curiosity. observation. possibility. patterns.

this week i’d like to share the second step with you » observation.

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physical and psychological homeostasis is the tendency of the body to maintain a condition of equilibrium within, even when faced with changes without.

we are constantly trying to maintain a balance between homeostasis and growth. if we cling to the idea that things must never change, it can lead to stagnation. yet if we swing too far in the opposite direction and introduce too much change at once, it can throw our lives out of kilter, as our body and mind try desperately to adapt and put everything back in balance once again.

so what’s the answer? how do we loosen our grip on the illusion of permanence while still maintaining our psychological equilibrium, our inner core homeostasis, our balance?

first, we accept that change is inevitable. things will change whether or not we are mentally on board for the ride. therefore we must think carefully about each response, realizing that we always have that important and necessary, that demanding yet freeing, ability to choose.

yes, you always have a choice about the way you respond.

let’s revisit our flight analogy . . .

you’re about to board the airplane. do you want to be left at the gate? no. do you want to be outside the plane hanging onto the wing while in flight? definitely not. but what if you were in a comfortable cabin seat inside, as secure as it is possible to be under the circumstances, yet fully aware of the unknowns ahead of you?

it is wise to take precautions by fastening our seat belts and listening to the safety guidelines. but at some point, we must trust that risk-taking is not only an exhilarating way to travel through life, it is mandatory for meaningful survival.

we must pay attention to the clues around us and not miss the opportunities as they arise. there are many times when we have our eyes closed to the immense possibilities and we miss out. being fully aware means acknowledging the dance between homeostasis and creative growth, and acting on it when it is most important to do so.

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“awareness is like the sun. when it shines on things, they are transformed.” (thich nhat hanh)

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today’s invitation . . . consider this. awareness sometimes takes us to places we’re not eager to go. keep reminding yourself how brave and resourceful and strong you are. it may feel safer to leave your metaphorical suitcase unpacked and cancel your reservations for continued adventure. but remaining in a falsely blissful state of dimmed awareness rarely results in satisfaction. since we can only impact what we are aware of, go gently forth, invoking curiosity in all you see and hear and do. relax into your new observation investigation, knowing there will be no judgment — only new vistas.

activity #1-2: passport-to-awareness journal

as your journey begins, it is important to capture your observations. the best way to do so is in a beautiful journal that not only represents your sense of style and organization, but calls to you each day and becomes a treasured friend. if you don’t already have one on hand, please treat yourself at the earliest opportunity. In the meantime, paper and pen will do nicely. (and yes, i am suggesting the old-fashioned method instead of an electronic device. i want this process to be intimate, tangible, magical.)

what has life been asking you to notice? everything and anything might be interesting. write it down. with enough awareness, you can begin to recognize and realize the message intended just for you. it takes time for this activity to be truly meaningful. it may even be a bit painful, when it brings up exactly what you’ve been trying hard to avoid. but writing things down helps make them real. when your issues are directly in front of you in black and white, you are more apt to face them head-on. you can no longer pretend that they don’t exist. the passport-to-awareness journal is for your eyes only, so be honest. there is no need for judgment from anyone, including perhaps your biggest critic (yourself).

try to write in your journal every day, and at the end of each week identify and explore any themes that might be emerging. see where one thing naturally leads to another in the pages you have written. start incorporating what you have learned into daily rituals moving forward. these are all simple actions. but when merged together and taken seriously, they become possible stepping stones to even bigger revelations that are waiting for you ahead.

women journeying far beyond their preconceived limits. women taking risks worth taking. women joyfully and magically reuniting with their true essence.

THE ARRIVAL’s 7 essential elements include:
1. AWARENESS
2. MOVEMENT
3. NOURISHMENT
4. VOICE
5. ZEST
6. GRIT
7. UNTETHERED INTEGRATION

for me, it all begins with the AWARENESS assignment, with taking mindful steps. curiosity. observation. possibility. patterns.

over the next few weeks, i’d like to share these four steps with you, and offer both an invitation and an activity with each. this week we’ll dive into curiosity.

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you are already at your starting point, your point of origin, prepared to check in. it’s early, and you’re feeling a bit weary, not quite ready to face the pilgrimage ahead of you. but there will be no more retreating. the time has come to embrace your journey.

to open your eyes wide, truly waking up. to see for the first time what you may not have been looking for. hear what you haven’t taken the time to listen for. taste what you’ve been too afraid to sample. feel what you’ve only briefly touched before. and yes, to stop and smell the roses.

it’s time to plan your journey’s itinerary, deciding where you want to go and what your trip will entail. and as you focus on and pay attention to the details, you’ll realize that it all begins with awareness.

what do I mean by awareness? you know some of the dictionary definitions: consciousness, alertness, a well-informed and attentive state, knowledge of a situation, perception.

i think of awareness as approaching everything with nonjudgmental curiosity. looking at yourself and your life in a new way, in a delicious and engaging manner. this introspective journey begins by first taking stock of where you are at this very moment, and continues by remaining open to unexpected surprises along the way. staying curious and invested in one’s own life is the catalyst to new discoveries. about oneself, about the world. curiosity is crucial to an enriched existence.

because awareness cannot help but lead to insight. it’s a necessary element for paying attention, for deep questioning, for attitude adjustment, for kick-starting your life. notice the amazing and think about the wonderful, and you soon see more of both.

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“what we pay attention to thrives.”
(karen maezen miller)

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awareness is being fully alive, awake to the world around you. when you are truly aware, you become an explorer seeking novelty in your everyday existence.

committing to essential element #1 — the AWARENESS assignment — is exciting and interesting in a gung-ho kind of way . . . expanding your senses to truly breathe in what you’ve never considered before. noticing your surroundings and your experiences with wonder.

today’s invitation . . . it is time. to invite heightened awareness into your life by practicing curiosity. look at the world around you through a different lens, as a photographer might view his subject. open yourself up to all possibilities, simply observing what is happening close to you. approach everyday occurrences and objects in unexpected ways. be fully aware of your senses in each moment. identify vivid colors, revel in joyful laughter, taste rich dark chocolate, stroke a soft kitten, inhale the scent of an exotic perfume.

activity #1-1: breathing meditation

okay. first relax your shoulders, and begin to let go of the tension you are feeling in your body. inhale through your nose, one long deep calming breath. hold it for a few seconds, then release the breath in a long cleansing exhale through your mouth. again. inhale. then exhale. and one more time. inhale. and exhale.

let your breathing return to its normal rhythm and pace, as you begin to notice the thoughts that are swirling around in your head. let them flow in and clear out, flow in and clear out, not consciously trying to hang onto any of them. acknowledge where your mind naturally wanders, then start to free the brain chaos that you carry around with you all day long. withhold self-criticism. allow the breath to remove all feelings of imperfection. notice any automatic responses or judgments that you form, then let them go. this meditation is for you to leave the past behind, to focus on yourself, here and now.

return to your breathing and concentrate on each inhale and exhale. once, twice, three times. feel your mind expanding with each breath as you connect to the present moment. as you engage in this deep breathing exercise, as the air enters and exits your lungs, allow a renewed sense of well-being to fill you up.

let yourself unwind and feel at ease. let this experience open you. accept whatever soothing message it brings. maybe it’s exactly what you need at this moment.

and as you go about your day — in your personal care, in your work, in your dealings with others, in your leisurely pursuits — remember this calming influence.

and let your mind be curious.

i’m striving to be a maven
of reflection, an emerging
expert in the way i personally
shape ideas and thoughts

studying my mental patterns
exploring with interest the
inner workings of my mind
deciphering concepts within

forever gathering insights
collecting moments of
introspection, feeling my
feelings and seeking clarity

of course an evocative
espionage of my soul
has to always occur first, in
that fragile hidden space

excavating guarded shadows
and secrets dark and foreign
muted whispers that reveal
my exclusive truest essence

a tangled untamed place at times
vulnerable, rarely welcoming
often hostile and difficult but
oh-so-necessary to grow

through a rusted-shut doorway
only opening with much coaxing
greeting buried and uncomfortable
long-neglected pieces of self

the hinges creaking with
resistance, fear, wariness
somewhat soothed, like squirts
of oil, by quiet calming words

and finally a brave new beginning
a fresh coat of boldly-colored
paint, awareness and acceptance
stunning enlightenment as well

embracing all that i am, even
the messy imperfect parts
then awaiting the arrival of
that gift, wholeness promised

you know, it’s really hard to lose your parents.

one parent, and the earth totally shifts.

both, and the world you’ve known since birth no longer exists.

i was fortunate that i had my best-friend-mom through most of my 30s. but i still felt forever robbed that i’d have to spend the rest of my life without her. and i find it so sad that she didn’t get to see my sons grow up, or know her grandsons as adults.

then 17 years later, in my mid-50s, i lost my dad too. the dad i’d become closer-and-closer-to while living just a few blocks from each other for three years. the dad who never failed to crack me up, even when i was feeling my worst.

suddenly i was an old-lady orphan.

i’ve tried to imagine what it must feel like for a kid to live without that foundation, that strong parental support. through either early death or abandonment, maybe never once having met who brought you into the world.

and i can’t. not really. because it’s such a polar-opposite experience from my own. i was so fortunate. i truly had the best. and i miss them every single day.

i yearn to hear their voices again. their laughter. to feel their presence.

the winters of my grief sneak up on me without warning. even 7 (or 24) years later. even in summer. a song, a scene, even a certain sensation. maybe just a glance that seems familiar.

or waving goodbye until the car has completely turned the corner of cathryn avenue, and is totally out of sight.

i miss them.
i miss them.
i miss them.

but what a lucky lucky girl i was.

sometimes . . . words aren’t necessary
it’s the experience only that matters

sometimes . . . for renewal and strength
visiting a bison range is all it takes

the encounter « eric’s video (sound on!)

this is part 2 of 2, yes. but this chapter of my story will most likely never conclude.

maps and a handy travel diary. apparently that’s what it takes to know “all about going abroad.” until you decide, of course, to actually move there. for four years. and then start going back and forth. encountering situations that maps and a travel diary can’t quite cover.

i attempted to describe it two weeks ago, in part 1 — how it felt to be suspended inside an undulating lava lamp. a vivid metaphor for the constant shifting and blending of my emotional journey that i tried so valiantly to contain within its vessel (me). a fluidly dreamlike process, eerily similar to watching a lava lamp change shape right in front of you. a perfect way to describe how strong emotions tend to rise and fall, even morph into different blurry forms. as i struggled to assimilate to my new country, trying desperately to understand the unfamiliar dance with my surroundings.

when i returned to the united states, i thought it would be a piece of cake to just ease back in, after what i’d already experienced living in a foreign country. so imagine my surprise when i reacted with such deep feelings. at times i felt almost detached from my own body, like i was watching myself in a movie, numbly viewing life-as-usual unfold. (i am fully aware there is a clinical term for this state, dissociation. i can even pinpoint a couple of distinct moments in my life when it has occurred, this being one of them. my acknowledgement and acceptance — along with certain grounding exercises — helped me cope and move beyond.)

migratory grief is real. and confusing. and common. and overwhelming. it is normal to mourn the country you’ve left, even if you’re happy in the country in which you live. over time i’ve created a kind of fusion of rituals, uniquely blending traditions. i’ll always feel like my heart is split between two locations though » in the united states (especially with my sons), but also in italy. with lots of love for argentina mixed in as well.

and is repatriation/re-entry the precise term if you still own a residence in each place? i’m not sure what to even call my situation at this point. argentina immediately felt like home again when we stepped into our apartment in buenos aires, even though it had been a long time since we’d been there.

i guess that’s why all these feelings seem so very muddled right now. am i ever truly at home ANYWHERE? most who know me would probably agree that i’m pretty much the same person wherever i am. of course, by necessity, i’ve had to shift and adjust in different settings, to different cultures. but i’ve stayed true to my essence, never pretending i was ever someone i’m not.

as i’ve mentioned many times through the years, i am always arriving (the foundation upon which my retreats have been built). i honestly don’t think a person ever fully arrives. but i know that dreams along the way can absolutely be realized.

an interesting dichotomy seems to guide my life. hanging out somewhere between convenience + familiarity (accompanied by that passive stagnation i so consciously avoid) and frustration + bewilderment (which often creates that dynamic growth i seem to crave). advantages to both, disadvantages to both. we don’t want our days to become boring and dull, but neither do we wish to encounter difficulties on a daily basis. i’ve more than once chosen the latter, which can be a challenging space to live in. and i’m thinking about choosing that path again.

this doesn’t mean i don’t appreciate an easier less-messy existence at times. but that never seems to fulfill or complete me long-term. i prefer a mixture of contentment and thrill, routine and adventure. and i do eventually find that new balance, that newly-comforting rhythm. my perfect zone. (until i decide to do it all over again!)

think about it. you enter this world at the beginning and you exit it at the end. there’s no getting around that fact. you are born, boldly stepping into this brand-new expedition, with no idea what might await you — the people and places you will encounter, the chapters you will write. and then you leave it, bravely surrendering while toasting a life well lived. (obviously depending a great deal on how you’ve chosen to live the in-between.)

i guess, for me, it all comes down to the way i define home. home is not a villa in tuscany or a penthouse apartment in buenos aires. it’s not a pink house in a small mining town either. home is a feeling inside that reminds me “this is right.”

my oldest son wrote a poem many years ago, after his first week ever away from home. a poem that described what homesickness feels like. he expressed the emotion vividly, using all his senses. and it ended with this line, this line that has stuck with me ever since: “homesickness feels like you can’t swallow.”

i’ve come to realize that there’s no better description. when it’s wrong, when you’re somewhere you know you don’t belong or want to be, you know it. it’s a visceral reaction. you cannot swallow.

you can learn, however, to carry the most-important-of-life’s-treasures tucked safely inside your heart. then, no matter your geographical location, you will always feel safe and comforted.

you will always be home.

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“his life, he marveled, had come full circle, like a wheel spinning around, always ending at the beginning, always beginning at the end. that, he saw, was just the way of things.”
-from home to italy by peter pezzelli

i’d planned to wax poetic
with another 500 words or so
musing on my life of entering
and re-entering different
locations around the globe

but physically and mentally
my body had other ideas
and i’m still sifting through the
outlandish, frustrating, debilitating
symptoms and thoughts that’ve visited me

my muted and cloudy psyche oddly
lacking any emotional resonance

i seem to have lost my usual rhythm
(hopefully only a temporary pause)
my once-endless momentum has stalled
and i’ve been trying in vain for
months to reignite it once more

so this week, instead, a cluster of
photographs that depict my wavy floaty
sleepless-and-surreal past few days
i am reminded again, as always, that
there truly is beauty everywhere

though sometimes it can feel
just out of one’s reach

i’ve been thinking about repatriation and my delayed reaction to the grief that often accompanies it. disconnected, dismantled. in between two worlds.

24 november 2020. we traveled across the ocean, only planning to stay five months. but now, unbelievably, the five months have turned into almost six years.

of course the journey and the homecoming were complicated, overshadowed by covid-19 and the pandemic. i was also experiencing the worst and longest asthma flare-up i’ve ever had, ten months straight. plus just one month before, we’d said a tearful goodbye to mr. smith, our beloved (and rather famous) tuxedo cat.

physically, mentally, psychologically . . . i was a wreck.

my emotions were complex and scattered, impossible to neatly sort through. the joyful reunion with our sons, lifelong friends within reach once more. roots, familiarity. at the same time, i mourned for the new home we’d created in those four years, my italian friends, my belongings left behind.

interestingly, the impact of re-entry was oddly-yet-clearly illuminated during my trip to argentina last month. and it’s been dominating my thoughts ever since.

i recall, after the initial shock wore off, existing in a truly surreal liminal space. going through the motions, but hardly present. suspended inside an undulating lava lamp. disengaged from myself, from my core essence.

and i realized that that not-quite-settled feeling has never fully gone away. despite moving on with the pink house adventure, and life unfolding, in north idaho. despite the four trips back to italy. despite the three additional retreats at the villa. even despite the seamless thread we assume, in each location each time.

where in the world did i (do i) belong?

[stay tuned for part 2, next thursday . . .]

the year began with a quiet
isolated sojourn to the sea
rockaway on the oregon coast
in wintry january

a chance to shed a lot of
very heavy stuff
still weighing us down
from the year before

immediately upon returning
another broken bone
surgery plus physical therapy
weeks cocooned inside

finally emerging from my shelter
to travel to south america in june
falling in love again with buenos aires
exploring patagonian delights

currently wrapped up
in world cup matches
rooting once more (eternally!)
for my gritty argentina squad

appreciating increased attention
to soccer (futbol) in the states
but bristling at the inevitably
inflammatory snark of social media

allowing my mind to roam free
imagining and visualizing
an all-new winter retreat
this time at the pink house

while feeling disconnected and
perhaps a bit misunderstood
the sting of words and gestures
processing, distancing, protecting

that’s life though
one moment easy and carefree
the next confusing and hard
almost always unpredictable

[all three images captured from little book of inspiration by mantraband]

my husband eric and i travel differently. we usually go somewhere with the idea of potentially moving to that location.

we’ve always done this, and quite seriously too. because we’ve discovered that one of the best ways to get to know a place is to go on a real-estate-scouting expedition. on long island new york, in the european countries of portugal and france, etc. (although both our apartment in buenos aires and our villa in italy were boldly purchased sight unseen!)

anyway, we don’t just visit a place. while there, we live “as if” . . . genuinely trying to approximate what it would be like to reside there on a more permanent basis.

we’ve been to argentina five times. in 2009, 2011, 2012, 2014, and 2026. mostly spending time in its capital city, but this year exploring several provinces in patagonia as well. (on previous journeys, we’ve taken side trips to two other south american countries — paraguay in 2012 and chile in 2014.)

eric and i have owned our apartment for fifteen years, but hadn’t been back in twelve. and i’d been wondering how i’d feel about returning, after experiencing a robbery the last time. as with all very large metropolitan areas, one must always be aware. but we noticed there’s a much bigger police presence now, cops on several corners, and i felt quite comfortable walking everywhere. overall the city, which i’ve always thought to be beautiful, felt significantly safer. and cleaner too. absolutely zero dog waste on the sidewalks (which had previously been such a problem that it was even mentioned in guidebooks).

for me, this journey to argentina felt the most meaningful by far. i felt different, in the best sense. viscerally connected in ways i never had before to this third home-in-the-world of mine. and i did not want to leave.

we are currently considering buying property in patagonia. will we actually do it? we’ll see. but i realized that i revel in this process — to dream, to imagine, to create another chapter. and i know, from personal experience, that far-reaching daydreams sometimes come true (like hosting women’s retreats at my villa in tuscany).

i also know how much work (and fear and tears) go into such a life-changing decision. if we commit to yet another huge endeavor, our world-as-we-know-it would drastically change once again.

i’ve been going back and forth on this one. though i am somewhat restless by nature, i do love the rhythm of my routines and rituals. in fact i seem to, all at once, both acutely crave and sincerely dread change.

do i want to feel that intense level of uncertainty and bewilderment all over again? do i want to rely heavily on my partner for sole companionship and support during the unknown-wilderness phase of this possible venture?

i must ask myself what exactly it is i am seeking. because i want both » the thrill of a new adventure plus the comfort of perceived security.

it always seems to come down to that trite sentiment for me . . . life is short. so why the hell NOT put myself out there and dive into as much of what interests me in this human experience as i possibly can?

i have always feared complacency more than anything else. i just don’t think i’m equipped to live out the rest of my days in one stable predictable setting. i get bored. i’m always wondering what else might be out there, what i haven’t done yet, how i might be eschewing growth.

there is one thing that cannot be denied about living life on the edge of newness, and eric and i have discussed it at length. and that is how the concept of time expands when we go in search of something novel. moments during the almost-three-weeks in argentina felt as if they passed more slowly and were filled with more insight and richer meaning. we noticed the same while living in italy, navigating continuous challenges each day as we adjusted to a new language and culture. on the other hand, with the familiar day-to-day rhythm of life in the states, the regularly-scheduled calendar of our weeks and months (and years) seems to fly by ever so quickly.

we would have stayed longer this time. we’ve stayed much longer during past visits. there’s nothing standing in our way . . . we’re essentially global nomads and can work from anywhere. our sons have obviously been on their own for many years. we (sadly) don’t even have cats to get back to anymore.

and i really really wanted to stay. i kept telling eric that, after months of enduring numbness (physical/mental/emotional), i was finally feeling ALIVE!

but i had to get back for my monthly biologic injection. which, ironically, seems to have suddenly stopped working for me.

i’m dealing with extreme sinus issues again (since the 23rd of may). i guess technically it’s a samter’s triad flare-up, but i’m worried it may actually be a medication failure. my last few injections seem to have done nothing, an indication my body is getting too used to the drug, rendering it (along with so many other treatments in the past) ineffective.

so yeah, that put a huge damper on my time in argentina. unable to breathe either in or out through my nose (and still struggling), after a 3.5-year respite of blissful breathing while on nucala.

i was determined, however, to ignore and enjoy as much as possible. and i think i did that. it was the very best trip, made even more special since we got to spend so much of it with our older son. (the only things missing: a get-together with our dear argentine friends who manage our apartment for us, due to logistical issues; and of course, our younger son too.)

my sinus condition remains the same (not great) since arriving back in the states. reminding me once more that life is short and i must take decisive action while still ready and able.

maybe we should have just stayed in argentina. perhaps we will soon return. to our amazing apartment in the city, where everything we need is just a few steps away. or maybe to a new place in the desert or mountains, for that solitude and respite this extrovert often requires and relishes.

so many possibilities (one of my favorite words). so many chances to dream.

for now. while i still can.

perhaps enthusiastically grabbing onto one of those possibilities or chances makes perfect sense. sooner rather than later.

while i’m feeling so truly alive.

its rugged and untamed wilderness
its breathtakingly majestic mountains

its urban elegance and energy
its passionate and warm people

and all of it, simply all of it . . . beyond magical

you go on a 7-hour adventure with an argentine man who:

• knows the land intimately

• fearlessly and expertly drives his truck where there are no roads (or on narrow only-for-ATV roads with switchbacks and steep drop-offs)

• tirelessly answers hundreds of questions

• graciously welcomes you into his home for coffee and medialunas

we spent the afternoon and evening with a local realtor yesterday, about an hour and 20 minutes from bariloche, exploring just one amazing property (which happens to neighbor the queen of holland’s).

and it proved to be one of the most extraordinary once-in-a-lifetime experiences ever.

[over 550 photos were taken. here are a few.]

p.s. the awe-inspiring andean condor (the largest flying bird on earth with its 10-foot-plus wingspan) made an appearance yesterday too. five condors flew overhead, one quite close, as we navigated the narrow mountain road. alas, no clear pictures were captured, though our son did get a video of one earlier in the week.

twelve years since a rather
regrettable incident in 2014

but now we’re finally back
and it was definitely time

buenos aires is still as energetic
and colorful as it ever was

but it’s also fresher, cleaner now
than ever before

vibrant and cosmopolitan
passionate, expressive, and warm

nicknamed the “paris of south america”
both romanticized and unexpected

yet in some small way
comfortably familiar to me

we’ve owned an apartment in the city
for a decade and a half now

and when we’re here
it feels like home

oh, how time just seems to extend and
expand without mind-numbing routine

we’ve been marveling at how much life
has been lived in only four days

truly one of my favorite places on earth
so very gratifying to reunite once more

that i save cool containers and boxes with no thought as to what their second lives will be?

that i’ve never really liked my middle name but have appreciated it more since realizing it may have been my dad’s nod to my great-grandmother’s french heritage (who settled into italian life after marrying)?

what if i were to tell you that i used to be able to bake a mean mud pie in my playhouse but have no desire to bake real pies as an adult?

that true blue is not my favorite color and 3 is not my favorite number so i tend to avoid both?

that i didn’t really know i have a thing for chairs of all kinds until i started accumulating so many?

what if i were to tell you that i grew fascinated with a baby bird — even though i’m terrified of birds — who was trying unsuccessfully, over and over again, to fly onto my lawn chair?

and that another baby bird overcame extreme odds after finding out his mother hadn’t briefed him on the dangers of windows?

that i stood in awe of an evergreen sapling growing out of the middle of a driveway in my neighborhood?

what if i were to tell you that i often say “i’m sorry” — not when i really have anything to be sorry for but rather as a verbal reflex?

that i smile at everyone i pass by even when some of them don’t smile back?

and that i laugh to myself when i catch those particular individuals totally by surprise?

what if i were to tell you that i am insanely happy being able to write again with my dominant hand, after breaking my wrist and going through a difficult recovery?

that a young moose calmly walked down my alley four days ago?

that a solid hug after a brutal day turns my entire mindset around?

what if i were to tell you that i love bagels and baguettes but bagels and baguettes no longer love me?

that i am a citizen of the united states and a citizen of italy and a resident of paraguay?

that i admire resilience and moxie?

what if i were to tell you that my childhood nickname was bunnyboo?

and that my mom always drew my own personalized bunny logo on the envelopes she addressed to me?

that memories of my dad cracking jokes and my mom laughing at them warm my heart and sadden me at the same time?

what if i were to tell you that my first solo trip anywhere was the time i rode my turquoise miss buzz bike to the S&R drive-in and ordered a 7-up all by myself?

that i experience heightened anxiety every time i travel by air even though i love love love exploring the world?

that i still really really really miss mr smith and harlowe?

what if i were to tell you that celebrating the winter — not summer — solstice on june 21 this year sounds both upside-down and lots of fun?

that my journal collection, those carefully-recorded moments of my life (bins and bins of them), are very very important to me, maddeningly important, crucial even?

that those memoir-like words are how i remember my days, relive snippets of my experiences, analyze my existence, put the whole picture together, in order to recognize and honor who i’ve become and who i am still becoming?

what if i were to tell you?

[combined 13-minute freewrites inspired by 2 lines from 2 poems by maya stein & rosemerry wahtola trommer]

and when that happens, i usually have an idea why. my sinus passages are once again obstructed and, as a result, all of my thoughts feel jumbled and confused, tangled and unclear. hazy.

coherent words are just not possible. and therefore not intriguing or inspirational — to me or to anyone else. so i’ve been concentrating more on movement instead.

i’ve been practicing qi gong for about eleven years now. rooted in traditional chinese medicine, it’s a lovely example of both movement and meditation, leading to increased flexibility in both body and mind.

though i am a huge advocate of mindfulness, i’ve found meditation difficult in the past. i was often unable to calm my mind long enough to ever reap any real benefits. since introducing qi gong into my daily ritual, however, my attempts at meditation have been much more satisfying.

except for one thing. visualization.

i love words. i write words. i think in words. images just don’t come up when i try to picture something. words do. i am simply not a visual person (unless seeing words in my head counts).

but one day while living in italy — way back in early 2018 during a reflexology session with my dear friend ivana — a beautiful visual suddenly sprang to mind. in the middle of that self-care setting, the image was as vivid as a movie screen in front of me. it was of a very large white room, divided into two sections. there were windows, but no furniture at all. the room was spacious, expansive, and empty.

empty, except for one thought. one of my thoughts. just one, so i could easily pay attention to it.

and then the image was gone. but the feeling of spaciousness and clarity lingered.

i thought about it often over the days that followed, pondering its meaning. and i finally wrote my thoughts out in the form of a poem, in an attempt to forever capture the essence of the experience.

i happened to stumble across that poem yesterday, over eight years later. since i’ve been recently struggling to quiet my overly-anxious mind, its serenity arrived at a very opportune time.

and it occurred to me that someone else might be inwardly searching for that absence of cacophony as well. so i decided to share my poem here today . . .

let’s paint a picture, shall we?
of the quiet place we envision,
often long for in our minds.
a place with no cacophony of thoughts.

it’s white and it’s spacious.
and just one thought is in view.
allowed to linger for a time,
taking up exactly its required space.

no more, no less.
leaving ample breathing room.
to process and digest it.
to keep it or release it.

it’s simple in that white white room,
and tidy too.
a room without chaos,
a room filled with calm.

awareness floods the emptiness
with dazzling warmth and truth.
bright light and crystal clarity,
a glowing knowing from within.

if only we could keep creating,
each and every day,
this important mental haven,
mind and soul restored again.

as i usually do when life feels difficult or overwhelming, i started journaling. i poured my heart out, rapidly moving my pen across page after page.

the next day i was flipping through a previous journal from 2020, trying to find a certain passage, and i grew more and more amazed at the words i’d written. different circumstances, different times — i was still living in italy and it was the height of the pandemic — but wow, were the sentiments similar to what i’d just written the day before! so many familiar words and phrases, describing my gloomy thoughts and emotions.

something else i noticed too . . . though some of the stuff i was dealing with at the time was completely different than the stuff i’m dealing with now, a lot was the same. these similar issues seemed beyond my control then, and remain that way today. i had to (have to) learn to cope with them in whatever way works best for me.

however, that 2020 journal gave me hope. because the things i did have some control over had been, to a large degree, resolved. i stepped in, stepped up, and took care of them!

we go through SO MUCH in our lifetimes. births and deaths, joys and heartaches. good health and bad, physical injuries and psychological turmoil.

as a mental health counselor and life & wellness coach for many years, i’ve witnessed varying degrees of anxiety and depression. and i’ve experienced both myself, though fortunately rarely at a debilitating level.

my first line of defense against my own overwhelming emotions? remembering that the opposite of depression is expression. i’m not sure when i first heard that saying (credited to dr. edith eger), but i wholeheartedly believe in it — the idea of expressing yourself in order to combat your depressive feelings.

talking, writing, creating art, dancing. engaging with music. walking or running or hiking. qigong, yoga. anything that helps transform heavy and complex emotions into something more tangible.

like concrete words or vibrant colors, unique choreography or heartfelt lyrics. an energizing stroll. crushing your fastest mile, reaching the summit. your favorite flow or pose.

focusing on an expressive activity shifts things in your brain, enough to gain a small burst of well-needed perspective. it gets the stuff that’s dragging you down out of your body. your feelings might actually feel heightened during the process, but it is within that process that healing can finally begin.

as i mentioned last week, one must feel to heal. i constantly remind myself of this mantra. i also try to keep in mind that, like that big beautiful sun out there, i will always rise again.

when i was young, i drew all the time and even won local art contests. but i’ve never considered myself an artist. i just don’t have the skills. i do, however, create art almost every day. mostly abstract paintings and intuitive collages, and sometimes i end up with a piece i really love. but i’m not in it for the art. that has never been my end goal. for me, it’s all about the process itself. it’s about my mental health. and it extends into my work as well.

i am a masters-level counselor and certified holistic life & wellness coach, and i often utilize art therapy exercises as an impactful self-care tool.

in early march of this year, just one month after my wrist surgery, i spent one windy afternoon sharing my thoughts on this topic with a delightful group of mennonite women who were gathered for a weekend retreat. the theme was self-care.

i brought along a crate of my self-discovery art journals to show what a daily ritual (typically about ten or fifteen minutes for me) could produce, and also to introduce a few techniques. i encouraged them to approach the blank pages in front of them without overthinking or second-guessing their creations. an invitation to go with their gut instincts and let things simply flow, whether already accomplished artists or total beginners.

i also shared that any difficult or conflicting emotions they may currently be experiencing might start sorting themselves out as they painted or collaged. that the complicated issues wouldn’t necessarily reach resolution, but — as they expressed themselves on paper — a welcome emotional release and greater clarity might be possible. feel to heal has been my client mantra for over 20 years, and it blends in nicely when creating art. the feelings become the colors and the paint strokes and the images. and the colors, paint strokes, and images become the feelings.

since i’d broken my right arm just six weeks earlier, i’d been doing everything with my left hand. i’m right-handed, but i had to learn to write, eat, create with my other hand. it was a hard and frustrating journey.

one thing really helped to keep me going though, and that is the fact that non-dominant activities are so very beneficial for your brain. i discussed some of these benefits with the group that day: how neuroplasticity is stimulated; how the awkwardness you might feel is the physical sensation of new neural connections and pathways being forged; how cognitive flexibility is boosted and coordination between the hemispheres increased.

after talking for a bit, we created art together. some chose to paint with watercolors or acrylics, some started working on collages. i challenged them to try using their non-dominant hand (i would be) or to try writing what i call found poetry (from the words in their collages). it was interesting and satisfying, for everyone, to see what emerged from the paintbrushes and pens, and with the glue sticks and scissors.

a peaceful (and fun!) afternoon in a relaxed setting, just the thing for a blustery sunday in early spring. plus a lovely way to care for self.

sometimes i count things. suitcases at an airport check-in. letters inserted into a mailbox. steps that i’m ascending. vitamins & supplements i take each day. things to turn off or close down when i head to bed each night. cats in a park. (actually i always count things!)

sometimes i wish i could experience living in every town and every city in the world. in a mid-century modern design inspired by frank lloyd wright, in a high-rise parisian-style apartment way way up in the sky, in a big white farmhouse in the countryside. maybe in a fairy-tale castle like a princess, or even in a converted shipping container or boxcar. because what if my favorite dwelling on the globe is still out there?

sometimes i’m happy. and sometimes i’m sad. sometimes i’m angry or fearful or annoyed. and sometimes ALL of these emotions visit me in the same day.

sometimes i go for a walk just to nourish my curiosity. i marvel at the smallest little details and i revel in the daily rhythms & flows around me. and i take lots and lots of pictures. the activity replenishes my soul.

sometimes i think about what my life as a fashion magazine editor in new york city would look like. or as a shipping clerk in a bustling harbor town. as the head librarian on a beautiful college campus or as administrative staff at a forest ranger station in the woods. or i imagine myself as a gutsy private eye, hunting down clues and solving puzzles. my fondest career daydream? as the general manager of a grand hotel in a metropolitan setting.

sometimes i look at the things around me and feel so cozy and comforted. telephones i’ve collected. bookshelves filled with delicious stories. collages i’ve created. notes from my husband, from friends. clothes that express my true essence. photos and artwork i’ve chosen to hang on my walls. mementos of places i’ve explored. my journals, especially my journals.

what do YOU sometimes think, do, feel, or dream?

he did eventually manage to save and transfer everything over here, to my new substack site. but the formatting is, of course, distorted. and some of the organization disorganized. slightly broken and not altogether pleasant to view, yet the relevant message in each of my posts remains. so i’ve been slowly weeding through them, trying to fix things where i can, if only for my own peace of mind. since it’s not very much fun, i am attacking it in small increments.

the real surprise? i’ve been amazed to find that so much of what i’d written through the years still resonates with me today, still carries meaning. and for that reason, i have decided to share one of those timeless posts with you today.

setting the stage: in november of 2020, eric and i boarded an almost-empty jet in milan with our cat harlowe. at the time all we wanted to do, following our months-long lockdown experience in italy, was travel to the states and reunite with our sons. we ended up buying the pink house, wrestling with many life decisions, and staying much longer than planned . . . a strange and surreal two-year hiatus. this piece conjures up some of the angsty-and-confused feelings i experienced during that unpredictable era, an example of those transitional in-between moments i never feel comfortable in but have to deal with nonetheless. (tunnels was originally published in october 2022 - one month after we finally returned to our italian home.)

i am fascinated with tunnels

there are many in italy
throughout the european continent
and going through one
becomes a commonplace event
when traveling anywhere

i think they’re interesting
even strikingly beautiful at times

they remind me of spy novels
and they make the best photos

i don’t always love being
inside a tunnel though
especially when it’s miles long

oh, it’s not horrible, not impossible,
to be in there, and the darkness
offers a unique perspective
but it can be slightly uncomfortable

emerging out the other side
back into the bright sunshine
always seems to elicit a
silent sigh of relief

a tunnel is such a metaphor for life

leaving your past, heading
towards your future
a symbol of the paths
you might take
and the challenges you might
encounter along the way

moving through darkness
pushing through obstacles
beginnings and endings
with light and hope, reassurance,
waiting just beyond

evolving over the course of your journey
your very own metamorphosis story

this small glimpse into my continuing story illustrates something we all, as human beings, encounter again and again » our endless adaption to the ups-and-downs of life. our resilience.

reset and recalibrate

.

cottontail bunny
red-winged blackbird
rhythmic train rumble

reassure and remember

.

charming log cabin
flowing river
serene mountain setting

reconnect and rekindle

.

forest bathing
therapeutic waters
peaceful ambience

renew and recover

.

#magicalmajesticmontana