A close up of a shimmering soap bubble. Science News, L. Shen
I feel it most in the mornings when I awake alone and wrapped in silence. The north-facing window is sometimes open having shimmied down on its own in the night, and I will myself from my warm nest to close it. The cool air hits me like a shot of gin and I retreat to my blankets. Just 15 more minutes, I tell myself, time to imagine being held by another, and then the doing can begin.
I reach for my phone.
Then it’s time for the day — the balancing of the this’s and that’s on my to-do list with a deep hunger for something more. The feeling dissipates but it never goes away.
It is this longing that keeps me under my covers. And it drives my incessant reaching (try as I might to create barriers) for empty connections that pop upon contact like rainbowed soap bubbles.
Please be slow and gentle
Inspired and efficient
Curious and kind
I’m already scared of the doing
I’m thinking about morning routines.
Specifically, how might I create an environment that would help me start the day feeling prepared, confident and motivated rather than drowning in the overwhelm and anxiousness I experience now. Many days after waking, I wish nothing more than to go back to sleep. I lie in bed petrified of the day ahead, willing myself into a thin dreamy fantasy that takes me away from the world and all its troubles, the mounting projects, competing engagements, and people who need my time. Sometimes I’m in this limbo for 10 minutes. When there’s a particularly challenging something, it’s more like an hour.
I wasn’t exactly terrified in this moment, but how perfect for illustration purposes?
Anyone else been feeling it lately?
I’ve been waking up in the night wrestling with fear – my least favorite feel. It’s the usual suspects: money, livelihood, housing, Trump. Nothing seems settled. Nothing seems sure. In these moments it’s like I’m on a flimsy inflatable pool raft (bought on sale at the local CVS), floating in the middle of a dark, formidable and very deep ocean. There is no one around. It’s nighttime. How will small frantic me ever get back to the sunny, inhabited shore? There’s not even a paddle.
I’ve missed you, and yet, some time away was exactly what was needed.
At home in Utah it snowed most of Christmas Eve and all of Christmas Day – big, soft flakes that settled on a quiet world. It was just my dad and I this year. We started the morning with meditation, then a leisurely breakfast and gifts in the late afternoon. The pace and stillness of the day was an obvious contrast to every Christmas morning past. I reminisced on the holidays of childhood when my sisters and I would eagerly bound down the stairs before sunrise to see if “he” had come – evidenced by a consumed glass of milk and always half-eaten cookie. “Santa must be so full of cookies by the time he gets to our house to only eat half,” I would think. Sometimes I’d venture outside to see if I could make out in the snow where his sleigh had landed on our roof. Most always I found the hoof prints of reindeer.
How I miss the confidence I had in magic in my youth.
This month I had an intuitive reading.
These happen with regularity in my world. I consider them like bumpers on a bowling lane warning of possible pitfalls along my path. Often after a reading I’m encouraged, inspired, and I feel more grounded. “Yes,” I believe “All of this is leading somewhere. I’m not spinning in vain.”
You see, on many days, because I’m outside the regularity of a 9-to5 gig, I feel like the bowling ball – rolling round and round seemingly going nowhere but sparkling all the way. These readings remind me there’s a much bigger lane beneath me and, low and behold, I’m hurdling down it. Whoa! Even better, the alley is full, and if I listen I can hear pins knocking and balls skidding all around. I’m truly not alone in this crazy game.
Awake into the wee hours of the morning, propped in bed with a laptop balanced on a pillow, my eyes danced over every square inch of the computer screen as Beyoncé gloriously took her baseball bat to car windows, swung her braided-up hair, bounced her breasts and flipped the bird.
I’m talking about Lemonade i.e. Queen B’s visual album which dropped this week, and made everyone put what they were doing down and watch slack jawed as she flipped it and reversed it.
It was as if we collectively felt the sound of a giant record scratch and all stood awkwardly in awe and faintly aware that something big was happening.
Never have I felt more connected to my fellow humans.
Writing is best done outside with a cup of tea.
When I begin any new writing project, I’m filled with fear
I doubt my capabilities
I question how I arrived in this predicament
What will come out?
Will it be any good?
Do I have anything original to say?
Why couldn’t I just be a numbers person and settle into a cush office job manipulating Excel spreadsheets? But alas …
These apples were sent from a friend in New England who delights in their tart crispness. While I also enjoy a good apple, I think they shine best in crisp form, (and honestly what’s a girl to do with 5lbs of apples) so that’s what they became this week. Let’s perhaps keep their fate a secret. I included two neglected persimmons which obscured by the bananas had become a bit too soft for regular consumption. This was a good idea.
Sweet cinnamon, crumbly, butter, apple, fall goodness. Several servings were inhaled before I remembered to snap this pic. It’s gluten-free, dairy-free and my primary reason for getting out of bed. Recipe here.
A mural taped to my kitchen floor is distracting me today.
It’s unfinished and will remain so until the eve of my birthday celebration when party attendees will add the finishing touches: messages of love, peace, prosperity and gratitude.
At dusk, we’ll parade through our neighborhood—the streets where Oakland and Berkeley tangle together—and tape our artwork to some to-be-determined neglected façade. There it will hang radiant and glorious until its more than likely rapid demise.
One section will be left blank for passersby to add their own messages of good will and inspiration.