"Never say 'never!'"

So, many years ago when I "knew everything," I was a big fan of the word "never."  I used it quite often. Along with should, could and would. All poisonous words in my current opinion (though I now realize I know nothing instead of everything). 

For a know-it-all, I sure didn't know much at all.  Gosh, I had a list of things I would "never" do or become. And I had a picture in my mind of what I would do and become. It was all crystal clear during my days of judgment and neat tidy boxes (side note: my phone auto corrected tidy to say tofu - ha. Touché iPhone. Touché.)

Well, here I am laughing today (sort of). I have literally become all of the things I said I never would. I have done things I said I would never do.  Today, I am the poster child for "NEVER SAY 'NEVER.'" 

I epitomize the philosophy that we never (oh God, I used it again) know what's going to happen day by day- never mind years from now. 

What's most ironic and somewhat humorous is that I am happier today than I was then. I have more peace now - though I have become all the frowned-upon things I said I never would, then some - than I did when my life was "on track" (for normalcy).

I may be a walking mess according to old-me, but this walking mess has learned so much and gained so much appreciation and love and awareness and knowledge that I wouldn't trade it for what "could've" been.  Yes, on some "bad" or difficult days I wish I could be young and ignorant, again, and normal.  But I'm not. And that's all there is to it. 

What is judgment anyway aside from an unhappy person's way of projecting their own issues outward to avoid looking inward?  

Goodbye, old-self. I am sorry to disappoint you but I am not sorry to see you go. Though I carry some battlescars today, and life situations that would have mortified you, I have outgrown the need for your approval. 

Now, I will never say "never," again! :)

Our Fat, Ugly bodies...

Gross. Fat. Ugly. Flabby. Eh, this part is ok. But this part, disgusting. Too big. Too small. Too short. Too tall. 

Body image is a reflection of our thoughts and belief systems. It is also an indicator of the amount of self love we possess. Stories we have been told. And lies we believe. 

The weight loss industry rakes in billions each year.  People try one diet after another. They ride the wave the media makes.  Everyone wants a quick fix to look "good," whatever that means. Heck, some people don't care if it's quick - they just want a fix. 

But, when tragedy strikes...it shakes those negative opinions and beliefs to the very core. 

It's truly life-altering having health one day and not having it the next. Having mobility can be taken away. Accidents happen and can leave debilitation in it's path.  We may be diagnosed with a disease or condition. We may be swept over by the flu or other illness. Bones break.  And, the extreme case is death. All life gone in a whisper. 

All this vanity imposed upon society may be revisited in these instances.  And we become suddenly and chillingly aware that all that matters is a body that works for us. And in that, it's beautiful. 

Six weeks ago I had a c-section. I was just 3 days away from my checkup where I was anticipating full clearance to go back to "normal" life (whatever that means, haha).  I came down with a fever suddenly. And the next morning my lower abdomen was red and hot to the touch. I don't normally call the doctor when I notice odd things, I usually just carry on with myself, but this time I called. They had me rush in on Friday before closing (this is a whole other story with its share of funnies for another time). Yep. My fears had been confirmed - infection. And if it didn't clear by the weekend for my appointment Monday, the incision would need to be reopened and remain open. There would be possible hospital time (the thought alone sent me in a frenzy being I am nursing and also have a 4 year old). And months of healing ahead. "Joy!!" 

That night, the redness from the infection nearly tripled in size, a pretty good sign it had spread. I was also getting pains in my chest similar to the ones in my lower abdomen where the infection was. My head ached. I had a fever. Most of my body was red.  For a split second, I was actually nervous. What if it spread further or was in my blood. My appointment wasn't for two more days. What if I had some freak thing happen? I did have a heart murmur, after all and I am not really sure what that means except that all of a sudden the dentists ask about it before seeing you.  My m.o. is to brush off any ailments but this time, I felt different. And scared.  Then I said to myself, a couple powerful words. "Not me."  Bam. It hit me. Everyone says "not me."  No one thinks something is going to happen. And freak things happen all the time.  Nah. I am too young. I have too much to do and say that I haven't done yet. Bam.  "But what if you planned this when you designed your life plan before birth?" No. I can't leave my two girls. Bam. Again. "What if it's in their life plan to not have their mom?" Chills flashed through my body. Raw, real shock shook my world. In that very moment, in a moment of perfect clarity, such a thing as "ugly" bore no relevance. I felt silly for wishing I was back to my "normal" size and body.  

I had a bargaining moment with God and myself. If I make it through this alive, I am going to just love my body as is. After all, the only thing that matters is I have a body...and a life in which to use that body as a vehicle. It's intended purpose. Who gives a damn about a little fold of skin that hangs over the incision that may never go away. Fat thighs? No more. They're awesome. They can move and I can walk and dance and play.  Appreciation and love took over. 

Seeing as I survived the night without going into heart failure, I was determined to ditch the infection. I ate lightly, had lots of liquids, and ate pretty much only fruits and veggies. 

Monday came. Diligence paid off. The infection was diminishing. I was given clearance to be "normal," again. I was elated.  

But something happened on Monday I never expected. I began to sulk about the fold of skin that the doctor said wouldn't go away (she actually said "maybe" to me verbally, but shook her head no at my mom who was with me accompanied by a 'yikes' face). I plotted ways to lose the baby weight. I felt ugly, again. 

It's unbelievable, really, how quickly we take for granted something so incredibly miraculous and beautiful. Our bodies were meant to help us in fulfilling our life path. Vehicles for transformation. Our ability to be mobile, to have sight or hearing, to touch...each blessing we are gifted with is to be cherished and celebrated. It is not until we learn to love and appreciate our bodies for what they are - miraculous - that we can begin to feel and look the way we were intended. No diet will work. No pill will hold a magic cure. Healing and change begins on the inside with a single thought. 

But the funny thing is, once you learn to love and respect your priceless body for all it gives you and helps you with, odds are you may not even care what it "looks" like. You'll love it no matter what. Because you're beautiful. 

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The Magic inside...

I often question "life" - the ins, the outs, looking for some kind of a loop hole or secret door I may have missed. Some proof that "there's got to be more." Or less. Or something. 

Evidence that this is all for a reason.  That it's not what meets the eye on the surface. That what my heart believes is true and valid. Something to grasp onto that aligns with the feelings that so deeply move me to my core. Feelings that words just cannot express. 

Glimpses of a love so powerful, a bliss, that the human mind cannot fully understand it or label it. Freedom and openness that radiates like the brightest light. Warmth that wraps around like the most soft and snuggly blanket. Comfort, safety and inner peace and knowing. Inaction and satisfaction. Miracles and beauty that bring me to tears and teach me to be humble. Presence. 

I search - subconsciously mostly but some days consciously - for this tangible "Ah-ha, I knew it!" moment.  A reassurance of sorts. Maybe a measure of hope. 

Those moments, so rare and precious like the most stunning gemstone. I soak them in as much as I can before they slip through my fingers, disappearing into the abyss that is this earthly existence without any trace left behind. 

Perhaps I will never get the answers I am so desperately looking for. Maybe they're too simple for me to just "get it." Or maybe too complex.  Either way, the deeper side of me knows a world of magic and wonder. And I suppose it doesn't really matter if I find the proof I am looking for or not. It's alive inside of me. 

I'm sorry I'm different...

I'm sorry I'm different.  

It's so easy to judge and point fingers and be cold. To punish and condemn. To make rules and set "boundaries."  To be blind to the truth set before you. 

It's not easy to be understanding and compassionate and open. It takes real effort to break old patterns and dissolve the ego piece by piece. To remove the dense fog from your glasses. 

Sometimes I feel like people punish me for being different. For being me.  For trying to live a life guided by love.  Sometimes, despite all my knowing that it's not true,  I feel so alone in this vast universe.  We are all one yet I feel like the only one. Surrounded by silence, outside of myself a whirlwind of voices and opinions. They all mesh into one giant blob of gray and blurry ugliness.  They're so loud I can't even hear them. All I hear is a muffled echo, all I see is a vastness of fog. 

And one of the grand daddies of topics that people differ on and voice opinions of - raising children. I will never understand why we are so quick to tell our children what they do wrong, that they're being punished, that "it's ok," when clearly to them it's not, to be quiet or sit still. That we don't have time, "not now."  To threaten. To make them fear.  To lie to them to accomplish our own agendas. To make sure we set limits so they know "who is boss."  

Boss?! That has ego written all over it.  

But, why? Why can't we love unconditionally? Listen- really listen to them. Acknowledge how they feel. ASK how they feel. Understand them instead of punish and condemn. Accept who they are, what they like, that they are individuals with fears and insecurities and personalities all their own.  Validate them. Play even when it's messy. Teach kindness by showing kindness. Teach love by giving love freely without asking for anything in return. Know that they came here with their very own path, their own life to fulfill. 

Instead of worrying about "setting rules," why not spend quality time and do what feels right for us as parents to these beautiful beings?  I don't think anyone faces death and says, "Wow, I wish I had been stricter."  More than likely they have said, "Instead of being so strict maybe I could've eased up a little and been more present.  I could've had more fun and spent less time worrying about everything."  -- Not so much focused on the ego and what is "supposed" to be because everyone told you it's so -- but focused on what intuitively feels right and resonates in your heart. 

We breed children that bully and we do it in even the most subtle of ways. And some not so subtle. Let me ask you -- How many lives have to be lost to drugs and alcohol, abuse and suicide before we learn to love each other rather than create divides?  I know that we each have our own path, and that that journey requires there to be challenges and pain. But pain suffered unnecessarily and lives lost at the hands or words or judgment of another, a result of ego and fear, I just find to be so very devastating. 

I can still remember the sting of pain and anguish I felt pumping through my veins some 15 years ago as I chose to take my own life. The paralyzing breathlessness I felt in my chest as I sobbed, full with grief and asking "why?"  Where was love?  Even then I knew there was something bigger out there. Something outside of ourselves. Something more meaningful and pure. My heart breaks knowing that some people choose to take their life and are successful.  When all they needed was a little love to fill their aching and longing hearts. Acceptance. To be heard. Validated. Made to feel important. All things that are free for us to give and receive. 

I find it absolutely curious that some have so much to say on topics they haven't even lived through. Or because they heard it somewhere. Or because that's how they did it.  We know nothing of another person, because we are not them. We cannot know how they feel as we have not lived their life.  Everyone is different. "Wrong" and "right" are so subjective.  And we all have our own thoughts and opinions on what they are. 

So what?! 

At the end of the day does any of it really matter? 

Life is here. It's ours for the taking.  Everyday can be a celebration. It's so precious, and it can end in any moment for any one of us.  Wouldn't it be just so fulfilling to love and be loved? To accept and be accepted? To hear and be heard? To be open and not judge, and to not be judged? Wow.... Think of all the cases of substance abuse that would disappear. Suicides not attempted. Cycles of violence ended.  Think of all the smiles that would replace tears. Extended hands instead of fists. Joy instead of pain. Laughter instead of shouting. --- Love instead of fear. 

I may leave choppy waters in my wake. And I may make what is classified as lots of "mistakes," but I live my life lead by my heart and my soul. I live with passion and love as the driving force. What I do may seem crazy to some, or most, people. But aren't I entitled to experience this lifetime how I so choose if I am doing so out of a great love and appreciation for all that there is? 

I'm sorry I'm different. Or maybe I'm really not. 

I am only truly sorry for hiding in the shadows for 3 decades and allowing life to pass me by, and others to steer my ship.  For allowing the divinity within to be overpowered by all things fear and ego. 

I am sorry I tried to eliminate something so precious. And vow to never take it for granted again. To share love, to stay true to myself and to move forward with passion and vigor. And to grab as many passengers as I can to join me on this ride. 

- Bon voyage. 

 

Photo credit: Jonathan Adams. 

There it was, again...

I was going to the bathroom (yes, I was... I have to be accurate in telling the story) and in walks Raja (in telling an accurate story, please note that my time is no longer my own - no matter what someone is around no matter what I am doing - furry or 2 legged children).

I took a moment to truly stop and look into her eyes.

And there it was, again.

It has hit me before with my last Rottie, Ursa... and with Raja on several occasions.  But, inevitably it leaves and there are lapses in time where I forget, again.  And I need a reminder.  In a big way.

Well, there she was.  Staring at me with her big brown eyes, her ears back.  All she wanted was for me to stop for a moment to pet her and love her.  She didn't care what I was doing, that I was in the bathroom, what I was wearing or what I looked like.  She doesn't even see any of that; she sees me beneath it.  I could be painted purple, wearing some hideous outfit, and smell really, really awful.  And it would make no difference whatsoever (if that's not heart warming, I don't know what is).

It occurred to me at that very moment that Raja, as an example, knows no other kind of love than true and unconditional love.

• I could be having an awful day, cranky and ugly in temperament:  she wouldn't care and she would still be there.  She would still wag her butt and stub for a tail, happy, every single time she saw me, even if I was only gone a few moments.  And she would still want me to share my love with her, petting her and being with her.
• I could ignore her the whole day and leave her by herself:  she wouldn't care and she would still be there. 
• I could yell at her for walking under my feet or being in my way on an irritable day: she wouldn't care and she would still be there. 
• I could withhold her food, treats, toys - anything she enjoys or needs: she wouldn't care and she would still be there. 
• I could be crying, whispering, speaking another language: she wouldn't care and she would still be there. 

I think you get the point... I can do any number of things, including heinous acts (not that I would), but she wouldn't care and she would still be there.  

It's amazing, actually.  To think about that level of love, free from conditions.  Freedom from the "ego."  Freedom from the victim role, insecurities and self limiting beliefs.  

Total freedom and a full, divine expression of love.  

I am so very humbled by my bathroom visitor.

And so grateful for the reminder of a love to strive for.

I have a confession to make...

I have a confession to make...

I secretly love when I witness other children misbehaving.  I find it mostly entertaining (sometimes annoying if it's incessant screaming of some kind, until I realize it means that I am not a bad mother with a bratty kid).

I don't have much to compare myself or my daughter to; I am not around kids often... though, as is my nature, I am always observing them and their parents (and parenting tactics) while I am out in public.  But, since I don't have a lot of comparisons -- I am easily jaded by negativity (fears, ego, etc.) and the endless opinions of others and what works, what doesn't, what I should (God, I dislike that word) be doing, etc.   I am left wondering: Is this normal? Am I doing something wrong? Are they right? Maybe I am just no good at this.  Is my daugther OK? Is she normal? (I feel bad even writing that; how dare I question if she is OK or "normal" - the standards of the word are subjective and who wants to be a uni-zombie anyway?)

So, yes.  I just cherish when I witness a scene less than pleasant made by someone other than myself or my daugther.  I giggle.  A lot.  And I sigh a huge breath of relief that I am doing OK afterall.

Judgment is truly the root of so much discontentment in society, and the cause of much upset within us.  Normal vs. abnormal vs. bad vs. good... it's exhausting.  And like I said, completely subjective.  Everyone has a different opinion of what these words mean.

I am sure those parents are embarrassed or feeling less than adequate - the ones with the kids "misbehaving" I referred to earlier.  Let's cut them some slack... share some love, laugther and light to fill their (possibly aching) hearts and lift their spirits.  I know if it were me, I have plenty of negative junk to go around for a lifetime, and a smile or a nod that someone relates would alleviate some of the already building pressures.

Being a parent is tough.  And it is an around-the-clock job.  Today, I celebrate all parents out there.  My message to you would be this:  everything is perfect as it is.  You are doing the best job you can, and that is all you can do.  Your child is unique and special, and he/she is perfect just as he/she is.  Love him/her up for the amazing spirit he/she is.  

PS -- (in reference to the photo) How can I be mad at that face?! Haha... she is such a clown.

PPS - I remember the days I would bring a blanket onto the (cold) kitchen tile floor, lay it down and curl up to read a book.  The couch was only ten feet away in the next room.  But I wanted to lay on the floor on a blanket.  Wrapped up like a coccoon.  Ah, the joys of being a child... the wonderment, the awe, the excitement in the little things.  Now that's something to be ressurected and celebrated!

A nubby cardigan, a flower scarf and a new perfume = Experiencing

Everything is about experiencing.

But, how often do we actually use our 5 senses to explore our days? How much do we actually experience and what percentage is filtered out, unnoticed?

Wait.  That was unfair.  And not totally accurate.  Everything is about experiencing and perception.

Today, for some reason unbeknownst to me (especially considering I had a mini meltdown at one point earlier on), I was moving along my day just slow enough to experience it for all of its little blessings and delicious, oh-so-yummy subtleties.

A spring morning, sunny with a slight frost in the air. As I was finishing up getting ready, I opened a sample box of perfume I had received, and rolled it on the inside of my left wrist.  Rubbed the right on top of the left, and grabbed a cotton cardigan and scarf on my way out.

Mmmm....  I could smell the perfume as I was walking and moving along, just enough to appreciate its fragrance and uniqueness, its newness.  [Side Note: I am not sure about this phenomenon; but it seems I can only smell perfumes on me that are new.  Once I wear them a couple times, everyone can smell it but me.  I assume most of you understand what I am saying; perhaps you even wonder the same thing.  I wish it was not so, as I truly love catching whiffs of perfume throughout the day... a little reminder it's there.  A brief interlude in the day, a nudge to be mindful and present.]

There was something magical about the combination of the knitted cotton cardigan (with its delicate yet nubby texture), the flower patterned scarf and the new perfume that instantly grabbed stake on both the cardigan and scarf.  It kept me grounded and slow(er)-moving all morning - when I am normally rushing around and slightly irritable as a result.  I closed my eyes and breathed in the chill in the air and the radiant sunshine.  As I walked my daughter up to her school, I noticed the grounds had just been landscaped.  It smelled like wet, fresh-cut grass. Again, I closed my eyes for just a second and breathed it in. It was so green and vibrant.  When I got back home, I created a homemade version of a drip coffee machine using a natural paper filter and a mini wire colander, and grinds.  Like "back in the day."  K-cups are so overrated.

The entire hour or so, which felt like a full day of experiences, was felt and lived.

For those sixty or so minutes, I almost forgot about my daily migraine and the fact I had packed on 30 plus pounds, lugging a watermelon around with me wherever I went.

It's the little things, the subtleties -- the "normal" moments -- that matter, that make up our life.  It's what makes our experience.  And our perception of what we encounter, using our senses, is what determines and shapes that experience.

The awe and wonderment of a child.  If we can mentally time-travel and be sure to bring back even a little drop of this into our adult lives, our worlds (our lives, our days... everything) would look much more colorful. They would smell much more pleasant.  They would feel much more warm and fuzzy.  They would sound much more ethereal.  They would taste so much more delicious.

It may not happen everyday... but I am grateful for my experiences today.

It was a perfect morning.