I have literally just returned from a delicious after-dinner bike ride on the "ditch" - the open aqueduct slowly ambling around and down the mountain that I'm living on. Alongside the ditch is a wide, rocky and gently sloping nine-mile path that is absolutely stop-your-breath beautiful and perfect for biking or hiking.
On a walk, one could peer at hundreds of sweet little things along the way, like bleeding hearts, flowering manzanita, a plethora of friendly dogs, and the occasional slug. But on a ride, it's the bigger stuff that captures one's senses. Rounding a bend I am smacked into absolute synapse silence - the wordless WOW - when my eyes meet a hundred miles of layered valley and evergreen-strewn mountains backlit by a setting sun.
Or huge roots on the other side of the ditch that hang like a giant octopus. I imagine them gasping for the rich soil, their oxygen. Somehow, the massive tree is as firmly earthed as any I've seen. Perhaps I feel in it a kindred spirit at present... seemingly uprooted and seeking - yet solidly anchored in the deep brown rusty earth. I myself dangle over the unknown, while finding myself thoroughly grounded in the comfort of Family, a profound sense of Right Placement, and the amazing gift of Time.
Tonight's ride reminded me of one of the most important veins in my own happiness. That within me, I have my own antidote - my own secret stash of snake medicine and "mother's little helper" at my disposal at all times.
After a delightful day - walking, working, celebrating my mom's birthday with a tour of Empire Mine State Park, I found myself feeling anxious. I began my necessary on-line search for "what's next," and as the information and questions began to whip around, I was in the middle of a storm of excitement, a sense of wide possibility, and a few hard slaps from my secret inner demon: Doubt. By 4:30 pm, I began rummaging through the refrigerator in hopes of eating my own weight in all foods consisting of wheat, corn, or rice. God bless the Atkins dieter... but I simply do not have it in me.
And so it was that I remembered my own inner medicine cabinet. The bike. Though I love biscuits (or a Corona with lime for that matter), they are weak substitutes for wind in the face, bug on the chin, death grip on the handle bars, flying down a hill on a bike. Looking back, I realize this has always been my personal remedy. I shipped my bike to Connecticut in 1999 when I moved across the country. Almost immediately, I had to find my way- a new home, a new car, a new job - to bloom where I was planted. And I did it on my bike. I could take everything in, small doses, block by block, road by road. And through that meandering, I found my way into a life that I loved.
Today, I make the same effort. So forgive all my metaphors... of riding things out, of coasting, of mustering unknown strength, etc. It's simply where it's at for me. And I know that we all have our individual "fix," our unique form of soul medicine.
My sister, for example, lights holiday candles and plays Christmas music anytime of year when life gets overwhelming. Her husband knows immediately that something is going on if he catches a whiff of pine and cinnamon clove in July. But the thing is, it works! Another close friend heads straight for Target when she feels a dark cloud rising. And she insists that the "Retail Therapy" is still less expensive than psychotherapy.
What is your "go-to" remedy? Running? Meditation? Dance? What sets you back on your path when you've veered off? The trick for me (First, B... close the refrigerator door), is to open up the real medicine cabinet and reach for the right dose of the thing that provides me the most light. Here's hoping your cabinet is filled with the best kind of medicine. Happy trails!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Hitting the Road
My car arrived from Connecticut this past Monday. I hadn't realized how much I missed the little gal until I had her back, covered in 3,000 miles worth of tawny filth. The huge transport truck stopped on a busy highway on-ramp because it couldn't make any of the turns in town. We rushed through the exhange of cash and signatures, the driver wiped my windows and mirrors clean(ish), and we were both off again in under seven minutes!
My first stop: the "soft touch" car wash. It took two times through to see my car in its original shiny black state - and you couldn't wipe the smile from my face.
The wheels definitely add some balance to life "at home." I've had a wonderful first week in California spending time with my mom - we hiked the gorgeous canyon trails above the river at South Yuba State Park (the wildflowers are at the tail of their peak), organized my living space, ran more errands than I can count, and talked each others' ears off. It's been lovely. However, after living solo for fifteen years - it is good to have the option to take off on my own for a while.
So yesterday I did just that. I went town-hopping all day and got lost on purpose. Though I find myself exhausted each night, I know that it is from taking in so many new views, directions, people and details. To be present and aware of everything around me is the best kind of living. It is exhilerating and in dramatic contrast to driving to work on auto-pilot each day. The trick for me, a notorious "dabbler" who tends to bounce around a bit, will be to find that balance between change and consistency, adventure and stability, so that I can keep the feeling alive while I'm standing still. Because Life's constantly shifting energy is what makes for the wild ride - if we pay attention.
So... as for California:
Before the plane even landed in Sacramento, I could tell things would be different. My seatmate, a young photographer and surfer (yes, this cliche was the REAL DEAL!), was a certified card-carrying member of the "medicinal marijuana" club. OK, so clearly it's not a club - I don't have the lingo down just yet. He showed me the "pass" that he was prescribed for his case of TMJ, and I said, "Really. Really??! So you're saying that instead of wearing my fabulously chic mouthguard every night - I could just eat a brownie?" Who knew.
And of course there are other well-worn stereotypes here in Northern California. Everyone does seem to be exceptionally friendly, laid back and service oriented. If you enter the local Save Mart Grocery, you better bring your poker face, because to look lost or perplexed, even for a moment, brings one or more employees ready to assist you to the proper aisle. Judging from recent experience, my standard look is lost and perplexed.
Yes, there are abundant dreadlocks, smart cars and food co-ops... as well as an equally visible contingency of bearded men in pick-up trucks, whose dogs likely vote Republican. I've found the local Officers of the Peace a little up-tight too. Jaywalking, for instance, is seriously frowned upon in Nevada City. More accurately, it is scowled upon with a look of crazy intimidation and total disgust. Oops.
So as I acclimate to my new surroundings, I begin to think about what's next... job, destination, vision and life plan. I'll start by looking back a little ways - because some of the best dreams are the ones that you've had forever. And I'll take it in small bites, as my dear friend suggests. Half of the fun is on the path... I promise to keep you posted along the way!
My first stop: the "soft touch" car wash. It took two times through to see my car in its original shiny black state - and you couldn't wipe the smile from my face.
The wheels definitely add some balance to life "at home." I've had a wonderful first week in California spending time with my mom - we hiked the gorgeous canyon trails above the river at South Yuba State Park (the wildflowers are at the tail of their peak), organized my living space, ran more errands than I can count, and talked each others' ears off. It's been lovely. However, after living solo for fifteen years - it is good to have the option to take off on my own for a while.
So yesterday I did just that. I went town-hopping all day and got lost on purpose. Though I find myself exhausted each night, I know that it is from taking in so many new views, directions, people and details. To be present and aware of everything around me is the best kind of living. It is exhilerating and in dramatic contrast to driving to work on auto-pilot each day. The trick for me, a notorious "dabbler" who tends to bounce around a bit, will be to find that balance between change and consistency, adventure and stability, so that I can keep the feeling alive while I'm standing still. Because Life's constantly shifting energy is what makes for the wild ride - if we pay attention.
So... as for California:
Before the plane even landed in Sacramento, I could tell things would be different. My seatmate, a young photographer and surfer (yes, this cliche was the REAL DEAL!), was a certified card-carrying member of the "medicinal marijuana" club. OK, so clearly it's not a club - I don't have the lingo down just yet. He showed me the "pass" that he was prescribed for his case of TMJ, and I said, "Really. Really??! So you're saying that instead of wearing my fabulously chic mouthguard every night - I could just eat a brownie?" Who knew.
And of course there are other well-worn stereotypes here in Northern California. Everyone does seem to be exceptionally friendly, laid back and service oriented. If you enter the local Save Mart Grocery, you better bring your poker face, because to look lost or perplexed, even for a moment, brings one or more employees ready to assist you to the proper aisle. Judging from recent experience, my standard look is lost and perplexed.
Yes, there are abundant dreadlocks, smart cars and food co-ops... as well as an equally visible contingency of bearded men in pick-up trucks, whose dogs likely vote Republican. I've found the local Officers of the Peace a little up-tight too. Jaywalking, for instance, is seriously frowned upon in Nevada City. More accurately, it is scowled upon with a look of crazy intimidation and total disgust. Oops.
So as I acclimate to my new surroundings, I begin to think about what's next... job, destination, vision and life plan. I'll start by looking back a little ways - because some of the best dreams are the ones that you've had forever. And I'll take it in small bites, as my dear friend suggests. Half of the fun is on the path... I promise to keep you posted along the way!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Here I am!
Well hello there...
I am happy to report that I am writing from Nevada City, California, just up the hill from Grass Valley, watching the snow fall from my mom's house. In April. Mother Nature has a wicked awesome sense of humor (that was for the East Coast peeps), doesn't she?
But the thing is, the Doppler Radar report can't touch the peace that I'm feeling. Less than 48 hours ago, I arrived at Sacramento International Airport jetlagged and exhausted from the past several weeks of packing up a life on the East Coast. Greeted by my mom, her husband, and my best friend - well let's just say that it was a nice way to kick things off.
I have quickly learned that a brief respite at one's parent's house is a true gift. The view out the bay window that I am perched upon is full of lush Cedars and Douglas Firs, frisky gray squirrels and adorable little birdies, bright green grass and flowering trees draped in a wafer thin layer of wet white snow. Oh - and there's a bit of thunder and lightening too.
I've been indulged with French toast and oatmeal for breakfast, and homemade soup, stuffed peppers and piping hot cornbread for dinner. I can't take three steps without Mom or Dennis asking if I could use more light, something to eat or drink, a blanket, a nap. And yes, I've taken several naps these past two days. The truth is it feels absolutely incredible to just relax and accept this kindness. I'm fairly certain that at some point, maybe even soon, the remarks will change to: Did you turn the light out? Did you mean to leave that glass there? and How is the job hunt coming along? - Yet I say all of this with a grand smile... because how often does one get to spend time like this with family - when everyone is healthy, happy and doing great. It is a gift indeed.
I am still wrapping my head around the incredible outpouring of generosity, love and assistance that I received from friends in Connecticut as I made my departure. People are flat out amazing. And I've more to write about many of them. For now, let me just say the most heartfelt THANK YOU that I have ever written... to all of my friends who helped me make this jump or wished me well! It was never goodbye... only farewell for now (which also happens to be my favorite line from my grandma... left on every voicemail she left over the past several years of her life).
So... with that, I bid you goodnight - and farewell for now!
I am happy to report that I am writing from Nevada City, California, just up the hill from Grass Valley, watching the snow fall from my mom's house. In April. Mother Nature has a wicked awesome sense of humor (that was for the East Coast peeps), doesn't she?
But the thing is, the Doppler Radar report can't touch the peace that I'm feeling. Less than 48 hours ago, I arrived at Sacramento International Airport jetlagged and exhausted from the past several weeks of packing up a life on the East Coast. Greeted by my mom, her husband, and my best friend - well let's just say that it was a nice way to kick things off.
I have quickly learned that a brief respite at one's parent's house is a true gift. The view out the bay window that I am perched upon is full of lush Cedars and Douglas Firs, frisky gray squirrels and adorable little birdies, bright green grass and flowering trees draped in a wafer thin layer of wet white snow. Oh - and there's a bit of thunder and lightening too.
I've been indulged with French toast and oatmeal for breakfast, and homemade soup, stuffed peppers and piping hot cornbread for dinner. I can't take three steps without Mom or Dennis asking if I could use more light, something to eat or drink, a blanket, a nap. And yes, I've taken several naps these past two days. The truth is it feels absolutely incredible to just relax and accept this kindness. I'm fairly certain that at some point, maybe even soon, the remarks will change to: Did you turn the light out? Did you mean to leave that glass there? and How is the job hunt coming along? - Yet I say all of this with a grand smile... because how often does one get to spend time like this with family - when everyone is healthy, happy and doing great. It is a gift indeed.
I am still wrapping my head around the incredible outpouring of generosity, love and assistance that I received from friends in Connecticut as I made my departure. People are flat out amazing. And I've more to write about many of them. For now, let me just say the most heartfelt THANK YOU that I have ever written... to all of my friends who helped me make this jump or wished me well! It was never goodbye... only farewell for now (which also happens to be my favorite line from my grandma... left on every voicemail she left over the past several years of her life).
So... with that, I bid you goodnight - and farewell for now!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
On Solid Ground
It's difficult to admit this, but I fell down this week. Hard. It wasn't a real fall, though the sensations were identical - off balance, uncertain of my footing, and then the slip - the adrenalin fueled, belly-flipping freefall of a vertical drop. It's panic of course, and it ends the very instant you hit the ground.
Yes... for all my talking and thinking and planning for a return to California... I lost my sense of direction. And for all my bright smiles and hopeful statements about the move, I called myself out as a liar. I was terrified.
Postcard scenes of California began to look like faded amateur Polaroids in my mind's eye and the thoughts crept in - perhaps too dry in summer, perhaps drier still in the job market, too expensive, too different, too "not New England." With every new cost and hassle of UHauls and dollies, moving companies, gas prices, storage units and car transports, my recollection of why I decided to move in the first place faded.
And so it took this jarring fall - and several wise and loving friends and family - to get me to the quiet place that is always accessible. The space within that is untouchable by fear and always bouyed by hope and a sense of adventure.
On the ground, stunned and disoriented, I got to the core of what I was looking for. California isn't a magic pill that will make life seem more right or exciting. Life is always right. Always exciting. But I do want to test this hypothesis and see what the litmus test shows. And I want the option to come back.
So most of the original plans are now scratched. My things will remain in a climiate controlled storage unit in Connecticut for an unspecified time, the car packed for transport with the essentials: bike, computer, and pictures and paintings. Then on Aprli 26, off to California for several months or several hundred moons - where I will see how it feels to live again in a climate that feeds my soul year-round, visit my family, look out at a different ocean and marvel at its vastness. And say yes to new experiences and this next grand adventure.
How far are any of us willing to test a hypothesis? To trust our insticts and go find out rather than question or possibly regret? I know that in my case, I will always fight fear. And I will always question complacency. And sometimes falling down is the best possible step on my path. It forces me to be really present - and to adjust my direction. What have we got to lose?
~ Big hugs and thanks to those who helped pick me up this week.
Yes... for all my talking and thinking and planning for a return to California... I lost my sense of direction. And for all my bright smiles and hopeful statements about the move, I called myself out as a liar. I was terrified.
Postcard scenes of California began to look like faded amateur Polaroids in my mind's eye and the thoughts crept in - perhaps too dry in summer, perhaps drier still in the job market, too expensive, too different, too "not New England." With every new cost and hassle of UHauls and dollies, moving companies, gas prices, storage units and car transports, my recollection of why I decided to move in the first place faded.
And so it took this jarring fall - and several wise and loving friends and family - to get me to the quiet place that is always accessible. The space within that is untouchable by fear and always bouyed by hope and a sense of adventure.
On the ground, stunned and disoriented, I got to the core of what I was looking for. California isn't a magic pill that will make life seem more right or exciting. Life is always right. Always exciting. But I do want to test this hypothesis and see what the litmus test shows. And I want the option to come back.
So most of the original plans are now scratched. My things will remain in a climiate controlled storage unit in Connecticut for an unspecified time, the car packed for transport with the essentials: bike, computer, and pictures and paintings. Then on Aprli 26, off to California for several months or several hundred moons - where I will see how it feels to live again in a climate that feeds my soul year-round, visit my family, look out at a different ocean and marvel at its vastness. And say yes to new experiences and this next grand adventure.
How far are any of us willing to test a hypothesis? To trust our insticts and go find out rather than question or possibly regret? I know that in my case, I will always fight fear. And I will always question complacency. And sometimes falling down is the best possible step on my path. It forces me to be really present - and to adjust my direction. What have we got to lose?
~ Big hugs and thanks to those who helped pick me up this week.
Monday, March 8, 2010
My Ford Oracle
Around the new year, I had a startling experience in the parking lot of our local mall. It was mid-day, sunny and bright. Key in, brake off, pulling away... and I felt my right foot fall forward. Pumping nothing but air several times, I looked down to see that I no longer HAD an accelerator pedal. It was literally lying on the floor, looking as useful as packing peanuts the day after Christmas.
There was no time to make sense of it - wherever my car stopped, it would stay. So I slowly pulled to a space a distance away from other vehicles and pressed my brakes.
"I've never seen this happen before," said the tow truck driver, the mechanic and the nice man walking by. No kidding. I won't bore you with details. A simple cable broke. But it would take several days to fix over the holiday weekend.
This meant none of the usual "busyness" for me - no errands, no gym, no post office. No bank deposit, no dinner with the girls, no grocery store. I had been moving at mock speed for quite a while... neglecting yoga and writing in lieu of holiday parties, a wedding, too much work and recently a new freelance project, and a quasi intriguing new dating prospect.
The quiet allowed me to think about how I spent my days, and for that matter, how I wanted to spend my future days.
Once my car was returned, I lurched back onto the freeway of life, gaining speed. But I did make some changes: stepping down from a board that no longer fed me, trading shifts of after-work events with a colleague, and within a month and a half... making the life-altering decision to leave my home in Connecticut to return to California where I grew up.
This was a big one. Some days that decision feels right - other days I question it to its core. Why leave the only "true" home I have ever known? Am I heading for a new adventure or running from my fear of complacency? Can I really break up with Connecticut while I am still so in love with her?
And thus was my state of fear and longing when my car once again "spoke." I arrived at my girlfriend's house two days ago and smelled something hot near the front of the hood. Oh god. Now, as I tend towards paranoia, my friend lovingly suggested that I wait until the following day to panic. Good plan. The next day, the faint odor became a reeking burning rubber and scorched asbestos stench. Probably nothing.
This morning, my mechanic explained that my left front caliper froze in the locked position, burning through a significant portion of my brake pad and hose. In other words... even as my foot pressed on the accelerator, moving me towards any and all destinations... my brakes were on.
Of course. The life metaphor. The Ford Oracle. The hatchback soothsayer.
I get it - I haven't fully opened her up on the roads and said, YES... let's do this thing! Let's go to California and see what she has in store for me. Rather, I acquiesced to a series of road bumps and said, OhnnnKayyy - I'll go... like a grumpy six year old not ready for bed.
I know that now is the time to embrace the free-fall and let the road take me. Brakes off. Pedal down. Shifting to a higher gear... with a giant smile on my face. And we're OFF!
There was no time to make sense of it - wherever my car stopped, it would stay. So I slowly pulled to a space a distance away from other vehicles and pressed my brakes.
"I've never seen this happen before," said the tow truck driver, the mechanic and the nice man walking by. No kidding. I won't bore you with details. A simple cable broke. But it would take several days to fix over the holiday weekend.
This meant none of the usual "busyness" for me - no errands, no gym, no post office. No bank deposit, no dinner with the girls, no grocery store. I had been moving at mock speed for quite a while... neglecting yoga and writing in lieu of holiday parties, a wedding, too much work and recently a new freelance project, and a quasi intriguing new dating prospect.
The quiet allowed me to think about how I spent my days, and for that matter, how I wanted to spend my future days.
Once my car was returned, I lurched back onto the freeway of life, gaining speed. But I did make some changes: stepping down from a board that no longer fed me, trading shifts of after-work events with a colleague, and within a month and a half... making the life-altering decision to leave my home in Connecticut to return to California where I grew up.
This was a big one. Some days that decision feels right - other days I question it to its core. Why leave the only "true" home I have ever known? Am I heading for a new adventure or running from my fear of complacency? Can I really break up with Connecticut while I am still so in love with her?
And thus was my state of fear and longing when my car once again "spoke." I arrived at my girlfriend's house two days ago and smelled something hot near the front of the hood. Oh god. Now, as I tend towards paranoia, my friend lovingly suggested that I wait until the following day to panic. Good plan. The next day, the faint odor became a reeking burning rubber and scorched asbestos stench. Probably nothing.
This morning, my mechanic explained that my left front caliper froze in the locked position, burning through a significant portion of my brake pad and hose. In other words... even as my foot pressed on the accelerator, moving me towards any and all destinations... my brakes were on.
Of course. The life metaphor. The Ford Oracle. The hatchback soothsayer.
I get it - I haven't fully opened her up on the roads and said, YES... let's do this thing! Let's go to California and see what she has in store for me. Rather, I acquiesced to a series of road bumps and said, OhnnnKayyy - I'll go... like a grumpy six year old not ready for bed.
I know that now is the time to embrace the free-fall and let the road take me. Brakes off. Pedal down. Shifting to a higher gear... with a giant smile on my face. And we're OFF!
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