Grapes of Goodness

Well if raw grapes didn't go well, you probably think I am crazy for giving red wine a spin - but I'm not crazy, you are, because wine went just fine! Two nights in a row!

Hallelujah for adult pleasures of the alcoholic kind. With no sugar in your diet, you need a little something indulgent. I just keep marveling at it - no sugar. No item made in a store, or by a restaurant, or in a package, because that's going to have sugar. And I'm now three days into month two! It's been very good to my wallet - and very tough on my social life. But exploring menus of some of my favorite places means that Podnah's Pit BBQ (no sauce) and Ox are on the list for this month.

In other exciting news, raw veggies went well this past week too - and after a month of cooked baby food veggies, THAT was a joy indeed. Raw grated beets, raw romaine lettuce, some tahini and olive oil - the only thing that made it better was that it was made by a friend. Having something cooked for me, and not something I cooked for me, may have been the true pleasure.

And the final week's note… I am a creature of habit, undeniably. And so, how soon I have come to a (near) nightly dessert of banana, peanut butter and honey… far from the days of cake. Do I long for the days of cake? Yes and no. I do, for I am a Captain on Team Cake (this is a lifetime appointment; my friend Bill is a Captain as well).

But at the same time, I'm feeling so remarkable off sugar and grains that I don't have the uncontrollable cravings I thought I'd have (and that I've had when restricting foods for all the other than totally gut-health reasons). And no chocolate for over a month? I swore that would not be possible. But when you take away sugar, and grains, what good is chocolate? Who craves a plain chocolate bar? Chocolate covered almonds, chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, cookies, frostings - sure. But since the overarching mental motivation and deep, almost spiritual feeling I carry, is one of rejecting sugar and grain for right now, the chocolate love takes a serious (and seriously unexpected) back burner.

And I tried making coconut flour waffles. They looked like waffles, they felt like waffles, I got to drench them in butter, and so life's been pretty dang good this week.

July 31 in Pommern.

(As written in my journal that day; grammar and minor edits only. Italicized portions are additions written after the trip.)

At breakfast, Edward tells me I'm not allowed to work today. "One more day to rest. You don't leave the mission house this morning."

I'm so disappointed. To lose a second day!? Nearly my last?! But within thirty minutes of breakfast - one plain slice of bread (so oddly sweet, I need some sourdough up in here!) and 1/3 of a banana - I find I'm ready for a nap. So perhaps Edward knows best - and perhaps he's been through this before with a previous volunteer (ha, ha, ha - that's a joke; I know he has).

So today I find stillness, whether I want it or not. And it ends up a very powerful day, connecting with fellow volunteers. 

We're finally discussing openly our frustrations with African time versus American time, and our complete inability to understand how teachers can fail to show up for class, say, as happened today - there was a prominent death in the village. Then everything stopped. And so students go without teachers and lessons, while Nurse Patricia is in a fog (tells Meggie, who has been there yesterday and today without me) and can barely work. Most volunteers were sent back to the mission house. Everyone is feeling useless. 

Rather than find this stoppage an admirable sense of community, we volunteers are mystified and frustrated. You can't stop everything, every time a person dies! Or can you?

Oh, and on another note, Dr. Elton leaves a line of eight sick patients while he watches a tree being cut down, using a rarity here - a chainsaw. It seems that every, and any, interested person has the right to be involved in any decision or event - and so we have a village, region and country possibly incapable of making forward progress. Every voice is heard, maybe, but also everyone who wants to stop working to watch how cool it is to see a tree get cut down can take a break. A break, a break, a break.

I believe in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs and we get into a group discussion meandering around it. Is there true happiness without emotional knowledge of the full self, and are we here to help, to hurt, to be neutral observers? Can we forge personal connections with villagers when the need to manipulate us is so great? (And so justified.) 

We asked each other if we'll try another Global Volunteers trip - yes's and undecided's. 

We discussed how this is called a volunteer vacation, or voluntourism, and can that phrase take a little pressure off (of, ahem, me)? Did white, Western colonialism create a culture of dependence - and are we reaping what we've sown? 

And then my great revelation - in which I realize, truly, for the first time, that for all the talk of global natural resources and the water wars we're sure to see - only one thing seems certain to me; we in the West aren't going without our hot showers to help anyone here. We'll absolutely let them die, and the clean water and availability of oil will winnow down to being available only over America eventually, and probably zoom right down on D.C. as the last place with modern comforts. 

I didn't write this to be heartless - or inflammatory - or because I think it's OK to let people die so we can have hot showers, cars, plastic baggies in our lunch everyday. I wrote it because it smacked me hard as truth. We will absolutely watch people die if it means we get to keep our Stuff. If it means we have to give up a lot, including the comfort we're used to, for them to live lives we don't understand and don't respect, I just don't think we're gonna do it. One of the problems a volunteer wants to solve here is to get the children to eat with a spoon, not their fingers. Porridge is wasted, it's messy and dirty, she argued. Tell me we're going to give up life as we know it for them? 

In the afternoon, I convinced Edward I was feeling recovered fully, and that I was ok to go to Zumba with Meggie - her last class, and my last chance to see the high-school girls. I promise I won't dance - I've been sick, I need to rest, I know. I'll watch. Lies! All lies. I dance one song, and that's where all the YouTube videos previously posted are from - not exactly in my best form dance-wise, and it sure tuckered me out - but it felt great to get my blood flowing a bit, to dance with the girls, to watch Meggie leading them in total joy and confidence. 

Tonight Edward gives a little lecture on Tanzanian migration patterns (of the Bantu and Masai, largely, and some Indian and Arabic), and then on modern society here. Of course the most interesting part if the Q&A - yes, polygamy is common. Yes, the 1964-65 history of integrated education, that sent people all over the country to school, to learn Swahili, broke tribal loyalties and thus has prevented civil war. Yes, men here think American women are funny - they hear in our country we talk more than men. How can that be?! Men do the talking! And that women in America expect to do all the same things as men - they get it in concept, but really can't picture it.

Tomorrow: hopefully I get to go back to work!

July 28: Back in Pommern.

(As written in my journal that day; grammar and minor edits only. Italicized portions are additions written after the trip.)

How can you give a gift when the balance of power is so badly weighted as to basically be a straight vertical line? For we Americans, we wealthy and confused (are we generous, guilty, or desiring of sharing the things we love and put so much meaning into?) little Americans, with our language taken from us - we want to give. But we want to give the things we treasure - to show gratitude for allowing us to come into the community and for being so patient with our cameras, our energy. But how CAN we give? We're so far from the first to bring boxes of school supplies - and yet, there are none in any of the classrooms. But if you got a pen, and were hungry, wouldn't you sell the pen for crackers? So how can our gifts make sense?

Edward asked me what I was sorting, when I was inventorying medical supplies before Zumba class the other day, and it was a pile of dental floss (many small packages, a few yards each). When I explained, he asked me to put it in the clinic pile because if given directly to the people, they'll use it as fishing line. The things I don't about about this kind of generational poverty - and the things I don't even know that I don't know! - make me useless. As a giver of any kind. People say, "Oh, I learned so much from 'them'" in reference to a poorer or less powerful society and I've always - and still do - take that to mean that any people with less than us will teach lessons about what is really important - love, family, laughter, connection to the community. And I've thought that was total crap. And to be honest - I still do. 

But my head is figuratively spinning tonight as I come to grips with low little - how nothing - I'll contribute here. I'm stunned and embarrassed to realize that what will be learned here will ONLY be learned by me. But not the sweet things in life, not at all a reminder of the simple profound pleasures. Instead I'm learning the profound depth of sameness the third world endures. The pain of meeting daily needs with nothing leftover at the very best, or a debt as the sun falls, at the very worst. But never two pennies to rub together - never enough to have one task done for a week or a month. Every day is exactly the same and you're lucky to just catch up every 24 hours. My human desire to communicate with the person in front of me, but the overwhelming reality of a boggingly large group of individuals in front of me.

By way of hard details, the flickering generator light tonight makes me laugh - it's terrible illumination that gives me a headache, and it is still more than all the people here have. 

Most of the women volunteers swapped clothing stories tonight - yup, most of us are heavier than we were a week ago. And in our Rose & Thorn sharing tonight, my rose was the baobab trees and their evocative emotions. My thorn was reaching wifi for the first time in almost eight days only to have it be down today. I really want to hear from John - about his backpacking trips and plans, that he is OK, that all is well at home. It's 9 PM here, 11 AM Sunday there - and he is so close to me right now. I can't feel if it's because of nerves or a problem, or if he just wants to hear from me, too.

Finally tonight, I am burdened with a good bit of despair. I feel so much like I'm letting you all down. I've put on music for the first time since arriving in Africa - Sigur Ros - in order to let these intense feelings of disappointing you flow through. 

Don't get me wrong - enough of you warned me. 

"I hope you don't think you're going to help/save/affect anyone." 

"You know you're not going to make a difference, right?" 

"What can you do in two weeks?" 

"It's arrogant to do this." 

"Just go to any town and you'll find someone who needs help. Why go with an organization, that costs money?" 

Oh, I came with much caution and pessimism - those are all direct quotes from professed friends. I haven't thought I would save anyone. But now I feel I owe you - you who sent me and Meggie off with contributions, and so much excitement and love. How can I come home with nothing tangible to show you? How can I come home broken? 

There's the septic tank, thanks be, and the joy of Zumba. And that very well might be it. So if it is - I have to let go as this second week starts. If that is all there is show for it, by way of successes, then that is the truth. Or all there is for others. The soul lessons have been great, as I can even understand them so far. And the affirmation of intuition as a guiding force has been deep. Within ten minutes of meeting all the volunteers, I was immediately drawn to Leslie - the world is full of soul connections and one here is a sweet surprise, a little reminder that life as it was ticks on and on, and I'll rejoin it - but the Tanzanians won't. 

I was asked by Emmanuel if all us Americans - can we all afford most of the things in most of the stores? How to explain a platinum ring, a vacation house, owning two cars for two adults? WalMart versus Saks? How do I talk about disposable diapers and throwing away food? Or closets of clothes so big we probably could not make an accurate list of every tee, every pair of panties, every coat, sock, shoe and baseball cap that we own? I actually didn't recognize Moses tonight, when he came to stoke the fire, for he was in a new jersey! After I got back John said, when I was explaining how I struggled to explain poverty in America to Emmanuel, "Oh, I get it! It's like, how do you explain the difference between flying ON a plane and flying on your OWN plane? How do you explain the difference a Bentley and a Ford Focus?"

If the choice had to be made right now, I wouldn't come back to Tanzania. It is so broken, and I am so small, that my little dollars to the deaf women who make crafts, or to Mamamorrie for doing my laundry, just seem to make it worse. Dangling the prize in front of Wile E Coyote but never, not once, letting him win. And we are the roadrunners - moving too fast. Someone said to us, during one of our evening lectures, "You need to slow down, America, or we really will never catch up." 

So I guess I want to apologize for how little - or negatively - I might effect Pommern, when you sent me with such enthusiastic support. I want to apologize for possibly bringing back more pain, a deeper understanding of grinding poverty, dirt, smell, anger from those who watch us zip by in a private vehicle. 

I'm groundless again tonight and so I took in a little Pema Chodron reading... she's right about one thing... how can I be both so big and so small? How can I stay right where I am without resolution; how I need resolution! Ah, but how Pema wags her finger at me lovingly - no, no, no; you don't. Resolution is bad for you; better always to sit in it. And get softened because of it. 

ESP, baby.

Remember when I discovered I could read John's mind a couple weeks ago? (Here.)

Turns out, he can read mine too!

For context: this is a guy who has never heard of The Real World. Who couldn't pick Taylor Swift out of a line-up. Who wouldn't know TMZ from Perez Hilton and doesn't want to. Pop culture, as defined by the masses, is not for him - though he has his own popular culture, to be sure.

I wanted to tell him about a funny Zumba dance we're doing that makes us laugh, and dance hard, to be silly and sweaty and fantastic. But the moment I said, "Hey babe, have you seen that YouTube of that one song?" the lyrics fell out of my head and I couldn't remember how to sing the song or describe the video to him.

We were walking down a flight of stairs, and we got to the bottom, in silence, and he then goes, "Is it that one that goes, 'girl look at that body'?"

YES! It is! (Important to note: the video is super lame, and our Zumba dance is way better.)

But the best thing is that He Can Read My Mind. With his one piece of pop culture! Cool!

I can read his mind.

John wakes me up the other morning, after his workout, while I'm lingering in the dark, pretending I can sleep another hour - but I only have five more minutes.

"Baby, guess what!?" he says with utter glee. "Today is best day of all the days, since we have been together, can you guess what has happened?"

"Mmmm. It's snowing?" I slightly slur, with a sleepy voice.

"Nope, baby, it's not snowing. It's something that's never happened."

"Ummm, David Bowie has a new album out?"

"Yes! David Bowie has a new album out! Yes! Today is his birthday! 14 tracks! It's coming out in March!"

And while I'm delighted that his musical idol is releasing a new album - is it Bowie's 29th or 30th, I shall let you debate that with him - I'm even more delighted that even in my near-sleep, I can pick up on the unique energy of his voice, his posture, his psychic messages and learn stuff like this. Ah, mawwiage. This is one of the cool parts!

Friday Sermon

I know you think that I'm going to give you a sermon right now, and I admit, that is something I've been known to do - from, oh, time to time - but - no - in fact - instead I'm going to summarize the best part of last week's sermon in church, because it has stuck with me all this week - and it's worth all of us going into the weekend together, thinking about it.

The title of the sermon was, "And the Greatest of These is Love." If you're like me, you sort of cringed just now. Your body tightened. You thought of all the weddings you've been to where Corinthians was read... love is patient, love is kind, love is not boastful... you know the bit. Needless to say, lovely as these sentiments are, this was not in my wedding ceremony and I always find it a bit, mmmm, ambitious, for a young couple. Maybe for a new parent, it makes sense as a parental vow. But at the outset of wedded life? Hmm, I say. Hmm.

So Reverend Bill read the familiar lines to us, and mentioned that they were, many years ago, in HIS own wedding ceremony. Then he stopped. Never insists on its own way? Endures everything? He admitted to falling short of those standards, and who doesn't? But that's not a description of human love, he went on to explain... that's a description of God's love.

Whoa. Hold the phone.

I bristle at the phrase "God's love" - but I work hard to translate it. I hear "the love of the universe" or "the love of the infinite" instead. Because if the language, and concept, of a knowing, or patriarchal, or authoritative God/god is troubling to me, I still can't un-know that someone watches the watcher. Some part sees the seer, and observes even the most conscious of my behaviors and actions. I mean, how can I observe my own thoughts? How can I sit back and see myself? I only do so from the perspective of... yes, a soul. A spirit. A calm, content, wise and loving center within me - within each human being - that is infinite and unaltered by the tribulations of any given day.

So Reverend Bill, what you're saying is that within each of us is a love that can bear all things - even the accidents and deaths we think will break and kill us - and endure all things - even the endless madness of polls, politics, people voting against their own self interest - and hope all things - even if past behavior is the best predictor of future behavior, the world might change, and so might my family - and believe all things - even that my mind might not be the Very Best Judge Of All Happenings Planetwide, and there might be things I don't understand, or even things that contradict each other but are simultaneously true.

So of course we read this at weddings. Of course we want our partner to be perfect, and for the holy sacrament of commitment to make the new "us" perfect - for the reading to infuse guaranteed success.

But what we forget is that it's already within us. Heavy stuff, to be sure. But remember that that love is within you this weekend, while you're out there in a rather mean, cold, dangerous, unlucky world. Because if you forget it's there, you might get way, way, scarily, off the path. And even if only one other person in the world loves you, they'll miss you on the path with them a whole lot.

Coming up on the anniversary...

This week will mark 3 years married and 8 years together, and the biggest thing I've learned about my husband is that he has a natural ability to be great at it. It comes as second nature to him to just live the advice in the newspaper columns; he is nice 7 times or more for each time he snaps or snips. He remembers to stop and welcome each morning and evening with a kiss. It's a rare day when he brings a bad mood into our house from the driver who just cut him off in traffic, or from the grocery trip turned into 3 hour quest, or from the Weight Watchers scale that shows a disappointment that week. He is one of the best influences in my entire life, every day, and I love him so much for all his humor, his patience, his intelligence, his drive and his all-but-hidden-from-everyone-else tenderness. So on marriage, this one - the one with the lower case 'm' I'm in - I am happy to admit it's getting better - getting better all the time.

And now, on a nice note.

I hope you have a wonderful three-day weekend (whether you get three days off your tasks or not), and instead of leaving this page with a rant for the long weekend, I leave it with a shout out for the book Little Bee by Chris Cleave. This description is all you need, and the recommendation of someone you trust. No doubt, this will get made into a really bad movie, but if you have time this weekend, pick it up! I read it in two days and you can, too. It has a number of things going for it:

• A protagonist who isn't always perfect;
• An antagonist who isn't always bad/mean;
• Plot points that you probably won't predict and will surprise you;
  
• A male author writing in the voice of two women, and doing so quite well;
• A small child who is not inherently likable, but is a real seeming 4 year old boy.

Plus, it's a great title. Little Bee! It's British, it's about a refugee and a fancy magazine lady, and if the devastation, political upheaval, 1967 borders, flooding, pain and suffering in the news feel really giant right now, try out Little Bee to remind yourself that behind every single day are 6 billion 700 million or so people who have their own little story that's worth hearing.

What kind are you?

My parents tell me that by the time I was old enough to walk over to the neighbor's house and play (they had 4 daughters!!), I was walking away. This pattern has not abated in the past couple decades; I am a highly social creature, who is lucky to have a lot of friends, and lucky to spend a lot of time with those friends.

And the kinds of friends I have! I have friends great for coming over and chatting by the first for hours. I have friends great for calling up at the last-minute and going out on the town. I have friends great for falling apart in front of (they're good at helping putting me back together). I have friends to gossip with, and ones to debate politics with, and ones to mull over life plans with. I have movie friends, happy hour friends, camping friends, travel friends, phone-only friends, blog friends, work friends, former-work friends, and friends who used to be enemies.

But there is a highly specific type of friend that not everyone is lucky to have, but I do... and that's the friend you can ask to take you to the airport. I'm blessed with at least two of these! And so a hearty thanks on this day to B... and sorry to add that the blog will most likely be on hiatus for a week or so... for B has taken me and John to the airport, and we're off to the 50th state!

Moonstruck

I borrowed the DVD for Moonstruck from good friends about two years ago... and finally watched it tonight! My review, in a word: excellent!

And then John came wandering in at the end, since he'd already seen it, and I said happily, "You know, the whole world wants to visit a little bit of France. But the whole world thinks of themselves as being a little bit Italian!"

He thought for a moment and replied, "Well at one point, the whole Western world was inhabited by Romans. But not by the French."

Match made in heaven.

Pillow Talk

Before bed last week:

Me, reading "Endurance" about the epic Antarctic Shackleton expedition in 1914-16, to John: "They kill seals! With their bare hands almost! Now they're killing the dogs! Ahh, they haven't changed their underwear in five months! Whoa, they are using ice for toilet paper!"

John, reading "The Universe in a Nutshell" by Stephen Hawking, to no one in particular as he picks up the book with a sigh: "Oh Hawking, you incomprehensible genius."

Topsy Turvy.

In the great work of life -- to become a "better" person -- we're usually given parables that illustrate selflessness. Walk a mile in someone else's shoes, right? The great Pema Chodron teaches us how to breathe in anger and oppressive heat and darkness, and breathe out love and refreshing coolness and light. We think of how much we love our children (or pets or best friends) and imagine that God loves us like that. Another Buddhist teacher reminds us that everyone we meet is, or has been, our mother. Treat them thus.

Well, some days, I say "boo" to this. It doesn't work. The stupid driver who delays me another five minutes coming home, the jerk in the grocery line who has to write a check, then use an Oregon Trail card, then run back for something else... you know how it goes.

At church on Sunday, the parable that was told might be unconventional, but it's sticking with me, and the topsy turvy way it illustrated those lovely lessons of compassion is just darn neat. I'd like to share it with you, and would love your reactions - those that are immediate, and those that come later.

God was narrating a man's death, as he wandered up to her. He had died in a car crash and said to her, "Am I dead?" She said, "Yes," and he replied, "What about my wife and children? What will happen to them?"

God answered, "See? That's great! You just died and you're thinking of other people! You're growing! They will be fine. Your children will always think of you as perfection; they weren't old enough to resent you yet. And your wife is relieved." Seeing his shocked face (and ours in the pews!), God said, "Well let's be honest. Your marriage was falling apart. But she feels guilty for feeling relieved if that makes you feel any better!"

Then he said, "Well, what happens next?" and when she told him he would be reincarnated he said, "Ha ha! The Hindus were right!"

She said, "Well, everyone is, in a way."

"Who am I going back as?"

"Let's see... you're going back as a baby peasant girl in China, in 542 AD."

"What? OK, going back is one thing, but I am going back in time, too? I can't do that! What if I run into myself? The whole thing will collapse!"

God laughed. "Well, you run into yourself all the time. You won't remember this life or any of the ones you've lived previously. And you'll keep going back, around and around, until you've matured."

"Matured? Is that what life is about?"

"A little cliche to ask me the meaning of life, isn't it? But yes, it is. All this is for you."

"And you made all this, just for humankind, so we can grow?"

"No, not humankind. Just you."

As he was struggling to catch up, God let him know that it would not only be OK if he ran into himself down there, but that he definitely would. That he was every single other life on the planet.

She said, "Every time you've been mean to someone, you were hurting yourself. And every time you've shown kindness, you were really showing kindness to yourself. And when you have lived every life there is, or has been, or ever will be, you'll have learned it all and be ready for what's next."

---- ---- ---- ---- ----

What do you think? This is an abridged version, but the good jokes and the basic gist are in there. It really has me thinking. Some days, it is just too hard to think of every homeless person on the street and every co-worker and every crazy neighbor as your mother or your child or a member of your human family. Frankly, in a distracted or frustrated state of mind, selfish is part and parcel, and so what a great reminder to embrace that selfishness... and just think of that person as ME!

I think this parable takes "Love thy neighbor as thyself" out to its fullest conclusion. And I, for one, am grateful for the gains from the mental stretch it requests.

Fun (see two posts down)

There are reasons of all kinds that one chooses their spouse... and tonight, just now, I realize that I chose mine in part because he is the only person on the planet who could patiently sing along to my mandolin-butchering-rendition of "Heavy Metal Drummer" and congratulate me for learning so quickly.

Fun... here I come!

Married Money

The journey to FEEL like my money is John's, and John's money is mine, is a long, slow one. My family of origin handed down some real gems when it comes to beliefs about money, the value of work inside and outside the home, gender and what is worth spending disposable income on.

That said, John is much farther along in the "it's all ours" belief than I am... but much farther along should make you laugh when he told me where his 401(k) is at. I was delighted that he has saved and matched such a wonderful start to retirement, and said, "Well, mine's not quite as much." (Given that I've had benefits for about 8 months and he has had them for over four years.)

He responded, "Oh baby, all that money is ours."

Me: "Aww, that's sweet."

Him: "Well mentally it is. But also legally!"

Aaaand, goodnight!

It's true!

N told me once... quoting someone I can't remember... that you know it's true love when that other person is the only one you can imagine running into anytime, anyplace, in any mood or state of dress, and be genuinely happy to see them.

My mother says one of the things she likes about living in a small town is that she usually knows someone on the plane when she takes a flight, and that she sees someone she knows at the grocery store most times.

I, on the other hand, skulk off if I see someone I know in the grocery store and part of the whole thrill of air travel is that no one I know is aware of my precise location while I'm moving along.

All this said... I was driving across Portland the other evening, and stuck in traffic, in another car, across from me, in the lane facing the other way, was John! And to my friend N - yep, I just lit up, and forgot stress from work, the destination I was dreading, and my melted makeup. I was so happy and surprised to see him, and to exchange a grin and an air kiss across the evening maze of commuters.

Perfection was achieved.

I went to brunch this past week with a total of 10.5 people... 10 adults, 1 infant who did not partake of the menu. (Though her Cheerios looked delicious.)

And as a group of old friends, new friends, and some as complete strangers to one another, we achieved perfection. We did!

The bill was $159. With a 20% tip, that should be $191. At the end of cash-counting, bill sorting and each person responsible for their own calculations... we ended up with $191 on the table.

I can die happy.

P.S.

I really am still thinking about the things that those who love me would like to see me do, as written about here. And I came up with two really good areas of thought... prompted by you, the reader/commenters!

First, the people who love me and have my best interests at heart are much, much softer on me than I am on myself. They're not telling me to buy a house now. They're not telling me to start a family now. They're gently telling me to write some more, yes, but not harshly -- instead, with joy. So rather than focus on the THINGS I "should" be doing, better to focus on the "how" that I do them.

Secondly, and much more importantly, Jordan pointed out in the comments that while the thing we may want, or the thing we may be told to do, is tangible... that's only half the point. (Or less!) We may be told to start a tea shop that also sells organic flowers, or it may be our heart's desire... but if I can go a level deeper than that, what do I find? The tea, the flowers, the being my own boss... those are about financial independence, calm environments, beautiful things. Starting a family? That's about sharing more love with the world, or rising to a new challenge. Buying a home? That's about creating a cocoon, a sanctuary, and a place to host these people I love so fiercely.

For me, I came up with:
- writing more is about telling more stories and flexing what I think is my universe-given best skill;
- being softer on others and less judgmental are also about being softer on myself and giving those I love a lot more leeway.

How 'bout your things? Who is telling you to do what... and when you go one layer deeper, what is the greater meaning of these tangible changes you wish to make?

Hey! Sometimes I Get Sentimental!

So in church… or in Christian-influenced, Westernized church… we do only a handful of things. We pray or meditate silently together. We sing. We listen to a preacher. We stand, we sit, we might dance. We read things with dozens or hundreds of other people. We enjoy the choir and the instruments. And somewhere, one of those things, on some of the days that you attend church, is suddenly transcendent.

Something the preacher says might move you, shake you to your core. One of the melodies might suddenly prick the corners of your eyes with tears. One of the bells during meditation brings to mind someone you've not thought of in a long time. One of the moments, on the days you're lucky or maybe when you're just psychically ready for a little churchin', your heart will open to a flash of compassion, a surge of oneness, an experience of pure love.

Well, you certainly don't have to go to church to experience these moments… though I find such moments are guaranteed to occur only when there is some music, or deep silence, a resonant reading or powerful words spoken… when there is some dancing, some hand holding, some communion in any form.

So this past weekend, while I was at a Michelle Shocked concert with N, I giggled on the inside a couple times and my eyes got a little teary a couple times and I paid strong attention to the power of our group breathing, laughing, chanting, singing and swaying together. It was absolutely a night of going to church, and so to the church of Ms. Shocked and her messages of social justice, independence, feminism, individualism AND community, love and faith… I say amen. Thanks for the churchin'.

Other People's Problems

You know how it's really easy to identify someone else's problem, right along with the solutions for it? But your own are terribly confusing and mazelike; impossible to solve in a single conversation or new year.

So I had a chat recently with someone who has made almost no changes in their life in the last few years, and they recommended gargantuan changes for a mutual friend. I don't want to "out" a private conversation, but the advice was something extreme... something like "he should quit his job without a new one on the horizon" or "she should start her own business without any start up money" or "they really need to break up and one can move to Hawaii to work in a surf shop, and the other can get partying out of their system". It was a thing like that.

And while the advice was bold, exciting, take-charge action... it was also terrifying and I couldn't help but consider the source. Those folks taking big, bold action? I tend to trust their recommendations to do the same. But those folks who haven't changed "so much as a pair of socks since I've known" them? You can guess my gut reaction.

But in the grand life effort to stretch, to grow, to get more in touch with my life's purpose and live authentically... I'm taking one small baby step away from such judgment. Instead of waving off their advice (or, maybe, along with waving off their advice, ha!) to our mutual friend... I am going to spend this week thinking, "What do my friends advise me to do? What action in life would they like to see me take? Why? And what if I did it? What might happen?"

Sure, not everyone has my best interests at heart, and some people might give advice to manipulate me to their advantage, but a whole lot of friends DO have my best interests at heart. My urban tribe, my family-by-choice is filled with big hearts. So I ponder - and I welcome in the comments - what should I be doing more of, less of, adding to my daily life? What should you be doing more of, less of, adding to your daily life?

A thought to think on.

One of my very good and often wise friends made a lovely point this week about the nature of romantic love... and it's necessary evolution as the two partners inevitably change... and although I do think it can be applicable to great platonic love as well... I will rephrase here her wisdom:

If you met your partner for the first time today, what would you think of him or her? If you went on your first date this very Saturday night, what might be the outcome of that date?

And so on my husband's 29th birthday, one on which we plan to have a nice all-day-date together, I will be squishy and romantic and say that I am pretty sure I would find him the intelligent, charming, interesting, informed and exciting Renaissance man that I did on our actual first date, nearly six years ago. Happy Birthday, mon couer!