the dream life

Adventures in being me

I’ve been pretty tired this week so last night I decided to go on a walk. Sometimes a long walk in the heat is helpful to me when I’m feeling rundown (I know that’s counter intuitive, but my fatigue has a lot to do with emotional exhaustion, so exercise helps. But that’s a different post.)

 

My iPod walks involve letting my imagination go wild. Sometimes when I listen to my Cash duets playlist, I imagine that I am co-starring in Walk the Line. It’s fun. You should try starring in one of your favorite movies. No one will ever know (unless you post it to the internet). So that was me coming down the street deep in thought and listening to Johnny and June, my head deep in the rigors of filmmaking (the kissing scenes require multiple takes) when I looked up and saw a dog step out of his yard on to the sidewalk in front of me. He wasn’t on a leash and I didn’t see an owner anywhere.

 

He was a Boxer, and I love Boxers. I love all dogs, but I’m also aware that dogs are dogs and that even “good” dogs sometimes do dangerous things. The big, muscular dog was just standing there motionless staring at me, so I stopped walking.

 

Now I had a couple of really sound choices here, the most obvious one being to simply cross the street and remove myself from this dog’s immediate vicinity. Instead of doing that, I did something that I know very well one should never, ever do. I also just stood there motionless and looked this dog square in the eye.

 

In my head I said to myself, don’t just stand there and stare him in the eye, woman, you are challenging him to a duel, and he will win the duel. The other part of my head, however, was slowly processing the scene, trying to read the dog’s emotions and, apparently, emanating strong fear signals. Like a deer caught in headlights, I was a woman caught in Boxer light. Just as I had the thought, I think this dog is going to eat me, he came toward me, aggressively barking.

 

I was startled, to say the least, and made brilliant choice number two. I decided to run from him. Now, on what universe I thought I would be capable of running away from this powerful dog, I have no idea. The fact is, I am not a graceful athlete. No, I’m not any sort of athlete. I just hope no one was watching as I tried to make my escape because my arms and my legs all went in opposite directions. I basically flailed around, that’s what I did. I hopped, I skipped, I flapped my arms like a headless chicken. I may have even gone in circles at one point. Then, I realized, I was not being eaten and, in fact, the barking had stopped.

 

The dog’s (human) mom was sitting on the front porch just around the corner and she called him back when she heard the fracas. I looked up and there he was just sitting behind her like a sweet boy, looking at me like I’d lost my mind which, apparently, I had.

 

The woman was profusely sorry. She assured me he’d never done anything like that before. I tried to explain to her that it was my fault, that I’d reacted in a crazy manner, but all that would come out of my mouth were these humiliated sort of mews and awes. In my attempt to flee I’d twisted my back and I was thinking about that, wondering if I’d done actual damage or just temporary damage (it was temporary.) I think I actually said the sentence, “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you sitting there and I was all like waaagggh.”

 

And then I waved my hands all around in the air so that she would understand the nature of “all like waaagggh.”

 

And then I just, you know, went home.

Flowing

My shedding project (aka Let Go 2008) is still underway. As I uncover objects, I also uncover winding and knotted emotional attachments -- layers of things to be shed. I have bags upon bags of clothes waiting to go to Goodwill and this weekend I'm diving in again, this time with a sharper blade, to see not only what can be let go, but what should be let go.

I've said before that I'm only keeping what I love, but as I look at my stuff I still see quite a few things that I don't love. They're here as a sort of backup -- pants to wear when the pants I want to wear are in the laundry, dresses that may fit again one day. I'm cutting the cords to these things this weekend because energetically, they're really getting me down.

I wore my favorite skirt today.

 

I love the fabric and the hem, the way it flows (Even though I did discover midway through the morning that it's completely see-thru. Oops. Sorry, workplace and people driving down Third Street in the noonday sun. I hope you enjoyed the show.) I actually hesitated before putting it on this morning because it's Thursday and I was only going to work, then a little lightbulb sparked above my head.

This "save favorite things for special occasions" mentality has been a major contributer to my collection of garments that I don't need. It's like buying an expensive candle then never burning it, a hesitation to enjoy what is most enjoyable.

I'm only just now making the connection between what I've been saying and what I've been doing--or seeing where the connection has been misfiring. It's a subtle form of self-deprivation to put the favorite skirt on a special hanger then never wear it out into the world.

Why not, I asked myself, feel beautiful and flowy on a Thursday? Why not feel beautiful and flowy everyday? Special occasions have warranted my best but not the ongoing occasion of my life. Changing that way of thinking seems like a good way to change everything.

A work week's worth of me

There's a lot going on right now. I've said yes to  things and I've called things into my life, experiences and opportunities for which I am grateful. I have refused to let my 9 to 5 dictate the rest of my day, have stopped allowing myself to shut out my dreams and desires simply because my body wants to eat dinner at 5:15 then go to bed. I've opened the doors to life wider now because it's summer and we have more light. It's easer to do more and stay up later when the sun is still up, too. 

There's nothing I'm willing to give up, but I'm tired. Even the good and beautiful things leave me tired, and I'm feeling that no one and nothing is getting the best of me. I'm stretching out to accommodate so much and it's leaving me a little thin on energy.

A work week is only five days and yet there are times when it seems impossible to wade through. This week started with a walk out on to the porch to check the weather (it was big fat drops of rain through the sun). Monday night we went to the Co-op for groceries. Tuesday night I taught a class on storybooking to a group of second graders. Wednesday night I taught my fiction class. Thursday night I met with a writer to talk about his manuscript. Tonight I did dishes and laundry and took a late walk. 

By the time I headed home, the sun was going down. The sky was a dome of pinks and reds, the color that comes with rain. I didn't really have time for the walk, but I took it anyway just to feel myself moving in rhythm. I listened to Leonard Cohen and thought about memory and the old cliche about how quickly time passes. I think it's more that as time passes we forget to notice what's changing and then, it's changed. It seems sudden to us because we were busy doing other things, busy not noticing.

Unplugged

Recently, Tracy and I watched an episode of South Park, the premise of which was the Internet going down. No one could get any Internet for online dating, shopping, chatting or surfing and they pretty much went crazy. Everyone loaded up and headed out west to Internet refugee camps where they lived in tents and lined up for their forty seconds of rationed Internet a day. Oh, it was funny, but it was funny in that way that hits really close to home because even though you know something is absurd, you can also relate to it.

And then, last night, our modem died. And that wasn’t very funny. Tracy called our Internet provider and they said they would send us a new modem in a couple of days and he said, “Dude, we’re already at Best Buy, can’t we just buy a new modem?” and they said, “Yeah, you can, but we won’t support it.” and he said, “But it will work, right?” and they said, “Yeah, it will work, but we won’t support it,” and he said, “Fine.” And we went in to get our Internet back.

But on the modem shelf there was only one and it was for “exclusive use with AT&T and Yahoo.” I was ready to give up at this point and drifted off to watch Entertainment Tonight on the plasma TVs, but Tracy wouldn’t give up. He was convinced there had to be a high speed DSL modem somewhere in the store that was compatible with any Internet provider. Sure enough, in a few minutes I heard the sound of In Your Eyes being sung across the appliance aisle.

Our new modem claimed to be easy as pie to set up and sure enough, the directions were super simple. I plugged everything up and presto…no Internet. Tracy worked with it and made phone calls and worked with it and made phone calls for hours, but nothing could be done. There would be no blogging, no checking of e-mails, no tweets, no facebook.

This morning as I left for work, he was still struggling, which is truly mad, deep, love because Tracy doesn’t really care all that much about the Internet. He knows I’m a junkie and he’s trying to get me well.

It looks like we’ll have to return the modem we bought and wait for one from our provider and then struggle with getting that set-up, so my Interneting will be of the rationed variety for a while. When I’m back to my regular schedule, I’ll tell you all about the books I read and the stuff I got done while unplugged.

Big stuff

Since the dawn of digital cameras (and flickr), I've taken a lot of pictures. Some days I take three or four, some days I take thirty, but I take pictures everyday. 

Even in the days of film and limited internet, I took a lot of pictures (although not as many as I wish I'd taken). It's something I do. It's something I suspect I'll always do. 

For some reason, today I decided to start looking through my boxes and boxes of pre-flicker, unscrapbooked pictures and see what was in there. When I opened up the boxes, I found a lot of things and I had the urge to start scanning images and uploading them, so that's what I did. It's a project that will be ongoing and the point of it may or may not be revealed to me. (Maybe there is no point, and that's fine.)

Interesting things came up as I sifted through the pictures--memories, perceptions, understandings. I also found two images of myself with larger-than-they-should-be-things, and that's what I've decided to focus on tonight. 

This is me at Prairie Dog Town in South Dakota, standing with the "World's Largest Prairie Dog."

And this is me at Hershey Park with a really big Reese's Cup.

A little mind trip

I've been feeling sort of foggy lately--just a little disconnected. People ask me things and I give strange incoherent answers. The days flip past me and I can't quite grab on to them. Everything is fine, but I'm fresh out of ideas. I'm thinking that means I'm in some sort of cocoon and when I emerge, I'll be better and brighter than before--I might even have wings, which would be very cool. I'll be back soon with a clear head, ready to string words together and make sentences, but first, I'm taking a long weekend break from blogging for the purposes of rest and soul development. When I return, my head will be full of things to say, I'm sure.

Did the earth move for you?

This is the third earthquake of my life and once again, I didn’t feel it. There was one (sorry, too lazy to do research at the moment) that happened when I was a kid. It had to be before the seventh grade because we still lived out in the country. I was talking to a friend on the phone and she said, oh my god did you feel that? And I said, wha? And she hung up and I looked out the window and people were running out of their houses. Sure enough, it was an earthquake and everyone else around me felt it, but I didn’t.
Tracy says there was one when we were in high school. He knows it was high school because of the house where he was living. I don’t remember that one at all.
And early this morning, Tracy and Woody and I all soundly slept while the earth rumbled on. My mom called me and said that it shook her bed and rattled her windows and my grandmother said it moved around the stuff on her dresser. At our house – nothing. Just zzzzs.
I’m fine with it, I guess. I don’t particularly think I would enjoy feeling the earth quake, but it’s a little odd to know that quakes are happening and I’m not sensing them.

Relaxation

My recipe for a good Friday night:

The face in the mirror

On Friday I will turn 39 thus entering the last year of my “thirties.” The idea of being 40 doesn’t bother me. I don’t go around classifying people or their worth according to age. I don’t think you have to act a certain way, dress a certain way or cut your hair to a particular length based on the number.
I’m mostly proud of the journey of my life so far and looking forward to the rest of it. I’m glad to still be here, healthy. I feel like my life is full of possibility and I no longer measure my accomplishments against a yardstick of age. I no longer hold to “if I haven’t done it by now,” thinking.
I feel good about where I am right now, recent understandings that have been illuminated for me, plans I have for the very near future.
When I look at other women, I appreciate the depth of beauty that comes with age. Women older than 40 possess wisdom, a strength and self-assuredness that is attractive and powerful and sexy. Women with lines, the marks of smiles and tears, the maps of living on their skin are the most beautiful women there are, in my opinion.
Sometimes, however, I am a contradiction.
My own physical aging has been difficult for me over the past year. My sluggish metabolism, the creases and the pouches, the spots and the slipping – I have not embraced these things.
My old habits and past poor choices have begun to make themselves visible on me – my years in the sun, my sugar consumption, all that artificial sweetener, the chemicals I ate instead of food, the lack of exercise, the inattention to moisturizer, the years of unhappiness and unmanaged stress. I can see the physical evidence now and it’s come about with a swiftness that leaves me breathless.
In recent months I have been taken aback by the woman in the mirror. She looks a lot like my grandmother and my mother – beautiful women, to be sure, but not who I think of as “me.” She looks worn and tired and often her appearance doesn’t reflect what’s going on on the inside, which seems counterintuitive.
A couple of nights ago I walked into the bathroom, flipped on the light and felt like I was hallucinating. The person I saw in no way resembled me. It was over in mere seconds, but in that first flash of reflection I felt like I was in the church basement where my Brownie troupe used to meet. Every Wednesday night we crammed into the tiny bathroom, turned off the lights and chanted, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, turned the lights on again and looked at the mirror expecting to see a hideous and frightening monster.
For those three seconds yesterday, I felt as if I had seen her at last. I sucked in my breath, less afraid than surprised, then she morphed back into someone slightly more recognizable as me and I went on my way.
Last night, Tracy snapped a picture of me as we were getting ready for a nighttime walk in the snow. It was true that I’d worked all day, hadn’t touched up my make-up and was wearing an olive green coat, but I was horrified when I saw what he’d captured, even more so by the fact that he thought it was a good picture. Of course, it felt good that he was able to look at it and see someone attractive, but it was also upsetting because it meant it was a fair representation of me.
I hope this discord evens out, that eventually we grow accustomed to our older faces, that the inside and the outside learn to make peace with one another. I hope that I can grow to see myself in the same way that I see others, that I can learn to love my physical evolution the same way I love the internal changes that make me who I am.

At the moment, however, I am not in a place of loving acceptance when it comes to my physical state.
At the moment, I am researching natural, chemical-free eye creams.

Another part of the truth

When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. --Helen Keller

To stand in your now, looking forward with deliberate intent and anticipation of what is to come, is infinitely more satisfying than to stand in your now, looking back, retracing your steps as to how you got where you are.--Abraham-Hicks

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.--Khalil Gibran

Everything I say about staying positive and not complaining and counting blessings and focusing on what's working -- I mean all of that sincerely. It isn't just stuff I say because it sounds pretty.
It's also important to me that when you come here, you step into an atmosphere that is at least tilted toward the light. It is a Dream Life, after all.
Today, however, it's time for the other side of the truth.
For the past few weeks, I've been struggling with the happy.
I think that sometimes it is precisely when we open up and say to God or the universe or our higher selves, okay, I'm ready, let's fix the stuff that needs fixing, that we find the whole thing comes crashing down. It's when we release and ask for the evolution, the guidance, the answers that the artifice and crutches and bumpers get pulled away and we're left with...the stuff that's left.
This is where I've been lately. I keep saying, something's wrong, something's wrong, and I certainly don't want to affirm that something's wrong, but it's also a little bit hard to ignore.
Though there are physical symptoms, it isn't really a physical problem. I know this because I know myself. When the non-physical is off kilter, my physical goes haywire. This accounts for the excessive lethargy, the extra poundage, the weird disconnected I'm-over-here-my-body-is-over-there thing.
I am, at my core, a deeply stubborn woman. Change doesn't happen for me over night. I catch it in small glimpses. I feel it for brief passages then slide backwards. I've been, for a little while, in a backwards slide. I've been taking a look around my life lately and seeing the lack, the stuck places, and as we know - what we think upon grows.
I also keep thinking that I am standing on the edge, that big things are coming, that the dreams I've been dreaming for years and years are just on the verge of popping into reality, but I've been thinking that for, well, years. And years.
I am, and I have been, standing in my own way, blocking my own sun, and I'm tired. Tired of it.
After another day of doing nothing, of holding myself off my path, of treading water, Tracy suggested that I go for a walk. It was late in the afternoon, the last of the light, the time of day (especially a Sunday) when I start to feel panicked. My first reaction was to stay seated but instead I pulled on a sweatshirt and some gloves and hit the pavement. It was a good walk. It jolted me out of the muck for a moment.

It reminded me about moving forward one step at a time.
Then I came home and proceeded to do nothing and to feel off.
And all of this is not to say that I'm depressed or ill or that the other things I write about and declare aren't true. It's just that there's also this other truth and I don't really care to bottle it up and squash it down any more.
So, there it is. Not very pleasant, but where I am nonetheless.
It's okay. It's all okay, and it is all a part of the journey.
I haven't forgotten my motto of release for 2008. With the release, buried things rise and maybe that's part of what's going on here. Or maybe I am still just holding on too tightly to something - some false belief or some fear.
I'm ready to move now. This is the proclamation I'm making. I'm ready to go forward now, toward the bliss. Right into its arms.