Today my story is about gratitude, particularly gratitude for honesty and vulnerability. I went to hear a band called the Sea Stars play last might. This husband wife duo play, what I would call, ethereal folk music. That alone is not profound or moving enough to make it into my gratitude writings. What is worthy however, is the way in which they infuse their music with the sheer rawness, honesty and vulnerability of being human. I sat through almost three hours of music totally mesmerized and occasionally moved to tears (and I generally get bored or antsy easily).

Part of what I love so much about art/music/creative expression is its ability to help me touch into or connect with another’s experience; and to feel someone else’s hope, joy, despair, worry, or gratitude is an incredibly valuable gift as it reminds me that I am indeed not alone in my experience of these feelings. And don’t we all want to feel connected?

The Simple Things

This story feels so Boulder, so if you're reading this and you're not in Boulder well, I'm not sure what to tell you...

I made a peach pie the other night to take to a friend's house for dinner. With fresh local peaches, of course. Now I would usually put the pie in my bike trailer (I don't have a car and my bike is my primary transportation) and take it to dinner that way. However, since most of my belongings are in storage I didn't have access to the bike trailer, or the spare bike inner tubes I keep laying around to use as bungees. So I walked the 7 minutes to my local bike shop and inquired about any old tubes they might have laying around. As he rummages through the barrel of old tubes he says, "how many do you need". I reply that I just need a couple so that I can strap a pie to the rack on the back of my bike. He doesn't even smile or bat an eyelash at this response.

I go on my merry little way, take the tubes home, cut them up, and tie down the pie. It made it unscathed to dinner and I felt so happily resourceful.

As I write this, I realize that I'm not quite sure why this experience made me so incredibly happy, but it did. Perhaps it's because I really enjoy transporting unusual items around on my bike, or perhaps it's that I was able to rescue something from the trash that was immediately useful. Whatever it was left a big goofy grin on my face.

Starting again

So it's been awhile, years actually, since I've posted anything here. 

But it seems like time to start again.

I'm interested in trying a bit of an experiment. I was struck yesterday by an overwhelming response to a Facebook status update about the great things that happened during my day. I became inspired to write about the amazing, exciting, surprising, simply delightful happenings each day. I'm also so curious to see what will happen as this becomes a regular practice.

I tend to be one of those people who have a much, much easier time focusing on the negative - what sucked during my day, what's wrong with the world, society, culture we live in. And while I'm beginning to see that this lens of critique and criticism is an important gift I have to offer the world, it can also be a really easy trap to fall into. When I fall, I fall hard, and end up walking around like that comic strip character who has the storm cloud above their head while everyone else is enjoying the sunshine.

So, in an effort to enjoy the sunshine a little more, starting today, for one month, I'm going to write daily about the positive, interesting, delightful, surprising happenings that occur.

For today: I'm staying with a friend while I'm in between houses. She came home this morning all energized and excited to go on a bike ride and trail run combined. I was still sitting sleepily at the dining room table when she asked if I wanted to join her. Saying yes, I expected her to leave me in the dust as she works out way more than I do. Miraculously though, I was able to keep up and started my day enjoying the landscape of these amazing foothills identifying edible and medicinal plants along the way.

Listening deeply

So I've been reading lately. I know, it's not much of a surprise for those who know me well. I've been reading non-fiction. This is unusual. And on top of that, I've been reading it at the rapid rate typically reserved for novels. Something must be seriously wrong...

Ok, not wrong at all, just different. Introducing myself and being introduced to the field of ecopsychology/deep ecology is radically changing the way I live my life. Not only live, but view life. And this whole notion of being human is questioned.

Spending time in the natural world, I've begun having conversations with the trees and the deer. Even the snowflakes and I communicate. These communications, this time outside brings a vibrance, a fire, a renewed purpose to life. Last night, for example, I walked to a small creek near my house. I laid down and listened. I heard the gurgle of the water moving over rocks and around the bend. I heard the snowflakes on my jacket. I heard the silence and stillness of the grasses and the trees in the snow. As the back of my body pressed up against the snowy, frozen ground I felt remarkably warm. I believe this warmth was not just a result of the layers of down and fleece I was wearing, but was a result of (or perhaps an invitation for) yielding into the earth. Sensing deeply this ability to let go (of what I'm going to do when I get home, or planning my day tomorrow, or how I'm going to apologize to a friend I fought with) I could feel the contours of the earth holding me. The way my right shoulder blade fit perfectly against a bunch of grass, or the way the dirt and leaves moved aside to provide a shelf for my feet.

I don't know how long I lay like this. There is a timelessness in these communications...

And tonight, I return home from work, gently riding my bike in the snow, hungry for more information. So I search. I search the library catalogs. I search websites of organizations doing this work. I put books on hold. So many that I've committed my library card number to memory. And in this search I find my community; the trees, the rocks, the thinkers, the writers, the movers, the dreamers who are also willing to listen to the snowflakes.

Allergic to...life?

As I've begun to land onto the island I find myself covered in mosquito bites. I started getting eaten the night my plane landed. At first I had a bunch of average mosquito-bite-sized bumps on my legs and ankles. This quickly turned into a full-body allergic reaction of proportions never-before experienced. I had an intense case of hives in the form of big red itchy welts. It became so painfully itchy to move, so I spent two days lounging in bed and reading.

As I was reading Pema Chodron, I came across a passage where she talks about transforming poison into beauty. She cites the example of the male peacock who ingests small amounts of poisonous foods in order to brighten the colors in his tail feathers. While I seemingly had no control of the amount of poison coursing through my veins (and thankfully not enough to send me into anaphylactic shock!), it caused me to pause and wonder what brightness, or transformation, or opening this experience might facilitate.

I'm going to Kauai, and I'm taking with me...

To keep ourselves entertained on a road trip this summer, a friend and I played a game where each person says, "I'm traveling to..., I'm getting there by..., and I'm taking with me..." The first person starts with the first letter of the alphabet naming a place, mode of transportation, and object all starting with the letter "A", next person does the same with the letter "B", and so on to the end of the alphabet.

As I've been packing and gathering together my things to take to Kauai with me, I feel a little like I'm playing that game. The preparations are happening on physical, emotional, and spiritual levels.

I'm going to Kauai, and I'm taking with me a basket with Joy, Creativity, Curiosity, Intuition, Improvisation, and a journal with which to make art that might not be pretty, but is REAL. I am bringing business cards that have my name, and then underneath state that I offer dance/movement and creative arts therapies. May they be my reminder that this journey is a threshold crossing. That it is a time of reconnection and growth. Shedding the skin that is old and no longer fits, in order to grow and expand. Aren't snakes incredibly vulnerable for several days after shedding? I take with me this vulnerability. I bring it with me to cultivate it, to really get to know it, to learn to use it in service of others.

I bring with me the red and gold sparkly shawl a friend brought back for me from India. When I first opened the package, I thought, "oh that's pretty, but it's not really me...it's too pretty for me to wear." I wear the shawl on my shoulders as a reminder of the inherent inner beauty I carry with me where ever I may travel.

I bring with me yarn and knitting needles as a reminder that I am a weaver. A weaver of seemingly disparate worlds, curling, winding, and twisting them around each other in just the right way to make a beautifully strong garment.

I bring with me an open heart and hands ready to tend the earth...

Following bliss

Something beautiful happened the other day. I made the decision to follow my bliss and move to Kauai for the next 6 months. After deciding, I called up my brother, who just graduated from college in May and has been living in the basement of my mother's house in the suburbs without a car. While I'm generally a proponent of car-free living, I happen to have one that I drive right now, and understand how useful and even important it can be. So, after deciding to go to Hawaii, the first call I make is to my brother. Now we're not super close, and I often don't just call him to talk.

So, I say, "Hey, I'm moving to Kauai, do you want the car?".
He says, "Oh my god, that would totally change my life. It would open up my possibilities for getting a job and getting around."

I smiled.
There was something so poetic about making the decision to following my bliss, and in turn be able to offer a gift of grace to someone else...