Map for Price of Rocks

Zen and the art of losing it all

If you had asked me the day I was walking out of my job for the last time, after having been laid off, whether I would ever be grateful for that occurrence, I probably would have first laughed in your silly face, and then wanted to slap you across it.

Change is hard for me. Very very hard. I do not like things to change, I like them to stay the same, even when things are not as good as I know they can be. Even when things are making me very unhappy,  or even miserable, I resist any change at all. I like for things to be familiar, and I like knowing what to expect. I will go so far as to say that in the past I have valued stability over happiness.

But, I think I am changing my tune on that, because I am finally realizing that with every major life-change I have gone through, whether it was initiated by me or thrust upon me by outside forces, I have, without fail, come out happier on the other side.

Once the New Scary Thing becomes the New Normal, no longer something to adjust to, but accepted as my reality-- in other words, once I stop resisting the change-- I can very nearly always look back upon how things used to be and feel extremely grateful for the forces that acted to change that thing for me. Whether it was leaving a relationship or a job, I have rarely looked back and thought, "Damn, I really should have stayed in that place."

That's the thing, growth happens with change. And growth cannot be bad. It is, I would argue, inherently good. Perhaps I will even go so far as to say it is the entire purpose of life.

Today, I am so grateful for the freedom of time and opportunity afforded to me by my release from full-time work in a job that was draining the life force out of me. Granted, I am poor. So poor, poorer even than I have maybe ever been. And as I have mentioned here before, I have the extreme privilege of having family who is willing to help me out*, and the privilege of having a 401k that is in this very moment in the process of being cashed in (thank god for that.)

My point is that if you are living in a situation that you don't like-- for any reason at all-- and you can't seem to think your way out of it, stop and think about what is holding you there. For me, it was plain and simple: fear. I thought that if I left the job I hated, I would not be able to support myself and my kids (this part was partially true) and that I would become homeless (this part has, knock wood, not come to prove itself true as of yet.) In the gradual slide into the present that I have done since leaving that job, I can now see that those particular fears were unfounded, because I am getting along fine. I have few material possessions. I don't have a television or a dvd player, or an xbox, but absolutely none of that stuff matters to me. I have a bed to lay my head at night. I have food to eat. I have time to do my art. I have time to wake up slowly and to enjoy my days. I have this laptop that I am working on right now (one of my few possessions that I feel any sort of attachment to at this moment.)

Some days I still wake up in a panic, and wonder what the fuck I am doing with my life. I wonder if I can still count myself as a valid, functioning member of society if my only claim to "adulthood" is that I am a part-time student and a part-time pizza delivery driver. But even in that statement, I realize that my identity is ever-shifting. I have been a stay-at-home mother. I have been a full-time, working-mom. I have been a massage therapist and a yoga instructor. I have been unemployed. None of that stuff ever defined who I was as a person. I am an artist. I am a healer. I am friend, daughter, mother, sister. What I do for money (or how much money I have at my disposal) lo and behold, does not define my self-worth for me unless I choose to let it. How I treat my loved ones does. How I commit to my art does. How I set goals for myself and work towards attaining them-- that is something I can find pride in.

Whether I am on SNAP (food stamps) or whether I have state-sponsored health insurance for my kids, or how many dollars are in my pocket at a given time, or how much I owe to my creditors, do not get to define my worthiness.

I find it interesting that I had to, figuratively speaking, lose everything in order to find this out. I have a vast network of support, and I have the ability to forge new pathways at any given time, and I have the freedom I have dreamed of for the past nine years to define my days for the most part as I see fit. I have the time to be home with my son in the afternoons, and pick him up from school and help him with his homework and teach him how to cook dinner, and still do my own schoolwork, and I am not freaking exhausted all the time, on the verge of a nervous breakdown at any given moment from working myself to the bone. I place so much more value in that freedom of mind than in being able to go into Target and buy some random crap that I don't really need.

Sure, it would be nice to have financial freedom as well as time freedom. That's my next goal. It's a 15-year plan. In the meantime, I will take what I have and be jolly-well grateful for it. Because I know that I am better off than I was at this time last year, or the year before that, or the year...

I can sit here on a Sunday and I can write in my blog, and pack for my camping trip, and not feel that horrible pressure in my chest closing in on me, that I have to go to a place that I hate tomorrow and sit for nine hours  in a little cubical that makes me feel like I am wasting my life away, working for a boss and a cause that I don't care about one tiny bit.  I can take my dog for a walk and rest easy in the knowledge that only good things are coming. And when the inevitable next big change comes, I can look back at this writing and remember what it feels like when everything settles again.




*The thing about having family who are in a position to help me is not something I can ever overlook, and I am fighting an extreme urge to self-censor this whole post right now because I almost feel like I don't have the right to discuss the freedom of being underemployed when I basically have someone taking care of me financially, to the extent that they can. But the nature of this help is that I do not know when it will stop, and I know the pool is not never-ending. I am aware that it is a gift, that can be removed just as easily as it was given. 

**This post came out of a journal I had to write for my Developmental Psychology class.** 

First Year Adjustment Reaction

: A cluster of psychological symptoms including loneliness, anxiety, and depression, relating to the college experience. Particularly likely to be experienced by students who were unusually academically or socially successful in high school. Their sudden change in status during their first year in college may cause them distress. First-generation students, are particularly susceptible to difficulties during their first year of college. They may arrive at college without a clear understanding of how the demands of college differ from those of high school, and the social support they have from their families may be inadequate. :

Just discovered another phenomenon that made me feel like, ok, so that thing that happened to me? It’s completely normal- it happens to other people too. Somehow it feels amazing to be validated in seeing my own experiences reflected in a textbook…

When I first went to college, I was 17. I had graduated high school in 3 years, so eager was I to get away from my parents and my hometown. I had worked very hard in high school to get good grades and graduated top 5% of my class, earned a full scholarship to the state school of my choice, and I chose NAU to get as far away as possible from my parents/family. It wasn’t that my family was bad at all, I have very supportive and loving parents and siblings, but I was just so ready to be independent.

Or so I thought. After a semester of struggling to get through classes that felt over my head—some of which literally were over my head since I had been allowed to register for some 300 level classes—and struggling to find work in the small town my college was located in, and struggling because of the stress of breaking up with my boyfriend after I cheated on him during spring break, I was at my wits’ end. Midway through my second terms, I didn’t know how to pull my grades out of the pit they had plunged into. In danger of losing my scholarship, and without any support—I had made few friends during my first semester because I refused to live on campus in my eagerness to prove I was a “grown-up”—I decided to drop out and move back home. It was like I threw in the towel because it had become overwhelming to me, and I didn’t know that there were resources available to me. I didn’t know I could talk to someone on campus about my struggles. I didn’t even know that there was such a thing as a campus mental health center with free counseling services. I withdrew from my classes quietly, without telling my parents of my decision until after the fact.

From there, I had to call them for help. I didn’t have any money to get home and I didn’t have a vehicle to transport my belongings. I had moved to my new town with my boyfriend, in his car. By the time I was ready to leave to go back home, he had already left and I was alone, sharing a small two bedroom apartment with a couple who had decided that they hated me, for the previously mentioned cheating. I phoned my parents and desperately asked them to help me rent a U-haul on their credit card so I could pack my things and come home. I told them I was planning to re-enroll in college when I got back to Tucson. I wasn’t really sure that was my plan at the time, but I told them that because I thought it would be what they wanted to hear. The day I packed my U-haul, I had to get help from my no-longer friend, who was no longer speaking to me, in order to get some of my heavier things down the rickety stairs or our apartment building. The day I packed my things into my U-haul, it snowed. Again. It was April.

I was so ready to go home to the Sonoran desert with its flowers and its springtime and its friends (the few that hadn’t already left town for various colleges around the country, or embarked on world-travels.) I was eager by then to be back in the safety of my parents’ home.

When I got home, I unpacked my things and left them on a series of storage shelves in my brother’s bedroom. My little sister had already moved into my old room that I used to share with my other sister. There was no place for me. I tried sleeping on the couch for a while, but pretty quickly I got bored of sleeping on the couch and having nothing to do. I got back together with my boyfriend and found a job. Soon, we had moved into a new apartment on the opposite side of town from my parents. We felt happy, and I felt independent again! I started working with my sister at the bakery where she pulled some strings to get me a job.  A month later, I found myself pregnant.

My first thought was that I should clearly have an abortion, but my boyfriend was so excited to hear the news, and I knew that I wanted to be a mother. I knew I wanted kids with him. I wasn’t sure I was ready, and I was still struggling with the difficult choice, when I got a call from my boyfriend’s step-mom.

“Congratulations! We heard the good news!!”

My heart sank. How could he have told anyone when I still didn’t know if I wanted the baby? At that moment I knew I had to make a decision, quickly. I was already more than 4 weeks along, and I wasn’t really sure how long you could wait to get an abortion before it became dangerous, or even worse, morally questionable. I knew I had no moral qualms about terminating a pregnancy. I grew up with a mom who was of the second wave, and Ms. Magazine and Gloria Steinam were household names. But when I thought about giving up this baby, something inside me whispered, “No.” So I decided to keep it.

I had a great fear that if I were to abort this baby, something would go horribly wrong and I would never be able to conceive or carry a child again. This fear did not feel unfounded, though I did not know where it was coming from. It felt like more than a worry, but more akin to a voice from the other side, some magical being, or spirit whispering to me, you need to have *this baby,* not wait another ten years until you have finished school, as was your plan. And so we went through with the pregnancy. My father was upset with me when I told him. I was only 18, after all. But I was sure. And the rest of my family came around quickly. Soon, they were all eagerly anticipating the birth of this new little life that we had made.

******

I first went back to school after my second son was in kindergarten. I had since divorced, and gotten a pretty good job at the University, in a research facility as an administrative assistant. The benefits were good, and one of them was I could take classes for free. I started taking a class here or there, one night class at a time, at first. Then after a few semesters of that, I cut that out. It was too hard to manage with my two young children and working full-time. Plus I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I took three years off. Got married again, subsequently divorced. In the interim, I took a yoga teacher training. I had gotten a massage certification when my oldest was three. I thought I’d take those two things and make a business out of it. However, after my second marriage ended, I lost my job.

There I was, 38, no degree, my only marketable skills were a massage certification that I had no license to practice, a yoga teaching certification that I had no experience in teaching (I had decided shortly after finishing the yoga program that teaching classes “wasn’t for me.” And my ten years that I had spent doing various administrative and receptionist jobs. There seemed only one thing to do… I polished my resume and started flooding it out. I emailed everyone I knew and tried networking that way, asking all of my former colleagues and friends if they could help, if they knew anyone who was looking to hire someone like me. I felt pretty confident that I’d find another job soon enough. My parents helped me out with the rent. And then they helped me out again. A few months passed, and I had several interviews, but no call-backs. I kept applying. Soon, 4 months had gone by and I still had no job and no money coming in, other than what my parents were sending.

I knew that I had to make a new choice.  I decided to pursue the nursing degree that I had always thought of, with the intent of going for my masters in midwifery after I complete my nursing degree. And, I figured, with an RN, you can never go wrong. There will always be jobs available for someone with that skill-set. So, I enrolled at Rio Salado college.  Got a part-time job delivering pizza in the evenings, so I could be home with my son in the afternoons, and be able to drive him to school and pick him up without scheduling problems. I do my homework during the day. I’d like to me making more money, and maybe working a little more, but what I am bringing in right now covers most of my bills, except for my rent. My family has been helping me with that so far. Next term, I am going to either have to cash in my 401K (thank god for that) or take out a lot more student loans. I am thinking about becoming a driver for Lyft or Uber, friends say you can make better money with that than driving for the pizza place, and you can set your own hours.

My struggles currently involve things like making sure that I submit my application for food stamps on time every six months, and being the only adult in the household who drives a car. My oldest son is still living with me. He’s 19 and he doesn’t drive yet. He is still figuring out what he wants to do. It reminds me of myself at his age. I’m just glad he’s not fathering any babies yet.

Be Your Own Beloved-Inspiration

For the first time in my life, I am feeling like I have cultivated a deep well of compassion and love for myself. In yoga yesterday, I got into a really good groove, moving all kinds of energy around, breaking up the "fascia fuzz," as my teacher put it, and at the end of class, I was at the point of meditating on this feeling of deep gratitude that I was having. During meditation, I had this event, where my heart just opened up, like maybe there was a wall around it, and then there was a small crack and then the energy just got too big to stay contained in that little walled-in box anymore and it forced its way out, and I was consumed by the most intense feeling of being in love with myself. There is no other way to describe it. It was blissful and I felt more at peace than I have in a very long time.

And I realized in that moment that I was feeling a well of deep love for myself that I had been locked out of for a very long time. It felt exactly like falling in love feels, except that I had never experienced such a profound and intense sensation of love like that for MYSELF. I have felt it for other people many times throughout my life. It feels like the purest acceptance, unconditional love, no matter what that person may be presenting to me in that moment. I have felt it for my children. I have felt it for lovers, partners, spouses, friends. But never once have I felt that pureness of love directed only at my very being.

Our teacher had asked us to feel deeply into our hearts and choose something to be grateful for in this moment. I started by intentionally feeling grateful for a certain person who is in my life, who I recently started a new kind of relationship with. And from there, I realized that the reason I feel so good with this person is that I am able to express a certain part of my being that has lain dormant for a long time, maybe my whole life, in some capacity. There is a piece of me that gets to shine with this person, that hasn't been allowed to shine (that I have not been able to allow to shine, for various reasons-- the same ones, I am sure that we all have-- that baggage that gets packed around our hearts over a lifetime of hurts and small heartbreaks, violations, upsets, trials) that hasn't been able to shine for a long time, maybe since I was a little girl, when something awful happened to me. I think it's quite possible that a part of me has been quietly hating myself, eating me up inside, since that terrible thing happened, surely I blamed myself for it in some way. What I do know is that I have a new kind of feeling in my heart, and it's not about being in love with this other person. I was trying allow space to see why I felt so incredibly grateful for my time with this person, and I realized that it was because with them, I felt completely able to let a part of me be free, a part of me that has been dormant for a long time. In the safety that this person created around our interactions, I was able to access a part of my soul that had been locked away from me a long time ago, when the badness happened.

I wonder now if this is why I have struggled with depression for so long. I wonder too, if that hypnotherapy session that I had a few weeks ago allowed me to more easily access that part of me that is still innocent, still happy, still joyful and free. I am sure that it did, there is no need to wonder, it must be so. In the session, I went back to a place in time when I felt truly happy. I was able to sit with that version of me, and talk to her, cradle her in my arms, to enjoy the feeling of profound peace that she felt in that time, before the Bad Thing happened. My therapist told me at the end of our session that I'd be able to call upon this version of myself whenever I needed her, to be with me, to help me feel joyful and alive and free, whenever I was starting to feel down.

I remember that session vividly, and yet, when I had this new, sudden feeling of profound love come up for myself, I was not thinking of the hypnotherapy session. I was thinking of the gift of being given a space to express one of the truest parts of me, by the person I mentioned above. It was such a surprise to then have that feeling of gratitude transfer to myself, and become a feeling of gratitude to me, for allowing myself to be seen, to be vulnerable in this way that ultimately ended up being so confirming for me.

I'd like to express to this person, right now, just what all of this feels like, and to give them my deepest thanks, but I am choosing to let the words typed here suffuse into the ether, because I believe that it will be heard in due time.

Most of all I am grateful to myself for doing the intense work that I have been doing for so long to get me to this point of being able to feel this amazing love well up within me. I'm reminded of a clip from the comedian Louis CK, where he says that when we can feel the deepest sadness, the deepest darkness within ourselves, really feel it, only then can we in turn feel true happiness and joy. I am reminded of the genius of this man who presents himself as this sort of sad clown to the world, making us laugh at him, or ourselves, who is truly a genius of the human condition. And I am reminded that to be vulnerable in a public way like he does has a value that cannot be underestimated. We need the artists like him, like me (yes, I just compared myself to the world-renowned genius Louis CK) to help us see that we are never alone in our darkest moments. And, that our happiest moments come from within us. We are the purveyors of our own happiness.

In the words of my spiritual teacher, Robin Hallett, which she posted to Facebook this morning,
"We have to decide, choose. Decide that inner happiness is your one true goal. We must choose that this above all else is what will help us in every circumstance." 

**The title given to this post is also the title to a campaign that was started by Vivienne McMaster, a wonderful teacher who can be found on Instagram @viviennemcm and on the web @ viviennemcmasterphotography.com. 

My beautiful yoga teacher who always inspires such great things in me, is Kim Bulloch. She is fun and funny and deep and inspirational and she gives great hugs!  

“There are moments, when you’re getting to know someone, when you realize something deep and buried in you is deep and buried in them, too. It feels like meeting a stranger you’ve known your whole life.” -Leah Raeder

Morning pages- "Live, live, live" & the hummingbird who comes to say hello

Life is such a weird journey, don't you think? I'm just sitting here at my kitchen table (I call it my "kitchen table" but really it's in my living room. It's where I eat and study, and even-- from time to time-- craft. It's my dining table, it's my desk. But when I name this table in my head, I always think of my childhood kitchen table, which was literally in the kitchen, where so many important family meals happened, so many breakfasts with little pastries cut up to share, so many holiday meals and every day meals. But I'm getting off track.) I'm sitting here at my table, getting ready to start my day, and doing a little morning meditation with Robin Hallet I'm thinking about how badly I felt yesterday. How low down I was, how absolutely sure I felt in that moment that life was just completely awful and I was never going to feel good again. How exhausted. 

And, depression IS exhausting. That's the thing. I think that even when we have an awareness that this feeling isn't going to last forever, it's the exhaustion of feeling that way, *in that moment* that feels so completely and overwhelmingly terrible, that we just want it all to end. It feels like, in that moment of sitting in the darkness of our mind, that absolutely anything would be better than this. We are thinking, "Whatever comes in the afterlife, I'll take it over this feeling I am having right now."

And then, today, it's a little bit different. A little bit better. In fact, for most of yesterday, it was a lot better. After I let myself lay around on the couch and wallow in it for a few hours, I got up (because I had to go to work) and I didn't feel so bad anymore. I actually caught myself genuinely smiling at people during my shift. I caught myself stopping to just feel the breeze on my skin at dusk. I felt thankful that I get to have a job that takes me outside. Let me say that again: I felt thankful. In the morning yesterday, when I was feeling so terrible, I could not imagine feeling thankful, because I was so engulfed in feeling bad. The bad feeling overwhelms the mind to the point that you can't imagine ever feeling good again, and that's why depression steals so many lives. 

But, I am determined not to let this thing get me. I am feeling strong today, not sad. I am feeling- if not ready to take on the world- at least a bit more myself. And I am writing this here in case anyone else is in the darkness today, and feels like nothing is ever going to feel okay again. It will. I promise. 

If you are not familiar with the online project Stay Here with me, you should know that it is a site that offers online support for depression and suicidality. Maybe they have something there to offer you. All I am thinking today is the line at the end of the Madness Vase, where Andrea Gibson says, "Live, live, live." 

I have that line on a poster that I bought when I went to go see Andrea perform last year. It hangs in my bedroom. At the time that I bought the poster, I wasn't familiar with the poem, but I knew that seeing those words every day might be helpful sometimes. 

This morning while I sat here writing, a humming bird flew up to my aloe plant outside my window and hung out for a bit trying to get a drink from her flowers. I thought about how I might get a hummingbird feeder and hang it there, near the tree, for when the flowers are all fallen. I like having the birds visit outside my window. Just a few weeks into spring and the flowers are already falling, they don't last long around here. I feel like making plans is a good sign, meaning that I want to keep on sticking around. 

**I'm amazed at how much shame still comes up when I write about depression. But for so many years I suffered in silence because of that shame voice being so loud. I'm not going to do that anymore. If my writing, my voice, can help one person feel less alone, then I have done my job. This post is a little scattered, a little all-over-the-place, but that's where my brain is today. I've got to go do some homework (which ironically, I have to leave the house in order to do.) So it's time to take a shower and go to the place where I do that. Blessings on your day. <3 

I was struggling to come up with a title for this post and my brain said, "The Madness Vase," but then I thought, that is already a thing, so I Googled it, and sure enough, it's an Andrea Gibson Poem.

April 6, 2015

I’m in the hole again. Depression feels like being swallowed by a gaping hole that is slowly eating you from the inside. This hole could be called, simply, the Black Hole, but I feel like it’s important to name it what it is. For the sake of those who never had a name for what they felt. For the ones who gave in before they learned that it wasn’t their fault. That their grandmothers and their mothers suffered from the same darkness. Illness. Sickness. That it was a sickness. Not some failing on their part to do the right thing, or to be the right way. Some failure to be happy. Some failure to understand something vital that lets people get through this life without feeling like it is trying to kill them every day. Like leaving two husbands because you think that you would not be so sad all the time, if only your husband was nicer to you. Like leaving jobs because you think if only you liked your work you wouldn’t wake up wishing you didn’t have to get out of bed ever again. Like walking to your fridge to get something and collapsing on the floor for a half an hour sobbing, leaning against the wall and staring at last night’s dishes while tears stream down your face and your cries sift out of the open windows, because it is spring. Depression feels like not caring that it is spring. Or that the sun is shining, or the moon is full. Like thinking that everyone who loves you would be better off without the burden of you. Like you would be better off if you didn’t have to wear the heavy cloak of this life anymore. Like nothing is ever going to be easy and you are tired of the struggle. Tired of struggling all the time. It feels like smoking is a good option, but it’s not fast enough.

Depression sounds like a silent voice, incessantly screaming in your ear that you are worthless. Maybe you can find a way to quietly end it. Just go away from here. Your kids will be fine, they have other family who will take good care of them, better care than you can. Whispering, whispering, Maybe you could just quietly end it…Find a way. Depression is an evil mistress. A temptress, constantly luring you to the other side. A tricksy devil, saying this way leads to no more pain, over here. Come over. Trying to make you forget that if you exit this plane early you’ll just have to take another flight. 

This IS a cry for help. Despite the voice insisting loudly, “This is NOT a cry for help.”

Art credit: Mind Devour by Sebmaestro

Depression sounds like a voice that won’t stop repeating lists of all the things wrong you have ever done. All the bad choices you have made that have led you to this moment. Depression never forgives transgressions, unless they were made by someone else. Depression thinks that you are pretty much the worst person ever. Depression doesn’t care that you are a wonderful mom or that you made pancakes just yesterday. Depression doesn’t care that you are a hard worker. Depression just wants to point out that there’s no milk again and you failed to find a good enough job and the food stamps don’t come for another week. Depression and poverty are good mates. Depression always saunters in when you are feeling worst about your finances. Depression says, you’re a fuck-up. You’ll never amount to anything. Depression is a thief. Even when you have been doing really well, really working on all the things you are supposed to be doing, depression says haha, fuck you. You’re an idiot, you think that any of this is going to make a difference? You’re going to be poor and alone forever. You might as well quit.

Depression has a loud voice. He is hard to drown out. I don’t know why depression is a He, but he feels male to me. Sometimes the only thing that will make him shut up is going to sleep. So I do. I’m thankful that I never got into substance abuse, because I am sure that would be another way to get depression to be a little quieter for a while. I’m glad that I never found a bottle of pills that screamed, "Try me! I’m good at making things shut up."

I’d rather hear depression’s abusive, awful speech about how much I suck, than take something that makes him shut up.

Well no, I’d rather there was something that would make him shut up that wouldn’t have a worse effect than actually just letting him go on his rants.

I’d rather he just go away and let me live. I’d rather care about spring. And school. I’d rather not think that my kids would be better off without me around. I’d rather have a heavy dose of self-love, a voice that says, hey man, you’re doing a bang-up job. Keep it up! Or a voice that said, I know that things are hard right now, but they are going to be better, I promise.

This is not a cry for help. Except that it is. God, please let me get better. Let depression get in a shiny blue convertible and drive away from here, leaving me in peace. This is my cry for help. This is me on my knees, begging please, help me get out of my own way. Help me, set me free. Please, I beg you. 

Coming Back to Self, again and again

My blogs always come back to yoga in some form or another. Or god, or the God-self. Some form of this always sneaks in, no matter what I am trying to focus my writing on.

This morning I posted to Facebook that I hadn't been to yoga in three weeks. The thing I didn't say on Facebook was how every single day during that interim, I would wake up and think, I'm going to go to yoga today. And then I would instead not do it. I would tell myself that I needed to practice, that I wanted to practice, and then I would instead choose not practice.

Why do we do this to ourselves? We avoid the very things that we know are going to help us feel better. I wonder if, for me it is in part an addiction to feeling bad. I know that sounds counter-intuitive. I mean, who doesn't want to feel good? I like feeling good! I know that I am more productive, more able to be of service to others, when I am feeling good in my body and my mind.

And yet, sometimes I find myself in these self-destructive cycles. In this case, my self-destruction looked rather mundane from the outside. I wasn't going out and drinking every night at the bar, I wasn't smoking two packs a day (although I will admit I did buy a pack of cigarettes and I did smoke the whole thing over several days. And then I bought another one.)

What I was doing was sleeping too much. Not feeding myself healthy foods that I know make me feel good. And watching seemingly endless marathons of Downton Abbey. (I'm on season 4, after which I will have no more to stream for free on Amazon Prime-- whatever will I do to turn my mind off and avoid life then?) I was avoiding my friends, feeling sorry for myself, wondering why no one ever calls me, and sitting around at home eating cookies. I wasn't in a total depression. I was still engaging in the parts of life that were absolutely necessary for my continued survival. I was doing my school work, and making it to my job, and taking the boy to school at the proper times and even making sure that he was getting the right kinds of nutrition, most days. I got sick (very likely due to the smoking binge) and was administering herbal remedies to myself in order to get better. I was telling myself that sleeping a lot was helping me get better, and maybe it was. Maybe I needed this little bit of hibernation time, to let something in me heal itself.

But I wasn't engaging with my life in a way that felt good to me. I was withdrawn. I wasn't doing my spiritual practice, I wasn't writing. I started this blog, but I wasn't feeling very excited about it, and I wasn't sharing it with anyone. I put it up in hopes that, maybe someone would notice it and comment (notice me!) but I wasn't willing to really put myself out there and make myself seen. And that, in its essence, is what my yoga practice is about, what my spirituality is about. At its core, I would go so far as to say that is what my life is about.

This morning I finally did manage to drag my asana (as my friend and teacher Kim would say) out of bed and make it to a yoga class. When I arrived in the studio, the first thing I heard was Kim interrupting her conversation to say, "Is that an OMY I see?" I could hear the smile in her voice even before I saw her. And when I walked over to her to greet her, she said with a big grin, "I called you." I looked at her, questioning. I hadn't gotten any phone call from her recently. She meant that she had thought of me this morning, wondering why I hadn't been showing up for class, and that she had spiritually called me to come. Whether you buy into that or not doesn't really matter to the point of my story. The point is, she immediately made me feel seen. Kim's acknowledgement that I hadn't been showing up on the mat-- rather than making me feel badly for all the weeks I stayed in bed and ate cookies-- made me feel uniquely appreciated. Just by saying, "I'm excited to see you here today!" she validated my arrival in a way that made me feel (if I didn't already know) that I was in the right place. That these are my people, even if many times I don't even know the names of most of the students practicing next to me. I belong here.

At one point in our practice, Kim had us doing a pose that required us to face first in one direction and then the other on our mats. Since we were moving with our breath at our own pace, at some moment or another, it was inevitable that we would end up face to face with the person next to us. Kim acknowledged that this had the potential to make people feel awkward. Staring a stranger in the face can be an odd or off-putting feeling. But instead of letting us linger in that discomfort, or just avoid making eye contact, she said, "When you meet someone eye-to-eye, stay there and say 'I see you.' Say it in the way that means not just, I see your physical body here in front of me. But in the way that means, I see your being-ness. I see that you are the physical manifestation of the god-body. We are all gods and goddesses, just playing around in human form." I am paraphrasing her quote, because I don't remember the exact words she used. But the next time I was face to face with the woman next to me, our eyes met for a brief moment, and I could see her saying to me through her eyes, "I see you. I see your humanness. You are that."

I get tears in my eyes as I write this, because how many times throughout our busy days or weeks do we stop and really see the person standing in front of us, at the checkout counter at the grocery store, or across from us at the dinner table. Maybe, if we are lucky in love, we have a partner who sees us in this way, on a daily basis. But what is important to me today is to remember that we can extend this feeling beyond our lovers, beyond our families, our children, or our closest friends. We can stop and truly see the stranger we are interacting with. We can stop and give ourselves this same consideration in the mirror. We can acknowledge that we are all god-bodies, playing around in human form.

I am grateful this morning for the opportunity to practice, again. Always, when I come back to my mat after an extended absence, I have an opportunity to see the world through new eyes. And for that, I am grateful. For my teachers, and their teachers before them, I am grateful. For the woman who looked into my eyes this morning and saw me, I am grateful. And for my own wisdom, getting me to the mat again, even when it felt hard to get there. I am grateful.

This yoga is the thread that weaves through all my days. When I lose hold of it, I feel like I am not quite alive, I feel like I am moving through thick syrup, pushing my way through each day, slugging my way through. My mind becomes a fog. This morning I feel, for the first time in a long while, that fog is lifted. I feel truly alive again. For that I am so grateful. 

Let's talk about finances...

Present me is thanking past me right now, because I got my tax return today. I am so grateful that when I had a good job I socked away all that extra cash in the po' people's governmentally-sponsored savings account. This money is allowing me to pay all my bills that are due right now, plus pay back some family who have helped me out during this slump, plus I now have the extra assurance that my rent is paid for the next two months.

That is such a huge relief right now, as I have been riding on this very thin wire of, "Oh, things will get paid some way." Hustling to get the bills paid, not ever really sure if my rent is covered until someone/something swoops in and saves me at the last minute. Since I am working part-time right now, I am earning somewhere in the range of 45% of my monthly expenses. Without the help of some very generous family members I would not have been able to stay in my home, and for those people I am VERY grateful.

This is not to say that I have not been trying to find gainful employment, but that is another post for another day. I've been on something like 20 job interviews in the past several months and applied at over 90 places. I'm currently taking a break from applications to reset my intention. I think I have pretty clearly tapped the well of administrative jobs in Phoenix that pay anything close to what I need to cover monthly expenses, so I am looking at other avenues. I told my sister I would be taking the massage therapy exam so I can get my license back and start doing massage again, possibly at a spa or yoga studio. The only thing holding me back from doing that for the past two months was the cost of the licensing exam, so now that I can cover that, I need to get on it.

Which means that I need to start studying for the test. Anyone of my friends who has a good grasp on anatomy/physiology want to come over and quiz me? It's been a few years since I last took the exam (like twelve, to be exact) so I could use the help. I'm sure with a little brushing up, I will do fine. I'm a good test-taker.

Another thing that has been going on is that I am struggling to get my oldest to get a job. Before, when I was gainfully employed, I wasn't too worried about it. I figured he would get a job when he felt like it, and I wasn't pressuring him to hurry up and do it. I don't really give him money for anything, and neither does his dad at this point. I figured when he got tired of not having cash to buy new clothes or go and do fun things with his friends, he'd find a job. Now, it's to a point where I need him to have work to contribute to the household. He has been living off of us for 19 years, and it's time for him to start paying back for some of that free room and board. He knows that once he has a job he will be paying rent and contributing to the monthly grocery budget. He seems entirely happy with that arrangement, but it's been a matter of getting him to go pick up job applications, and then fill out those applications, and now to go back to those places and turn in the applications. Today we have an appointment to go drive around and drop off the apps he has so far picked up. I think his chances of getting a job are pretty good once he turns in some applications. He has a good resume, from taking part in several clubs and volunteering while he was in high school. He was a full-time student last semester, but this term he is taking fewer classes, so now he has time to work.

I've just stepped away from my laptop to try to let this post sink in a bit and see if I could come up with a tidy way to wrap it up, but I haven't yet. So I'm just going to hit post. I'm sure eventually, this blogging thing will come more naturally and I will have neat and tidy little endings for my posts, but that's not right now. And I'm okay with that.

And so we begin

I had the idea to start another writing blog, which seems a bit like all of the other ideas I get lately, which is to say that I start things and then I don't follow through, or that I start things and then I cannot seem to focus on just one aspect of what they are supposed to be. Or that I start things and then I get bored.

But then I received an issue of The Paper Plane Zine, and I realized that I have already made an issue of my zine, Olly Olly Oxen Free, and that I can make a blog based on the zine, and then also make another issue of the zine, and then post things from the zine here on this blog. I have been feeling the desire to create something lately, which is most likely spurred by my desire to procrastinate working on school stuff. Also, though, I have a need to connect to people, and a need to make words that are read by other people, and I have not been doing enough of that lately.

I used to write on Livejournal every day, which would often generate comments from my friends (real-life and internet-based). When I stopped feeling like that was a safe space for me to write freely, I started writing more poetry, and posting fairly often to my poetry blog . And then I submitted work to Rebelle Society and it got accepted! Before that I had kept a blog for a while, loosely about yoga, over here. And somewhere in there I started a holistic body-care product business and made a real, professional (Square Space) website for it, right here. And then the online store on Squareup followed that.

And then, months went by, and I didn't write anything for public consumption. I worked on my memoir, in private, and knowing that I am not ready to share that with the world yet, except maybe perhaps in small pieces-- a chapter at a time, maybe-- I have realized that I need another project. I would also like to have a place to point people online to read some of my work.

Recently I came across an ad for a food-writer for the New Times, and I let that opportunity pass me by, even though I thought it would be the perfect job for me to start having some work published! The reason? Because I didn't think that I had an adequate writing sample to send them. That is of course bollocks, considering I have been writing blogs and poems and LiveJournal entries for the past thirteen years, consistently.  But I read the words "writing sample" and I thought that it would have to be something that had been published, in order for it to be considered. I also thought that it would necessarily have to be about food. (Although that would probably have helped my chances, not submitting anything clearly harmed my chances, to the point of them being non-existent.) So, in order to prove to myself that I can not only start something, but also stay with it, and in order to get myself to write more consistently, and in order to feel like I am committing myself to something outside of studying for school (which is in and of itself a major time-commitment) I am creating this *brand new* blog. For the zine!  

There is a very good chance that I just like things that are new and shiny. So I will look at this as an experiment. If I can stay with it for six months, posting to it once a week, I will be satisfied that I am able to stick with something even after the shiny wears off.