The Mix and the Maze

Today, there is change in the air. Maybe it's the solstice, or maybe it's my imagination. The causation is not nearly as intoxicating to me as the effect. It's barely winter, but already, I feel the stirrings of life in my roots as though spring were around the corner. Then again, I guess it is as swim suits should be in a department store near you, soon!

I had a crazy dream last night. I was shopping in a Toys R Us with a friend for her kids for Christmas. We became separated, and when I could not find her, my restless nature led me away from the store and into a hospital, where I found a nice cozy spot to watch Jurassic Park on VHS in an empty conference room because of reasons. My movie time was then interrupted by a myriad of visitors. Sometimes, my life feels like that. I sit down with popcorn and tea to watch a favorite movie when a flood of thoughts and feelings rudely bombard my down time and take me away from all the fun. Oh, life...

After a long time of things being helter-skelter, half-whimmed, and more than a little nuts, I long to put structure back into my life. But not just any structure...I want to post a want ad, take resumes, filter, and hand-pick with care and coordination what structure I put back in the chaos that has become the defining characteristic of my current situation(s). The challenge here is that I'm so confused, not entirely sure what criteria and election I'd even use to select that structure. A little at a time...baby steps. Baby steps. 

There is so much beauty in the endless availability in possibility for me now. While I'll be the first to admit I have no idea how to get a handle on it, that does not diminish the spectacular glimmer of what is possible in the wake of the destruction my life has fallen into. I can move anywhere. I can start anew in a new (or many new) field(s). I can fall in love with the endless azure sky and chase it like a butterfly. The possibilities are as boundless as my imagination; however, in the stress the absence of structure causes me, what I tend to do first is reign in and bind my imagination until better days ahead  Well, NO MORE! I declare the wildness of my capricious third-eye wide open!

I wonder if eggs feel like this when the get broken open and scrambled into cookie dough. That's got to be a very disconcerting experience. They go from safely ensconced in hard-shelled, dark, self-contained spheres to being haplessly tossed into a brown solution of milk, flour, sugar, salt, and who knows what else, and harshly beaten and battered into the mix. Yes, people, I am cookie dough! Now that I have that figured out, I can move on to yet another analogy.

If I am not cookie dough, I'm a mouse in a maze. I can smell the cheese, but I have no idea how in the hell to get to the sniffed out desires. And as I am not a creature well-adapted to following my nose, it is not second nature. That doesn't make it impossible, just challenging. Challenges are good though, right?

SO there you have it. I'm either scrambled eggs in cookie dough or an a-mazed mouse. Sounds right. Glad I've gotten at least that much straightened out.

Tootles from the mixing bowl!

Everything I Touch Seems to Fizzle

You know how King Midas touched turned to gold? Given my current budget, that would be a very handy gift to have, as long as I did't feel like any physical affection or petting my cats. Well, if I speculated about the gift at my hands, it would be fizzling. The funny thing is that writing this blog seemed so important and now my desire is starting to fizzle a bit. 

I love the word fizzle. It could be the two z's or the way the word is one of those onomatopoeia words. Fizzling makes me think of San Pellegrino, champagne, and jets in a hot tub. The effervescent bubbles reminds me of the happy, exuberant, and joyful eagerness in which many of my projects get started. Often, there is a lively vivaciousness behind projects I start. But then, I get bored, distracted, overwhelmed, or put off for a myriad of other reasons. And then, the bubbles seem to wear off and the project fizzles out. 

Fizzling can also mean the hissing sound caused by a liquid or gas forced through an aperture (that's the onomatopoeia one). This fits too, because the tight pressure exuded when I start something is often unsustainable bubbly energy dissipates.   

So my life has a serious case of the fizzles. What is that all about? 

I buy into the Hermetic Axiom that states "As above, so below; as below, so above," but see it more as what shows up in the outside of my world is a reflection of my internal world. The circumstances and situations and limitations I experience in life are a reflection of my psychology. It all plays out. So what inside of me fizzles? I'm losing interest again. More fizzle! Speaking of fizzle, where is the bubbly?

It's hard to know where the stories and perceptions in my head fizzle, but shall we give it a gander? I would guess it's a self esteem issue. Novelty, by it's nature, is exciting. The excitement of something new or ventured is often something I revel in just for the joy of the new and the adventure. But as the novelty wanes, there is certainly a part of me that starts to question whether I've made a good choice or a bad choice, and while self examination is a good thing, constant self doubt is undermining. It's a bubble-killer for sure. So how do I learn to believe in something long enough to sustain it when the bubbles burn out because this fizzle-touch thing has got to go, or at least share space with a touch that's like the Energizer bunny.

When Terror Come to Town & Despair Moves In...

My life is fun and juicy! I have people that love me and care about my welfare, which is the truest wealth I have ever experienced. I know what I enjoy and pamper myself with as much self care and self adoration as possible. I allow myself to believe and hope for all dreams and desires to come to me. I do Law of Attraction meditations, read prolifically as to keep my worldview ever expansive, and sometimes plain out beg and barter with any higher powers that be to make things even more awesome, in my opinion. I love my life while desiring ever more fulfillment. There is so much pleasure and joy in my life and limitless room for more, more, more. I get that and celebrate such flourishing. But there is another side too, and that is the terror and despair. I want to discuss that now. Writing this scares me, and I am half tempted to type under my desk as though I were hiding from velociraptors. You should know reading this, you are going to be privy to my deep, dark secrets. Enjoy!

Before I go on, it practically takes the power of a goddess to get me to out myself in this way. Her name is Bernadette Pleasant.  I want to let you know this post is part of the Emotions in Motion Blog Tour, which I am very pleased and honored to be a part of along with other women bloggers, excelling in both expressive and emotional explorations. The other blog posts have some amazing things to say about regret, jealousy, courage, and power. You can see more at:

http://bit.ly/EmotioninMotion

So in focusing on what I want, what pleases me, what lights me up, it's not always lollypops and rainbows. My secret? It seems when something amazing is about to happen, those things I've envisioned, prayed for, dreamed of, meditated on (you name it, I've done it),  I often suffer immediately after from anxiety-inducing hide-under-the-bed-and-never-leave debilitating terror. It's like right before Santa Claus comes, the boogeyman slobbers all over me, and robs me the joy of Christmas morning. Hell, at that point, I kind of give up any anticipation of the pretty packages wrapped in string. I feel successful if I just get out of bed. That's the fear for you, and it's really, really strong. I know the saying that courage is not the absence of fear but moving through it, but some fear is so big, it feels there is no moving through it. I am TERRORIZED! But that's a secret because I'm also on a high pleasure, high positivity energetic diet, so it doesn't seem it should be this way at all.

I want to tell you about my terror, because it's taken me years even to hold myself still enough to actually observe it as it runs through my body. I feel my heart race, my breathe quicken, and the hyper-aware state of fight-or-flight take over. I'm physically ready to kill, swiftly dodge, or promptly pass out, which seems to be my body's preferred safety mechanism. Panic assails me, and I think I'm the biggest idiot ever for putting myself in a place where such a strong fear takes over and manifests itself into my life. Then, I usually distract myself by being hungry, having an errand to run, or actually taking sanctuary under my covers and refusing to face the world. Yes, sometimes I resort to the same method I did use against the boogeyman in the closet back when I was 5. Maturity at it's finest!

The real crux of this unreasonable, irrational, and yet totally overwhelming terror is that it's flowing from the direction of my dreams and desires--all those things I want because I want my life more pleasurable and juicy. In fact, the search for the juice has released an unmitigated flood of fear into my life. It's there, it's real, and I cannot positive-vibe it out of existence no matter how much I've tried. So here I am, acknowledging it. On the other side is the fear of staying where I am, the fear of stagnation and strangulation in a life that is only half-lived. I desire to move forward, but with the boogeyman under my bed, I spend a lot of time frozen in terror and refusing to move forward. In fact, I'd call myself a Master of Procrastination. I'm like a deer in headlights, fumigated in both directions by high beams. Yes, fumigated, because I breathe that shit in!

And as an afterthought to the terror, despair moves in. Not the Nicholas Sparks read-and-weep variety. The despair is quiet, uncertain, needy, awkward, and apathetic. It's like a listless house elf, just sitting there. Once this despair takes over, I could stare at a spot in the wall for hours or spend those same hours walking a dog, shopping, picking my nails, reading a book, watching a CSI marathon run, or posting on Facebook. The despair doesn't move, is not placated, and just continues to sit there like that listless house elf.

I go from boogeyman to listless house elf.

Eventually, my positive-energy generators heat up like a furnace, and again, I'm flooded with the feel good pleasures of the people who love me (and I love), the things I love, and I do all I can to welcome (actually entreat is more like it) pleasure and joy back into the vacuum. And the listless house elf of despair goes back wherever listless house elves go between listless adventures.

Now that you know my secret, would you like me to take you further? I can even show you it in action. You can see the tender exposure of my underbelly and even judge if you'd like! Hell, what do I care? I have boogeymen and house elves to contend with...

I had a good paying career, an education, and a relatively decent resume. But my life felt like cardboard (see the first post). I decided to go on a search for juice, and what I discovered was my optimal life for happiness looked very different from the life I had been living. I tried four different job changes, which I will doubtless elaborate on in future posts, but everything went from mediocre to drab to untenable to downright ugly. I decided never to work for another company again and instead work for myself. So, see here we have an example of the crux I described above. I was afraid to leave the familiar world of working for someone else crossing over the desire to experience the pleasure of working for myself. It should be an easy-to-navigate transition, right? Of course! But it's been a full out ugly nightmare. The terror has swallowed me whole, leaving me weak and listless in its wake. And I've spent a lot of time since then dancing around this odd ecosystem. That is not to say I'm miserable. Quite the opposite. While sitting around listlessly, I developed some of the best friendships I've ever had. I've breathed through pain, fried potatoes in butter, watched clouds meander in animal shapes, fed ducks stale vegetables bought from the farmer's market, and dreamed and imagined what life can be. My life has been infused with more pleasure and joy than I ever knew possible except in this very relevant, very demanding area. Pleasure and despair are not mutually exclusive. They are actually really good at taking turns, and sometimes, they even seem to like to take bets and heighten the stakes.

So to get back to the crossroads of my fear and terror, I have taken miniscule baby steps towards working for myself, and more often than not, when the terror sweeps me, I end up hiding under the covers or in the closet for a while. And I'm getting by, obviously, because I am here typing this. But even as I write this blog, I feel the boogeyman blowing down my neck, with the listless house elf at my feet, following me, waiting to sit in apathy.

So, my life doesn't feel like cardboard anymore, which is beyond priceless to me. My life is full of juice, pleasure, and love. But like I said before, it's not all lollypops and rainbows. I'm just hear breathing, trying to move through the emotions, allowing myself to be inspired and believe this is not something to overcome but instead undertake. And I have awesome people routing for me.

Emotions show up, and they move. That's what they do. And even when we face the darkest of our fears, we can remain committed to joy, juice, or whatever it is we say is worth living for. That's when it's amazing to have people inspire and stand for you. Like this... I mean, check this woman out! Doesn't she just look like one of the happiest women ever?

                                                              Bernadette Pleasant, the creator of Emotion in Motion has developed a safe and sacred day-long journey that engages the mind, body and soul. Weaving together the use of music, percussions, meditation, and hands-on healing, her January 4th workshop will create an impactful, life-changing experience for each participant! You can purchase tickets here or participate in her latest giveaway.  http://bit.ly/EmotioninMotion

Pleasure is Imperative!

Whole life. I desperately desire for my life to be whole and full, the kind worthy of a good Christina Aguilera ballad or Billy Collins poem. Or hell, even a decent blog. Yes, if the meaning of life is an elective, I’ll take a tale worth being told.

The follow-up question is how to do that or what that even is? Seems rational that I should go on some discourse on the meaningfulness of life as according to me. I could pontificate on priorities, what-to-do’s, and stuff like that, but the thought of it is already putting me to sleep.

I think a vocabulary lesson sounds more fun!  Here’s one you’ve seen before:

Pleasure: 1. a pleased feeling; enjoyment; delight; satisfaction 2. one’s wish, will, or choice 3. a thing that gives delight or satisfaction 4. gratification of the senses; sensual satisfaction 5. amusement.

I have a laundry-list of complaints, but you know what? I do not have a laundry list of pleasures or things that please me. Maybe that’s because there is nothing to wash-out. I think I shall take the time to write a list of things that bring me joy here. This task is not perfunctory, however (that was a different vocabulary lesson I found in my dictionary, so hey, I had to use it).

Pleasures: snuggling with my cat on sad days; sitting in front of my fireplace with a cup of organic, sumptuous tea with a snow storm raging outside; being with and spending time with the people I love; reading a good book; feeling the endorphins after a good workout; eating spinach; visiting places I’ve only seen in Lonely Planet Guide travel books or postcards; having quick-witted and clever conversations that require my full presence and engagement; dancing to a favorite song; eating really good chocolate; wild-berry gorgonzola guacamole; expressing a thought for which I struggle to find words and having someone understand me; canoeing on silent lakes away from hordes of people; making something with my hands and having it turn out at least roughly as I saw it in my mind’s eye; reveling in the twinkle of another’s love and acceptance; watching wild birds take flight; digging my toes in sea-soaked beach sand as waves and tides wash against my legs; taking a bubble bath in candle light; hiding in bed under my homemade quilts when life just feels like too much; being on a boat where the chop and spray of water remind me I am not on solid land; fog and mist in a place that looks as it were in Lord of the Rings; solving a puzzle; finally figuring out something that has long vexed me; a good biography; studies-abroad; treasure hunting with a metal detector; eating salsa fresca, in the summer, with Romano tomatoes from my garden; hearing and seeing the dreams of others as they progress…

These are a few of my favorite things! The most amazing thing happened to me as I made that list. As I looked over dreams and memories to find things that have amused and pleased me, my body relaxed significantly. A feeling of calm and peace washed over me, like those ocean waves I’m so fond of. Wow, it’s like yoga without actually doing downward dog!

I like pleasure. That has not always been the case. For years, I had a severe pleasure digestion problem. You know, most of my life, the term “Guilty Pleasure” has been redundant. In a world where hard work, determination, and unwavering dedication are lauded as the road to The Most High of All Human Achievements, benignly pleasure is a minor distraction whereas malignantly, it’s an intersection with a forked-road between all I ever has wanted and that veering to Hell. With my eyes on some far off future prize, guilt and pleasure became indistinguishable euphemisms for failure to achieve. And that summation became a problem.

Here’s why. Pleasure is not some expendable life-experience for slackers, goof-offs, and the never-do-wells…which as twisted as it sounds, is a mindset I somehow came to adopt and judge by. If it doesn't sound like a lot of fun, let me assure you, it wasn't.  Pleasure is at the heart of the human experience and a whole life. And if I maintain the meaning of my life as something worth blogging about, in my book, pleasure isn’t expendable or extinguishable. It’s the key ingredient.

How well do you digest pleasure? How quickly can you think of a list of things that please you? How do you feel before and after doing so? You should try it. It’s an amusement, and according to definition numero cinco that means it’s a self-fulfilling pleasure.

You know what else is pleasant? Bernadette!
This post is part of the Emotions in Motion Blog Tour in honor of her and her work, which I am very pleased and honored to be a part of along with other women bloggers. You can see more at:

http://bit.ly/EmotioninMotion

So the search begins, again...

In Search of the Juice

For years, my life felt like it was made out of cardboard: bland, consistent, and soggy when it got wet. I had a life-supporting job, enrolled in my first mortgage, consumed my share or more of unleaded fuel to transport myself around, and participated in the life-affirming activity of getting food through a drive-thru, as my life was so busy and full of stuff, even my nutritious intake had to be prepackaged and quick.

But the weird thing was that my job wasn’t life-supporting beyond the paycheck; it was life-sucking. Mortgage literally means “death pledge,” and despite my excitement of owning my own slice of America, and that often touted American Dream, signing those papers felt like signing ownership of my life and freedom to a bank. And fast-food might be prepackaged and quick, but it leaves out the nourishment of my body, for which it is consumed. Then, I began to get an inkling that my life too, full of busyness and stuff, might be missing the chief ingredient of its existence. And that’s how my life came to feel like cardboard.

What to do when I am doing all the “right” things I learned in order to live a wholesome, happy, fulfilling life, and it’s just not doing it for me? My answer to that question was this blog. I determined that I would find a way to put magical and magnetic fun back into my life, what I saw as “juice”. That was in 2009. I found the book You Can Do It! The Merit Badge Handbook for Grown-up Girls and went with that. The intention of this book still brings tears to my eyes. Lauren Catuzzi Grandcolas had the intention of writing this book but died on September 11 on United Airlines Flight. Her sisters completed the book in honor of her memory. Please hold while I wipe the tears from my eyes.

I read through the book and created an impressive to-do list, which included learning to fly a plane, getting a graduate degree, and go to Costa Rica and surf. That is how this blog started. Seven stickers in, I realized the juice had been sucked out of my intention and all I had was yet another cardboard to-do list. In frustration, I deleted all of my documented adventures. Now I only have my memories, which are faulty. I was so busy documenting my progress that I forgot to enjoy myself long enough to actually make memories of what I was doing.

One I do remember was an encouragement to become a wine connoisseur, sort of. I had a wine party with different kinds of wines and had my guests guess the type and describe the flavors (Activity 29 and page 232 of the book). I couldn’t tell you shit about the wine we drank, and I still cannot tell the difference between a Cabernet and Sauvignon. I can tell the difference between red wine and white wine! But what I do remember is planning the event, going wine shopping with my friend’s then-boyfriend (now husband) with a culinary background and developed palate. I remember my friends and acquaintances coming over, giving them cards to fill out, getting slightly buzzed, laughing and having a truly good time, and feeling the contentedness of a well-hostessed party. That is what I remember. It was magical and magnetic.

I never gave up on the journey, although I stopped my documented and observant stance on the whole thing and instead got sucked in to the story of it, tumbling around like a wet garment in the drier. And now here I am, looking back and resurrecting this online chronicle of an unexpected journey. In the days ahead, I will need to recover what was deleted and add the new.

It’s funny. I forgot all about this blog until a random Facebook post from one of the juiciest humans I know of, Bernadette Pleasant (just check her out on www.bernadettepleasant.com ) got me thinking about it and reflecting. This prompted me to not only revisit the whole search of juice thing, but write about it. You see, the good news is my life no longer feels like cardboard.