Fog and Hand

A path not curvy or winding, but moving straight ahead appears in the dense fog of the forest. A hand reaches out to take mine; I grasp the hand and feel myself pulled along behind it. I do not know where we are going, and I am not sure that it matters anymore. All that matters now is that I have found my way to the clearing in the forest, and a hand infused with both strength and wisdom has found me. Questioning and doubting the hand will prove fruitless, surrender and trust are the only ways to make it through the forest alive.

Moving Elegantly Through the Muck

A couple of days ago, I told my husband that I wasn't interested in writing this blog anymore. I felt that I was being too self-indulgent by talking about the intricacies of my life online. I really just wanted to go within, retreat into my spaceship and stop trying to connect with people. However, I posted yesterday, and I am glad that I did, because I received such beautiful and heartfelt comments from my friends.

This morning I asked myself if I am contributing more to my world by writing this blog than I would be if I were sitting behind a desk at an office job. The answer was simply and obviously yes. As I was writing my journal this morning, I was thinking that one of the worst things that I could imagine would be to live my life without having contributed to anyone else, or adding any beauty and value to the world. I realized that I am contributing and I am bringing beauty and value into the world. The problem lies in the fact that I am not contributing money to my family by doing what comes naturally to me. I really want to find an immediate remedy for this problem.

Another reason that I didn't want to continue writing the blog is that frequently I feel the need to post an antidote to my "negative" posting from the previous day, but this is not a self-help blog, nor do I ever want it to become one. Last week after posting poetic prose about my own inner dirt, I immediately started to write a new post expressing some lesson that I had learned from my digging through my dirt. However in truth, I had not assimilated any new lessons, so I immediately deleted the antidote. I don't want to worry about losing readers because of fear that they only want to hear something rosy.

Something that I relearned yesterday was that life is a process, and sometimes we have to move through the muck, which doesn't happen overnight, to make it through to the other side. We don't jump over the muck, or go around it, we move through it. When I realized that I was moving through it, and not looking for a quick fix, I became more visible to myself, and started to relax into the messy process.

Thank you to everyone that reads this blog, and a special thank you to those people that post comments. Your comments are a real treasure. We should never underestimate the impact that we have on other people.

After the Growth Spurt

Recently I experienced five months of rapid self-transformation, which was wonderful and quite scary. Now I have hit the time of stagnation and confusion that frequently follows one of my growth spurts. I didn't want to write about this frustrating and depressing period in my life, because I want to keep some things to myself. When I started writing this blog I thought that I would be sharing my journal online. However, writing a blog and keeping a journal are two very different endeavors. My journal is lyrical, flowing, honest, and raw. My blog is censored and at times overly cautious in an attempt to minimize offending my readers. I haven't written lately, and I don't have much to say other than what I have already said: I am stuck and don't know how to get moving again.

Random thought, but something that I feel the need to mention: I will never write anything negative about another person in this blog. I can only share about myself, as I am the only person that I really know, and I'm not sure how well I actually know myself.

Earlier today I was chatting online with my best friend from grade school; I haven't seen her for over twenty years. I may not have seen or spoken to her for twenty years, but I have dreamt about her almost every night during that period of time; my subconscious attempt to process unfinished business. I think our conversation today may have helped, and I am looking forward to seeing how she shows up in my dreams tonight. I told her that I am still the shy and quirky girl that I was as a kid, and that I battle many of the same insecurities. She said that she doesn't picture me the way that I picture myself. I think that her vision of me is a bit nicer than my own vision. As I am writing this, it occurs to me that it would be interesting to compare how other people see us to how we see ourselves. I realize that in some cases this wouldn't be a very productive or helpful exercise. However, it can be beneficial and even healing when other people see us more favorably than we see ourselves. I'm not sure how to go about this experiment, but if anyone has any ideas let me know.

Some people relate to and appreciate other people sharing about their struggles, while other people take offense. The ones that take offense are usually stoic intellectual types that don't believe in ever indulging in self-doubt or a pint of Ben and Jerry's to assuage the blues. I'm not one of those people, the stoic type I mean, although at times I admire their rugged self-assuredness. One thing that I really dislike about them is when they tell me that I think too much, or that I am too sensitive. This "overly" sensitive and thoughtful woman gets really angry, although I don't show it, when I hear those dismissive words.

So I am just praying for some guidance and insight as to what to do next. I must do something, although I certainly don't know what. As I reminded myself yesterday when I couldn't stop crying: if I knew what to do I would do it, but I don't know what to do. I just know that I am not enjoying the time after the growth spurt.

Dirt and Broom

Dirt. Not the same dirt as on the floors of your nice house. My dirt is of the downtown streets, the dirt under the nails of the homeless man under the bridge. Mine is the dirt on the floor of the group home for the mentally ill. I asked you for a broom, surely you who have access to everything must have a broom that you can loan if not give me. Would you at least point me in the direction of a broom? You ignored my request. Why did you ignore me? Did you think that I should be able to find a broom on my own? Well, I can't.

The Contents of My Bedside Table

This morning I am lying in bed feeling a bit under the weather, and not at all like getting up and engaging life. So in my less than physically or mentally energetic state, my attention has been drawn to the contents of my bedside table. What do the contents of one's bedside table reveal about oneself? I think that it's a fairly interesting question to ask yourself, especially if you are in bed for part if not all of the day with nothing for entertainment except for your thoughts.

The contents of my bedside table: Two lamps, one elegantly decorated tzedakah (charity) box (it has a picture of a bird and the words dream written on it),  a cup of tea with bag still in it, a water glass, a clip on reading light, spiral notebook, very small notepad, pen, a stack of seven books written by authors ranging from Anais Nin to Gene Wilder.

In the drawers of my bedside table I have stacks of filled legal pads and notebooks, scraps of paper, receipts, Cd's, pens, and more books. I continue to cram more items into the top drawer even though it becomes increasingly difficult to close it. I am incredibly sentimental and find it difficult to part with anything. A part of me really believes that were I to throw away a movie ticket stub I would be throwing away a small part of myself and my life.

This has been a pleasant little meditation that I think is more profound than it may sound. Try it and see what you learn about yourself.

People I Admire and Wish to Thank

I have a very difficult time getting around to sending thank you notes for gifts, and if you are one of the people that has not received a thank you note from me, please know that I am grateful and the official thanks will one day arrive in your mail box. However, I have taken the time to randomly write letters to people letting them know how great I think they are.

 One day a few months ago, I was feeling lousy about myself and envious of certain people that I know that seemed to be living more exciting lives than I was. How did I handle my jealousy? I sent out e-mails to a select few people, praising their accomplishments and character. I gave those people the words that I needed to hear. The really beautiful thing is that my jealousy disappeared and I ended up feeling fantastic.

My list of people that I admire, or just wish to thank for being in my life:
1. My husband: He's the greatest partner I could have asked for. He brings happiness and joy into my life. I don't think that I could survive without him.
2. My daughter: She teaches me patience, and inspires me not to care what people think.
3. My father: A constant source of encouragement.
4. My sister: She inspires me to become a better person. She is proof that life really does get better after forty. Dawn blossoms and grows more creative every year.
5. My stepmother: The embodiment of patience and grace.
6. My mother-in-law: Smart, talented, and ever youthful.
7. Pamela: Crazy, smart, creative, nurturing, and beautiful. My best friend and a great playmate. She is capable of doing anything she wants if she set her mind to it! The world awaits you.
8.Mort Barr: Thanks for encouraging me and believing in my ability.
9. Ruby Grossblatt: A million thanks for believing in me.
10. Leah Scheier: A beautiful, talented and wonderfully quirky woman.Even though I haven't seen her in two and a half years, she continues to inspire me.
11. Shayna Morse: Thanks for reading my posts, and for always giving me a thumbs up!

There are a lot more people to thank, however, it's time for me to grab a snack and finish decorating the house for Chanukah.

Much love to you all.

Pushed Buttons

Last night I told my husband that I didn't have anything to write a blog post about, he suggested that I write a post about how well my relationship with my daughter is progressing. However, I don't write those kinds of posts, or so I thought. My daughter is fourteen, and she and I have many conflicts as mothers and daughters often do. In the past few weeks I have been able to disengage and not become involved in yet another fruitless and exhausting argument with my teenager. Last night on the way home from my daughter's play practice, I wanted to ask, "Have you noticed anything different about me? Isn't Mommy doing better?" Fortunately, I refrained from asking those questions, because by this morning Mommy was acting exactly the same as she did a few weeks ago.

 The temperature was 36 this morning; my daughter went out with bare legs and a jacket instead of a coat. I harassed her about the way she was dressed for a good twenty-five minutes, and in the end she won; my peaceful morning was ruined. Did my daughter destroy my peace, and force me to act like a nagging mother? What buttons was she pushing? Was it really that I didn't want her legs to be cold? Of course I didn't want my child to be cold, but she really didn't mind having cold legs. I think that the truth of the situation goes back to my earlier comment about her winning. I was engaging in some sort of competition with her about who is ultimately right. I wanted to be in control and be "right". This is a lousy way to approach any relationship, particularly one with a teenager.

The need to be right and make other people wrong, is a rather imprisoning way to show up in the world. It means that I have a hard time saying that I am sorry or accepting an apology for that matter, not to mention it causes many arguments and keeps me from appreciating another person's perspective.

I started the conflict this morning. It's still hard for me to let go of the fact that I am not always in control, and it is not necessary or in my best interest or anyone else's for that matter for me to be in control.

 My daughter is my teacher for better or worse. I can always count on her to push my buttons, and every time that a button is pushed, I have an opportunity to reach for a different response and grow into a better version of me.