make themselves useful elsewhere.  It's a way to honor Patagonia's philosophy. 

Godspeed.  


I proceeded with other items in Eric's dresser.  It's a No-Go.  I put everything back in the drawers.  Not ready.  Can't do it.  

Jackets are released a month after Yellow Warrior Bike, all before the One Year mark. Not that there is a timeline nor is it a race.  Still, I think it is incredibly strong progress.  Very grateful.  And proud. 

Then I got this from Kevin.  About letting go.  There will be progress again next month.  



    




Saturday, October 19, 2013

The Girl Who Flew the Kite


"Don't be so serious all the time!  Where is the Daisy who flew the kite?  I want that Daisy back." 


There she is!
The innocent question hit me hard.  I don't know where the "Daisy who flew the kite" went. She who was completely carefree, at least momentarily. Flying her kite with pure delight.  With an open attitude that was the envy of all attitudes.  She was exhilaratingly present on the beach. Made her prominent mark.  She also seems to be slightly preoccupied at the moment. She may return tomorrow; maybe Monday. May be next March. Who knows.  But she'll be back when she's back.  

I aspire to live a playful life, with intermittent moments of seriousness.  It is just not very much fun the other way around.  It's easier said than done if you want to do it artfully and meaningfully.  To not use humor as a mere distraction.  Distractions are fine, as long as you are fully aware what they do for you, to you, and against you.

So serious...

I have been in the middle of an "intermittent moment of seriousness" for months. It's where I am with my life.  The death of a spouse does that to people, I think. It forces me to deal with my core and everything caught in my web with a different lens.  I desperately want to emerge from this vortex.  Some days, it seems like an uphill trudge to just smile at puppies, as I untangle life.  Everything seems mundanely frivolous on those days.  There is little energy left to be playful.  Luckily, those days are farther and fewer in between. Other times, being playful is a cakewalk.  I can banter with friends for hours, flirt with waiters, and get comp'd on desserts.  To me, that's an example of being playful.

It is exhausting to be around me sometimes.  I get that.  Heck, it's exhausting for ME to be around me sometimes.  I can only imagine how confusing it can be for a new friend to "drop in" in the middle of my life.  There is no other word for it but "exhausting."  I feel bad to be emotionally unpredictable.  I don't have a solution.  Life is messy.  My life is, at the moment, a bit messy.


"The Daisy who flew the kite"
Copalis Beach, WA
September, 2013
I remember asking Eric "why do you have to be so intellectual all the time?"  I remember feeling the dichotomy of his intensity being the greatest blessing yet the biggest curse. "It's how I'm wired, hone."  Our talks would interweave seriousness with playfulness. I desperately want to fill those holes, but the efforts become forced and unnatural. Then I realize, these holes are NOT meant to be filled; or replaced. These holes are meant to remain.  

I am to create new interweaving of seriousness with playfulness with others now.

"Where is the Daisy who flew the kite?  I want her back."  

There is a time and a place for everything.  In the continuum of seriousness until I fully emerge from my vortex, there is plenty of room for playfulness.  Work on it. But not too seriously. 



My very own Prism kite











Friday, October 11, 2013

Daisy. Clarity. Rebirth. Connector.


I have never been "enlightened" in the conventional sense.  I suppose - I assume - Buddhism might say it is achieving a state of clarity.  I am not a Buddhist, but, SOME of its teaching intrigues me.  If I compare enlightenment as "a state of clarity in life," I would say that I have never been as "enlightened" as I am at this point in my life.  Sometimes things are so real and so clear they become surreal. 

On April 28 this year, I wrote a blog entry about a lesson on kindess.  I wrote about serendipitously discovered a blog on Kindness, written by the co-founder of Puget Sound Community School Andy Smallman.  The most important takeaway of Andy's writing was about reviewing an experience in your life that caused you pain in order to find the blessings in it.  I discovered Andy's blog barely two months after Eric's death.  I found myself drawn to the assignment, but was never able to finish reading the blog without completely filling my eyes with blur.  The assignment, however, was always in my head.  I constantly reviewed this darkest time of my life that caused me tremendous and unexplainable, exhausting pain, and attempted to discover the blessings in it.  The assignment has taken a long time.  

I think I may have finally found it.  I think I may have found the hidden blessing from the death of my beloved husband, the person I loved more than anything.  Anything.  It is so hard to type just this one sentence.  It immediately makes me tear up.  But I must write it to believe it.  

The blessing, as it turns out, is my rebirth.  

Eric's death turned my life upside down in a giant vortex.  My choice was to get sucked down forever in the abyss, or emerge.  I hate water; and I sure as hell will not die in it.  The only alternative is up.  A rebirth.

I have never been as clear about my life as I am today.  After an exceedingly difficult, stressful, and emotional week at work, example after example sends me the same message.  

I am a Connector.  

I am a connector who connects people - friends to friends; friends to strangers.  
I am a connector who connects people to humanity causes. 
I connect people to important issues about the environment, justice, life.  
I connect people to Puget Sound Community School.  
I connect people to discover their own passion. 
I connect people via all channels: my warmth, my laughs, my writing, my music, my presence. My bread.  
I connect people with my passion.  My passion in living my fullest life possible.  

I am a Connector.  We are all connectors; we have tremendous responsibilities as a citizen of the world to connect each other to humanity, in ways we deem meaningful.  

I am grateful to have finally found the hidden blessing in Eric's death.  There is simply no word to describe my gratitude.  The love.  Our bond.  My journey.  I am the single most fortunate person to have shared a portion of my life with my husband, exactly the way we did.   

I am to use all these for the greater good now.  And to create another beautiful and vibrant life for me.  The canvas is set.  Paint with gusto!




Winter Sojourn 2011
Ashland, OR