Building a Land

This week, the 52 Lists Project asks, "What do you want to make?"

As I've ruminated on this question over the past few days, I keep finding myself returning to this hymn, one I learned through my days as an active Unitarian Universalist.

But this song, while comforting, is not inspiring. I find the image of building a land where justice shall roll down like water to be daunting and overwhelming. I don't want to be responsible for even a part of this.

It would be easier to take a superficial approach to the question, and create list of things I want to make, things like:
1. A comfortable and comforting patio for my husband, and our family and friends to gather
2. An inspiring garden
3. A magical fairy garden that extends through the woods
4. Delicious cakes and desserts that delight my friends and family
5. Blah blah blah.

But, I'm not interested in or motivated by stuff. I'm interested in peace and justice and adventure and love. And quiet. And love. And love.

Fear is getting in my way. I'm afraid that declaring that I want to create something this big, this intangible, will have me on the hook to be in it to win it, for the rest of my life. Which means I can never take a break, or else I'll be deemed uncommitted to the cause. I'm afraid that declaring that I want to create something this big, this intangible, will render my entire life a failure if I can't achieve - or at least catalyze - something phenomenal before I leave this earth.

I need to power through my fear.

• I need to remember I am not alone in this desire to build a peaceful, loving, and just society.
• I need to develop strategies for keeping my eyes on the prize, without losing the core parts of my being in the process. 
• I need to find a community where I can be myself, and contribute what I can without the expectation that I'll do more than is possible. 
• I need to decide where to start, and just do it. The hardest part of any task is simply getting started. 

I need to breathe.

Getting Ready to Rock and Roll (or Explaining What Happens for Me During Energy Therapy)

I had my first visit with the energy healer, Donnamarie Steffano, in September 2003. I went on the recommendation of two friends, with the goal of "collecting a new experience." Fifteen years ago, I was living in an urban commune of sorts, and exploring the hippie dippie side of my personality. I was a vegetarian, went to yoga dance sessions monthly, and worked for a nonprofit that helped rich people get in touch with their inner progressive. At the time, exploring energy therapies was not a stretch.

Energy therapy, as I've experienced it, takes place in a massage therapy room. After declaring my intention with the therapist (e.g., to get help processing lingering grief, to better understand an eating disorder, etc.), I take off all of my jewelry, and my shoes, and lie flat on my back on the massage bed - no pillows or bolsters. I close my eyes, and let the therapist do her work.

And her work simply sounds like someone moving around my body, exhaling or inhaling deeply. The audible breath sounds to me like that of a Sleestack from the television program Land of the The Lost. I peeked during my first sessions, and Donnamarie had her hands extended above my body, as if she was touching something.

The energy therapist asks for feedback during the session, so she can understand how my energy is responding. (OK, I know what you are thinking. This is the trick. She asks for feedback, and then adjusts her feedback to fit my narrative so I think something is happening, like a fortune teller. I get it. Just wait. There's more.)

She also gives feedback. During my first session, I remember  her telling me, "I have an overwhelming desire to recite the Lord's Prayer. What does this mean to you?"

I immediately remembered my grandmother's last day on this planet, When, after being in a coma for at least two days, her older sister (who was her best friend), came to visit and say good-bye. With the family minister, Aunt Esther was reciting the Lord's Prayer, when my Gramma opened her eyes and reached out her hand. I and the two sisters I was with at the time, alerted Aunt Esther to Gramma's movement, and she was able to hold her sister's hand as she finished the prayer.

I told this to Donnamarie and she replied, "Your grandmother was very short, yes? (She was about 4' 8" at the time of her death.) I can see her standing by your head. Know she is with you right now. She is telling me that she'll be with you when you need her."

With that, I was hooked.

I've seen Donnamarie maybe half a dozen times since then, most recently yesterday, when I went with the goal of finding my center. Here's what happened.

1. After we caught up with one another, I declare my intention of getting help being energetically unclogged.

2. I take my place on the bed and tried to relax.

3. Donnamarie says, "Oh wow. There is nothing moving in you."

4. So she starts doing the breathing thing. Within two minutes, I start to feel as if I am expanding so rapidly that I am going to pop, like Violet Beauregard in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. It feels like an infection that is going to burst. I tell Donnamarie what's happening and that I am starting to freak out. She tells me to start doing yogic breathing - breathe in for four counts, hold the breath for four counts, breathe out through my mouth for four counts.

4a. At the same time, I am overwhelmed by the desire to stab myself. Repeatedly, in my abdomen. Maybe to relieve the pressure in my body? To this, I say nothing because I feel ashamed and afraid of this violence towards myself. But fearful of the impulse, another part of my psyche starts singing the refrain from  "All You Need is Love" by the Beatles. The war between the stabbing and the "love, love, love" goes on for a while. I'm also trying to tell myself to relax, to sink into the bed. But a part of my is fearful that if I sink, I'll be buried alive. I am imaging the bed as soft earth that swallows me whole. "The bed is not the earth. You will not be swallowed whole if you relax. Love, love, love..." I repeat. All without saying a word to Donnamarie. She has no idea what is happening with my self-talk.

5. Donnamarie says to me, "You are COVERED in something red and sticky. I don't know what it is. But I'm going to try and clear it." Spooky. I haven't told her I am psychically trying to stab myself. But she sees it anyway.

6. Then something shifts, and I feel myself being anchored at belly button to the bed. And my belly starts swirling. The motion is distinct, and I feel as if I'm slowly disappearing into the bed as I'm pulled deeper and deeper at the belly button down. The feeling is restricted to my belly button (or sacral chakra in energy talk).

7. Donnamarie says "The negative energy is starting to drain." I think to myself, "Oh, that's what this feeling is in my belly. It is like a bathtub emptying after a long soak." I start to relax.

8. As I'm draining, all I can see behind my closed eyes is a sheet of purple and indigo, the colors of the crown and third eye chakras.

9. Then the colors shift to green, the color of the heart chakra, which controls my ability to love. I start to feel as if I'm covered in the softest, puffiest, and strongest moss in the world. I think to myself, "The moss doesn't care who our president is. The moss won't be disturbed by this. I am covered in moss. I will not be disturbed."

10. Next, my hands start to feel as if they are swelling, not in the Violet Beauregard way. Instead, it feels like every cell is filling with water. Or maybe air. Or maybe loving kindness. It is pleasant. The feeling cascades up my arms. Donnamarie moves to the base of the bed and I can feel the gentle swell of loving kindness rush up my legs and into my belly, and it starts to move into my spine.

11. And then, Donnamarie ends the session. Inviting me to slowly come back to this plane, sit up when I'm ready, and be prepared to drink a glass of water.

We end each session debriefing what happened. It is during this period that I tell my energy healer that I was overwhelmed by a desire to stab myself at the exact time she was seeing me covered in something red and sticky. She said my energy created a luminous cocoon, one that looked this a diamond crystal, to protect me during our session. "Ahhh," I replied, "This must have been happening when I was afraid I was going to be buried alive."

Experiences like these help me believe in an energy, or maybe a spirit, that shapes our world, shapes our fundamental humanness. There is no rational, scientific way to explain how Donnamarie saw me covered in "something red and sticky" at the same moment I was doing internal battle over a desire to stab myself. Or explain how Donnamarie connected with my memory of the Lord's Prayer during our first session. Even BMG, someone who once went to meetings of the Boston-area skeptics society, says, "Yeah, that's crazy. I've got no explanation."

Right now the energy in many pockets of the world is ugly. I'm going to push myself to not let it take hold of me again. When I saw the neighbor taking his walk this morning, smiling and wearing his "Make America Great Again" hat, I subtly gave him the finger. Feeling the ugly energy start to creep in, I shifted to yogic breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. From there, I decided that if he and I were to make eye contact the next time we saw one another, I'd ask him what parts of America he thinks weren't great. Luckily, I didn't have to do that (baby steps, right).

I think I can do this. I have to do this. I'll be ready.

Why I'm Not Going to the Million Women March (Or, an Exercise in Finding Balance)

As of 12:00 PM today, the United State of America has a new President. This new President is a man who I experience as a hateful, impulsive, misogynistic, narcissistic, megalomanaical chucklehead. In short, not someone whose actions or values I can respect in the role of President of the United States.

On November 8, an estimated 50% of the voting population in America felt the same way I did. Unfortunately, it was not the right configuration of 50% to win the electoral college and continue leading the White House with progressive values.

So, nearly two and half months after the election of 2016, I find myself contemplating how to live life with an ass-hat reality star as the leader of my country.

Tomorrow, thousands of women and men, mothers and daughters, sisters and brothers, sweethearts, and friends will contemplate this reality while marching together in solidarity, affirming their commitment to protecting the rights of women, people of color, people who identify as LGBTQ, immigrants, and the poor. Thousands more women and men will don pussy hats, pink knit caps with little kitty ears, in an effort to reclaim that word from our new President, who has been accused multiple times of sexual assaults, and has bragged about his ability to force women to interact with him sexually. And yet thousands more will be sharing progressive social content through Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and the like.

Me? I'm not marching. I'm not wearing a pussy hat. I'm not going on Facebook. Instead, I will be visiting a friend from long ago to have my energy and chakras realigned. After then, I will take a long walk through a city I once called home, en route to my favorite tea shop to pick up my favorite tea.

While I have extraordinary ambivalence about the decision to not participate, I also have extraordinary clarity about why I'm not going.

I've lost my center in my grief and anger over what the election of He Who Must Not Be Named to the Presidency.
I see this in the emergence of disordered eating habits long ago buried, the resurgence of sleeplessness, which results in extreme exhaustion and crabbiness. I'm aware that attending a march, even the local one expected to be attended by 40,000+ people, is likely to exacerbate my anxiety about the state of the country, rather than helping me to feel empowered. Tomorrow, I need to find ways to nurture myself so once again I can find my center.

As an introvert, I am not typically energized or comforted by large crowds.
This is ironic given that I have masters level training in Community Organizing, but I typically do not find mass gatherings to be a good use of time. The "group think" mentality - even if it is group think aligned with my values - freaks me out, and I often feel claustrophobic. I know I'd spend a majority of my time looking for an escape route, trying to hear what is happening, or plotting the most efficient route to the subway station so I could get home.

When I'm ready to "do something", I know where to find information and communities made up of people organizing for change.
I don't need to attend a march to connect with people making a difference, or to be held accountable. I'm angry enough to keep myself accountable for making waves. And, I'm an active participant in the #injusticeboycott, have firm connections to the Unitarian Universalists, am a major donor and active follower of the Southern Poverty Law Center, and follow Pantsuit Nation/Action Together Massachusetts on Facebook. I know where to go to get information I trust, and to identify actions I can take with others that will make a difference.

I need to rest and relax now, so I'm ready to step up when my time is right. 
Right after the inauguration was over, my cousin-in-law posted on Facebook - 1,459. That's how many more days there are until the next President of the United States is sworn in. Four years. Four long years. Those of us standing on the side of love have a long haul ahead of us. I have an impressive history of fighting until I've spent every last drop of energy I have, which leaves me permanently depleted. This is partly driven by an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, and a lack of understanding of the ebb and flow of individual contributions to collective good. By not going to a march tomorrow, I'm acknowledging that I am not alone in this battle, and that I can't participate in this fight without taking at least one break. And I need my first break now.

As I watch and read coverage of all you beautiful people marching together, this is what I know:
We're standing together in our hearts.
We have each other's back in this marathon towards justice.
When you you need your break, I'll be ready to step in.

Numbers and Letters

"Let's play the numbers and letters game," I would declare. Then whichever of my siblings wanted to spend an hour dreaming of a better life would pile onto the couch and the fantasy would begin.

It went like this:

1. The person sitting in the middle would hold the J.C. Penney catalogue.
2. We would claim a letter and a number. "A" and "1" were the best.
3. We would then flip through nearly every page of the catalogue, identifying which outfits, toys, and home furnishings would become "ours" based on the numbers and letters we had chosen. If you picked A or 1, whichever item bore that letter or number in the catalogue would go in your fantasy home. 

We would play this invented game for hours, going through nearly the entire catalogue, skipping only the men's fashion and tools. 

Numbers and letters was complemented by other games my siblings and I played together. Games that involved creating 2D architectural renderings of our dream homes, or building elaborate homes out of wooden blocks and Fisher Price toys. We would set up our tableaus in places where they could live for days at a time (i.e., under the dining room table, in the attic), because building a home took more than one day. 

As an adult who has had more than her fair share of therapy, I know now that, at least for me, the Numbers and Letters game helped satisfy the longings I had as a poor kid living in an increasingly wealthy and materialistic world. 

This week, The 52 Lists Project asked me and BMG to make a list of things we would do to rejuvenate our space, My brain immediately keyed into my own longings about the tiny space in which I live today, particularly the cluttered office and our pantry.  

The spare bedroom, aka the office, that I share with BMG today

The pantry/cat box space/utility storage/laundry room at The Tiny Bungalow

So let's play the grown-up version of the Letters and Numbers game. And instead of using the J.C.Penney catalogue, I'm using Houzz.com.

So, if I had all the resources in the world to rejuvenate my current space, I would:

1. Create a tidier, lighter feeling office space. Maybe something like this?

Photo by Swedish Blue Designs / LMF Design LLC - Browse eclectic home office photos

2. BMG uses the office almost entirely for storage. Which means he's ALWAYS in the living room - working, playing, relaxing, napping. If I could, I would add comfy seating to our office, so I can have a space to which I can retreat when I need some alone time or want to escape the inevitable sound of snoring on weekend afternoons. Maybe something like this?

Photo by Atlantic Archives, Inc. - Look for eclectic family room design inspiration

3. Moving on to the utility room, rejuvenating this room means creating a space that doesn't put food in such close proximity to cat poop, and doesn't require sweeping every day in the fight against the our cats' desire to pave the floor with cat litter. Something like this? 

Photo by Brickmoon Design - Browse eclectic laundry room ideas

4. I would also like to have a utility space with exceptionally efficient storage, solid shelves, and maybe a and a tidy counter, a place that doesn't overwhelm me with the constant need to rearrange things to make it look less cluttered, to make the food being stored more accessible. Maybe something like this:

Photo by Kapela Solutions - Search traditional kitchen pictures

5. While I'm dreaming about rejuvenating my space, I'd also like to request a tiny meditation space, where I can go to breathe. This would be a space that is all my own, a space where I don't have to share or compromise, where I don't have to navigate my husband's clutter, where I am not confronted by housework I have to do, bills I have to pay, obligations I need to meet. Maybe something like this:

Photo by Sheri Kaz Designs - Search Asian home gym pictures

I know I'm solidly middle class, living a life of privilege. BMG and I have enough money to shelter, clothe, and feed ourselves without having to struggle. By all accounts, mine is a good life and is typically one without complaints.

But, I still have longings. There is still a 10-year old self inside of me, who longs to have the finest things that she can possibly imagine. 

Thanks for the dream time, 52 Lists. 

Words to Live By

What are your favorite quotes?

This is the question the 52 Lists Project is asking this week.

I'm a words person. I keep printed quotes around me - hanging on the walls of my workplace, my home office, even my bedroom and laundry room. I surround myself with inspiring words to help me stay centered, and remember how I wish to be in the world.

I have quotes I wish I remembered and lived by, like the one I keep at the top of this blog:

And then there are quotes I actually remember and often use to help me stay centered.

The most frequently used quote is this:

The first time I heard this quote, it was referenced as a Quaker saying. Since then, I've learned it has been attributed to great thinkers like Oscar Wilde, Ralph Waldo Emerson. As someone who has long struggled with giving myself permission to enjoy life, I use this quote to remind myself that it is okay to sometimes let go of my manic control of life in the interest of having fun.

A new favorite is one I discovered while on vacation in Sanibel, FL. I found it printed on the cover of a journal in a tchotke shop.

I love this quote. It gives me permission to be be my best introspective and introverted self.

The last quote is one I use in my work as a writer and strategist. I've seen it Mark Twain, Thomas Jefferson, and the Roman philosopher Cicero.

I use this quote to remind myself that thoughtfulness takes time, and to give myself an excuse when the work I've done is sloppy. Like this blog post.

"If I've done nothing else today, at least I can say I did _________________."

What do your daily routines say about you?

I don't think of myself as a creature of habit. I get easily bored with routine. I don't get up at the same time every day, I have at least three routes I take to the office, regular exercise classes have rarely worked for me, because I am loathe to put the same thing at the same time in my book, lest I decide I want to do something else instead. That's not to say I don't have things I do every day - start each morning with a cup of espresso, waste time on Facebook, cross at least one household chore off my never-ending "to do" list. 

While my routines create structure and fill my life, they don't offer me spiritual meaning. 

I've been slowly reading the book The Gnome Project. This is a self-help(ish) book about one woman's effort to create a daily practice by hand-felting one gnome every day. Early in this crafty memoir, the author writes, "I imagined that one would feel 'held' by that rhythm (of a daily practice), finding contentment and safety in knowing what was to come, perhaps an armor of protection (in an otherwise chaotic world)." 

The author, Jessica Peill-Meininghaus, goes on to recount that "some people say that having one thing you do with consciousness and purpose, every single day, will bring rewards." 

This notion of finding safety, peace in a daily practice is appealing to me. I've long wanted to have meditation routine. But I tend to use shame and "shoulds" to cajole myself into being still. Which doesn't work. Ditto for exercise, journalling, gardening, etc. 

At the start of the new year, I found myself reflecting on The Gnome Project and thinking about reframing my desire to meditate. What would change, I wondered, if instead of telling myself, "I should meditate today," I said, "If I get nothing else done today, at least I can say I meditated,"  

or

"If I've done nothing else today, at least I can say I said "I love you" to my husband,"

or

"If I've done nothing else today, at least I can say I ate healthfully,"

or

"If I've done nothing else today, at least I can say I made time to journal." 

These statements say so much more to me about a values-filled life than "If I've done nothing else today, at least I can say I made time for a cup of coffee, to crush some candy, to clean the cat box." 

When you fill in the blank, does it inspire you? If it doesn't what might you do to make changes that offer more meaning in your life? 

Boundaries, not balance

I heard crisis management consultant Judy Smith, the inspiration for the character Olivia Pope on ABC's Scandal, speak at the Massachusetts Conference for Women.

What I thought was going to be a presentation on the principles of crisis management, was in fact a series of object lessons on setting priorities in one's life.

Judy Smith, who like me is a graduate of both American University and Boston University, provocatively said, "I don't believe in 'work-life balance.' No one is balancing anything, its just one day at a time. I DO believe in boundaries. Because when one has clear boundaries, one can stay focused on what is important while keeping distractions out."

Interestingly, back in October, I read a Huffington Post article about Warren Buffet's rules for productivity that promoted a similar philosophy.

Both Smith and Buffet suggest that, in order to be balanced or productive, one needs to have a list of the top five priorities in one's life. Anything not on that list shouldn't get one's attention. Period.

Whoa!

I recently switched jobs, away from my career of choice, in order to have more balance. (I also left my job because my manager was cuckoo banana crackers, but that's another story for another time.)

But maybe part of my balance problem is that I have too many things I'm trying to do. I'm too unfocused in my effort to my the modern "superwoman."

Maybe what I need are boundaries, not balance.

So, here are my top five priorities, to keep my focused on living a happy, healthy, productive life.

Clownface's Top Five Priorities for Living a Fulfilled Life

• Being the best sister, aunt, daughter I can be
• Continuously trying to maximize my ability to give AND receive love from my husband
• Creating, enjoying and sharing life's adventures
• Understanding and removing obstacles for people - starting with myself - to realize their true potential 
• Cultivating peace and beauty

I've done this exercise before, when I was exploring leaving my non-profit career in early 2013. The list has changed only slightly since then. And it remains philosophical enough that I can create fluid but firm boundaries. Or balance. Or whatever you want to call the pursuit of a fulfilling life.

I'll keep you posted on my success. Being balanced, maintaining boundaries, pursuing a fulfilling life, whatever.

I want my two hours!

I have the opportunity to reclaims two hours a day of my life. How? By reducing my commute from 2.5+ hours a day (round trip) to only 40 minutes.

There are a handful of reasons why I started to put feelers in the market, none of which were related to time management. But, when an opportunity for a lateral move quickly presented itself (same basic work, same base pay) AND the office was 20 minutes from my house, it seemed too good to pass up.

I want my two hours.

If you had two extra hours a day, what would you use it for?

Here's what *I'm* thinking of:

• More sleep (and less money spent on make-up because I'm not trying to hide the bags of exhaustion under my eyes)
• An hour a day (well, most days) for exercise
• Good-bye Hamburger Helper, now that I have more time for preparing healthy and complete meals
• More sleep in the morning because I don't have to get up early to read the paper now that I can listen to it on public radio while I drive to work
• Fulfilling my goal of having a healthy garden, because I have time (and energy) before or after work to prune/weed/water
• More time to talk with my family during the week because I'm in my car, and not taking public transportation, where I can use my cellphone without fear of being *that* person talking non-stop in the close quarters of the subway, bus or boat

It stands to reason that more sleep and more energy during the week will translate into less exhaustion and panic on the weekend. So, instead of dedicating one full weekend day to all of the cleaning and errands I normally do on the weekend PLUS everything I didn't get done during the week, maybe I can:

• Be fully present with family and friends, instead of resistant to social plans because I'm "too tired"
• Be fully present with BMG to create adventures 
• Develop my creative side through dance, writing and art
• Relearn how to meditate and start a spiritual practice
• Take action to make the world a better place through community service
• Give myself permission to take a long bike ride or travel longer distances to explore the world by kayak

At the age of 44, I've realized I want to be known for having a balanced life, not for being the best (insert impressive job title here). Looking back on the 15 years of my working life (post-graduate school), I see that I jumped off the career train pretty early. In this moment, I can admit that I took the leap not with intention, but rather because of fear. Or maybe, on the inside, I knew that I didn't want my legacy to be an amazing career, but rather a robust life.

My rational brain still struggles with this. I actually like my current job. I am pulled, intellectually both to the services my present employer offers in the world and the challenges presented in the workplace as the business grows. It is a good fit for my professional skills and my ego. I'm not burnt out, I have no ill will towards the company or my colleagues. In this context, leaving feels like a weird thing to do.

But I want my two hours. I really want my two hours.

So, I'm going to take them.

In a past life...

...I was clearly an animist.

The evidence, you ask?

I intentionally rotate my underpants in the drawer, out of a concern that underpants that might not get as much wear will feel bad because I'm not using them.