Conversations with my Father

Grace Paley

I started the day wishing you Happy Birthday wherever you are - whether you’re Stardust or a being in a different ecosystem. Your memory is still so alive in all our hearts. But oh how I miss the sound of your voice and your laugh.

"Ask yourself one question: does this path have heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't it is of no use." 
- Carlos Castenda

I’m not even sure I know how to truly sense the heart of some thing. My mind plays tricks on me and I project what I think are peoples intentions. I’m still working on trying to find my heart; to listen to its desires. I feel so lost, sometimes trying to let my heart lead. Perhaps just for today I will listen.

Family. Love. Money. Alignment. Connection.

What I am trying to hand over to the fresh young year that is about to take over:

 
I must believe and accept myself and acknowledge what I am good at.
I must embrace that I work hard and play hard, and I will always give more to a company than I get.
Showing up with an abundant, joyous demeanor is so important.
Not settling for less than I know I’m worth.
Sheer space and place isn’t always enough.
Appreciating what I have and striving for more - always.
Holding boundaries in a way that celebrates my space and doesn’t prioritize others.
Standing in my integrity.
Trusting my wisdom to led me to the next step.
Giving myself grace for my choices and mistakes.
Learning and growing from both.
Rebuilding.
Laughing as much as possible.

2022 Reading List

1. Heart Berries by Terese Marie Mailhot
2. And The Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini
3. The Boy, the mole, the fox and the Horse by Charlie Makesy
4. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
5. Spark Joy by Marie Kondo
6. The Bounce Back Book by Karan Salmansohn
7. So Far So Good by Ursula K. Le Guin
8. The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown
9. The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo
10. Raising a girl with ADHD: a practical guide to help girls harness their unique strengths and abilities by Allison Tyler
11. The Storyteller: Tales of Life and Music by Dave Grohl
12. Helping Your Child with Language-Based Learning Disabilities by Daniel Franklin, PhD
13. The Midnight Library by Matt Haig
14. Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman
15. The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin
16. Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah
17. Untangled: Guiding Teenage Girls Through the Seven Transitions into Adulthood by Lisa Damour, Ph.D
18. Quit Like a Woman: The Radical Choice to Not Drink in a Culture Obsessed with Alcohol
by Holly Whitaker

"People inspire people." - Dave Grohl

"She was a volcano and like a volcano, she couldn't run away from herself. She'd have to stay there and tend to that wasteland. She could plant a forest inside herself." - Matt Haig

"Libraries are life-enhancing palaces of wonder. It's not you, libraries, it's me; as the popular saying goes."- Gail Honeyman

“We read to know we’re not alone. We read because we are alone. We read and we are not alone. We are not alone.” - Gabrielle Zevin

“Growing up in a home of abuse, you struggle with the notion that you can love a person you hate, or hate a person you love. It’s a strange feeling. You want to live in a world where someone is good or bad, where you either love or hate them, but that’s not how people are.” - Trevor Noah

#MustRead  #nationalbookloversday

Incessant Scrolling

It is in inevitable. I’m walking toward myself, and the weight of old ways has to go. Some of it has fallen off, like old skin I didn’t even notice disappearing. Other pieces have to be pushed away, scraped off like a scab, and I know I will be raw as I heal and grow into a new form. 

Incessantly, we are rebuilding our cells, our skin, our look. We have the same constant nature, but shift form and presence, depending on light, water, or environment. How far I have come; how much more I have to grow. Still the desire to do so pushes forth from within and I wonder whether I am drowning or flourishing in this space? 

I have existed in so many forms. My energy currently feels like an unharnessed force. My desire is to put forth something new and authentic. But I am not plugged in anymore; I feel lost and fumbling. 

I never tell stories. Even when I recount moments, I stumble and lack true memory to what happened. I go for humor instead to camouflage the parts that feel uncomfortable.

I must conspire my own magic to go after what I want. It doesn't feel like a grand pursuit, one that will surely evade me, but rather more a coaxing, like with a vulnerable animal that I ache to help.

I want to yell, "I AM HERE!" and make something happen, yet it feels like I am standing alone in a great valley surrounded by mountains, and the remains of my voice and my energy are bouncing off matter around me. Echoing. I am left my own devices. 

_________
This is for after your escape. After all the heavy breath and tears it required to tear you away from your chains. 

This is for when you have already felt the elated freedom of being on the outside of it all. 

This moment comes once you have settled and started to look around and consider what you should do next. 

When you consider whether you made the right decision and fear failure is right at your back. 

Don’t look back. 

Now you are truly alive and you only have your internal devices to survive. 

Anything is possible. 

It is up to you to decide.

Stepping in to the Shadows

I'm a little early for that time of year when I get sentimental and want to show it. Most of the time I wear heavy armor and feel comfortable keeping distance with people except a chosen few. The truth is I'm a romantic at heart. I'm a softy for the feel goods and I want the underdog to win. I also painstakingly try to heal the past or find myself closing the circle of the year during the holidays; I think we all do in our own way. 

The longest, darkest night has a way of calling out to your personal shadows. The past week felt low and I heard the sentiment reflected in many others. I needed something to pick me up. I sense Christmas coming towards me like a bumbling giant. I feel the earth shake as the season enters and this year, I resolved to meet it with a smile and maybe try to be prepared. So I put my tree up today. I put a piece of joy into our space and let my gals sing song the moment into their memories. For me it was more about rearranging and having another light source in my front room. It's just has lights, no ornaments, and I put the white owl on top so it feels like something wise is watching over us. 

I like to think I'm growing kinder with each passing year. Kinder to myself, kinder to the energy I put forth in this world. I've come to appreciate happiness is magic I can make. Also when it is darkest, we all have to find and create our own light and do it for others when they just can't light their own way. I've been finding joy in those sweet passing moments that make me feel good. 

In my youth, I got really good and intimate with feeling low and blaming others. I have a bestie who taught me to make my own happiness. Really just recently, I've come to understand the power in that. Also the magnetism of spreading joy to others. 

That's not to say it's all puppy dogs and kittens over here. I like a good honest chat one-on-one, and the ability to pick apart something in the underbelly of my life that I would like to change. I get super turned off by the always #blessed sort but I dig what they're trying to muster for themselves and their loved ones. It just indicates to me that I'm not at their inner table. I can NOT be at most people's inner table. I assume many of my good friends might not know they're at mine because of how private I am. 

The inner table is set for those you can really trust with the good and the bad. I like to laugh with others but I can also be dark as hell. I also like to bear witness to vulnerability. The truth is though, I can hold the space but I can't mirror the work because I am so scared of myself. I am the underdog; even with all the privilege I have, I come in second place most every time. That's the story I've been telling myself since I was a child and it's stifled most every phase of my life. Me: horribly hard and unrelentingly unforgiving to myself - it's how I learned to survive. 

I've been feeling mostly alone lately, mostly responsible for the child in my childhood since I'm basically orphaned now. As a parent, I see how isolated I became at a young age and how easy it was for me to put on a uniform and go out into the world I was being raised in and check the boxes.

A friend sent some college photos and I looked back on the girl I used to be. I asked D, "would you date her?" He said, "What girl?" at the zoomed in picture. We had a good laugh but the truth about it stung. Not D's candor but perhaps the honest moment with myself that the image stirred up in me. All that armor, all those ways to hide my beauty and potential, to not face myself, to pretend I was getting by so I could actually get by. The girl in that photo had escaped an unhappy home and was relieved to be far away. But she wasn't free enough to go be alive in herself and her experiences. She was stifled always and scared deeply. 

It prompted me to dig through some old emails and reread my youthful voice. There was a back and forth with an old friend over a few years. It was mostly banter and sorting out life in your mid-twenties. I couldn't stand some of the words I put out there as armor, as flirting, as a way to connect. Though I know they were coming mostly from jest and lack of self confidence, they were harsh and not really what I wanted to say. The truth is I never thought I was good enough and I valued this person more than myself. I always felt like the fat girl without a chance. I was too scared to see the opportunity that might have been there and so I didn't take any chances and let the moment pass. I regret that now because the years have helped me understand that mentality is bullshit.

It took me well into my 40s to muster enough courage to put some of these old fears to rest. It took the caring love and support of a good partner to help me see true value in my being. It also took me giving myself the space and respect I so readily threw away before. I've made peace with many things I never thought I would settle and I regret a few moments I never risked. I guess that's who I am in some ways, seemingly brave and courageous, secretly a chickenshit unable to recognize when others care and just want to be there for me. 

Twenty years from now I will be in my sixties wishing I was 40 something again, wishing I was here right now. I imagine the waning vibrance that I am feeling these days will feel like a fire hose of life that has long since left my bones. I will still be writing. I will not forget the joy I've learned to kindle for myself and to spread to others. If all else fails, I will reach out to friends to remind me of these moments that are fleeting but forever part of my story. It all comes down to me. 

I'm going to go tuck those gals into bed. One day, they will be twenty-somethings themselves, far away from me forging their own path and hopefully finding some grace. 

Tethered Thoughts

I’ve been in a caregiving headspace about my mom for two years now. I’ve sifted through the literal remains from her life and distilled a three bedroom townhome into a 600 square-foot room. I still have some of her old papers and photos in boxes in my office. 

Her presence is still very much with me. The person she was haunts me and the person she’s devolved into panders to my emotions. I am a dutiful daughter; she raised me that way. At times even now, two years into a dementia diagnosis, I still think she might be manipulating me. Is it wishful thinking? Have I become so accustomed to her abuse that I long for it now as a way to deal with her disappearing brain? 

I have even begun to grieve her, though she’s still alive. Perhaps it is a gift to be able to walk upon this journey with her – perhaps it is one I give myself as a salve for the mental scars I carry. 

Still, there are days when I humbly acknowledge how hard it is to be a mother, and I am taken by the amount of love and anticipation I have for my children. I’m sure she was the same way, even if she didn’t express it in a way I could relate to well.

Her birthday is this Friday, she will be 84. I feel compelled to bring her balloons. I might have to remind her what they are called, but perhaps not because she always love balloons. It drove me crazy how compelled she was to bring my girls balloons on their birthday. When you have kids, a stale balloon can bumble around your house for weeks under the dawdling security of a toddler. This week the idea lightens me. A dollop for floating hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.