Category Archives: gratitude

Going big with the love

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Since it’s Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d start with a Christmas story.

In December, there was a video going around on social media about a girl in kindergarten in the US who’s only Christmas present wish was for her Dad to come home from Iraq.  Santa shows up at her school classroom with gifts for all the kids and then, in the big reveal, takes off the beard and hat and it turns out to be her Dad. Cue crying.

Seriously, cue crying. Which I totally did since her reaction and her Dad’s was really heart-melting to witness. Absolute love and joy.

But, then I got to thinking. How confusing for this kid. Does she now think her Dad is Santa? What about the other kids in the class – do they think this guy is Santa? Or, how many of those kids were now asking, “hey, is Santa even real? WTF?”

Which may have been fine if I’d kept my thoughts to myself (a place I seem to end up at a lot).  But I was out with a group of girlfriends who all, except for me and one other woman, have kids. And we were talking about this video and I shared my thoughts and said that I have never been able to sort out what I would do if I was a parent with regards to the whole Santa and Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny gig.

I mean, you basically lie to your kids. At the same time you are trying to build a sense of trust with them and teach them not to lie.  I remember how I felt when I figured out that Santa wasn’t real. Like the butt of a practical joke; too stupid to figure out what everyone else already knew.

On the other hand, Santa is fun for kids. The excitement, leaving him treats (and some for the reindeer), using the NORAD site to track his progress on Christmas Eve. Who wants to miss out on that?

As you can imagine, there was a deafening awkward silence at my statement punctuated only by the sympathetic glance from my also-childless friend, who clearly knew better than me to not voice such things.  I’m not sure if I sounded critical, I certainly didn’t mean to be. I was genuinely interested in how these women squared that circle.

Alas, no one picked up my awkward words as they lay there on the table staring helplessly back at me. There was just awkward silence as everyone just took another drink from their cocktails and the evening continued on. So, anyway ….

Later, also via Facebook, I found an article about how people explain Santa to their kids as they get older. It proposed  that we all are the spirit of Santa together. When you’re a kid, your parents play the spirit of Santa. When you get older, you learn that everyone is the spirit of Santa and we all contribute to making the magic of Christmas. It is bigger than just a guy who delivers presents. It’s the sharing and gifts and gratitude we all create our loved ones.

Which brings me to Valentine’s Day. And making the spirit of Valentine’s Day bigger than just chocolate, consumerism and couples. It brings me to Generosity Day. To bringing more love into the world, in all its various forms. Couples and families, friends and strangers. To random acts of kindness. To sharing ourselves instead of our stuff. To the pause in a busy day to really connect with another person. To buying the stranger behind you in the drive-though a coffee. To taking the time to listen. To hugs and smiles. To going big with the love. In a hundred small ways.

Maybe it’ll last longer than just one day.

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A single sunset

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It was almost two years ago that I came smack up against my shame gremlins.

I was on a similar “break from the rainy wet coast for some sun on a tropical island” vacation and I had brought Brene Brown’s book on shame with me. I didn’t really think I had an issue with shame but Brene’s other book on letting go of other’s expectations of me helped me so much and so I thought I’d give the shame book a read.

One of the exercises said to outline things that you don’t want to be seen as. The first three on my list – fat/ugly, financially irresponsible and stupid seemed pretty self-explanatory as reflections of perfectionism. All are subjective in that they change from situation to situation largely dependent on how I feel about myself. On how secure I feel.

And then there was the fourth – single. Not subjective but a cold, hard fact that I had been banging my head on over and over without realizing it.

It was both a moment of sheer horror and sheer revelation. A naked, exposed moment of vulnerability. A wave of hot, flushing cheeks, of an acknowledgement of deep pain, the breaking of a dam of long held-back emotions and an overwhelming urge to run and hide forever.

But, also a moment of great hope. Of the beginning of a journey to ask why something which is not shameful should make me feel that way. And, the beginning of accepting that expecting myself to be brilliant, thin, financially padded and married might just be the source of unhappiness and anxiety, rather than the fact that I am not any of those things.

I am reminded of that pivotal moment here on this tropical island. This place that celebrates couples. Of honeymoons and 50th wedding anniversaries. Of couples discounts and romantic sunsets.

To be honest, the first few days were a bit of a jolt of “I don’t belong here” and “this isn’t my world”. And so, as I have done again and again over these past two years, I have had to set aside what I think my world is supposed to be and ask myself what do I want my world to actually be?

So far, my rain break world has included overcoming anxiety about wearing a wetsuit so I can snorkel with a manta ray, lazing on the beach, exploring some sacred places on this island, good talks with one of my best friends, and last night, standing near the top of one of the highest places on earth with the sun setting on one side of me and the full moon rising on the other.

A moment of perfect balance and beauty. A moment where I was filled with gratitude that I am smart enough, thin enough, financially responsible enough and singularly me enough to stand in that moment in perfect contentment.

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Casting shadows

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I took this picture of some fall flowers the other day. What strikes me is how the beauty of the colours contrasts with the dark of the shadows.

As these days get shorter and the darkness of the winter season settles in, I am feeling the shadows.

While there are the bright moments of times with friends, hard-fought progress at work and time at the torch or behind the camera, there are the still quiet moments of sadness and alone-ness.

I wish I didn’t have to live with the shadows. To feel what lies there. It would be nice to numb out the feelings – with food, with TV, with busy-ness, with whatever.

But, then I don’t get to feel the light, the sunshine and the colour. And, I don’t want to be numb to that.

So, as I head into the darkness of winter, I am going to try to remember to be in the light but also just to let the shadows be. To accept the sadness so that I can also accept the joy. And to be thankful that I am alive in the feeling.

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The rattle of the bones

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On this All Hallow’s Eve as the veil between the worlds thins and I honour the Ancestors, I am reminded of how short and precious life is. I am reminded to take chances, to go all in with my heart when it matters and to let go of the rest that doesn’t. To move through the fear that blocks me and stops me and leaves me with regrets. And to always strive to live with courage, with love and in connection.

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Blowing my own horn

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This past weekend, I made cornucopias with some friends as part of a fall equinox celebration. We wrote all the things we are thankful for on the objects that went into our horn of plenty.

I wrote the usual stuff – family, friends, a good job, roof over my head, good health – and then I wrote “me”.

I’m not sure if that’s egotistical or narcissistic but I realized that I am thankful for me.

For the me that keeps trying. The me that is open to change. The me that is learning to listen to my heart and trust the whispers there. The me that has the courage to face the fear.

The me that can show up in my life and hopefully for the loved ones in my life. The me that is learning to butt out. The me that has learned to ask for and accept help. The me that knows that I don’t know. The me that doesn’t expect me to be perfect.

I’ve never put me on my gratitude list before.

Maybe I’ve never really been thankful to be me before now.

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A solitary happiness

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“Because her original pattern was so worn
the last time she flew apart,
she was forced to let the pieces
reattach as they pleased.
Once the shock wore off,
she welcomed the change.”
~Susan Mrosek

A year ago today, my heart got broken.

I’ve been a bit scared leading up to today. Scared that this day would plunge me into feeling exactly like I did last year; that it would send me spiraling into a dark, grey place of depression.

A friend commented to me that I could just treat it as a day like any other day. But to me it isn’t. It feels like a passageway that needs to be marked in some way. But not by bleakness and despair.

So, I got to thinking about what the journey over the past year has meant to me. What do I want to mark? It has been a year of incredible transition and transformation. It led to me starting to share my writing and my photos. It led to me signing up for a glass sculpting class; and then one on glass beads. I started going places and doing things on my own. I learned to stay home with the TV off and enjoy spending time with myself. I started to say “no” to things that I was doing only because they met others expectations of me. I took a deep breath and let go of the people-pleasing and I stepped back and trusted others solve their own problems.

But more importantly, it led to me trying to answer the question “how can I make my life be a happy one”? In this world which tells me that couplehood is the answer to my life’s happiness, what does it mean to be happy and single?

I read a great blog post (which I sadly can no longer find or I would reference it) about why everyone should experience a heartbreak. Certainly it sucks. It really sucks. I still have moments where I can’t catch my breath. Where I feel like a giant hole has opened in my heart and I keep wondering where the missing pieces have gone.

But, looking back over the last year, I now know that this heartbreak taught me valuable and precious things about myself. I realized that I had been pinning my happiness on that magic state of couplehood. Because surely it would cure any loneliness I have and give me status in this world as a successful woman. After all, doesn’t our culture tell us that a happy marriage is crucial to being a successful woman? In the saga of Brangelina, how many tabloids tell us of Jennifer Aniston bravely facing her future of loneliness (and childlessness) while Angelina is blissfully happy with her man (and their children).

Thing is, I thought I was happy with my life. I have friends and family who love me, make me laugh and support me, I have a spiritual community in which I am deeply connected and I have a job that I love and which keeps a roof over my head and allows for some travel money. What right do I have to be unhappy?

But amidst all that there is sadness. There are times of loneliness and tears, of fear and anxiety. Of anger and frustration and failure. Of screw ups and confusion. Of disappointment and grief and despair.

And in the last year of letting go of judgement (mine and others) to explore this landscape of my inner self I realized that the answer to my question was not in how to be happy with my life. It was how to be happy in my life. With who I am and not what I am.

Because life comes with heartbreak and happiness, with laughter and loneliness, with silliness and sorrow. Regardless of whether you are single or in a couple.

Yeah, it sucks that it was a broken heart that sent me on the painful journey into the landscape of myself. And, I am eternally grateful to my friends and family who supported me and held space for me while I slowly put the pieces of my heart back together.

But what a gift to to know – to really know – that I am truly happy with who I am and with how I am in this world.

I’m okay with letting the world see me through my writing, my photos and, maybe, my glass creations. Through words and songs and connections. If you like them, I am touched and pleased. If you don’t, that’s okay too.

In the words of Brené Brown, my hope is to live authentically; to have the courage to tell my story with my whole heart.

And, on the one-year anniversary of my heartbreak, I think that’s worth celebrating.

Spirit House

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I just bought a new piece of artwork by my good friend Louise Bunn.  This is the second piece I am lucky enough to have in my home. It’s a spirit house and I’ve put it on the rooftop patio. It’s reminder that places have a spirit.

I have always believed that places have a spirit; an energy that develops from all the living things and events that take place there. It’s important to me that my home has an energy that is safe, strong, loving, peaceful and honest. I have a Jill Bolte Taylor quote by my front door that says, “Please take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space.”

I feel blessed that my home has good energy. That love and laughter linger in the air. That the strong walls have been a container for honest and sometime difficult conversations that have led to growth and understanding. That I am lucky enough to host gatherings of amazing people who feed each other with good food and good conversation. It has witnessed one wedding, many healing rituals, lots of parties and a few baby showers. I have skyped and facetimed people from far off places into the space to join in the conversations and connections and I have spent many quiet hours reading or writing or creating bathed in the energy.

Lately, I have been thinking of moving. And, while I know my spirit house is also inside me, I’m not sure I am ready to walk away from this space.

In the meantime, my spirit house on the rooftop will remind me to cherish and nourish my space (and me), to protect the boundaries while leaving the door open for the amazing magic to come in.

 

On pace for a great finish

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Today I read this awesome blog post – a message to a fat girl running.

I’ll wait while you go and read it.

…

Awesome, huh!

Thing is, I was that fat girl. Well, not THAT one, but you know what I mean. When I started running I only ran at night in the dark. I kept to the back streets and back alleys so no one would see me. Not a safe thing to do but it felt safer than the imagined (or otherwise) judgements of the other runners at the track. Or the people on the sidewalk walking their dogs. Or the people driving by in their cars.

Once, in a running clinic, the volunteer clinic leader yelled at me in front of everyone because he thought I was too far ahead of the group. I was too embarrassed and mortified to tell him that I was not AHEAD of the group but that some people in the group were about to lap me because I was so far BEHIND!

I never went back to that clinic again.

But I did not stop running and I did find other clinics.

I am not a fast runner. I do not look like a Nike ad. Or an inspirational Pinterest image. My face gets red and I sweat. I bitch about the hills. I mostly focus on putting one foot in front of the other. When it gets too hard I walk for a bit until I feel ready to run again. I love/hate running with friends because I always worry I am holding them back even though they have helped me make it up some pretty big hills!

But I do love running. I love moving my body. I love how it releases my stress and anger and worry. I love that as my body exercises, so does my mind. Roaming through thoughts and ideas and processing my feelings and problems until I feel centred again. I have sorted out many thorny issues while running. All to a great soundtrack of my favourite songs.

I used to worry about how slow I was. How “not good” at running I was. I don’t any more thanks to a woman from one of my running clinics. I don’t know her name but I am ever grateful to her.  One day at the beginning of the run, as I was worrying about if I could keep up with the front of the group (hell, even the middle of the group!) I heard the woman behind me say, “I like running behind you. You keep such a nice steady pace. ” I think I could have hugged her. Me? With my own steady pace?

So, that’s how I am trying to take life. I do not need to compare myself or my race to anyone else’s. While I don’t need to care what anyone thinks, I will surround myself with people who support me and don’t expect me to be anywhere else than exactly where I am. And, I just keep going at my own steady pace, one step at a time, one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.

 

Aphrodite

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It’s somehow seems fitting that Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, was born from the sea-foam. Love is so much like the ocean. It ebbs and flows. It gently carries us along. It rages and crashes. Sometimes it makes us feel nauseous. And, it wears away at the rough edges until they are smoothed.

I live by the ocean and it reminds me to live with love. To make decisions with love and compassion. And to remember that sometimes it’s okay to be angry and storm. To shed salt-water tears.  But, like waves on a shore, gentle and persistent love will erode the jagged rocks of worry and pain in my life until they are but fine grains of sand.