Rainmakers, Us/Cull the Population

Thursday.  Last night with Catherine and the theater was fun. We had dinner in her neighborhood before the show. I enjoyed the beer banter between her and the knowledgeable waiter. Catherine knows her beer, that's for sure! At one point she aspired to be a brewmaster and have a career in boutique beer. Now it's an avocation and she brews just for herself and friends. I had fun with her, thinking of ideas for new beers and seeing her reaction. Clover beer? "Sure it's been done," she assured. Bacon beer? "Gross," she said looking annoyed. Wild roses? "Sounds yummy, probably been done. Remember people have been brewing beer since humans have been around." And so on...

And speaking of humans being on the planet, the show last night (The History of Everything) was incredible. Ninety minutes of teeming activity, eight actors dressed all in black, milling around a stage with cutouts of the continents laid like area rugs. They started with news of May 30, 2012 and worked backwards, periodically announcing the human population until they got to the big bang, ground zero. I think what struck me most is how geometrically the population is expanding. I know, it's a bit of a "duh". but it bears thinking about the fact that it wasn't so many years ago when humans were half of today's population. Thinking we need a good plague or comet or super volcano eruption or something to cull our numbers. Not extinction and not just our leaders living in a mountain in Colorado, but a serious reduction of bodies - the growth is absolutely unsustainable. I've always joked that if there is a god, he/she has been busy focusing on other solar systems and, when their gaze returns to us, they will say something like, "Holy shit, it's an infestation!"  Then they'll get out the equivalent of those long pump sprays that exterminators use and start fuming us into oblivion. So the play was good, thought provoking, really well done and humbling.

Today it's rainy - blah - a day that's hard to love. And after the heart wrenching events of the past week+, I should be grateful for a respite from emotional ups and down - good to just have a flat line day. And yet, it's days like today I fear the most. I'd almost rather be held up by gunpoint than feel uninspired and gray. Would rather be singing the blues than have the highlight of the day be a choice between wheat or rye toast. And I knew, as I made those final choices, that the empty space that was left would be the hardest thing to cope with, knew it could be a black hole where my emotions go to die.

Challenge for me today is reaching out to people I love, planning some gratifying activities, maybe going to the library and finally getting that library card and bringing home a huge stack of exciting reads. Maybe I will print and memorize 30+ more songs to add to my repertoire. Today, I'll make that call to the Women's Club that I've been meaning to place and finally join and immerse myself in good deeds for others. I'll also get out my calendar and schedule a series of dinner parties on my deck, get my flowers planted, hang art that's coming over from the office, get a manicure to remove the red polish forever, buy a new purse. Anything to escape the black hole of ennui.

The challenge for you is whatever you want to make it today. Let's let the rainy day remind us that we need to be the rainmakers of our own lives. Life is gorgeous, even rainy days - so live!  I will if you will.

Peace,
Sarah

History of Everything/We Are Seething

Thursday, the container holds....diet and exercise but am having an arthritic flare-up in my problematic right knee that I injured once, that has bothered me ever since. It does this complaining thing a few times a year and always takes me by surprise because I have no inkling as to what sets it off. So I limp for a couple of days and then am fine until the next time - weird. And what I've discovered is that, at times like this, when there is a temptation to just put the knee up and take a pass on activity, that's exactly the wrong thing to do. Got on the elliptical this morning even though every step was painful - determined to get my 10,000 steps in despite the infirmity. Lo and behold, halfway through the workout, I was almost pain-free. It's the movement that heals and lubricates.

Tonight eldest daughter, Catherine, and I are going to the theater to see a Belgian troop that's in town for just one week - The History of Everything. It's at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater at Navy Pier. I snatched a pair of tickets when I got the e-mail about it - sounds like just what the doctor ordered -  I'm game for some perspective these days. Here are a few review clips:

"A profound, transcendent work of theater, movement, music and light - a 95 minute piece that gets to the very heart of what it means to be alive" - Chicago Sun-Times

"An entertaining romp that engenders awe at the vastness of the universe and our own insignificance within it." - The Guardian

Giving a lot of thought to what the director had to say about the piece. He talks about how he wanted to tell the story backwards "so that humanity wouldn't seem the purpose of everything that happened before it."  Because it's told backwards, the final scene is the big bang of creation. He toyed with phrases that would capture the human contribution to the history of everything. "And if we fuck up, we weren't that important." True, but he realized it was just too depressing a message to impart. Next he sought inspiration from the Richard Dawkin's book, Unweaving the Rainbow. "We are granted the opportunity to understand why our eyes are open, and why they see what they do, in the short time before they close forever." True again, but still too somber. I'm looking forward to what he finally settled on - what he chose to capture and convey in the piece. In the interview, he assures us the message is neither a dire warning nor depressing. Guessing I'll walk away from tonight with an appreciation for the vastness of the universe, how much of a blip humanity is in that spectrum, and how ludicrous it is to sweat the small stuff or take yourself too seriously. Kaveh is so right when he says, "It's a ride - just put the windows down, breath the fresh air and enjoy the journey."

And speaking of windows - a door may have recently closed but windows are opening. There are three prospective partners who all, coincidentally, live in Evanston which is bizarre and unlikely. Met all three on the dating site and I haven't met any of them yet but the courtship has begun. One is a professor at NU - I know the least about him, another is a PhD candidate in Economics setting up home here, and the third is moving here in a few weeks from Logan Square - he is a writer like me, loves jazz and is also an entrepeneur with a successful business (builds specialty buildings for the federal government). Decided to be friends with all three of them regardless of whether or not there is a romantic match - they are all so interesting and they're in my hood!  This is a much better approach than taking three lovers for the wrong reason. Shaping up to be be a fun summer!

This morning, worked out to Girlyman, one of my favorite musical groups. I don't listen to a lot of current music - an exception for them - they're that good. Amazing lyrics, tunes, harmonies and when you see them live, great humor. One phrase jumped at me this morning - "We are breathing, we are seething. We are hardly underway." Isn't that great? Recently, I had a conversation with a dear friend who has been a source of comfort and inspiration during tough times. But, every now and again, he says the absolutely wrong thing. I remember his words of  "wisdom" when I was discouraged about my singing - so much so that I took all my music books and threw them in the dumpster with slimy garbage heaped on top - vowed I'd never sing again. His "comforting" words were, "I understand your frustration..you might never be a great singer...your voice is thin in spots...I understand why you want to give it up rather than be just an OK singer." That day, his words, anything BUT comforting! If I didn't throw the phone at the wall when the conversation was over, I certainly wanted to. More recently, a few days ago, he commiserated with me again and said something like, "I get why you're filled with angst. You're not getting any younger, you might never find someone to spend the rest of your days with and frankly there aren't that many great eligible guys out there." Arg.....!! Just what I DIDN'T need to hear! He means well.

Because the truth is, I am breathing, I am seething, I am hardly underway. Spent a lifetime making progress, getting smart, learning to be softer, learning to embrace the day. Not that long ago I made the huge list which included "small projects" like losing 200 pounds, getting psychoanalysis, improving my relationships, finding love, learning intimacy, getting divorced, singing again, honing my writing skills, eating clean, making a commitment to exercise. All these goals - well underway. So, be fearful about the future when I've come so far? Worry there won't be more juicy chapters? Nah.

Not so much a challenge today - just a suggestion to give thought about breathing and seething and being a speck in history. It's so easy to get myopic - self important and lose sight of the fact that there has to be a balance between living a worthy and interesting life and understanding one's place in the larger scheme. Humans are unique in that we are given the opportunity to "understand why our eyes are open". But it's also painful, trying to make sense of it all, questioning whether our lives really matter, knowing we're just droplets in a stream that rushes us along whether we like it or not.

Peace,
Sarah

Savasana/Freedom

Tuesday after a long weekend - a lot to report and talk about. First thing is that Elizabeth's friend's mother passed away as expected. Got a sobbing call from Elizabeth on Saturday morning - tried to reach deep to find believable words of comfort. All the platitudes (she had a great life; she didn't linger and suffer much; everyone got to say good-bye) sounded too false, so I simply said, "There is nothing good about this - it just sucks.And it's going to be rough for a very long time. Everyone will rally at the onset, they'll rise to the occasion for the funeral, neighbors will bring covered dishes, there will be eulogies that bring a measure of peace, but when all the ceremony is over and the people have gone home, that family will be a mess for a very long time. She left too soon." I found myself crying too, especially when Elizabeth described the youngest child - a teenage boy, whose normal mode was too cool for school. When his mother took her last breath, he sobbingly yelled, "Mommy!"

Her death really hit home - she was a year younger than me. In so many ways, I've checked out this past year, surrendered to grief, hated so many days, even slept away a good many of them in an effort to make time pass - waiting for my heart to heal. I've wished away days. In contrast, here was a woman who, by Elizabeth's description, was a ball of fire - a life force cramming so much living into each and every day she made peoples' heads spin. What she would have given to have another year on this beautiful planet with her amazing family. She was very wealthy - no expense was spared searching the world for a cure - yet, at the end, her family millions couldn't buy her more time. It is certainly a cautionary tale - one that I took to heart on Saturday - time to kick start my heart and live more fully. I dishonor my life by drifting in sorrow, tethered to the past.

Sunday night....I planned to do the cord cutting ceremony I described in my last post, but I just couldn't. Everything was laid out for it, had carved out the time, house to myself, but when it was time, I broke down in tears - too final and I couldn't do final. Liza and James assured me readiness would come in time. Then yesterday I reached out to him, told him what I had planned. I needed to know this is what he wants and needs too - finality. I sang to him - "I Thought About You", a song that has haunted me for months now - think it made him teary. And then final good-byes, this time, the real deal. And oh my, I have loved that man so - every single thing about him, even his faults. I wish he had been bolder, had more imagination and could have figured out how we could have had a future together that might not have looked anything like the dream he's carried around, but that would have been wonderful nevertheless. If it was kids he wanted in his life, there were ways to make that happen - our life could have spilled over with children, dogs, cats, grandchildren, friends. Could have been amazing and energetic and rewarding. He and I are both high octane people - we make things happen, we "take" hills - we succeed.  But apparently 'twas not meant to be which can only mean that there is something else that is meant to be - for both of us.

The ceremony. I mixed three types of bath salts: Inspiration, Heartsong, and Purify in a warm bath, lights off - just a candle on the edge of the tub to see by. I poured the water over myself and audibly asked for help.  "Purify my intentions. Heal and free my heart. Give me inspiration to move forward with hope and optimism.   These are the things I ask for." Then I sat cross-legged on my bed with a special scented bee's wax candle before me - the only light. I dressed carefully - naked but for an open kimono. Music by Wah - Savasana, given to me by Martin. The description: "This collection of chants is designed for deep relaxation. In yoga class, the posture for deep relaxation is 'savasana' - the practice consists of dissolving the body and mind into a space of deep spiritual peace, featuring sharmonium, tamboura, violin, flute, bass, and free-flowing vocals."

At first, I sat there feeling foolish, wondering how it would work, sitting quietly for about ten minutes just staring through the dark at the candle, the only light in the room. Then I asked to see the cords and I filled my head with creative images of what I imagined they looked like: a pink gold cord from my heart to his - pink because my love for him was, in so many ways, girlish and innocent - gold because his love made me  shimmer. The cord attaching our navels, I imagined to be thick as a wrist, deep blackish red - where the dark and insecure feelings were exchanged - the suspicions, anger and frustration, the clutching, the loss.  When we broke up, Patrick said he threw up for days.Most recently when he told me he had found someone special, I felt punched in the stomach. It made sense for the cord connecting our bellies to be the hardest to unhook, the one that would cause the most pain. I also pictured a tangled web of cords connecting our brains, our eyes, our lips - like pulsing traffic lanes of energetic activity. Even our noses connected - they were once joined when we kissed, adjusting to make room for our lips. And I cried when I thought of his hands and how he always had to be within touching distance, whether it was reaching for me across a dinner table, watching a show with his arm around me, holding me from the back while I cooked for him, even holding me down with one hand when we made love. I pictured green cords connecting each of our fingertips.

All this imagining took a while - every part of our bodies, even our feet that were once entwined as we slept - all corded. Still I wasn't convinced this was a worthwhile exercise - it felt silly, contrived and pointless.  BUT, then, when I closed my eyes - it happened - I saw a single cord that was not as I imagined. It wasn't lush and umbilical like the picture in my head. Instead it was an absolutely straight, incredibly bright, pencil thin light that showed itself to me. I think I gasped - this was not my mental creation. In my imagination, cords were spongy, lumpy, curly - they meandered between us, not taking the shortest path. The cord I saw was the opposite - unremarkable in its simplicity, nothing an artist would draw. It showed itself and then it was gone - very strange. I wonder, if I was better at this airy fairy stuff, if I would have seen more. Inspired, I then went about the business of unhooking each of the cords I had conjured. I talked to him, "Patrick please take this, this one too." I handed him the cords, then put my hand up like I was stopping traffic and pushed the air to emphasize that the cords had to leave my sphere - they were his to reclaim. One by one, cords that connected my brain to his, our eyes, our lips, our hearts of course, our navels (there was pain), our genitals, our legs and finally our hands - I unhooked them all and sent the cords back to him with clear intent. Despite the pain I already felt stronger so I made my arms in the shape of a circle, like I was holding a large ball, and in a ballet-like motion created a protective circle of care around myself, asking that the cords not be allowed to re-penetrate the sacred space I defined.

Finally I gave thanks to the gods for bringing him to me when I needed him so much. I visualized my wounds healing instantly, cauterized with light. Then, just as the music ended,  I blew out the candle - eerie that I was completely done at the exact instant the Savasana was over. "Wow," I said.  I feel different - felt peace for the first time in a very long time. The ceremony had taken about an hour - it was a bit before 1AM when it completed. Sent Patrick a text telling him it was done and thanked him for the amazing gift of his love.

Today, I'm good. Writing this was a bit hard - I was thinking not to share it a) because it's in my past now and b) because it's so hippy dippy.  But I'm also mindful that there are a lot of us walking around in pain, with unfinished business. Spiritually, I'm about as conservative as you can get, and maybe this was all Hocus Pocus after all. But maybe it wasn't. I absolutely saw the simple cord that was not at all as I had envisioned it to be. And, after the ceremony, I felt free and clear and at peace, finally. It holds - today I feel like a new chapter has begun - good. Challenge today is thinking about doing your own ceremony if you, too, have a need to free your heart, have unfinished business of your own. Martin instructs me that one can ask for freedom from anything that binds and ties you down.

Peace,
Sarah

Picture is of Patrick and me in December - I look serene but I was anything but. I had hit bottom and he literally rescued me that day. I will always be grateful to him for that.

Unhook Your Astral Cords/Death Watch

Friday. Week's just about behind us. I have good plans and I hope you do too. One very sad thing...my middle daughter Elizabeth is on a death watch. Her best friend's mother who is younger than me is in the final days of her life, battling cancer. Elizabeth was headed out of town but turned around when she got word that one of the woman's major organs just failed. I'm proud of Elizabeth - she is holding it together. This woman is like a 2nd mother to her - she has been an adjunct part of their family for years. Elizabeth knows her role at this time is to be a solid friend, useful in any way she can be, keep her own grief secondary. My daughter is an emotional person but, like cream, she rises to occasions and always does the right thing. Too much death in her life lately. Just a few months ago, a very close friend killed himself. This comes on the heels of another friend and coworker jumping from a balcony a few years ago. Most recently her friend took his own life after barely escaping with his life - a slip and fall accident as he walked alongside a creek on a wintry day. He lay unconscious, waist deep in water/ice for the better part of a day. When found, he had to be cut from the ice that had developed around him. Somehow he survived with what was thought to be minimum damage - turns out there was brain damage that either directly led to suicidal thoughts or maybe it was a side effect of the medications he was given. Anyway, like I said, too much tragedy these days in Elizabeth's life. She walks on eggshells, worrying about the people who are left whom she loves.

Tonight I will sing at Maggiano's piano bar in the city with friend Pam who is just back from a long vacation in Florida. She and I always have so much fun largely because she is a person who fully inhabits the moment. Tonight she is sure to hush me if I'm not focusing on one of the singers, no matter how bad. She gives everything and everyone their due and always finds something insightful and positive to say about every effort. Her life is tough but you'd never know it from her sunny personality. Tonight I'll sing a new song, Smile. Gonna stop singing sad songs for a while.

Tomorrow, my accountant Robin's son's post wedding party, then free tickets to The Mayne Stage, going with Liza and James. Sunday, traditional to plant with the threat of frost past and Monday I'll open my home to whoever wants to come for home cooking. Somewhere in there, probably Sunday evening, there is something private and special I have planned - something important - a ceremony. First heard of this ceremony from friend Terry. Since then I've researched it more and while it may seem mystical and far fetched, I'm going to suspend belief and surrender to the ritual - Astral Cord Removal. Here are a few snippets describing it:

Astral Cord connections occur anytime two people, whether consciously or unconsciously, give permission to one another to energetically connect. Sometimes the connections are strong and remain in place for years, forming a bond much like a giant, deep tree root connecting into the ground. Other times, the connection happens lightly, in passing and easily disconnects like a thread flying loose. Other times the cord and connection develops strongly and then wanes, following the pattern of the relationship. Though the relationship may be over, the cord might remain connected, but listless and lifeless, like a dead grass frond in winter. Astral Cords most definitely form within intimate relationships. 

 If you want to “un-cord,” here are some simple steps to follow (with highest intent):

1. Create a meditative, calm state and call on your Highest Level Spirit Guides, Angels, and/or Entities for help. 
2. Once you’ve created your space, ask to see your Astral Cords, or more specifically, ask to see the Astral Cords connected to you in relation to a specific person. Wait and watch for those cords to light up for you. You’ll either physically see them, you’ll see them as an impression of clairvoyance in your third eye, you’ll feel them, or you’ll experience them as a combination of these. Don’t be surprised if other guidance systems come in to help you out that are not mentioned here. (The more you practice this, the more adept you will become in seeing and/or feeling Astral Cords.)
3. If you want to remove a cord, with conscious intent, firmly unhook the cord with your right hand (releasing hand) and send the cord out of your energy field (I like to use a throwing motion). As you do this, ask your Highest Level Beings to help you remove the cord and send it and hook it back to the person it belongs too. You do not want to cause energy bleeding in the other person from an unhooked cord. Tell the beings helping you that you do not want the connection to return. Also, create an energy shield from further connections.
4. DO NOT rip, cut or tear out Astral Cords. This creates holes in your energy field, causing energy leaks. It also causes energy leaks in the cords still connected to the other individual.
5. Lastly, ask the Highest Level Beings helping you to fill any and all energy holes with liquid light gold to seal and heal your energy.
6. Give thanks.

This is obviously about Patrick. I need to romantically be free and clear of him. He needs it as much as I do - for him, I am unfinished business as well. And it's not that we have to walk away completely - I still envision/hope for us to be useful friends to each other, linked in a healthy way for the rest of our lives if it's possible. It's the yearning, longing, creaturely needs that have to be terminated - the cleaving I described before, the complete separation of our two hearts that once beat as one - that's what has to be completed. OK, truth is, I'm a skeptic when it comes to stuff I can't see. It's intriguing to visualize golden cords of light hooking Patrick's and my chakras to each other, but truth be told I'm not even sure I believe in chakras.  And yet, bad ideas don't pass the test of time, and the concept of chakras has been around for thousands of years, traditions in Hinduism and Buddhism - so maybe there is something worth exploring, being open minded about. Worse case, it's a useless ritual without scientific basis and nothing much comes from it - my mind is not freed. I'm thinking though that, regardless of the efficacy, regardless of the fact or lack of hard science, even if there is just a placebo effect, it will still be useful to me to finally kiss him to the wind as I've needed to do for a long time now. There is someone else now that puts a song in his heart and a spring in his step - someone else who he thinks about first thing upon rising and last thing before he beds down for the night - someone else who makes him happy. My presence is that of a ghost, hovering and fretting, wishing I were flesh and blood in his arms. 'Twill not do. I need to inhabit my own flesh and blood life. No more ghostly astral cords between us.

The challenge today is thinking about this concept. What if there is something to it - that you've got dangling cords hanging all over you that are sapping your life force? One site equates us to energetic porcupines -"astral cords protruding from us through a lifetime of un-cleared connections." Each of those cords has to be unhooked and the wound sealed for us to move forward in health. Energetic healing.  Remember, don't be cocky - what you know and believe is not gospel - it's simply the product of what you've learned. Maybe your knowledge base is still nascent or incomplete - we once thought the Earth was the center of the universe. If you lived then, you would be certain of that truth and scoff at any theory to the contrary. Food for thought, yes?

Peace,
Sarah

Fall Forward/Skinned Knees

Thursday, at the office hoping to get a lot done today. There's a lot to get moved out of here - moving date is shaping up to be 6/14. Yesterday, I DID take that walk but sans Joey because Elizabeth fetched him early. And it was hard to be too sad or hard on myself when the day was so beautiful. The lake sparkled, the new crop of babies were on display, the smell of wild roses everywhere I went. And as I entered Northwestern property, there was an unusual sentinel who accosted me when I dared to meet his eye. He was a formidable black male, dressed all in black with red sleeves, flashy red sleeves. I think he was protecting something I wasn't supposed to go near or even express any curiosity about. Everyone else seemed to get it and they walked by him, head down, ignoring him, rushing past, averting the danger he promised if they breached the invisible boundary. And maybe because I was so raw and walked slowly, taking everything in, trying to make sense of everything, looking for stuff to care about, that I hit his radar as being a person of interest, a potential threat. Not sure, I certainly did nothing aggressive, nothing that warranted the attack. When he dove at me, shrieking, flapping his red sleeves, I put my hands over my face for protection. Good that I was wearing a straw hat or he might have drilled my head with his sharp beak.  Guessing there was mama close by.

Last night, the writing group. I wrote badly. Everyone else wrote great. Happens sometimes. And you'd think I'd have written well given that I led the prompts, had crafted ideas earlier in the day. I tend to hate my own prompts. Below is what I created from a "first line" prompt. The first line given was, "The young man who came to see me a few months ago didn't knock but stood at the doorway to my office."  It's an actual first line from an article in the NYT, called First Love, Once Removed.

The young man who came to see me a few months ago didn't knock but stood at the doorway to my office.  He glared at me.  His name was Bill and when I say he came to see me, perhaps I should be more explcit, an explanation may be in order.  I didn't mean any harm.  It was a whim when I decided the best way to get over John was taking three lovers. 

"Why three?" John had asked when I explained, over dinner, my plan for getting over him. He had long ago gotten over me even though he couldn't quite let go. 

"I'm a numbers person - you know that," I reminded him. "Every day I walk 10,000 steps, eat 31 Weight Watcher points. I even count the days since we broke up - 343 by the way," I said challenging him to remember all my quirks. It bothered me that his memory of the minutiae of our time together was fading. 

"Do you have these lovers picked out?" he asked curiously as he devoured the Chilean sea bass before him. 

"No, I just decided yesterday - thinking I'll make it an age thing - someone my own age, someone your age, and maybe one of those horny 20 year olds who keep hitting me up on OK Cupid." 

That's how it started - a silly ill-conceived idea - a bravado way to show I could snap my fingers and prospective lovers would line up, eager to be considered. A prudent person would have left it at that but I've never been accused of being prudent. Next morning found me announcing my intentions to the world at large. "Mary Rose has decided to take three lovers and is accepting applications." I was having fun, being silly of course, only kidding around - or was I? 

That night, Bill - jazz club - a genius boy, virtuoso bass player, unwitting candidate. I came. I saw. I conquered him. It was easy. I was beautiful and smart and he a duckling - a 21 year old duckling. Not ugly per se, but formative, easy to overlook. 

"He's fallen in love with me," I told John over dinner again. We still hadn't figured out how to say good-bye. "He came to my office today - upset everyone." 

"You deserve whatever you get," John said, his mouth full of grouper. The man loved his fish! 

"I know. It was a really bad idea, the whole three lovers thing," I mumbled, picking at my own dinner, having lost my appetite. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone." 

"It's you, I worry about," he said tenderly.  

And that's that for today. If I have any thoughts worth sharing they're probably not worth much, but here goes. Struggling to be brave, stay in the game of life, not take cheap shortcuts, not shortchange myself even though I'm absolutely terrified. When I said I wasn't brave enough to love again I cut myself short shrift. I AM brave enough and strong enough to be hurt again. It's just that.....would you choose it for yourself? But what is the alternative? Nick says this is an important choice - that I risk becoming a rhinoceros with thick skin if I flee from love. Feeling like that point in childbirth where you want to turn back, demand that it all stop "I don't want to have this baby after all...I changed my mind." Your husband and the doctors try not to laugh as you lay there spread eagle ready to split open and spit out a slimy carbon copy of yourself. They know there's no turning back. The journey must be taken.

And if there is a universal truth here that you can latch onto, maybe it's that you have to go THROUGH it, not over or around or under whatever obstacle you face.  Mario, my young tenant, told me, "If you're going to fall, fall forward." Wasn't sure what that meant - thought about it a lot yesterday as I sat on the painted rocks on the Northwestern campus, looking out to Lake Michigan. I decided it meant life is a continuous series of falls and flops, stumbles and crash landings. It's a weird way to get from point A to Z, lurching, falling, skinned knees, but if we keep getting up each time and find ourselves even one step closer to our heart's desires -  that is falling forward.

Peace,
Sarah

Put Yourself in a Time Out/Take Prisoners!

Wednesday, writing group tonight and time to put together weekend plans - learned my lesson too many times that if you don't want to find yourself alone on the weekend, you've got to manage your calendar.

You probably figured that I'm off balance these days, not doing a good job handling my emotions. Think I need to recite my mission statement over and over again, especially the part that reads, "accepting sadness and loss". Reader yesterday added a critical comment that I removed. Pissed, I lashed back and then removed my response as well. Gist was I'm revealing too much. And he/she is right - I'm off balance and when I get this way, I seek attention, act out, am outrageous to distract from the real issues. It's the opposite of grace where you just dig down, find inner strength, sit quietly with your feelings and don't act out. That saying, "Don't just do something, sit there!" is something I need to remember at times like this.

Cuz, when the going gets dicey, I make plans, take action, even if the action is destructive or ill advised - anything to assuage the pain. I'd be a dangerous military leader because, rather than study the enemies plans and rub my chin as I looked at the battle maps from every which angle, I'd be the squadron leader that jumps into action and races my men to the top of a dangerous hill with snipers firing on us, thinking we could dodge all the bullets, propelled by the need to act - anything but acquiescence. So it was when faced with seeing P. for the first time since December. Didn't want to be pathetic, didn't want him to see me stuck in love with him, so I decided to take the hill, to prove to him and myself that I still "have it." I'd show him I was moving on in the most dramatic way I could - eschewing love, acting like a man, taking lovers, being carefree and callous. Being in charge. Regaining control. Sarah=bold once more.

This blog is a perfect place to act out. I will distract you with outrageousness. Won't bore you with, "sit with the pain" bullshit. I will entertain you - "What will Sarah do and write about next!?" At those times, fuck Living Well, let's just live large, fun, in the spotlight. I'll sing louder, dance faster for your pleasure. Those of you who know me and care about me are, of course, concerned.

Need to rewind to the morning after dinner with Patrick. My plan for that day was to take quiet time on the beach. Instead I went into action and made a fool of myself. I decided to glitter, show off, be Carmen, be impervious. Seemed like a good plan. 'Twas not a good plan. After I write this, Joey and I will take that needed walk along the lakefront. We'll end up at the dog beach. I'll watch him get his physical needs met, romping in the surf with other dogs as I sit and quietly seek strength. Then we will walk more. I will walk until I find a measure of peace. I will walk to quiet my mind and still the tears and to regain my equilibrium. Need to put myself in a time out.

The takeaway for today could be thinking about the call to action when feelings assault you. If you're like me at all, that whole fight/flight thing kicks in when emotions surge.And if you're at all like me, your response may not be your finest hour. We try to protect ourselves from pain and then end up shooting ourselves in the foot, disappointing people, acting in unseemly ways, exacerbating the original wounds. It's so difficult to do nothing when your brain is on fire, harder still when your heart is under siege. Run! Run! Run! Take prisoners! Hurt someone back! Take the hill!  Makes you feel like you're doing something positive - moving forward, taking action in a positive way.  I'm thinking now that some things are simply to be endured without action, without fireworks. There are crosses we must bear with grace and equanimity.

Peace (truly),
Sarah

Vivian/Tom

Monday evening found me, as usual, singing at Petterino's. Because of NATO, it was poorly attended so Denise cut the show short. Sitting next to me was a lovely young woman ('30's). She struggled with menu selection so I offered welcome advice. We talked, and when the show ended and I mentioned I was going to go to Serbian Village to Tommy Muellner's Pro Jazz Jam Session, she invited herself along. I absolutely adore meeting new people, especially when it's so unexpected - strangers who make a connection like we did. Her name is Vivian, she's in from L.A. visiting family, loves to hear the old standards sung. She's a physician just finishing her residency - internal medicine. And so lovely with a hint of a foreign accent - something about her "g"s - she looks like a French chanteuse. Vivian is a woman after my own heart - bold, friendly, up for an adventure. She had never been to a jazz jam session before - a first for her. So much fun to see her totally immersed in it. And yay that the wonderful Chicago treasure Frieda Lee, sang the first set. She may be in her '70's but that gal can put a song over!

The evening unfolded exactly as I told Vivian it would - sparsely attended at 9PM because the musicians were probably just getting out of bed, having "breakfast" before coming out to play. It wasn't until about 10 that things started to hop - by then the place was at capacity with musicians and their cases drifting in and taking up residency on the periphery of the room. I told Vivian the evening would build in intensity - that at about 11 there would be at least a dozen musicians jamming together on the stage. Sure enough, she experienced the thrill of seeing them improvise individually and then all come together in the final chorus, playing in unison, practically ripping the roof off the place. When it's tight, it send shivers.

So there was this guy sitting across from me - not sure why he plopped himself down at our table. I barely paid him any notice for the first hours. Then I noticed what he was doing. He had brought along a large book of staff paper and was totally immersed in writing music - right in the middle of all the ruckus! How could he hear the tunes in his head with his ears full of the jam session? I was amazed and watched him for a long time, noticing how precise he was. Finally I asked him about the composition he was creating and he gave me chopped, terse answers, as if it caused him discomfort to speak. And each time I thought the thread of conversation was over, he would continue it, having taken an inordinate amount of time to formulate his next thought. To me it seemed that every word from his mouth was as carefully chosen and crafted as the quarter and eighth notes on the page before him.  

But talk we did - we found a rhythm. I was floored by the things he said about music and composition - his opinions were rich and mature. Like water, the conversation flowed and found interesting nooks and crannies to inhabit. We talked about artificial intelligence and cyborgs, humanity, and so much more. On an inspiration I asked him if he liked the opera. He looked at me, almost shocked, and threw his head back and laughed as if to say, "Why have I never met a girl who asked me this question before?"  His response, "I adore the opera." I asked him if he had favorites. He thought about the question for what seemed like a long time and, at the very same moment he formulated his response, I volunteered that my favorite is Wagner's Tristan and Isolde. As I said the word "Tristan", he said the word "Tristan". We looked at each other amazed - we loved the exact same esoteric opera. It then got crazy because he started talking about the overture and I referenced the scene where the lovers are waiting for the soldiers and he said, "yes, yes, that scene is the culmination - everything builds musically to it - for hours like......."an orgasm" I volunteered. "Exactly," he said.  And Wagner does that. He creates an itch and strings it along for hours until you think you can't take any more and then, only then, does the music resolve in the most sublime way that makes the hours of anticipation and discomfort worth every moment. 

Vivian watched all of this - could tell something special was happening - felt the inspiration and chemistry. It was fun to talk with her about it later when I dropped her at her brother's house. She had such a great time, met tons of new people, all who were enchanted with her. She is determined to get out more and meet people in her own home town - wants marriage and children if they're in her stars and knows she has to make space for that. When I got home, I sent a message to Tom, telling him how much I enjoyed our time together and confessing my attraction. Thinking he might (with his consent, of course) be Lover#2. We'll see.

Kaveh this morning. Haven't spoken with him in three weeks - so much to report. I was afraid he would think the whole three lovers thing ill advised, but he liked it - said as long as I'm doing it to have fun and new experiences, it's good. He was sad for me about Patrick but is so impressed that there is still love and affection between us despite the heaviness of the past year - he thinks it's amazing and rare and a testament to P.'s and my character. When I finished regaling him with all the things that have happened since last we talked, and I finished by saying how sad I am, he said something wonderful. "Sarah, you are living a happy life.You can be sad and still be living a happy life. You are actually one of the happiest people I know, living your life fully and curiously with an open heart, embracing new experiences, being creative, allowing yourself to fully inhabit the ups and downs. That, Sarah, is the definition of a happy, worthy life. Yours is a life to be envied."  So, wow, he's right. I AM happy in a sometimes sad way.

The challenge today is thinking about that as it pertains to your own life.  If happiness is defined as living bravely, curiously, generously, lovingly, creatively, not running from the peaks and valleys, then the opposite must be living a small life with dull routines, not seeking new experiences or acquaintances, not making connections with people because it feels like a boundary breach, guarding and hording your resources, anesthetizing the downs with substances (and that includes TV and computer!) and not nurturing your need for creativity.  I'm not saying my way or the highway - for each of us the special sauce comes in different flavors, but I think there are some universal needs listed here that you should quiz yourself about. Do you feel like your life is expanding or contracting? Are your chosen activities enervating or inspiring you? Do your routines dull your enthusiasm and flat line your emotions or are they healthy underpinnings? Are you passionate about something and actively nurturing that passion or have you misplaced your enthusiasm for life?  If your answers to these questions were unsatisfactory, what can you do to make changes? Make a list and then take a first step.

Peace,

Sarah

Picture is a David Hockney print of Tristan and Isolde

Stomach Mourns/Circle of Care

Monday...intense weekend. Dinner with Patrick on Saturday.  Sunday, executed my three lovers plan with Lover #1, Mike.  

It's the stomach that is the heart, not the heart. When Patrick told me he had found someone special, someone he thinks might be the one, it was my stomach, not my heart that heaved. I fought the urge to go to the ladies' room and vomit. Since then, it's my stomach that's in mourning - it cares not for food. Maybe if you put your ear to my belly, you will hear soft weeping - churning as it rolls itself over and over trying to settle, trying to find comfort, not finding comfort. I won't talk much more about this - the Patrick story is old, I know - you are probably losing patience with me (Move on, already!). Suffice to say being in love is a mother fucker and the loss of it is more than we should have to bear. If I were the brave person I profess to be, I would face the future intrepidly, keep my heart wide open, "take your best shot."  I'm afraid, I'm not as strong as I would let you believe - maybe I'm an emotional coward. Next time I will run if love comes knocking on my door. I will leap from a window to escape. Patrick said, "What if you knew it would last forever - that you didn't have to endure love lost again?"  That would be different, but no one can make that guarantee and without it....?  I asked him, "If I were ten years younger than you, would you have married me?"  His response, "Without a doubt."  So, weep with me.

That brings me to my efforts at self medication - the three lovers plan. Sunday morning found me bereft, sobbing - gave myself permission to feel what I was feeling. I made plans for a long walk on the lakefront, time to sit on the beach and find a measure of peace from the rocking chair motion of the waves. It promised to be a very sad contemplative day. Then a rebellious streak welled in me - "I am Sarah...I will not go down without a fight!" I texted Mike, a new friend. "I've decided to take three lovers. Be one of them."  Nothing more - just those words. He called and then braved NATO to rush to my side. We sang to each other - he sang me almost thirty original compositions which were, by anyone's standards, really good, we made love over and over and then napped in each other's arms. My tears were held at bay. And Mike....so NOT my type. He looks like an Abercrombie model, 6'4", size 15 shoes, George Clooney handsome, a doctor, boxer, health and fitness radio personality, twelve years younger than me. I really am not drawn to people prettier than me, makes me nervous. And yet...my plan is fleshing out. I will spread my attention between three deserving men, spoiling them, being fully invested in them when they're with me, and then sending them on their way, thinking little of them when they're not around. I will most definitely NOT fall in love with any of them. Romantic love is for the foolhardy or the very brave - I'm neither.

So, the pig roast in my backyard Friday.  Mario, one of my tenants apparently has about 100 friends who were all in attendance throughout the evening. I was invited to participate but stayed upstairs in my unit and made carrot cake for the revelers. I watched the festivities from my perch - the burst of cheering as the guests watched the fire thrower throw batons of flames high into the air, the loud music played by a professional disc jockey (the police showed up to turn things down), the fire pit in the yard with singing and drumming - all of it a joy to watch. Next day, the yard a disaster and the new grass non-existent but that's OK - a small price to pay to see my plot of land filled with love and laughter and purposed so well. I adore the energy of my home these days. I am the heart - the mother is always the heart. And these days, my heart overflows with love and compassion which manifests itself by me being a person whose happiness is derived from making other people happy. I show my affection with motherly nurture and care to everyone in my loving sphere, cooking for them, folding their laundry, sitting with them, listening to them, sharing myself. All the material stuff around me is put into loving service and is secondary to the relationships. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, finally, I'm not uptight and controlling. I knew the police would come eventually (it was really loud), but I didn't try to step in and mandate things - I just let it play out. I knew the yard would suffer from being tramped on by 200 feet (hundred people with two feet), but I reasoned, why have a lawn anyway if it wasn't for events like this - the grass would grow back. It's good to be relaxed and just enjoy the ride and not worry about the stuff.

The challenge today is thinking about the idea of missing out because you're trying to orchestrate an outcome. Thinking the wisest of us are figuring out the best parts of life are the unscripted times. If we can be facilitators (resources, time, forbearance), not controllers, amazing things will unfold in front of our eyes.  These days I'm beyond heartbroken and yet I've put in place a deeply loving infrastructure. Sunday morning, Mario, still recovering from his party texted me first thing to find out how dinner with Patrick had gone. His encouraging and loving words, telling me how wonderful and worthy I am, made me feel like I live in a sanctuary. He said, "The only men you need now are under your feet!" (the two tenants ).  This morning other tenant Mark held me in his arms because he could see I was suffering. Madeleine, too, woke Sunday morning and while she had a lot to tell me about things going on with her, she insisted on hearing everything about my time with P. and the pearls of wisdom that flowed from that not-so-much-a-child's mouth were wise beyond her years.  All of this care, flowing back to me when I need it. A circle of care. Life is good even when it's bad.

Peace,
Sarah

Three Lovers/Pig Roast

So there's a whole pig with a face being cooked in my backyard as I write. Tenant, Mario, is having a pig roast. I absolutely LOVE that my house is a commune. When my mother moved out, the two apartments on the first floor stayed vacant for almost a year as I searched for the perfect tenants. And while I needed the rental money, it was way more important to me that I could live harmoniously with the people inhabiting my home. So I placed an ad, interviewed tons of people, but thwarted all the would be tenants, either consciously or subconsciously. Looking back I admire my passivity about renting the space - not my typical results oriented approach.  It's as if my inner counsel was telling me to "just wait and you'll know it when it's right". One day, I got a call from a fellow moving back from Chicago who described himself as a personal trainer. As he talked about himself, I realized I knew him well.  "Mark, is this you?" I said. I had just sat with him at a party weeks before. Serendipity. He moved in and we have become dear friends who give each other space. The second apartment sat vacant for a good while after that, again waiting for just the right addition to the "family." Mark found Mario, another personal trainer, tatooist, in his '20's. They both have keys to my place, come and go, doing laundry, borrowing spices, using the ironing board. Most every week I cook for the entire house and we all commune. Today, a pig roast. Wonderful (except of course, for the pig!)

Reached an exciting and important decision today that's been brewing for a while. I've decided to take three lovers.  OK, you're laughing and it's an absurd thing to say (and to share), I agree, but maybe when I share my reasoning with you, you'll see the wisdom for Sarah. It's the whole "falling in love" thing. I'm glad I experienced it - it would have been a life regret to have never experienced the intoxicating euphoria of that experience. And there is a lot to be said about being in love: the cleaving of two hearts, the way your heart soars when you hear the special cell phone ring of your beloved, the exclusivity of making one person your focus, the feeling of being loved with intensity, knowing that you're the first thing your beloved thinks about when he wakes, who he calls when he comes up for air at work, the person he wants to talk to before going to bed - it's wonderful. And yet for everything good about it, there is a very dark side that's hard to manage - feelings of insecurity, unworthiness, jealousy for some, worry about the future, possessiveness, anxiety, feeling bereft when there is conflict - being in love is absolutely terrifying and exhausting. It's also a huge distraction and if you're a person with a full life, responsibilities and passions that need care and feeding, Being in love makes it hard to maintain your balance.

Like I said, I'm glad I experienced being in love. It's a love drug that floods your brain with delicious feelings, it's addictive.  I'm also glad that I experienced cocaine back in the early '80's - my first husband and I stayed up one night and enjoyed the effects of it. We decided afterwards that it was too expensive to make a habit, so that one night was my only exposure to it. Good thing - back then, the wisdom was that it was non-addictive. Anyway, been there, done that. Same with being in love. I don't crave repeating that experience.  It all but did me in as most of you know. I jumped off a cliff, sailed blissfully through the air for a while and then crashed in a sobbing lump at the bottom of the ravine. 'Twas touch and go there for a while - I seriously wasn't sure I was going to survive the experience. But survive I did and inch by inch I clawed my way back to the top and here I am, alive and almost happy again. I'm glad for the experience. Proud of myself that I survived it. Wiser and better than I was at the onset. All in all, it was an amazing experience, one that I wouldn't trade for anything, but repeat it?  No way. I will never fall like that again, never allow myself to be owned by someone again. Never love with no reserves again.

And that brings me to three lovers. Spent time with a intimate friend yesterday who is very busy - we only see each other occasionally. We agreed that we have the perfect relationship - it's passed the test of time, we love each other but are not in love, we love our time together getting caught up since the last time we saw each other, we find excitement and comfort in each other's arms, and then we say good-bye until the next time. It's perfect except that I see him so infrequently. The risk though, would be, if I did see him more often the relationship could change - we could start to need each other in different ways, possessiveness and insecurity could rear their ugly heads.

Having three lovers is, I think, the ticket. It would not be a secret that I was not monogamous but any discussion about "others" would be off limits. Time spent loving with none of the clingy, negative stuff. And if one of the three got busy or distracted or pissy, then the focus would shift to the other two while the situation sorted itself out. Friend said, "What if one of them fell in love with you?" To which I resonded, "That would be their problem." I have no intention of falling in love again. If I feel it happening, I'll turn the volume down on that relationship until the feelings abate.

The challenge today could be thinking over your feelings about being in love versus just loving. Do you agree with me that being in love is a scary addictive drug - something to be wary of? And yay for you if you are in a loving relationship in which you can just relax, be yourself, be confident and not be driven crazy by negative emotions.

Wish me luck.  I start interviewing this week.

Peace,
Sarah

"G" Spot Controversy Continues/Pee Like a Racehorse

Thursday, at the office with Shay doing more battle with the STUFF. Today we go through all the family memorabilia that was stored in a closet here. This is touchy territory, what to keep and what to let go? Just this past weekend, Catherine said, when we were gathered for Mother's Day and looking through old stuff, "Aren't you supposed to want to keep stuff from our childhood?" To which Elizabeth responded, laughing, "She's so over us!" We all got a chuckle over that but it got me to thinking. Was she right? Am I eager to move on from the role of mother as collector, protector, conductor? I've always envisioned there would be a time, near the end of my life, when I would want to sift through boxes of stuff from my kid's childhood, marveling over their school reports, their water color paintings, their baby teeth. Or I figured they would want those memories for themselves and it was my fiduciary duty to preserve them. Now I'm thinking we need very little, an archive here and there, but not the granular detail of life past.

I have almost nothing from my childhood. "Lellow The Bear" was misplaced years ago, the geisha doll I loved with six interchangeable wigs, my Tiny Tears with the tightly permed curls, my Ginny's - they're all gone - not a clue where they went. So, I'm getting rid of most of my kid's stuff - all the American girl dolls and paraphernalia, the stuffed animals, the chotchkies - I will keep only pictures. What the girls don't want goes and hopefully will be repurposed by other little girls. Call me an optimist, but now that I'm staring at what is probably the last third of my life, I have no intention of slowing down and being someone that lives in the past, lingers over collected objects, regales everyone with the same old stories. I think of my mother's friend Peggy who lives here in Evanston. She is in her '90's and still an active artist, painting every day, meeting deadlines for gallery openings, exhibiting all over the place. Her work still sells like hot cakes - she keeps very little of it. The picture today is one of her pieces. That woman doesn't have time to slow down and reminisce! She'll be creating until the day she dies!

What's on my mind today is an article I read about female sexuality - the "G" spot specifically. Article in the Trib today about a scientist who went to Poland to dissect a very fresh female cadaver. In the U.S., scientists don't have such quick access to dead folks and as such, certain experiments can't be done. And maybe you don't know that there is still scientific debate about whether the "G" spot exists at all. Many feminists scoff at the idea of a "G" spot - they think it's a male conceived idea that the center of a woman's sexuality lies in the vagina. They assert the "G" spot is the clitoris, and nothing more - that women don't derive pleasure from penetration. I guess I'm incredulous that a) this is still being debated b) that something as important as female sexuality has apparently gotten the short shrift when it comes to hard core research and c) that this is even a topic of discussion at all! Isn't this a case where the anecdotal evidence speaks for itself? Don't we women get to vote? I don't need a scientist to tell me what my body is feeling, what is real or not real inside of me! And I don't need a militant, man-hating feminist to tell me that my vagina is really only good for birthing babies. Feeling pissed off about this. Y'all need to stay out of my vagina.

It's scary though, the preoccupation with female body parts and the things that men are capable of. Few years ago I read an incredible book called Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, an amazing woman who spent her youth in Somalia, Saudi Arabia, Ethiopia and Kenya.When her father arranged for her to meet her chosen bridegroom in Germany, she escaped and found her own way to The Netherlands and got asylum. She struggled, survived and then thrived in the democracy there, eventually being elected to the Parliament.

Of all the stories she tells, one, in particular haunts me because it is such a cautionary tale. It's the whole lens thing - seeing the world through our own cultural upbringing, not questioning whether things are right or wrong, accepting bizarre practices as normal. She was in a ladies' room urinating with three other young women, her peers. And while Ayaan had been forced to undergo female circumcision, the other girls had not only been circumcised, but their vaginas were sewed up as well - only a small hole remained for urination. The girls took a long time going to the bathroom and later they trash talked Ayaan, because, while their urine drip, drip dripped daintily into the toilets, Ayaan's sounded like a racehorse when she peed. They shamed her. The takeaway for me is being mindful that, just because something is the norm doesn't mean it's right. Is the fact of Ethiopian girls taking pride in their sewed up vaginas really any more bizarre than some of the stuff we embrace as proper? Boxing matches, hours of TV watching a day, eating pink slime, male circumcision, violent rap lyrics, legalized tobacco - the list goes on and on.

I was all over the map today with this blog post - my mind is full. The challenge today is questioning everything - being a free thinker. Be a skeptic! Be alternative! Just because someone scripts you to be a Grandma in a rocking chair looking through old birthday cards doesn't mean you have to accept that role. Similarly, if you can tell the difference between a clitoral and vaginal orgasm, don't let some scientist or activist tell you that what you're experiencing isn't the truth. Most importantly, take a step back and look at the society you're in with unbiased eyes. Decide for yourself what's good for you and your family. Just because something is the norm doesn't mean it's right. Helps to examine your beliefs with the eyes of an alien.Make believe you just came to earth and were tasked with observing and describing human actions. If an alien would question it, we should too. Having said that, there are things we humans do that probably would make no sense to an alien, that are wonderful. I for one, am not giving up kissing any time soon.

Peace,
Sarah

Porous/Sweat=Elixer of Life

Here at the office with Joey chewing contentedly at my feet. I routinely buy him raw bones from the local butcher - Buddy Bones - keeps him occupied for hours. Between Shay and Victor I'm going to get this office move accomplished well. All the office furniture is on Craig's List and we're getting action - just sold a bank of vertical file cabinets for $400 and we've got a Christian school looking at the ten cubicles. My life is about to get a LOT simpler! Phew! And 40 is the new 30 when it comes to exercise. Last couple of days, I've ratcheted up my minutes on the elliptical - toying with the idea of putting in a full hour each morning - at least 45 hard, sweaty minutes. I have Chris Crowley's (Younger Next Year)  words ringing in my eyes - a full hour of aerobic exercise taken daily is the proven fountain of youth. Every morning I sweat like a horse - the stuff drips off of me, stinging my eyes, drenching my clothes, making my hair so wet it looks like I just took a shower. I embrace sweat - it is welcome and I suspect if I Googled "sweat", I would discover all kinds of interesting facts about the benefits of sweating: a way to rid your body of toxins, purification of pores, oxygenating the skin, the moisturizing effects, a great hair product (only wash my hair weekly so I just blow dry my sweaty hair), and more. I just made all this up so don't take it as gospel, but I think I'm on to something! Sweat=elixer of life!

I'm thinking about and looking forward to dinner with Patrick this Saturday. It's been almost a year since we broke up (June 13th) and what a year it's been. Somehow he and I are finding a new way of being with each other. He is precious to me well beyond any romance. I'm glad we can be friends. Really glad.

And that brings me to what I want to talk about today. Porous. This word, as used to describe a way of living, first hit my radar when I started therapy with Kaveh. At the onset, I asked him how the whole therapy thing was going to work - would he come to love me? I think I assumed you couldn't go really deep with someone and not develop strong feelings. His answer was important advice not just for therapists but really for anyone seeking happiness. He said there are two hallmarks of good therapists, two critical components that must be in place for the therapist to be efficacious and stable. Too many therapists, he said, are not OK themselves - they bring their own longings and baggage into the therapeutic room and pollute the healing process. To be good, a therapist has to constantly do his own work, tend his garden, make sure his home life is happy and that he's getting his needs met there. Secondly, good therapists are brave and allow themselves to be penetrated by their clients. Rather than putting up walls and hard boundaries, good therapists aren't afraid to share themselves when it's beneficial to the patient. They allow themselves be affected by their clients, to experience whatever emotions come up for them in the session. That's not to say they just let it all hang out and act on those emotions, or even share those emotions as they surface - most of the time they keep their own counsel. But feel they do, and that's where the porousness comes in. Kaveh described how he allows himself to be fully penetrated by his patients but he doesn't hold onto the feelings. Instead, he lets them wash through him like he's a colander. Feel and release.

It's so Buddhist - feeling what you feel, experiencing it, rolling it around on your tongue, marveling, loving, and then sending it on its way with optimism and eager anticipation of the next wonderful thing that will present itself.  Kaveh may have an Islamic heritage, may celebrate Jewish holidays with his wife, may worship at the altar of Freud, but at the end of the day, I'm thinking he's all about Buddhism and non-attachment whether he knows it or not. He is loving the journey - wherever life takes him. And that's how I want to be - what I'm striving for. By letting go of expectations, by being optimistic about the future, by relinquishing control and letting other people drive the car - all of it sets the stage for life to be an impromptu magical showcase, one that is sure to surprise and delight.

The challenge today is giving thought to the idea of porousness. Some visualization might be in order - meditation even. Being porous is the opposite of being uptight, controlling or clingy. Being a porous person is laying down weapons and defenses and internalizing anything that comes your way. It's absorbing the positive and negative energy that is directed at you, letting it into your body, looking at it turning and examining it every which way without passing judgement or letting emotions (fear, anger, need) flare. It's saying "What's this?" to the emotions when they bubble up - greeting them with a "Hello old friend," visiting with them for a while, and then sending them on their way with an exhaling breath (or maybe sweat!).

I know the post today has been a bit airy fairy - could have done a better job expressing myself without getting all mystical and stuff because truly, being porous is not a mystical concept at all - it's a very practical way of living, one that makes loss and change bearable and allows you to move through transitions with grace and optimism.

Peace,
Sarah

Waste/Buy String One Length At A Time

Tuesday and life is humming along - lot's of activity getting ready to move from the office, divesting SOO much stuff. I feel lighter with each possession that leaves my possession. I once fantasized about being able to itemize everything I own on two sides of a piece of legal paper. Think of it! Kind of like trying to list all the 50 states (you always miss some, right?) or what I've been doing lately when I have a quiet moment - listing Scrabble words. The thought I would be able to list everything I own is unimaginable! And yet, what a wonderful thought! How did we get so much stuff?  I remember reading about a woman journalist who moved to Shanghai and how different the lifestyle was in her authentic Chinese neighborhood. Vendors would cruise the neighborhood on bikes with wares for sale and people would buy JUST what they needed. One vendor sold lengths of string - people bought string by the meter from him when they needed a length to tie something with. I, on the other hand, probably have no less than ten balls of string between drawers in the house, the garage, closets, mystery bags with unknown stuff, etc. And that's just string!

Took a break from writing this and Shay and I went through everything on the first floor of my office. Think we got rid of more than 1,000 pounds of stuff - seriously! I absolutely hate that I accumulated that much stuff - it's so excessive. And I'm just one person! Is it weird that I started to mourn for the earth? I said to Shay, "All this stuff was harvested from nature. The plastic was made from disemboweling the planet. We buy it, keep it for a short time, it is soon obsolete, and then we try and put it back into the earth (landfill) but it's in a form the earth can't digest - will take thousands of years to turn back into a natural resource. I'm not explaining myself well. Let me try again.

I keep having images of humans reaching deeper and deeper into the crust of the earth, extracting everything that can be turned into something of human value. So much of what we extract is quickly disposed of - earth to energy that is being belched into the atmosphere. I'm in the business of selling bandwidth which can be thought of as nothing more than smart electricity. Because of personal technology, the need for bandwidth is increasing exponentially - the functionality we have at our fingertips with our personal devices is mind boggling and the need for bandwidth (energy) ever increasing (shocking amounts). It is absolutely unsustainable and wasteful and much of the appetite for energy is hedonistic (think Sarah playing twenty simultaneous cell phone games and the phone barely able to keep up with the electricity I was drawing).

And maybe if you believe in the Rapture and feel the Earth is a disposable resource for humans to do with what they will, then you are not upset about this. But if you think like me, take a step back, get some perspective and realize the simple truth of our actions - we are gobbling up the Earth's crust and spitting it out into the atmosphere in the form of spent energy, or dumping it back into the earth in a way that poisons. All for what - "advancement" and entertainment? I have walked the aisles of carrier hotels, server farms where this energy is being consumed in massive quantities - there is never enough electricity available to power all the servers (it's often rationed). The "cloud" you're hearing so much about is nothing more than these server farms at places like 350 E. Cermak in Chicago. They can't build these facilities fast enough - just heard a statistic that, for every 100 IPads fired up, it requires installing a new server in a carrier hotel to support them!

Here are some tidbits from an article from the WWF (World Wildlife Fund) worth considering:

Earth's population will be forced to colonise two planets within 50 years if natural resources continue to be exploited at the current rate, according to a report out this week. A study by the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), to be released on Tuesday, warns that the human race is plundering the planet at a pace that outstrips its capacity to support life. In a damning condemnation of Western society's high consumption levels, it adds that the extra planets (the equivalent size of Earth) will be required by the year 2050 as existing resources are exhausted. The report, based on scientific data from across the world, reveals that more than a third of the natural world has been destroyed by humans over the past three decades. Using the image of the need for mankind to colonise space as a stark illustration of the problems facing Earth, the report warns that either consumption rates are dramatically and rapidly lowered or the planet will no longer be able to sustain its growing population.

It goes on to say that:

'It seems things are getting worse faster than possibly ever before. Never has one single species had such an overwhelming influence. We are entering uncharted territory.' *

And:

America's consumption 'footprint' is 12.2 hectares per head of population compared to the UK's 6.29ha while Western Europe as a whole stands at 6.28ha. In Ethiopia the figure is 2ha, falling to just half a hectare for Burundi, the country that consumes least resources...The report, which will be unveiled in Geneva, warns that the wasteful lifestyles of the rich nations are mainly responsible for the exploitation and depletion of natural wealth. Human consumption has doubled over the last 30 years and continues to accelerate by 1.5 per cent a year.

The challenge today is thinking about consumption and all the stuff you have. If you find yourself in the same position as me, embarrassed and chagrined to be such an abuser of resources, then maybe vow to do better going forward. Soon I'll be moving into my home office with a fraction of the space I have now. I pledge, with you as my witnesses, to walk lighter on the earth - to take only what I need, to limit my use of resources.You and I may never purchase string one length at a time, but we can live more simply and organized so that we know what we have, stop gobbling, and live more respectfully. I have tears of remorse for my unnecessary and careless consumption - the waste I now faced as I downsize. There really is no excuse for it.

Peace,
Sarah

* quote from Martin Jenkins, senior adviser for the World Conservation Monitoring Centre in Cambridge, which helped compile the report.

Picture is a server farm - "the cloud"

Lens Adjustment/Container Cracked

Monday, yes. Weekend is behind me with mixed results.  I need to ALWAYS remember to line up weekend activities BEFORE Friday. Because I didn't, Friday found me without friends. Stayed late at the office working on memorizing "Q" words that don't require "U" and also "Z" words.What a dork! Getting a bit competitive with Scrabble these days. Then I decided to go to Schaller's by myself to sing and support Bobby, but wow, that was a mistake! Turns out he forgot microphones - singing in that long noisy bar with no amplification took a terrible toll on my voice. Ended up leaving early, going home, downloading those two evil games on my cell phone and spending the rest of the evening with my new friends, "Tigersmom", "Cellgirl", "Aspasia" and "Goodforyou". Wee hours found me curled up in my bed playing game after game of Hanging With Friends and Words With Friends. At one point I had in excess of twenty games going at once, and of course, being Princess Xena Cell Phone Game Warrior, I won most of the games. So, yeah, the container cracked, and the following day, found me glued to the phone and not walking my 10K steps, feeling bereft and enervated.

Rallied on Sunday and got the home office crap sorted through. Made a little "store" for the girls and friends to "shop: for stuff (free) - the rest went out on the curb. Mother's day was a non-event. Finally after years of being disappointed on Mother's Day, I am at peace with the day - I have no expectations. My girls love me but they're not planners so the day usually finds them clueless and scrambling. I expressed a desire for them to come to the house and grill - they interpreted that as I would cook dinner for them! Clarification on my part - "I was hoping you would shop and cook the meal for me - I've been cleaning all day."  Response, "No money for food," so 6PM found me at Whole Foods with C. picking out food (that I bought) which wouldn't then be ready to eat until close to 9PM. Arg....I was so hungry and crabby, but I held my temper and endured - I was determined to give them the gift of being OK with whatever the day offered, whatever they offered. I love them dearly and I'm learning to just "roll". But...you know what would have put me into an instant great mood? A martini and a plate of pasta. I would have been happy, fun, bubbly Mom and everyone would have been grateful for a gushingly happy Sarah. But my container held - it's the promises we make and keep to ourselves that give us true currency in this world. I all but passed out from hunger and my mood was black with the disorganized effort but I stayed within my WW points and drank nothing, knowing it was just a day that would soon be over. Most importantly I found pleasure in the day, subdued my discomfort and my grateful lens was in sharp focus.  I was mostly proud of myself (grumpiness only leaked out a few times).

Lens adjustment. Putting on the right glasses to begin with and then making adjustments as needed - that's what I want to talk about today. Saturday was two weeks since my last WW meeting because of party prep last week. I was, I thought, exemplary in those two weeks and was looking forward to a 4-5 pound weight loss. Got on their scale - down one pound in two weeks! 'Twas then I remembered why I had fallen off the program last fall. Week after week I heard, "stayed the same", "down .4 pounds (be sure to read that as "point" 4),etc. I remembering being really discouraged and angry and thinking it just wasn't worth it. So here we are again, a 1 lb. loss in two weeks! What to do with that?  This:

Did you know there is this really great eating plan you can go on that will provide the following results: First off, you can eat anything you want - you just have to budget for it and watch portions. Secondly, it's designed for optimal health, not just weight loss, so even if you're losing weight to look good, you'll also reap the benefit of great bloodwork, healthy joints, great sleep, beautiful skin and hair, and more! Eating this way will lengthen your life and improve your sex drive. It will flood your body with anti-oxidants to fight disease. It will give you an appreciation of nature's bounty and you'll find yourself haunting farmer's markets and the produce section in search of foods that are in their simplest form - one step removed from sunshine. You will learn to be a great cook, using healthy cooking techniques and your friends will look forward to dinner at your house because the food is delicious. In time, your body will trust you - you will shed years of accumulated baggage. You will never be hungry - most fruits and vegetables can be eaten in unlimited quantities. And here's the best part! You get ALL these benefits and you can look forward to losing anywhere from 1/2 to a full pound a week - in a year you can expect to have shed 30-50 pounds! "Wow," I can hear you saying, "I can actually lose 1/2 pound a week and not suffer? Where do I sign up?"

And that is the lens change that needs to happen if you are my age and on a sensible, slow food plan like WW. You need to be amazed that you can eat in such a wonderfully long term sustaining way - the way everyone should eat regardless of size - AND lose weight. If I had adjusted my expectations back in the fall as I'm doing now, I'd have lost an additional 15-20 pounds between then and now.  But I showed them!  I got pissed off and ended up gaining about that much instead!

Challenge today is adjusting the lens, redefining expectations, making course corrections. Is there a goal you have that eludes you? Maybe you made a New Year's resolution to be well on your way with something by now and it's just poking along. Maybe you took up guitar with the hope that by now you would be able to join a band but you're still struggling learning all the chords. Maybe you hoped you'd be further along in your career by 2012 - you made a five year plan in 2009 and you're behind schedule. Maybe the reason your progress has stalled is because you're discouraged - it's just taking too long - you're comparing your efforts to others and thinking the progress just isn't good enough.

It's times like this we need to remember success comes to those who show up day after day. In my Weight Watcher daily tracker, there is a motivational saying - this morning, perfectly timed. "People who reach their goals are people who just refuse to quit."  Think about it!  Goal reaching is NOT about being the smartest, the fastest, or even the hardest working. It's simply about staying the course and not giving up. Time passes. For those who persist, many goals are reached with small daily efforts. So, even if I lose 1/4 pound per week, that would mean in about four years I will have achieved my goal without suffering at all and also enjoy wonderful health. Like I said, lens adjustment.

Peace,
Sarah

PS.  This morning, container in good shape thanks to some super glue. I erased the evil games from my phone, did my elliptical, restored order to my house and now I'll put in a good effort at the office. Life is good, even if not easy.

Happiest Under Moderate Fear of Death/Telecom Boys

Friday and no plans which scares me. Don't have plans for tomorrow night either. It's shaping up to be a lonely weekend. What a contrast to last weekend and the mammoth birthday party with loved ones all around! And really, I am the architect - if it's a lonely weekend, it's of my own making. There is so much to do in this city. Thinking attitude adjustment is in order. I will shake the trees and make something happen that it is fun and life affirming. Having said that, it's the weekends I miss having a boyfriend - everyone is coupled up.

Yesterday the trade show, an annual event for the master agent we do most of our business under. It's a huge deal with a keynote speaker and all the carriers whose products we represent in attendance vying for our attention. And because I've been in this business so long - 23 years - I'm well known and respected. Here's my problem (there's always a problem, right?). My problem is that they all look alike to me with just a few exceptions. These telecom boys are cut of the same cloth - usually dapper, clean-cut, eager expressions when they meet me, disappointed expressions when I don't remember them. They usually wear khakis and have a button down shirt, sometimes a polo. They usually use hair product to make their hair spike a bit. If they're one of the older gents, they are graying and balding, fit, always smiling. I never remember anyone and some of these guys I've been rubbing shoulders with for 23 years!!! So I smile and fake it. Most people remember me 100+ pounds heavier and they marvel over my appearance - that feels good but really I could care less about telecom boys - no romantic prospects there - God forbid - what would we talk about? - latency and jitter? So yesterday when my feet got sore in heels I changed into my five fingered shoes which looked smashing with my dress (not!), and the shoes became good conversation starters, got me off the hook for not remembering names.

I did win an IPad!  Well won is probably too strong a word. To the audience it appeared as if I was the lucky winner but each year, the principals of the event rig it so I win something big. Cracks me up but I love it! And I was just thinking of getting an IPad so I am excited to own one! Dinner was fourteen men and Sarah at Carlucci's - surprisingly nice with good conversation. And here's the thing. The telecom boys, when you scratch the surface, they're people too and often interesting people with surprising hobbies and passions. So, shame on Sarah for being so dismissive! It's just that I like really smart men - I mean crazy smart and there aren't many PhD's selling T1s and phone systems! Prejudice showing through again. Today Sarah=unsufferable. One things a given - I'm not going to pick up any guys with my Vibram shoes on!

Read an interesting article in NYT today called Cycle of Fear by Tim Kreider. It was timely because I just had a conversation with a good friend of mine who is going through a difficult divorce. It's making him crazy and what's worth noting is how irrational we get when we're under duress - common sense goes out the window. In his case, he has ceased tending to the things he actually has control over and has devoted his energies to trying to control the actions of the players in his drama over which he has absolutely no control or sway. And why do I think this is all too common when you're feeling like a rabbit in the headlights - we make really dumb, unenlightened decisions when our brains are flooded with adrenaline. It's that whole fight/flight thing and the lizard parts of us that just aren't that sophisticated. I'm far from an expert, but because I care and because I have some perspective, I counseled him to stop trying to micromanage the actions of others and to focus on taking care of himself. In recent days I've talked about putting a healthy container around ourselves so that when shit happens or we're having a bad day, the container holds us safe. The containers are the deeply ingrained good things we do for ourselves, the rules we live by. When we live them every day, they don't fail us when we falter.

I've been where my friend is right now, giving back progress (he lost a lot of weight too and has been putting some back on). He is using alcohol to numb his pain versus the healthier choice of exercise which is a better way to dope your brain. He is obsessively checking e-mail and over-communicating, making himself crazy. Been there. There are things he could do, that are eminently within his control that would bring him a measure of peace and wellness, even while he's embroiled in the insanity of divorce - meditation, exercise, eating well, having fun. These things should be his container - they will get him through.

Anyway, the article. The author is an obsessive worrier too and he's not even going through the divorce from hell like my friend. He just worries about everything, incessantly - his brain never shuts off - well, almost never. But curiously, it seems when he puts himself in actual physical danger, all the other imaginary dangers flee his mind. His premise is that humans do best when when under "moderate threat of death".

I’m convinced these are the conditions in which we evolved to thrive: under moderate threat of death at all times, brain and body fully integrated, senses on high alert, completely engaged with our environment. It is, if not how we’re happiest — we’re probably happiest in a hot tub with a martini and a very good naked friend — how we are most fully and electrically alive.

The challenge today is evaluating the quality of your worry. Are you consumed with worry over things you have no control, while at the same time abrogating responsibility and ignoring stuff that really does require action and focus? If that's the case, then consider the idea that you might be deliberately distracting yourself from the really important things that require your concern and yes, worry. If, you spend hours worrying about your upcoming plane trip and the thought you may crash, or if you're fixated on the upcoming election to the point where it's making your stomach churn, but you're NOT focused on the recent blood-work you got that shows your cholesterol numbers aren't good, or that you've been living on principle that you earmarked for retirement, then something is amiss. Let's make a commitment to worry ONLY about stuff we can control and that is worthy of our worry efforts! (BTW, I'm getting rid of all my pandemic flu supplies - all $10K of it!).

Peace,
Sarah

Chicken Waffle?/Shmoozing

Writing group was great last night....we only had six folks but that was just fine. Kay and Kathryn did the prompts and they were great! James was brilliant as usual - for the picture prompt where he was given three images (a dandelion, a couple getting married and something else I can't remember), he wrote the most detailed poem about a man fraught with indecision over his girlfriend's marriage proposal. When he posts it to his blog, I'll copy it here.When James reads, jaws drop.

And I didn't do so badly myself. My first prompt was a collage of three pictures: three hefty women in bathing suits congregated in shallow water, one on her cell phone looking like there was trouble abrewing.  The second picture was of Jodi's outdoor snack bar (whoever Jodi is), and the third picture was horrific and apparently delicious from the testimonials in the group - a new American delicacy, a chicken waffle. In the picture a waffle sits on a bed of gravy topped with a fried chicken cutlet, maple syrup being poured over the whole mess. That's just wrong - gravy on a waffle, maple syrup on fried chicken - both eaten together. Anyway I wrote a story about how Jodi had stolen Cecilia's husband and how Cecilia and her posse of girlfriends planned on getting him back. 'Twas very funny.

The second prompts were what we call first line prompts. We're given a bunch of first lines to choose from.  In the spirit of over-achievement, I wasn't content to use just one of the lines. I incorporated them all into one story that was written in 20 minutes. I think it's a darn good effort - hope you do too!  Here it is:
First the first lines that were given to us:

• A rush of cold air and the smell of rain greeted her.
• Grandfather looked at me and asked, "Where did you get that?"
• Weeds and mud covered the welcome sign.
• I hope that whoever took them just made an honest mistake.
• I felt like I was lost in my own house.

I felt like I was lost in my own house. But really it wasn't my house anymore. And yet, when the girl asked me if I wanted to see her bedroom and we climbed the narrow back stairs that once were used only by servants, and came to the familiar room at the top of the landing, I felt disoriented. 

"This is Stella's room," I said under my breath. The girl heard me. 

"No, it's not...it's mine, silly." 

"I mean it was," I corrected myself as I wandered to the window, knowing already what the view would be - fall, sugar maples of course, the gray bay beyond, a trawler chugging along, nothing had changed. 

I pushed the transom window open without asking the girl's permission - it was that or pass out from the time warp. A rush of cold air and the smell of rain greeted my nostrils. My head cleared. 

"Why are you here," she asked. "How do you know Mother?" 

"I don't remember," I said annoyed, hoping her mother didn't come home while I was there. I had entered the house on false pretenses. 

"Let's go downstairs," I suggested.  "I want to see the yard." 

The old inn hadn't changed much since Katrina - luckily it was on high ground. We should have come back. I tried to convince Harold it would be OK - that Stella and Stan were dead, nothing to be done about it, we'd might as well move on. But, he couldn't bear looking at the bay.  He hated the Gulf now. 

I trudged the property in my Wellies. It was overgrown and marshy, weeds and mud covered the welcome sign.  Next to the gate the only remaining beauty on the property, white, lavender and deep red-purple lilacs. Harold had planted the bushes when the twins were born. 

As I drove away from the property I looked up at a second floor window to see her watching me - she'd seen it all, didn't stop me from taking them - as if she knew there was a story. A wise little girl, scary wise beyond her years. Later I imagined her mother asking her what had happened to them. I imagined my girl shrugging and her mother puzzled, saying something like, "I hope that whoever took them made an honest mistake." 

As I pulled into Grandpa's FIMA trailer park, I shimmied the car in the deep mud, trying to get close to his front step, not relishing red mud on my new Wellies, even though Wellies are meant for mud. I gathered the flowers in my arms, a gift to Grandpa.  There was little beauty and goodness in his life these days since we all moved away. 

Grandpa looked up at me as I walked through the door weighed down by masses of multi-colored lilacs.

"Where did you get those?" he asked.

Today all day at a trade show for a master agent we represent, then an evening shmoozing event that will go late. I'll probably be the only woman again this year and dinner will be a caveman-ish affair. Last year it was at Gibsons where the men ordered enormous pieces of barely cooked flesh, drank gallons of martinis or Jameson's and for dessert the most bizarre of all - an enormous single slab of ice cream covered in chocolate and nuts that the waiter hacked into wedges with a cleaver. The men get very excited by seeing ice cream hacked with a cleaver. I'll have a salad. These days the container holds - doing great on WW, getting my 10,000 steps in every day.  I'm feeling great.

Peace,
Sarah