I scribbled the words excitedly in my journal like a 15 year old writing about her new crush. So profound. Or was it? I can never tell if these thoughts that occur to me in the shower, or while driving around town, or while I’m half-watching Law & Order: SVU and half-making an imaginary grocery list. (Does anyone else do that? I’d imagine it’s a normal part of life as a mom/household manager/toddler wrangler.)
Anyway… beige. The walls in our apartment are beige. I don’t mind it. It’s not particularly exciting, but it’s fine. Beige is a neutral – one of the blending colors. It’s a color that allows all the other decor to be seen. Beige is a good background because it isn’t memorable or noticeable. It does not stand out.
Don’t be beige is my new motto. So what exactly do I mean when I say, “don’t be beige”?
I mean show yourself. Reveal who you are. Don’t be afraid to live your life at full volume because you think someone else won’t like your song. In order to live a fulfilled life, you need to in full glory and magnificence, without any care for what anyone else thinks.
I think that people are comfortable being beige. Beige isn’t scary. I get that. They feel beige is safe. It’s polite. It doesn’t offend. I tried to be beige, I tried to please people, tried to blend, tried to step back so others could have the attention. While blending in and being beige may make others comfortable, ultimately living life this way ends in disappointment and regret.
Two major things I noticed while I was consciously camouflaging myself:
There is no benefit to me. – I gained nothing from stepping back, dimming my own light or quieting my passion. Literally nothing good comes from silencing my voice so that someone else can speak. I get no life experience, meet no new people, and receive no praise because no one sees me. And ironically trying to please others didn’t make them like me more ore less.
There is no benefit to others. – The people who shine do that because of who they are. Colorful, magnetic, fun, talented. My beige-ness didn’t accentuate them. It only hid me. Worse, being beige causes me to miss out on contributing to the world in a way that only I can.
When I realized I wasn’t being my authentic self, I made a choice to be more colorful. I spoke up when I felt passionate. I accepted invitations to parties. I wore the sexy dress without worrying what someone else might think. Creatively, I have so much to give, and expressing that through writing, podcasting, and other venues allows me to contribute something tangible to the world. My kids see me being silly and it shows them that they can be silly too. I follow my own rules and beat my own drum and in the same way, peers and friends hear me telling my story and they are emboldened to tell their own. It’s a beautiful domino effect.
These days, I have renovated my soul. There is no beige. I am memorable. I stand out. I am not a neutral, because I have a voice and I’m not afraid to be seen, and my home – and my whole world – is so much more colorful.
“…the future is beautiful, alright? Look out the window. It’s sunny every day here. It’s like manifest destiny. Don’t tell me we didn’t make it. We made it! We are here. And everything that is past is prologue to this. All of the shit that didn’t kill us is only… you know, all that shit. You’re gonna get over it.” – Rob (Ron Livingston), Swingers
I’ve been thinking a lot about destiny. What it is, what it means, how it works.
Every day when I pull a tarot card or cards for the day, I journal them. Sometimes at night I just play with the cards, trying to get a feel for them and for reading. Last night I pulled some cards not to journal, but because I wanted an answer about something.
One of the cards that popped out was the Wheel of Fortune card (from the Wild Unknown Deck). It’s a gorgeous card, messy and colorful and full of meaning. At the top, a crescent moon and stars. The man picture of the card resembles a Native American medicine wheel that’s been made from yarn and twigs. A colorless sun shines beneath the wheel. An owl sits perches atop the highest twig branch.
The meaning of this card is heavy. As a 10 card it represents completion – the end of a cycle. The Wheel itself represents change rolling in, sometimes good and sometimes uncomfortable, but always necessary. I see this card as a positive one, as change brings growth and growth leads us to our highest good. In the guidebook, it says the Wheel of Fortune is the card of Destiny.
Long after I’d pulled the cards and studied them, I kept thinking about the concept of Destiny. Is it something that happens, or something that just is? Does it happen to us or for us? Do we all face our destiny, do we create our destiny, do we have the power to change our destiny (because free will is obviously a thing).
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the truth of the wheel is much simpler than that. I hopped out of bed, grabbed my journal and a pen, and scribbled:
“What if it’s less about finding destiny or destiny happening to us? What if I AM destiny?”
Boom. Lightning moment for me. What if I – what if we all – have much more power than we believe, or were told, or have ever imagined possible, over our future and how our lives play out?
Maybe destiny is something that, on the path to spiritual enlightenment, we begin to meld with? To have the thing, we must BE the thing, right? To have joy, we must be joy. To have love, we must first be love. This is how we match vibration and allow things to become true in our lives.
So… what if to activate a certain destiny, to realize our fate, all we have to do is become it? Similar to a choose your own adventure novel, where one path leads to page 24 and another leads to page 116 and we get to decide our own ending. What if that’s been the point all along? Through shadow work, meditation, visualization, inspired action, learning, teaching, growing, loving, laughing, experiencing, and believing before we see, we both sketch out or own future – which is fluid and in motion, like the Wheel – and then step into it?
I’m working on a book. It’s a pretty involved process, and I am learning a lot as I go. Thrilling, exciting, and … anxiety inducing. Talking about the anxiety that used to run my life kinda makes me jittery. I wouldn’t exactly say it’s a relapse, as much as it is recalling some of the old triggers that sent me into a tailspin.
The last few days I have been thinking a lot about religion in my life. Growing up Catholic and attending a Catholic school, I took it all very seriously. I took for granted it was all true. Even later, as an adult in the Southern Baptist church, I was a player in an elaborate game of Follow the Leader, even though many times I had no idea who that was or where we were supposed to be going.
Eventually my husband and I had a falling out with our church – or, more specifically – our faith. I have read accounts of others who have moments in their lives similar to what we had – an awakening, a change, growth, transition, you might even call it spiritual death, triggered by a great trauma or catastrophe. For others, it’s the opposite, and such an event actually moves them towards the church.
Seeking answers, seeking truth. Looking all around us for anything that makes sense when all that is comfortable and familiar has crumbled. I think it’s human nature to want to assign a higher meaning to things that are tragic, and I certainly did. When what I call the Terror came into my life, I learned pretty quickly what Christians do. My friends, my Sunday School mates, they supported us. One bought us groceries, one encouraged me to read my Bible when I was afraid, another class donated money so that our bills would be paid. It was lovely to feel so encouraged in a hard time, and it lasted about two weeks.
The Terror would last much longer than that, and as our time of hardship wore on, the Christianity wore thin. Our friends lost patience with us. They withdrew their assistance. Life goes on, right? Some of them encouraged my husband to take the kids and leave me. Some said to have me committed. One person told me, quite matter-of-factly, that the things that were happening to me would not be happening, were my faith only strong enough. Pray more. Really mean it. If it doesn’t help, you don’t really mean it. Suddenly, I felt all alone in this “family”. It was as if I had spiritual leprosy, and the entire community took a collective step back from me so as not to catch it.
Looking back, it was a gift. These people who removed themselves from our circle, and pushed us out of what was known and comfortable, forced us to explore other possibilities than the ones we had blindly clung to for so many years. I started reading things that had previously been “forbidden” to me, started considering possibilities that I had always dismissed as impossible and ignorant. I used to pity people like me, people who didn’t worship Jesus and meet up at church to talk about all the ways we were going to save the world.
Out of necessity and desperate for relief, I began researching alternative therapies. There’s actually a pretty thin line between medicine and religion, and as I learned about healing the body I also found out a lot about alternative spiritual practices. Meditating, EFT, chakra balancing, crystals, astrology, numerology, reiki, essential oils, burning sage, prayer bowls and beads and moon ritual and tarot cards and more have made their way into my consciousness and I am a better woman for it. I walk barefoot and talk to the moon if I feel like it. When I talk about animals and spirit guides, no one makes fun of me.
The irony is, by taking the first step into a spiritual truth that feels so much more aligned with who I am, for the very first time I am actually changing the world. If everyone had the courage to be their authentic, unapologetic selves, the world would be a different place entirely. Now, I feel free. I am growing in new and exciting ways, without limits and without guilt. New and trustworthy friends have filled the voids left by the people who couldn’t deal with our pain. Best of all, by dipping my toes into a spiritual ocean I had never been allowed to visit previously, I feel united with every other person in the world.
Losing my religion became the catalyst for finding myself. I’m a better wife and a better mom because I no longer operate from a place of “not enough”. Instead of trying to force myself to fit into someone else’s box, I’ve broken free of all the boxes and I make my own way. I am more than enough. I am everything I was created to be.(Yes, I still believe in Creator/Source.)
The path I am on is one of total joy and truth. I have met so many fascinating and kind people. I continue to learn about other beliefs, world religions, and I feel connected to my fellow man. There is no judgement or pity in me for them. Instead, there is love. REAL love. Unconditional love. I am stronger, genuine, and aware. Where once my life was a nightmare, it’s now a dream. I am finally awake.
Did you see it? Did you notice them? Were you, like my family, standing outside, looking up, ignoring the icy cold in order *hopefully* catch a glimpse of something magical?
We stood in the parking lot, the four of us, looking up. We laughed and talked and danced. Yes, we danced to stay warm. We counted twinkles, identified constellations, and hugged each other while giggling about the possibility that if we kept our gaze up long enough, our necks might get stuck this way.
We connected and played and enjoyed each other, imagining dragons as we exhaled smoky white clouds of breath. We talked about distant planets and galaxies and the undiscovered life that might be staring up at us at the same time. There were jokes about aliens, stories of great Roman warriors who now live among the stars, and scientific questions about just what those stars are made of and why they appear to twinkle.
I saw one! I was looking in the right place at the right time, and I saw a star go from here to there, ever so quickly and quietly. Before I could point it out to anyone, it was gone. I mumbled a belated wish to the heavens, but the truth is that in that moment, with my tribe, I was already living my best life. What else could I ask for?
The Gemenid meteor shower came and went, and we lugged our chilly bodies up the stairs to our front door and into the warm, welcoming space we currently call home. Each of us tiptoed like baby birds to our respective nests, and without any more mention of stars, prepared for bedtime.
As I lie in bed waiting for sleep to come, I realized the depth and importance of what felt in the moment like goofiness…
Moments like this are what make childhoods worth reminiscing on. Moments like this become memories that will amuse us, comfort us, remind us for the rest of our lives of the happy, silly time we had “that night”, looking up at the sky, cracking up at what the neighbors must be thinking about us, musing that we might be waiting for our mother-ship to come and whisk us away to the next universe. (Did we bring towels?)
Yes, the stars showed up and twinkled brightly for us, but it was we who brought magic to the night.
My son sprained his ankle yesterday at school. He didn’t tell anyone and the teacher didn’t see, so no one called me. When he got home, he told me all about his day but he didn’t mention his injury. In the evening, when he was winding down, he finally mentioned his foot pain. After some interrogation I got the story and proceeded to perform Mommy Triage. Everything seemed ok, just a bit swollen, so I gave him Motrin and an ice pack.
Everything was fine.
An hour or so later, my son walked over to me and began to cry, almost inconsolably. He was cold, he said. So cold it hurt and he couldn’t get warm. I took his temperature, expecting a fever, but what I saw was the opposite. His temperature was dropping. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch. I carried him, still crying, back to his bed.
As a mom I feel like I’m constantly walking a line between not reacting ENOUGH and TOTALLY FREAKING OUT. There is not much in between for me, unfortunately for my calm, collected, level-headed husband. Husband, of course, thought our son was overreacting, but I had a feeling he was telling the truth. His tears, hot and streaming down his face, were real. The fear on his face was real.
Externally, I tried to comfort him by saying things like “It’s going to be OK”. Internally, I was making a list of who to call, what to ask, and what to pack for the hospital. I called my mom, who is a nurse, and with her guiding me, checked his pulse, his temperature, examined his body for bruising, and put a heating pad in his bed to help him get warm. After watching a couple of episodes of Transformers on Netflix, he fell asleep. I took out the heating pad and left the room, still feeling some anxiety in my gut.
I checked on Emmett every two hours until the morning, taking his temperature, feeling his skin, and watching him breathe. I felt very strongly that he should get x-rays, since he just sprained this same ankle a month or so ago.
Early this morning we arrived at the Pediatric ER. The staff was courteous, if a bit incredulous that I wanted x-rays on what was obviously a sprain.
Fast forward to lunch time, and my sweet boy is in a splint. He has a distal fracture of the fibula that, due to the location of the break, did not present as such. The break is on the growth plate, which means we will see an orthopedic doctor next week to discuss next steps. His “just a sprain” turned out to be a broken leg.
[On the bright side, his cast is red and festive.]
This was a sneaky break. A painless fracture. There is internal damage on a pretty important part of the body. Fluid has pooled in his ankle and heel. The fracture wasn’t visible, so no one I talked to believed it was there. Only after looking inside did they realize how seriously he was hurt.
Considering this, I am reminded me to be more conscious of others. What I can see with my eyes doesn’t often betray what’s going on underneath. A person may look like they have it all together when they are crumbling on the inside. They may not look to me like someone I could befriend, when we actually have a lot in common. NOTHING is ever what it seems on the surface. While I don’t have X-Ray vision, I do have opportunity to dig deeper. I have an obligation to look deeper. To investigate. To find out what’s going on in the heart, the mind, and the spirit.
Finding out about an injury is the first step to healing. Knowing a person, really understanding them takes time, but it is the first step to helping them heal and grow. Stepping out of comfort zones, crossing invisible lines we’ve drawn for ourselves, choosing to let go of old beliefs in order to embrace new friends. These can only lead to good things – things like love, peace, and community.
I am grateful for this awareness, particularly at this time of year.
This holiday season, and always, may you see others – and may you be seen – for the magical, powerful, gorgeous creature that you (we, they) truly are.
I’m vegan, and part Native American so tomorrow is a different day for me. I’ll still be gathering with my lovely family and eating LOTS of things, as well as concentrating on being thankful and in the moment.
No animal products, and a prayer for those who lost their lives in the “civilization” of our nation.
Here are some links on gratitude, veganism, how you can support the remaining tribesmen and women, and blessing loved ones with love and light, if you’re into that sort of thing. If you’re reading this, I love you and I hope your day, however you choose to spend it, is full of joy, fellowship, and delicious food.
One last thought: In the hustle and bustle of the holidays, please remember two important days that come AFTER Black Friday. The 25th is Small Business Saturday, a day to support small businesses, shop local and purchase thoughtful, sustainable gifts for loved ones. The 28th is Giving Tuesday, a day designated for supporting whatever causes you believe in, so please choose a charity near and dear to your heart and rain down love and affection (and generosity!) on them. It will come back to you tenfold.
Sitting cross-legged in my bed tonight, I’m staring at my computer screen while my 7 year old is sleeps right next to me. This last week he’s had trouble sleeping in his own bed, which is on the other side of our apartment. I’m not sure what’s causing his dis-ease, I just know I’m doing my best to help him find peaceful rest and security. If I had to guess, I’d say there are two things on his mind:
A scary cartoon he watched without permission last week. This I take full responsibility for, I was distracted and didn’t realize he had floated from something authorized to something that might frighten him.
Loneliness. He was an only child for 6 years before Kid 2 came along, and it’s tough being the Big Brother. There are times he feels (and is) brushed aside a bit because baby screams are priority. He misses his time with his Daddy and me. Exacerbating this, his room is clear on the other side of the apartment from ours, so I’d imagine it feels a little uncomfortable for him to make the long trek over there, be tucked in and kissed goodnight, and then watch the rest of the family go back to the other side of the living space.
I am not an expert Mommy. I do not always get it right. In fact, I screw up on the daily. It does not feel good, but I do the best I can to keep moving forward. To be totally honest most of the time I feel like a trapeze artist who is working without a net. My parents didn’t teach me how to parent (which is a blog series for another day). Basically what I say, how I act, what I’m aware of, it’s all guesswork. Every bit of it of every decision I make comes down to equal parts research (thanks, internet and Mom Bloggers), what I imagine I would want or need emotionally if I were in the situation as a 7 year old, and blindly attempting to calculate the most logical answer to whatever scenario we are currently knee-deep in.
All of that said, I do have compassion in spades and with a sensitive child like mine, it’s basically my super power. In this tender moment between my son and I, a question formed in my mind: What is courage?
The word courage brings to mind many different images, from soldiers fighting in battle, to patients who battle diseases like cancer, all the way to Mel Gibson’s blue-painted face in the movie Braveheart, in which he portrayed the great warrior and freedom fighter William Wallace, who was willing to give his life for his ideals and his people.
What if courage manifests in other ways? I mean, what does courage look like to a 7 year old? Well, for a child this age, courage might look something like jumping off the monkey bars, or standing up to a friend who is being a bully. Maybe, though courage is having the guts to verbalize fear and ask for help when you can’t sleep and you’ve tried thinking positive thoughts and now you really don’t know what to do. Maybe courage is walking out of the room and risking chastisement in order to escape a yucky situation.
Yep, I think for my boy to pour out his heart to us and then ask to not be left alone tonight took some serious guts. I mean, let’s be honest, many of us adults have trouble doing this! I’m proud of him for speaking up.
So on nights like tonight, when it’s been a long day and we all just want rest and the dishes can wait because my hip is hurting and I still have an article to write, when my husband texts me from the living room to say “he is out of bed again and refusing to go back”, I have to get this right. I have to match this courage with benevolence.
This consideration – the idea that kids are people, too – is something I think about fairly often in my job as Mommy, mainly because it’s not something I was given as a child. On one hand, I don’t want my son to think he’s too delicate to face minor challenges. On the other hand, I refuse to invalidate his feelings just because he’s 7. They’re his feelings, and they are real to him.
I walk quietly into the living room, around the sleeping baby, and take my oldest boy’s hand. We walk to his bed, where I plop down cross-legged and begin to investigate (as moms do). He is in tears before I can ask the first question, so I change tactics and just hold him for a while. A few moments later, I try again. He says he’s not sure what’s wrong, but he doesn’t want to sleep by himself tonight. “That’s ok”, I say without hesitation, “you don’t have to”. I continue to speak life to his little spirit, saying what I believe are helpful statements like, “it’s alright to feel afraid” and “you are safe here”. I don’t know if this is right, but I’m trying my best, against the loud sighs coming from my husband, who has been working to keep his annoyance hidden while we get this sorted out.
((Side note: My husband is not a man who thinks guys have to be “macho”. Thank goodness, he doesn’t say things like “boys don’t cry”. He is, however, a man who works very long hours at a demanding job and greatly values his rest time, so the quicker this gets resolved, the better.))
We arrive at the bed that my son and I will now share this evening, him promptly crawling beneath the covers and me grappling with the idea of being kicked, punched, and snored at all night. I know this is right, I tell my husband. I know that when I was a child and I was afraid, all I wanted was for someone to tell me I was safe. I wanted someone to say “you don’t have to be alone”, someone to validate my feelings and not force me to lie in bed, terrified of whatever thought was tormenting me at the time. Being a kid is tough enough without having your protectors leave you feeling exposed and vulnerable.
When my son thinks back over his life, and when he remembers our relationship and what kind of mom I was, so much of it won’t matter. It won’t matter what we had for dinner tonight, but it will matter that I cooked and we all sat at the table and talked and laughed and connected. It won’t matter what kind of car I drove, as much as it will matter that I was there every afternoon after school, happy to see him. It won’t matter one bit that this apartment is not always clean and sometimes (ok, at ALL times) there are clothes and toys strewn about, but it will matter that this place felt like home to him. It will matter that he felt safe here. It will matter that he had (and for as long as I’m living, he will have) a place he can go and just shake the world off. A place where he doesn’t have to live up to anything, he never needs to feel embarrassed, a place where he’s not pressured to fit into someone else’s idea of who he should be or what he should think or feel. It will matter that he didn’t have to question whether he was part of our tribe.
Deep in the depths of my soul, I want that. As a mother, it is what I strive for above anything else.
Again, I ask: What is courage? Courage is the soldier, the cancer patient, and William Wallace. Yes, all those people are brave, possibly beyond measure. But in MY life, in MY circumstance, what is courage? For a mom like me, courage is the willingness to give my boy what his soul thirsts for, even if no one else understands it. Courage is parenting him and him only, without stopping to think about what other moms (or even my own) might think. Courage is stepping away from traditional beliefs and from how I was raised in order to do it better, in order to raise a whole individual, fully functional and free from emotional baggage.
So tonight, clacking away at my old laptop with my firstborn snoring next to me, I rejoice in this budding courage – his and mine – and in the knowing that this time, I got it right.
All that panicking over Hurricane Irma was for nothing, folks. We have lots of water to drink, which won’t be a problem, and BOY am I glad we didn’t buy anything else in bulk. Thankfully we never even lost power. That said, being stuck inside with hubs and kids for a couple of days, I was probably more in danger of losing my sanity.
Menu: Vegan-ize all the things! After my second bout of stomach flu in about a month (I know, right?!) I decided to go into “Immunity Improvement Mode” and eat all the fruits and veggies I could get my hands on. I generally feel better when I cut out meat, which I do a few times per year, sometimes for weeks and sometimes as longs as 6 months. Normally I do it as a cleanse or as a way to raise my energy and vibration. Try it, it works! Even the mood is lifted, which I think has something to do with the hormones in our food and the emotions of the animals before and during their slaughter. I know what you’re thinking and yes, I’m basically the Mister Wizard of nurition. Sha-zam! [All of that said, I’m really not promoting one way of eating or lifestyle over another and I don’t call myself vegan at any time because it’s offensive to people who actually live it 100%.]
Music: Tchaikovsky! Particularly the Sleeping Beauty Ballet. If you’ve never heard or seen it, that’s basically a crime against humanity and your parent and/or guardian should be punished. Allow me to rectify this situation:
Also, I learned this week that the song in Walt Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, when Aurora is singing in the woods, “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…” is from Tchaikovsky’s Ballet. Isn’t that cool? Yes it is.
Travel: The Great Wall of China has just been added to the list. As I type this, though, I’m reminded how badly I’d like to go and see Hadrian’s Wall, which stretches across parts of Ireland and England and has great historical significance as well. It’s also the wall seen in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves. Hmm. Which Wall? I guess it depends on where Kevin Costner is at the time?
Gym Rat: I took a break this week and did mostly yoga and sleep. It was glorious.
Soul: With Hurricane Irma being in the forefront of everyone’s minds this week, I wondered (out loud) whether in times of crisis people are more or less in tune with each others needs. I think both are true. Some of us are natural caregivers, so when disaster strikes we are even more empathic than usual. Others of us are selfish, and panic amplifies that selfishness to a degree that makes it difficult for us to even see other people. Just my opinion, though.
Dreams: Nothing I’d like to share this week.
Photographing: Also nothing to share. (What? We were prepping for a storm!)
Movies and TV: Law and Order: SVU and all the marathons on all the channels. What can I say? I love it.
Library: Aside from GQ magazine, not much. The current issue has an interesting interview with Steven Soderbergh and a pretty good profile on Robert Pattinson. Both of them are pretty talented and I enjoyed reading.
Tech: Two new apps this week: Stone, which is fascinating and wonderful and very, very useful if you are into and own a lot of gemstones (which I do). Stone is a user-friendly guide to gemstones, with photos, historical factoids, and what each gem can be used for. The other is Golden Thread Tarot. It’s a fun digital tarot deck that does much more than just give general readings. It explains each card and even allows the user to log and journal about cards and readings. I don’t know anything about tarot, and I like being able to choose emotions to go with my daily card, like “hope” or “frustration” and knowing I can later search for cards or readings by emotion.