Older and Wiser

The past two weeks have been tough. I am not complaining because I chose to go back to school. I chose tough. I usually do. Why you say? I ask myself that same question almost daily. Somehow I have survived all these years without a bachelor's degree. Can't I live without one? The truth is... I am a woman in search of her self (yes, I intentionally separated her from self). I must descend to my own depth. It's how I do it. I am leaving behind my old safe role of wife and mother for a time. That season has served me well. I am more because of those roles. Saying goodbye to what was has been a bittersweet journey for me. I have shed thousands of tears not because it's over, but because it's different. The murk has finally settled.  It's time to plunge downward into the deep and seemingly bottomless and see what's left to explore. Please understand descension is not a bad thing. As I descend, I touch on a strength and a certainty that is shaken loose from within me. I rediscover that easy is not always synonymous with better.

 

My parent's relatively early deaths started this process for me. I didn't understand then that this began as I sat next to my dying father. I can remember holding his hand and saying out loud, "This is it? I hope it was happy Daddy. I hope you know how much you were loved and it was enough. Was your life what you wanted it to be?" I think I processed those questions for both of us. That conversation was the catalyst for something that I didn't even understand was happening to me at the time. And so I left my first role as faithful daughter behind as I eulogized my father (as I did my mother) and threw fistfuls of family soil over his casket. That was the beginning of a three year process: my own private dive into my depth.  

 

Barely able to catch my breath, I was faced with my husband's temporary unemployment and a daughter (my baby) on the brink of college. Many decisions were made like going back to work to help out until Pat could find a good job fit. This was done out of necessity, not giving much pause to consider what state I was in. I just channeled all my grief into tangibles like work and helping my family, ignoring the widening chasm within that desperately needed attention. Again, saying goodbye to another role, (at least in the way I had grown comfortable in it) a role that had defined me for thirty years. I descended deeper to a place of such intense loss and void, forcing me ever downward. I still  struggle to find wholeness there. There are days I am able to enjoy it for what it is: a job well done; a  deserved repose after a lifetime of giving and nuturing. Occassionally, I am blindsided by my internal struggle that feels like Gloria Steinem and June Cleaver engaged in a tug of war. if you know me, you know that I will always and forever cheer for June!

 

I have descended to this place of unformed as I re engage in a new kind of life and now college work. Occasionally, I indulge in if only I had gone back sooner, quickly realizing that's counter productive. Intentionally, I chose motherhood as my magnum opus and it came first. All of this now is a late second. I have no regrets. But, today.. I am my own  great work. That feels incredibly selfish and foreign and strangely exciting at the same time. So I choose rough, different, and challenging for my upward ascension. In my fifties I will birth something new. I am feeling my way around a new mode of being and lifestyle. I have less time to fuss, nest and cook. And oh how I love all of those things. But, (to be honest) they come very naturally to me. I have come close to perfecting the art of a being a homemaker. I want to be measured against something more challenging and rise to my hidden potential. It's time. I have space enough.

 

And so I continue my quest for balance, understanding that it's more critical than ever. I was never a carefree college girl. I am a wife: (first and always) an eternal companion to a wonderful man. I am a mother to three amazing adult children, who I want to spend time with. I am a Grand Ma-Ma and the best of me needs be present to delight in that roll (my just reward- lol...). I love it so! Last week I learned the hard way(after coming down with the flu) that balance will always be a challenge for my personality type. I want straight A's. I want to entertain and spend precious time with family. I want to serve in a church capacity. I want a clean and beautiful home. You get the picture. Therefore, I am going to be gentler with myself this go around. I am not as young as I used to be. I can't go without sleep. There is strength in setting limits; knowing when enough is enough and finally accepting that good is better than perfect. This self inflicted form of abuse has taken it's toll on me. Today I will place value on my well being above all else. And I boldly declare, older is definitely (in my case) wiser, with or without the degree to back it up.

 

 

Be the Change

My January (note to self) chalkboard was inspired by my sister, Lynn. She will forever and always be a cheerleader... my cheerleader and a cheerleader to many others as well. I would be lying if I didn't admit to (for over a few decades now) secretly rolling my eyes about this way of thinking and rejecting it as a mantra of sorts (at least for more than twenty seconds) when she would so often suggest to me, "Be the Change, Julie." In case you don't know me, I will publicly confess here and now to being the sister whose energy goes down... down... down when things are less than ideal. I have been accused of "sucking the life" right out of Lynn (and others) when things go badly. I'm told I can sometimes drain a room without saying a thing. I am the wah...wah... wah... (think baby or sad trombone) to her Rah! Rah! Rah! (think pep rally, pom poms and life coach)! I think by now  you get the picture!

My blog is dedicated to her today. The little sister who has inspired me to be the change I want to see in myself... in the world! In 2013 I've decided:

• to be the spouse I want in my marriage 
• to be the art and the creativity that motivates me and breathes life 
• to be the woman who inspires me
• to be the voice that speaks with gentleness
• to be the mother the world gathers around
• to be the friend I can confide in
• to be the sister I can rely on
• to be the mother in law I never had
• to be the example of Him that lights my path
• to be the balance I seek
• to be a companion, not a critic
• to be the health and sanity I want for years to come

I CAN BREATHE when I approach my life this way. I didn't get it before and I do now. Thank you, My Sister. It would be so much harder to navigate my life without you in it. I love you! xxoo

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Something from Nothing

"Thoughts, rest your wings. Here is a hollow of silence, a nest of stillness, in   which to hatch your dreams." ~ Joan Walsh Anglund    

Home is undeniably my haven, my nest, and the place I seek refuge from most things that weigh me down or trouble me. It's the place in which I seek solace and inspiration as well. I love the visual of resting my wings. I have created a home using a palette of white neutrals with less and less black accents over time. I am not sure I did this consciously, but intuitively I think I did it with a knowing(ness) from within me that acknowledges I needed a purer and gentler space to enter back into each day to rest. I close my eyes and I see myself in my mind's eye and I am collapsed (draped really) across my long, white down sofa with my own pair of white feathery wings outstretched in exasperation. Can you see me? Those of you who know me well, know I have a flair for the dramatic... For me, I energize by becoming very still. It took me a few decades to embrace that it's okay to sometimes do nothing. In fact, in doing so, you actually are working on something... YOU!

 

I'm absolutely alone today without distraction, commitments, or people coming and going. God must have known I needed this hollow of silence today for my daughter left our home at five am to return to New York. As I have openly admitted, I hate her departures. I find myself thinking about her leaving and my tears leak out days before she actually gets on a plane. I know. It's a bit twisted. But, (I think) therapists call it "anticipatory grieving". I tell myself it's healthy because it has a clinical name. Unfortunately, it doesn't make the process any easier. I woke up this morning (after quietly crying myself to sleep) feeling as if I had stuff missing on the inside. The idea of breakfast wasn't at all appealing until about eleven o'clock, at which time I made myself eat a cup of bland oatmeal and washed it down with some OJ for sustenance. How grateful I am to be gifted an entire day without even the intrusion of a doorbell or phone call. God giveth and He taketh away...

Hollows can be empty, sunken... and sometimes I think I like that. The dark angel within me is given permission to emerge and melt into my melancholy. Suddenly I am part of the contrast to all of this glowing French white paint that surrounds me and is just too radiant for a day like today. There is something so cathartic about giving yourself consent to sulk. I can only truly do this comfortably when I'm alone and don't have to apologize or feel guilty about moping, not showering or even getting properly dressed for the day. You get the picture. I know, it's not at all pretty or brave. I am secretly overjoyed my husband flew out today on business. He means well, but even he makes it difficult to find my bearings sometimes. He doesn't share my need for aloneness. In his absence, I am pardoned of  conversation and even smiling and nodding if I don't feel like it. I like that absolutely nothing is required of me today.

 

It's almost six pm. Where has the day gone? Some might consider today a waste. A pity party you say? Nay, I know better... I have given myself permission to just be. To dwell for a bit in the dark, allowing myself to think about why my heart hurts so much when Megan leaves? To then again remember it's because she's so wonderful and recount all the reasons why. Today I allowed myself the opportunity to whine aloud asking, "Why can't she go to school in California like her cousin?" I smile because I already know the answers to that question, but it feels good to whine anyway. Within my nest of stillness and silence I have prayed and meditated, asking for peace, comfort and acceptance for what is, remembering to give thanks for what isn't. I have even worked a bit today, but at my own pace. I've cried and I've smiled, planned, envisioned, dreamed, and renewed. Tomorrow I will emerge stronger for all of it, ready to face the busyness and what the world requires of me beyond the safety of these doors. Today was not an obligation. I loved that. I needed it. In my quest for balance in 2013, I am learning I need more repose in my life... in my soul. Sometimes a perfect day is filled with nothingness. I think I am going to calender in more do nothing days this year...  simply because I can. 

 

  

 

 

   

Someday is NOT a day of the week

One of my greatest illusions is that "Someday" I will have the time and courage to take action on my dreams and aspirations. One thing leads to another, life takes me for a long ride (instead of the other way around) and unlike Monday, Someday never comes. While I have been busy postponing things, half my life has sped on by. I question, "Have I used my years, my days, my minutes wisely?" Yes and no.

 

Rather than beat up on myself, my childhood, my choices and the like, today I choose to take on 2013 from a different vantage point. Today is the day I stop living for Somedays and start living in the gloriously imperfect here and now. For me, this means embracing flaws, ignoring limitations, (as I often fixate on them) and living life fully while I am here. I've discovered without risk, nothing new ever happens. And I find myself suddenly sickened by the status quo. What have I been waiting for? Perfect days, a perfect body, perfect timing, perfectly perfected talent and ability...  At fifty, I've discovered perfection is an illusion. At best it's perception.

 

There's something (rather several somethings) that I've earmarked for Someday. My Someday begins now, in 2013. I am finally realizing that it's far easier to get started by taking one small action now instead of some grand action Someday. Today I will eat more colorful fruits and veggies (maybe not eat all raw). Today I will take a yoga class in hopes of becoming a Yogi one day. This month I am going back to college (again) and I'm taking a few classes each semester in hopes of finishing a degree of some sort. Today I write (because I love to) not just because secretly I have wanted to be a writer ever since I could hold a pencil and form sentences. And (not to brag) at age seven, I was esteemed a great writer. There... I finally said it out loud. Wide Open Wednesdays resume today with the hope of becoming so much more.  After all, a dream without action is just a wish...

 

 

My Soul Responsibility

"Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard." ~ Anne Sexton

As I have thought about this quote for the past week or so, I am again reminded that I so often get caught up in my own monotonous busyness or plain old survival that I drown out the beating of my own heart. When I take the time to spend a little quality time with myself, I hear whispers from deep within me and the soul numbing grind is far less deafening. The breathiness of my inner voice nudges me and reminds me that what I love matters (despite how small or under cultivated). I must learn to listen to the cues. Every moment I feel joy or deeply and vitally alive, I must stand still and pay attention to it.  My soul is knocking and asking, " Hello in there... is anyone home? I'm in this- are you?"

My soul is the real me. The part of me that hushes my insecurities and breathes life back into my lazy attempt at living. My soul doesn't care what anybody else thinks. Its quiet hush reasons, "You don't have to be smart, perfect, thin, or impressive, Julie. You can just be." My soul reminds me that less is really more and well... more is just more. I have come to realize I need to eliminate in order to hear myself think and more importantly feel myself feel. Sometimes this realization seems selfish; I digress. When will choosing self ever feel completely natural? I must constantly shout above the monologue that plays over and over in my head telling me that it's never my turn and there's nobility in constantly giving it all away. Thirty thousand mornings, give or take a few, is all we're given. At near fifty, I have about eleven thousand left. I'd like to start reserving just a few.

I've talked a lot about finding my purpose and passion in my blog. I'm starting to realize it's kind of like searching all over the house for my car keys, only to discover that they were right there in
my hands all the time. Everything I need, everything I possess...it's all in there. It's taken more than half a lifetime, but I know this is TRUTH. My Acupuncturist, Jeffrey is one of the happiest people I have ever met. His welcome is always an exuberant, "Greetings Julia..." His voice, his spirit, the authentically peaceful aesthetic of his office, the location (just a stone's throw from Sunset Beach where he surfs daily), and the pure joy he radiates while placing tiny needles in my body, all tells me he has a honest passion for his work: his calling and for life. He is doing what he is supposed to be doing, where he is supposed to be doing it! It makes me ache for something to emerge from within me, declaring, "Here I am! This is it... this is your thing ... now go follow it!" It should be simpler than it is. I have talents and plenty of passion. It's the tuning in part and being brave enough to move where my soul is directing me...therein lies the problem and the answer.

In a commencement speech at Stanford, Steve Jobs told students that for thirty years, he looked in the mirror every morning and asked himself, "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer had been "no" for too many days in a row, he knew he needed to change something. This disturbed me when I read it (a clue that an anesthetized nerve had been struck). "Am I breathing just a little and calling it a life?", I thought. YES... "If today were my last day, would I want to be doing what I am doing?" Decidedly, NO... And whose responsibility was it to change that? I realized in that moment there was nowhere left to hide. If there are things I still want to do, explore, feel...it's all on me.

 So... I am paying attention this week. Paying attention to the pain in my neck and hips, as I begin to uncover where all that hurting is coming from and try not to push through it. I am paying attention to how my heart beats just a little faster when I sit down to write, or as I contemplate how to refinish those dining room chairs I love. Paying attention when I allow myself to be in touch with the creativity that whooshes from somewhere in my brain and soul simultaneously and noting that I am transformed for just a moment. The payoff: My soul whispers to me a little secret, "It's all about inhabiting your moments." So I took an extra half hour this morning to get out of bed, making time to pray and contemplate. Later, I spent an hour and a half in my car (without the radio or a CD) driving to a much needed appointment, followed by a quiet outdoor lunch for one in Sunset Beach. Rejuvenated and redirected, I am glad I took the time today to get down low and really listen to what my soul keeps trying to tell me. What I heard all came in the form of questions:

What can I eliminate that is dragging me down?
What can I add to my life that will increase joy and vitality?
Am I inhabiting all my days (moments)?
Do I know where I am on my journey?

Maybe if I am quiet enough and still enough (for long enough) I will be able to hear the answers...

In My Hands

 When I was young, I used to fantasize about what it would be like to belong to a different family, live in different circumstances. I'd daydream about a mother who bubbled with joy and an exuberance for living and a father who was a patriarchal rock of steadiness and security. There were many days I longed for Ward and June or Mr. & Mrs. Brady to jump on in and rescue me from my reality. Although I loved my mother and father very much, I spent most of my life trying to distinguish myself from my parents, repudiating patterns from them that I didn't want to replicate, desperately hoping to do it all differently when given my shot at adulthood. It has taken me almost a half a century to make peace with the fact, that while I am my own unique self, I am also the child of my parents, my mother's daughter in many respects, (my father's too) for good and bad; I'm more like them than I ever imagined. As I now walk alone without them in this life, I smile when I see one or both of my parents in my reflection, or hear them in my voice.

It wasn't until my perimenopausal years, that I began to fully empathize with my mother's depression, fears, and her need to cocoon herself in the safety of her own home. In my brazen teen years, I sternly( but silently) thought her weak and selfish. In my twenties, I decided she didn't try quite hard enough to push herself out and through the door that seemed unlocked to me, but a prison to her. During my thirties, I secretly detached myself, knowing I would never understand her and could die trying. At forty, I worked hard at reconnecting, convinced she was a product of her environment growing up. Sure of my own capacity to mother, I wanted to scoop her up, love her the way she needed to be loved, furious with those who robbed her of the carefree childhood she deserved. I wasn't convinced I had much of a childhood either, but next to hers, it was The Wonder Years. Still, I tried to move past this legacy and create my own to pass down to my little posterity. Retrospectively, I wasted far too much time in a push-pull of the heart, trying to embrace, but desperately wanting to escape my own inheritance.

It was a big, fat paradox for me. Here I was, my own unique person, on earth with a divine purpose to become all I was created to be and given agency to choose. At the same time, I was to a large degree, an inevitable result of my parent's DNA: their physical and emotional legacy; the result of a tryst between my mother's egg and my father's slow, but tenacious little sperm. Sure, I believe I came with an inherent personality and characteristics unique to me, but I was also formed from all the training and experiences I had from my parents as a child. All of that, paired with my reaction to and perception of those experiences, made me who I am- for better or for worse. Thankfully, sometime in my childhood I was innately gifted a deep knowing-ness: a personal confirmation of sorts, that my parents did the best they could with what they had. They were pretty much in the same boat- inheritors too, given what they were from their parents. I understood I was and still am in a very real sense, a product of those who came before me. This compassionate realization separated my bitterness from the sweet, like vinegar and oil. On most days, my love for two wonderful parents floated to the top, but I'd be lying if I said my bottle was never shaken, blending the two, making it hard to distinquish the very sweet from the bitter.

Because some of my childhood was difficult, even painful at times, it would have been easy to disassociate from my parents, or to blame them for what I believed went wrong in my life.  I tried instead to use the lessons they taught me (both positive and negative) and move beyond my legacy. As I have looked back, I know that this must have at times looked and felt like superiority to my parents. In many instances, I was too judgemental, too outspoken in my resolve to do it differently. My mother and I had a very real conversation about this just a couple of months before she died. One afternoon she sent me an email thanking me for being the daughter I was. She had been given five months to live months earlier and her time was drawing to an end. She told me that she loved me very much and that I had helped her so much in her life. As I read her email, I thought of our relationship. How hard it had been at times to relate to my mother. How difficult it was for the child in me to not suffocate beneath her depression; I shamefully had held anger in my heart towards her. I tearfully typed back, " You were a good mother. I am sorry for the times I wasn't always kind. I judged you. At times I was embarrassed of our life, our circumstances. I was never ashamed of you. I know you and dad did the very best you could. I regret not having had the maturity and goodness to understand everything much earlier in my life.  I love you, Mom. I always have and I always will..."

The following was my dear  mother's reply:


Dear Julie,

You show yourself no mercy. Please believe that I have only love and admiration for you...and mega pride. Those earlier years were so difficult. I don't even like to think of them. Children can only react. I do the same as you...wish to go back and make it better. I think we should just know that all things we experience, good and bad, make us what we finally become. No mother on earth could be more pleased than I with the person you have become- who you are. That person was always there, but had so many hardships to deal with. There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to make your life better, Julie. I think it would have killed me if any one of you followed the pattern that was presented earlier to you. 

I think of times when I might have been more patient; if only I had more "room" in my mind to have done a better job. Please don't ever think you weren't a good daughter. If anything, you gave me reasons to be proud. Yes, My Violet, five more years would be so great... only to enjoy one another longer. I am trying not to think of how many months I have left, but rather enjoy each moment I have with each of you.

I love you to no end~
Mom


Dawna Markova (the author of the poem that inspired my Wide Open Wednesdays) has a wonderful practice that makes this all of this so very real. "Look in the palm of your hand. Thich Nhat Hanh would say that if you look deeply enough, you'll never be lonely. Each cell of your hand is made from genetic material passed on to you from your mother or father. Whether you adored or despised them, they are in the palm of your hand." Most of the last moments I had with my mother, I held her hand. When she could, she held mine. I held my father's too, for weeks and weeks, as I watched him slip away from me. Because my hands are a smaller version of my mother's, I connect deeply to her whenever I look down at them. Whenever I put her ring on my finger, or hold my own daughter's hand, I am brought back to her. I love my hands because I loved hers. This connection to her gives me a sense of belonging and a wholeness that I can't explain. My hands remind me that I am never really alone, belonging to something so much bigger and better than just me. At near fifty, I no longer wish to be part of the Cleavers or The Brady Bunch. I am content to fully inhabit both my circumstances and my genes- grateful for both and for the parents that live on through me, in my heart and in my hands.

Midlife Makeover!

Welcome to my NEW Blog! I am so excited I can hardly stand it. I have spent a long time thinking about exactly what I wanted my page to look and feel like, knowing I needed it to be interesting and have a real sense of me; who I am becoming in middle age. I also wanted my blog to be an inspiring place to go and hangout on the page for a little while, for myself and you- the reader. With the help of Meredith Locklear from Creative Design + Branding, I believe I have been able to achieve just that! She did an amazing job listening to my ideas (Chagall inspired... what can I say?) and vision for my logo/banner. I then found Kim at seven thirty three and she put it all together for me (although, we're still making some changes and will be adding a few things in the near future) in an organized, aesthetically pleasing format. Might I also say, she was incredibly patient with this overly perfectionist blogger. I would highly recommend both ladies!

Along with a visual makeover, my little blog will be expanding in content. As I am discovering my authentic passions, I would be remiss to neglect all the pieces of me that make me - well... me! As I have asked myself, "How can I incorporate passion and creativity into my everyday life?", I have identified areas of my life that make my heart beat faster. When I am passionately engaged, I am totally present, enlivened; focused. When I write and create with my hands; with my heart, I lose sight of my surroundings, forget myself, my struggles, my day-to-day humdrum, and connect with something larger than myself, something magical, something sacred. It's these types of activities and thoughts that I wish to share with you on my blog: topics of interest like- Family, Home, Health & Beauty, My Favorite Things, My Projects, and of course... my Wide Open Wednesdays!

This week I finished a mosaic birdhouse, toured some fun model homes, made a yummy new pasta salad recipe, browsed Chico's and bought a cool new maxi dress. Look for photos and thoughts on my adventures later this week. None of these little activities took endless time, money, or perfect conditions. I am learning to tune into the small things that make my heart sing, if only for a few minutes, if that's all I have. Authentic passion can be anything from playing the violin, taking salsa lessons, going flea marketing, or volunteering to read to a child. Discover your passions. Do it today! Do it for just twenty minutes and watch your heart start beating! If you're going to create a life you love, you have to make passion your middle name. Authentic passion is slowly becoming a regular part of my everyday living. I am excited to share...

* What does passion mean to you?
* Ask yourself, How can I incorporate passion and creativity into my everyday life?