Unapologetically

“So for today, focus on being YOU unapologetically. Knowing that you being the magnetic being {who} you are has the effect of BOTH attracting, and repelling.”

Aaron Doughty

I had to laugh when I got an email from Aaron Doughty today that contained this quote. I’m doing Dr Nicole LaPera’s Future Self Journal prompts every day and my change is to practice being who I am. Unapologetically. That he used almost the same words seems to be a little nudge from the universe that I’m on the right track.

He added that being who you are acts as a magnet, both repelling and attracting people to you. I never thought of it that way. You repel those who can’t or won’t accept who you are or those who want you to be different, but you also attract people that truly like you for exactly who you are.

Feeling unliked and unaccepted has been a lifelong stumbling block for me. I’ve tried so hard to please other people and be who they want me to be that I ended up in my forties not knowing who the heck I was.

I’ve been working on remembering who I am for a number of years now. While I started with counseling to get me headed in the right direction, daily journaling has done me more good than a once a week counseling. Every morning, I sit and write whatever comes into my mind and soon, I’m in an almost meditative state that allows my Inner Self, with its quiet, soothing voice, to come through.

I’m rediscovering more of who I am every day and I’m practicing being who I am, no matter how scary it feels sometimes. I may repel some, but those people don’t belong in my life anyway. I hope to attract the right people. The right people for me, just as I am. People who want to create a better world. Together.

And I won’t apologize for or hide who I am ever again. Don’t you do it either.

Letting Go

Letting go takes time, yet we tell people to “get over it, it was a long time ago” or “just let go”, as if it were that easy, as if there is a certain timeline we must follow to get over our trauma or our broken hearts or some heavy-duty loss.

Instead, why don’t we be like this rubber plant? It’s not in any hurry to let this leaf go. It’s not trying to rush it or tell it to hurry up because it’s inconvenient for the plant to have this yellowing leaf hanging around so long. It’s allowing the leaf to let go in its own time. The rubber plant knows that the process leading up to letting go has value. It knows the leaf will let go at just the right time.

Letting go and healing is a process. Take your time and allow the process to move at its own pace, whether it takes four days or forty years.

Mirror, Mirror

In my previous post, I wrote about trying to figure out who I was supposed to be in order to please the owners of my company. I never have succeeded in changing myself to please anyone. I’m not sure why I keep trying. I usually end up extremely frustrated, because being someone I’m not really doesn’t work for me. It’s exhausting, I get angry, and I usually end up leaving. The worst part is that not only can I not be someone else to please others, I can’t be myself either, because I no longer know who that is.

Therapists always ask, “What was your part in the situation?” With that in mind, it occurred to me that I’m expecting them to change who they are to please me as well. I’m not accepting them for who they are and I’m trying to force them to run the business the way I think it should be run. I see now that this is a pattern for me.

I did it with the herbalist I worked for. She was a sole proprietor and I thought it was a good opportunity to help grow a business. However, I was too pushy. She wasn’t interested in my ideas. She wasn’t interested in building the kind of business that I wanted to build. She wanted to come to work to play with herbs and listen to flute music and dream about building a labyrinth for walking meditation. That was her dream business. I wanted to make money. I wanted to sell our products and make a name for ourselves. I pushed. I got mad. I resented her so-called stubbornness. So I one day, I cleaned out my desk and quit.

When I went to work for a maintenance gardening company, I saw another opportunity to take what someone else had built and make it better. The owner was in her seventies and claimed she wanted to retire and hand the company over to someone. So I went to work trying to be that person. She ran the company by the seat of her pants. There was no way anyone could do things the way she did, so I set out to organize the company and get as much information out of her head as I could, but the more I pushed her to make changes or give me information, the more she resisted. I stayed for two years trying to make her business something that worked for me. In the end, she wouldn’t let the company go. She couldn’t allow anyone to change anything. So, there was no reason for me to be there anymore and I left the company.

I’m in the same position again, trying to take someone else’s business and make it be what I want it to be. Once again, I’m trying to force people to do things my way and they’re resisting. One owner simply likes to fly by the seat of his pants and do his own thing. I’ve told him that we need him to communicate more, but he says that it just doesn’t occur to him to tell someone that he’s leaving the job site and won’t be back. He says he can’t change. Another owner wants to be the marketing person, but has no clue what to do and isn’t doing anything to learn. I get frustrated and do little bits of it myself and she gets mad at me. It’s her job and I’m trying to tell her how to do it. The other owner only wants to work his eight hours and go home. He says he wants to do all these things, but he won’t find the time to do anything extra. When I take charge and do what they won’t do, they resent me.

And once again, I’m frustrated. I want this company and these people to be what I want them to be. I feel like I’m beating my head against a brick wall, much like the previous two jobs. I’m mad because I feel like I have to be the one to change to be a part of the company. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. Why do I have to change?

Do I have to change? Does anyone have to change? The only one pressuring me to change is me. I’m not sure they care one way or the other. I’m also the one trying to force them to be who they’re not, so that I can be happier. I’m doing to them exactly what I hate having done to me. Mirror, mirror on the wall.

Here’s a brilliant idea. Why don’t I just be who I am, unapologetically and accept them for who they are unconditionally? They may still not like who I am. I may not like who they are, but there’s nothing anyone needs to do about that. Life will be much less stressful if I’d quit pushing against it all the time. As the soft, gentle voice said, I’m the only one who needs to like me. And if I like me, there’s nothing more that I need from anyone else.

Dead End

Photo by Varju Luceno on Unsplash

(I should call this my epiphany blog, since that’s what inspires me to write.)

I had the realization today that I was trying desperately to figure out who I’m supposed to be in order to fit in with the people I work for. If I say how I really feel, I’m mean. If I do the things that no one else will do, I get a guilt trip because someone else wanted to do it (even though they had plenty of time to do it and they didn’t). If I decide to back off and not be so pushy, I’m told that it’s bad for business to disengage. No matter what I do, I’m wrong. Sounds familiar.

This is exactly how it was in my family when I was a child. None of my emotions were right. I was too much, so I shut down, but that was wrong too. I was told to smile. I was told to quit pouting. I was made to feel like I wasn’t good enough, then chastised when that made me sad. The only viable option I had to find acceptance was to shut up and smile regardless of how I felt or what crazy shit was going on in the house. I couldn’t smile, because I can’t lie. So I was never accepted.

I went out into the world believing that it wasn’t acceptable to be me, so I spent my whole life trying to figure out who I should be for each job or relationship that I had in order for people to like me or accept me. It never worked and it made me miserable, but I kept trying. I stayed too long. I chose people and situations that were completely wrong for me, because I thought I could contort myself into somebody they actually did like. There were always a ton of Dead End signs, but I forged ahead despite continually running head first into Dead End sign after Dead End sign. One might think I’m a bit dense, but I like to call it persistent or perseverant.

As the day wore on, I got more and more wound up about it. Why can’t I just be myself? Why can’t I express my opinions or have my feelings? Why do I have to change who I am in order for someone else to feel good or to like me? It’s no wonder people forget who they are after having to be someone different for each person they have to please.

So I sat down to meditate. I’ve been meditating for a while, so it doesn’t take me long to get in the zone. When I meditate, I breathe deeply for a few minutes and let my mind chatter till it wears itself out. As my body relaxes, the chatter slows and I start hearing a softer, gentler voice, much like a mother’s voice. Is it the Universe? Is it my soul, my Inner Being? Whoever or whatever it is, it told me tonight that the only one who really needed to like me was me. I’m not too much for me. I’m not too pushy for me. The only person I have to be to please me . . . is me.

(Isn’t it funny how epiphanies are usually some very simple concept? I guess you don’t get it till you get it.)

Can it be that simple, though? Just be who I am and worry only about pleasing me? It may not help me with my employers, but if I like me and I’m please with who I am, who really cares what they think? That will definitely make my life a whole lot easier.

I believe I’m finally at a dead end, but it’s not the dead end that I thought it was. I thought the dead end was my job, as it usually is, but now I know the dead end is really my belief that I have to be someone else in order to be liked and accepted. That’s the road I’ve been struggling on my whole life. Now I know I have a choice: I can keep running head on into Dead End sign after Dead End sign or I can turn around and walk the other way, middle fingers in the air, because I’ve found a new road and it’s only for me.

Homeless Part 2

The ghost of home

I’ve been journaling every day for over six years. For the last several months, I’ve found myself with insights that have paved a path toward growth. It’s usually something that I would love to discuss with someone, but it never translates well when I try to explain, so I thought I’d practice my writing skills and share my insights on the blog every once in a while. I’ll consider it practice. I’d like my writing to be more concise and better mannered. Also, it will be much easier for me to look back and revisit a certain theme on this nice, searchable blog than it is for me to search through hundreds of pages of journal notes.

Here goes nothing.

Almost two years ago to the day (February 24, 2019 to be exact), I wrote a blog post called Homeless. As I reread it, I found that I was pondering the same thoughts then as I am now. What is home? Where is home? How do I find home? I know I’ve changed and grown in the past two years, but this feeling of being homeless seems to have worn a deep rut in my psyche that I haven’t been able to claw my way out of yet.

What brought me back to these questions? The movie Nomadland starring Frances McDormand. It’s about a woman named Fern who, in her 60s during the 2008 crash, finds herself living in her van after the death of her husband. She works seasonal jobs. She travels alone, but has friends on the road who she reconnects with every so often, but then they go their separate ways. Fern’s not looking for community or a home though. She simply wants the freedom to wander. (There’s a thorough review here, if you’re interested. Really good movie.)

I was a little afraid to watch Nomadland, as it hits a little too close to home (no pun intended) for me. I’m getting older. I have no savings and my days of building a career and making money are beginning to fade. What will I do when no one will hire me because I’m too old? Where will I live, since I have no home? I don’t want to be 70 years old, living in a van, taking seasonal, minimum wage jobs, just so I can save enough money to get to the next seasonal job in the next town until I keel over and die. When I was younger – even ten years ago during the “Van Living” craze – I thought that sounded great. Not anymore.

As is my wont, I looked up the word nomad. A nomad is a person with no permanent abode and who travels from place to place to find sustenance. I’ve moved many, many times in my life. Perhaps I AM a nomad. I just don’t live in a van. Yet.

As I wrote in my Homeless post, I haven’t had what I consider a home in a very long time, if ever really. With no home of my own or even a familial home, I’ve spent decades searching for a place where I felt at home. I lived in Texas my first seventeen years and since then I’ve bounced back and forth between Colorado and Nebraska several times with stints in Mississippi, Louisiana, and Oklahoma and even a short summer fling in Alaska. None of those places ever felt like home to me, even Omaha where I lived for twenty years. While one wouldn’t necessarily call me a nomad in the classic sense, I don’t have a permanent abode and I still move a lot looking for some sort of sustenance. Soul sustenance, perhaps.

When my former therapist asked me what I wanted most in life, I told her that I wanted a home of my own. A place that I could design and decorate. A place that’s truly me and that I could share with others. She pointed out that what I was describing was a place. Something external. “What if home is really inside of you?” Blah, blah, blah, I thought. That’s what they always say.

I grew up in a chaotic home, where I didn’t belong, and I wasn’t free to be me. I carry that “home” with me in my heart to this day. I can’t seem to get past it. That “home” doesn’t feel good. It never has, so I wander, searching for a physical place that might provide that soul sustenance that I so desperately crave, but as my grandmother said, “Wherever you go, there you are.” I haven’t been able to leave that old, unhappy home behind when I go.

My therapist was right, of course, but what does it mean to be truly at home in yourself? Step one, you have to know who you are and that takes peeling away the layers of who you are not. There is the work. Step two, you have to accept who you are and be okay with her, no matter what anyone else says or thinks. I’ve been stuck in step one, peeling back the layers, for over ten years now and I don’t feel like I’m anywhere close to knowing who I am. Perhaps I’ll sneak up on me and surprise me one of these days.

While that first step is a doozy, I’m not giving up. As the saying goes “As within, so without”. If I’m ever going to have the physical home I want, I have to renovate my inner home. I have to thank the person I had to become when I was a child in order to be taken care of, but tell her she’s no longer needed. Pack your bags and go, sister! Then figure out who the hell I am without her.

In the movie, Fern says to a young friend who’s worried that she’s homeless, “I’m not homeless. I’m just houseless.” I’m not really homeless either. I have a home with my niece right now. My sister has told me that she’ll never let me be homeless, since she knows that’s a big fear I have. I have friends who will let me build a yurt on their land if I need a place to go. I’m grateful for those who give me an outside home, while I peel back the layers to find my inside home.

Who Do You Think You Are?

Photo by Michelle Bonkosky on Unsplash

I follow Dr Nicole LePera, The Holistic Psychologist, on Instagram. In a recent post, she said, “You are not who you think you are.” Do you ever have people say or write things that make you stop in your tracks? That one sentence hit me hard. I am not who I think I am. Recently, I’ve recognized that I have some very deeply held beliefs – perhaps dogmatic beliefs – about who I am and how the world works, which are most likely not true. I’ve meditated on letting go, but usually what works best for me is to write about it in my journal.

I wrote out a list of who I think I am.

1. I am needy
2. No man will ever love me
3. I am unattractive
4. I am not good enough
5. I have no value to employers
6. I am a failure
7. I’ll never have money
8. I am a hard worker
9. I am not creative
10. I am too much

 

In order to let go, I have to be aware of exactly what I’m releasing. So now that I have my list, what do I do? Well, I counter those beliefs with what I know deep down to be the real truth.

1. I’m not needy. I’ve always done most everything by myself. Rarely do I ask for help or even talk about what I need. In fact, I should probably ask for help more often.
2. I have been loved by men. I just wouldn’t allow them to love me. I didn’t trust them because the one man who was supposed to love me most, did not. His love was conditional and I never seemed to be able to meet those conditions. But all men are not like my father and maybe I should give them a chance. I am not unlovable.
3. As a teenager and into adulthood, I believed I was hideous. My dad judged people’s worth on their appearance. He told me how good-looking my brother was and how pretty my sister was, but he never told me that I was pretty, so I believed that I wasn’t. I wouldn’t call myself pretty or beautiful or even particularly attractive now, but I’m not hideous. And what I believe makes people attractive is not their looks, but their creativity, their minds, and how they live their lives. I am attractive by that definition.
4. I’ve always tried to get people to validate me and show me that I’m good enough, but it’s not their job. I really only need to be good enough for me. I only need to please myself. I am good enough simply because I’m here and I’m a good person. That, in itself, is good enough.
5. It’s true that I’m not valued by my employers, but perhaps they’re just mirroring my own beliefs. I keep saying I have nothing to offer, but that’s bullshit. I am very smart. I’m diligent, organized, efficient, honest, straightforward, and tenacious. I can DO anything anyone asks of me. Tasks can be taught. What I have to offer isn’t something you can teach. I need to stop choosing employers who can’t see my value. I think it’s time to be my own employer.
6. I’m not a failure. I’ve not been successful in the conventional sense. I haven’t checked off the tradition markers of success, but I haven’t totally failed at life. I have a couple of degrees. I stepped up to raise my niece when my sister wasn’t able to. I quit drinking twelve years ago after having been a heavy drink for 25 years. I’ve almost always have a job. I chose to start doing the hard work of healing my life. And I’m still here, even though I thought about quitting a few times in my life. I wouldn’t say I’m successful, but I have had successes and I can’t consider myself a failure either.
7. The only reason I don’t have money is because I don’t value myself enough. I blame employers, yet I align with employers who don’t value me. The only thing that’s stopping me from having all the money I care to spend is the belief that I have to have an employer decide my worth. Another bullshit belief. I know money is simply energy and energy is abundant. There’s more than enough for everyone. I just have to allow myself to receive it.
8. I’ve always valued my ability to work hard physically and I do work hard, but I have more to offer than my strong body. My body is screaming for relief from the hard work. I’m tired of being the brawn. I want to be the brains and the creative mind.  I’m too smart to keep working this hard.
9. My whole life, I’ve believed I’m not creative, yet that’s all I’ve ever yearned to be. I was discouraged as a child, as many of us are. I wasn’t the creative one. I couldn’t make money being creative. I was told I didn’t have the innate talent it took to succeed as a creative, so I shut that part of me down. Instead, I chose work that allowed zero room for creativity and I was miserable every minute of it. I admit, I’m afraid to try in fear that my father was right and I’m not creative. However, deep down, I know I’m creative. I know I’m passionate about making beautiful things and I know that I’m brave. Braver than the fear.
10. I just may be too much. I know I’m intense and passionate. I know I intimidate people. I’ve been told as much. My emotions were too much for a mother whose emotions were out of control and a father who didn’t know what to do with his own. I made myself small, almost to the point of being invisible, so as not to be a bother to my parents, which bled over into the rest of my life. And in becoming less, I lost who I was. I covered up that kid who was too much with so much protection that she almost died. Being small isn’t working for me anymore. Now I see that if I’m too much for other people, that’s not my problem. They’ll just have to deal with it. Or not.

So, I’ve identified who I think I am and how who I think I am isn’t true. Now what? How do I let go of who I now know I’m not? This is where I’ve been stuck for the last few years on my healing journey.  I know that all I have to do is decide, but decisions are hard to make.

The etymology of the word decide is de- meaning off and -cide meaning to kill, so basically, decide means to kill off other options. And while making a decision to do something in your own best interest seems like a no-brainer, I think it’s hard to kill off the person you’ve believed you were for most of your life. Even though I don’t like her, I’m comfortable with her and I know her. I don’t know this other person, the one who is too much. I don’t know what she’ll do or if anyone will like her, but I have to give her a chance, because the other way isn’t working anymore.

So I decide not to play small anymore. I’ve killed off that option. I decide to allow myself to be too much, to be intense and passionate. I decide to have all the money I can spend. I decide to value my own damn self and allow myself to be the creative I so desperately want to be. And if you know me, you know that once I make a decision, that’s all she wrote. I decide to be the real me.

Revisiting Old Creations

November 5, 2012, I started a Tumblr account called stef begins again. It was supposed to be a 365 day challenge creating one thing a day – for me it was photography and writing – but it ended up being only about 60. It was meant to be a place to create just for myself, but I ended up trying to get others to read and interact with it and they never did, so I gave up. This tends to be my modus operandi. I’ve craved external validation my whole life and even though I actually think I’m a good writer, if no one validates my work, I use it as proof that my lifelong belief is true: I am not creative. Without the validation, what’s the point?

The point is to create something simply for me. Simply because I enjoy it. I can’t force people to read my writing. As Seth Godin says, once you put your work out there, it’s not yours to say what someone else does or doesn’t do with it. It’s like a gift. You give someone a gift because you want to, but you can’t control if they like it, if they use it, or if they give it away to someone else.

Anyway, for some reason, I decided to look at my Tumblr, which I haven’t done in years, and contrary to what I think or the number of likes and views I get, I enjoyed reading my own old writing. So I decided to share a little bit of it here. So here’s a little allegory I wrote when I first started working with a therapist. I’d write these stories, because I couldn’t talk about my feelings, but I could give them to The Girl.

The Girl In The Mountain

One dark December day, a baby girl was born.  Her family lived in a village on a high, lonely plain.  The baby girl was beautiful, with dark brown hair, big brown eyes, and two small dimples in her cheeks when she smiled.  Everyone loved the baby girl.

As the little girl grew, her legs became long and spindly, her nose outgrew the proportions of her face, and her teeth fell out and grew back in crooked and dark.  But unlike the other children in the village, this girl grew very fast and way too much.  She grew and grew until her awkward arms knocked the steeple off of the church and her heavy footsteps made holes in the ground.  Her voice was a loud wail that shook the walls of the village houses.  They laughed at her gigantic size and the way her clothes did not fit, as if they were made for a girl half her size.  The girl cried and begged for the people to quit laughing at her.  She told them she was just a normal girl who wanted to play with her friends, but they wouldn’t allow their children to play with her because they were afraid the children would be harmed.

Finally, the girl had had enough of the ridicule and she got angry.  Very angry.  She lashed out at the villagers and knocked down trees with the swing of an arm.  Her voice became loud.  So loud that the villagers had to stuff cotton in their ears to keep their eardrums from breaking.  

The villagers decided that they couldn’t risk having the girl destroy the village in her anger, so they devised a plan to lock her up outside of town, far enough away that her voice would only be low howl like the wind.  

The villagers told the girl that they wanted to take her outside of town where she could jump rope without destroying a row of houses.  They gave her a long, red jump rope but the jump rope didn’t have any handles, so they had to tie the rope around her wrists.  The girl was so happy, but before she could begin to jump rope, the villagers cut the rope and tied each end to the biggest trees they could find.  The girl became furious.  She struggled with all her might to break the ropes, but they would not budge.  She stomped and pushed with her feet until she drove her feet so far into the ground that the dirt covered her body up to her neck.  The only thing uncovered was her arms.  She screamed and cried and moaned and wailed.  The villagers realized that her cries would still be heard in the village so they took the girl’s scarf and tied it around her mouth so that her cries were muffled enough they wouldn’t be able to hear her.  Satisfied that their problem had been solved, they returned to the village and went about their usual business as if the girl had never existed.

The girl struggled until she was exhausted.  Finally, her anger was spent and she began to cry.  She cried rivers of tears, until her tears started to form a small rivulet, then a stream, then a creek, and finally a raging river.  The river became a wall of water that destroyed the village where the girl had been born.  She heard the cries of the villagers and that made her sad, but suddenly the wind changed direction and from behind her, the girl heard the most beautiful music she had ever heard.  The music moved her so much that her heart began to swell and beat like it would come out of her chest.  And as her heart grew and beat, it broke apart the dirt that held her captive and loosened the trees from the ground so that the ropes came free and she was able to remove her hands from their nooses.  With her hands freed, she removed the scarf from her mouth and she was finally able to breathe again.  She looked toward the village and saw that it had been washed away.  With nowhere to return, nowhere to call home, she turned around and walked toward the beautiful music.

Blank Page

I’ve said for many years that I believe I came here to heal my ancestors. We’re connected to our ancestors through our DNA. We still have DNA from distant relatives encoded in our bodies and I believe that a lot of the issues we struggle with are ancestral and deeply embedded.

I’m more attached to my maternal ancestry than my paternal, however, to my surprise, I realized that I had a very big belief that was handed down to me from my paternal great-grandfather, Uriah. This belief has not only affected me, but my father and his father as well and it affected us in a very significant way.

Uriah was what they call a dirt farmer. He was so poor that he couldn’t afford to irrigate his land and the land was so poor that, without irrigation, nothing would grow. And for a farmer, that’s kind of a big thing. The other farmers laughed at him and called him Hard Luck Jones and he believed them. He passed this belief on to his son, my grandpa.

Frank had better land and was slightly more successful, but he worked hard and was barely able to support his family. My dad, somewhat perversely, delighted in telling us his family was so poor, they couldn’t afford toys, so he used the bones of a chicken as his toys. His favorite “toy” was the car, which was the sternum with the cartilage removed.

My dad did slightly better, as well. He didn’t want to be a poor farmer, so he joined the Air Force and became a lab technician. But after that, he struggled to keep a roof over our heads. I believe he could have done more with his life and been a little happier, but he believed he was a victim of the Hard Luck Jones curse. He never tried. He never took any risks. Why bother, when nothing would work out for him anyway?

And then there’s me. I’ve heard that story my whole life. Every time we had chicken for dinner, he told the car story. I watched him struggle to keep jobs and saw how unhappy he was. I wish I could say I have done slightly better than he did, but I haven’t. I never thought that I believed I was next in line to be Hard Luck Jones, but I did very much believe I was a helpless victim of my upbringing.

I was never supported by my parents in anything that I did. I was never encouraged to pursue any of my dreams. In fact, I was actively discouraged. Whenever I told my dad of a new dream I had or a new something to pursue, he would tell me how hard it would be to get it. He told me I’d never succeed and it was better to be more realistic. That may have been true, but I might have tried with a little encouragement. Instead, all I was encouraged to do was “get a job”.

So, I’ve lived for 56 years as a victim. I’ve felt powerless to change anything. I jumped at whatever job came my way, because I had no ambition, no goals, no belief in myself. I felt that I was lucky to get the pittance that was offered to me and now, I have nothing to show for my life now.

However, lately, I’ve been hearing a lot of talk about taking responsibility for oneself. I roll my eyes, thinking, “I’ve been responsible for everyone my whole life.” And I have been. But not when it came to myself, because I was a victim of my shitty childhood. I was powerless, because no one believed in me. I didn’t understand what taking responsibility for myself meant, until I read this quote from Chris Do.

“Taking ownership and responsibility for everything that happens in my life was incredibly empowering. I am accountable for what happens. I am in control. I have agency over my life and decisions. I will take credit for my successes and failures. I will no longer feel helpless. I will never be a victim of my own circumstances again.”

He also said, “There are no victims, just volunteers.” Wow.

For some reason, what he said helped me to understand what taking responsibility for my life means. I’m not a victim. I’ve chosen everything that’s happened to me and I can choose to do things differently.

I’m starting a whole new chapter of my life in which I’m picking up the pen to write the rest of my story from a place of power. It’s scary, because I’ve never done this before and I’m not sure it will even make things any better, but as they say, if you keep doing what you’ve always done, you get what you’ve always gotten. Ain’t nobody got time for that anymore.

And with that, I am healing my ancestors. Not the ones I thought I was going to heal, but by letting my unconscious belief in the Hard Luck Jones curse go, I’m helping to heal my grandfathers. They deserve healing, too.

Is There A Next Right Thing?

(Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash)

When one can see no future, all one can do is the next right thing.

Pabbie the troll – Frozen 2

I felt really positive and hopeful yesterday, sure that this thing would be the change we – maybe even especially me – needed. Today, not so much. I watched the NBC Nightly News and Lester Holt called it “the horror” we are going through. I know they need to keep us informed, but why are they continually pushing our panic buttons? No more news for me. I’ll just stay in my hermit cave a bit longer.

If you believe in astrology and the energies of the universe, you’ve probably heard that this was predicted. Not the details, but the change and upheaval has definitely been talked about for a couple of years. They also say that it’s time for a big transformation and that people are being called up to lead us into the new way of being. I was hoping that this was my time to find my place in the world, my reason for being. And while people are already stepping up to bring a little light to this crappy situation, I’m still lost in the woods.

I keep hearing people say “We’re all in this together. You are not alone.” Bullshit. We may be experiencing the same thing, but some of us are very much alone. And forced isolation only makes matters worse. No matter how much I reach out, no matter how I try to engage, I am alone. Social media is only social for those who are famous or professionals in their fields. For nobodies  like me, there’s no chance to connect because I’m not important enough to warrant anyone’s attention.

According to The Blue Zones, Dan Buettner’s study of longevity hotspots, loneliness shaves 8 years off your life. I’ve been lonely most of my life. I wonder how many years that actually adds up to? I have family that I’m very grateful for and a tiyospaye that loves me by choice, but I still feel very much alone. They all have someone special, just for them. Who cares about them above all others. I don’t and never have. Yes. I may be having a pity party, but it’s still a party of one.

I was so hoping that this event in all our lives would be the time for me to overcome this loneliness and become a helpful member of society, but I don’t feel any closer to knowing what to do than I ever have.

I listened to my favorite astrologer today who said that the key was to figure out what you can do that can’t be automated or taken over by a big corporation and to find a way to support people, and work with people directly. That’s all well and good…if you have something to offer. I’m not sure I do.

The astrologers also say that we each chose to be here at this time to participate in this big transformation in some way. I’m really trying to believe that there’s a reason I chose to be here at this time. I hope being alone and lonely isn’t the reason.

So, this is where I am today. I’m sure it will change depending on the energies of the planets and their heavenly trysts, as well as how this all shakes out from day to day. When one can’t see a future, what is the next right thing?

Take a step, step again
It is all that I can to do
The next right thing

The Next Right Thing lyrics from Frozen 2

This Changes Everything

I don’t like the phrase “social distancing”. If I never hear it again, I’ll be very happy. I prefer the phrase “physical distancing”, because we can still be social, just not in the same physical space.

This whole “stay home” thing is an introvert’s dream and I can’t say that I don’t like it. Usually in spring, I come out of hiding, but it looks like that’s not happening for a while and I’m kinda bummed. I’ve been in my house for far too long already.

Anyway, I thought I’d write a few thoughts about this big change we’re going through. For one thing, I don’t think it’s a totally bad thing. Yes, I do think the virus is bad and that people are dying is a horrible thing. Obviously. However, I think it’s something that we needed. We have been going, pushing, driving, hustling, and consuming at a Mach speed for a long time and it’s just not sustainable. Despite the climate change deniers, we are destroying the only home we have with our greed and consumption and something had to stop it. Apparently, that something is a tiny virus called Covid-19. Who thought that a something so small could bring the world to its knees. We are being very harshly reminded of what is important: our families, our communities, and our planet. I hope we listen. I hope we haven’t pushed past the point of no return.

Another thing that the virus is showing us is that we’re all the same: rich, poor, black, white, brown, rainbow, politicians, not politicians. We can all get this virus. It doesn’t give a damn how much money you have or who you choose to love or what deity you choose to believe in or not. It’s a very powerful lesson we desperately need to learn.

On a personal note, I’m finding a lot of freedom in the directive to stay home. Contrary to what it looks like, I, too, have lived that push, force, hustle, go-go-go mentality, but it was mostly internal. I have been driven by guilt to think that I must always be working, whether it be at a job or cleaning the house or running errands. I never allow myself to do what I want to do or even do nothing, unless it has a reason. I can’t teach myself graphic design without the pressure of trying to figure out how to make money from it. I can’t allow myself to read, unless it’s to learn something that will benefit me financially. I can’t draw, because “I’ll never make money from drawing. I’m no artist.” I never allow myself to relax and just go with the flow of life. I’m always fighting and I’m tired.

This virus situation has allowed me the space to give myself permission to relax and go with the flow. I’ve been sleeping until my body says to get up. I’m reading a book just for fun! I’m going for long walks and swinging on swings. I’m eating when I want to, which is actually less than I used to. Instead of only doing hardcore workouts so I’ll lose weight and get in shape, I’m allowing myself to be gentler with my aching body and give it the yoga that it really craves. It’s a work in progress. I haven’t been creating as much as I’d like, but I’m not going to force it, because then it becomes work.

My intention this year was to embrace uncertainty and this is about uncertain as it can get. I don’t think that things can go back to “normal”. I believe things have changed permanently – hopefully for the better. I know that my own priorities have changed and even though I still have no clue where I’m going and what the hell I’m going to do next, I trust that I’m laying the groundwork for a bigger, better life for myself by learning to relax, surrender, and go with the flow.

And I have Covid-19 to thank for that.