mapping the vault of memories

Children laugh a lot. It is a beautiful thing.

A few nights ago, I heard my son laugh from upstairs. The laughter tinkled merrily down the stairs from up high to down where I was standing in the kitchen. It was the laugh of a four year old – giddy, unrestrained, and in those chucklesome, high-pitched, and somehow fairy-like tones that only children that young can achieve.

That night I heard the free, sincere, heartfelt laughter of my son, and I had a thought, suddenly. It hit me without consideration and washed over me harshly. It did not care what I was doing when it came on, or where it would leave me after it fled into the night beyond me.

And the thought was this:

There will come a day when I will not be so privileged as to hear that sound anymore as a common occurrence in my life, my day to day What Is, my moments possible to take for granted (even though I don’t want to). There will come a time when that laugh does not even exist anymore.

There will be a day when forever more I will not be able to hear that sound. His laughter will still be accessible to me (sometimes) but it will never sound that way again. It will become lost forever in the vault, deep and wide and sometimes difficult to navigate, that contains my lifetime of memories.

And memories have this awful way of fading and being so hard to recall in a tangible way, so hard to truly feel in the same way as they were once experienced.

I stood there, at the foot of the stairs, frozen in that moment. I stood there, playing that brief sound over and over in my head, savoring it. I was all alone, and may have nearly appeared catatonic in that moment of true consideration and revelation.

Braden may never know that he’s ever done something so simple but so incredibly and effortlessly meaningful that it captivated his mother so greatly. He might not realize that she once stood quietly relishing the joyous beauty of a 3 second laugh he uttered about a little bit of something more than nothing that faded into the night without him giving it another passing thought.

When I write these moments, it is like I’m drawing a map to put up on the inside of that vault, so that when I dive into it later, so much later, maybe I can find these most important of thoughts and feelings, these memories of the most golden days, and hold them near me again for a few moments.

And I will know.

And now you do, too.

so much to look forward to

those grey skies just can’t have me anymore
it’s been so long since I
ran in the sun -
thinking I was trapped in the storm,
no chance to be warm.

but suddenly I’ve realized
there’s nothing holding me there
no chains, no ropes, no cage I’m in -
the door wide, I’ll cross the threshold,
out of the cold.

those grey skies just can’t have me anymore
for years they’ve tortured me -
held me close, whispered dark lies,
covered my eyes.

now they’re open and I see
a sun shining just for me -
no thunder here, no whipping rain
just warmth for miles,
waiting smiles.

warmth for miles

it’s for the taking
and I’m game.

I’m game.

Me is {more than} enough.

I wrote this post over 4 months ago. It is the culmination of a tangled, emotional struggling and growth, something of a metamorphosis, that I’ve undergone in the past few years. When I wrote it, I was standing on the edge of a precipice looking into a great divide, and I was ready to step off, not knowing if I was going to fly or fall. For awhile, I didn’t care which. As it turns out, I found I was carrying a bridge to the next peak in my own back pocket, and in unfurling it, what “fell” was this post, out of my heart and soul, onto the digital page. Something in me cranked, turned, and locked into place. I was absolutely sure I was going to publish the piece; I often publish my ugly stuff, my emotional wailings, and then… I didn’t. 

At the Blissdom Conference, Brené Brown was the Opening Keynote Speaker. I sat there in awe as she started talking about shame, about vulnerability and fear, and hot tears pricked the corners of my eyes. My mouth fell open when I heard her saying things I had written in this post. I had written that I was enough, that I accepted myself, and then I didn’t publish. Somewhere in there, I was telling myself “I am enough… but not quite enough to publish to the world that I am enough.” Kind of ironic, no?

Brené reminded me that when I allow myself to be vulnerable and truly open with the world, I am the happiest me that can exist. Yes, it can be frightening, but there is no more real way to live. And so I pull this out of drafts, I hit publish, and I affirm that I mean what it says. I hope it speaks to someone. It’s a truth from my heart.

~

I am {learning to be} comfortable with who I am. I know I am a being in process, unrefined, unsure, and, in many ways, different from others, different than you.

I accept me for who I am.

This has not always been the truth. Far from it, in fact.

For most of my life I have badly wanted to be accepted by others and worried that I would not be liked because I am not who or what others expect/desire me to be. My family taught me it is okay to be different. Society screamed at me {in whispers, with looks, in rumors, on television, in magazines, and at lunch break during school} that it was a lie! Different is bad, the world at large wanted me to be sure.

During grade school, my hair was dorky, my clothes weren’t “cool enough”, my ears poked out too far, and I was a nerd for genuinely liking to read and learn. I lived in the South, and most of my peers went to church and believed in God – I didn’t. I liked popular music, but also classical and old rock, preferred dorky to preppy, and laughed with a hitch. (#snort)

Most of the time I was okay with all of that.

Except for the times when I wasn’t. You know the times; the moments when others, intentionally or not, make you doubt yourself for your differences. Those moments shaped me in an ugly way. Those were the moments when I wished I was anything but me, anywhere but inside my own skin. I learned to put on a tough act, pretend I didn’t care. But I did, I cared so much it hurt.

I don’t think any of us are inherently comfortable with being put down, cast aside. I sure am not. It’s a painful thing. If you can accept that pain and move on, you’re golden.

I’ve begun to learn to accept Pain as the Dark Valley lying far below the Peak of Joy.

I’d never understand how high that summit was if I hadn’t climbed there from the foothills.

The disparity lends meaning to each extreme. I wish for it to make us focus on the blessings of our joys more greatly. Unfortunately, many of us (myself included, during a great many times in my life) dwell in that pain instead, and refuse to let it go, even when we’re at the peak.  Somehow, we take it with us, wrapped like a shroud.

That’s a negativity that can color as much of your life as you give it room to roam over.

So, for much of my life I have said and done things here and there, again and again, to try to gain acceptance from others. This is not to say that I haven’t also been true to myself in many ways and embraced many of my differences but there has always been an undercurrent of intense need that has made me strive to be what others want from me.

What a foolish waste of time. What an endless recipe for misery.

The acceptance that follows from such a practice is false. It may feel good briefly, or on the surface, but it is acceptance under pretense and deception.

It is an illusion.

As an adult, and increasingly in the past several years, I have grown tired of trying to please others to gain approval, to appear to be someone I am not in order to receive {perceived} acceptance and {false} fellowship.

I am not interested in relationships built around the idea that I should change, am not what I should be, think/feel/believe the wrong things, need help to be better, am broken, or need to be or do more *whatever* to be good enough.

And while I’d like to say I don’t need others, I will fully admit that I do. This is also something new for me; this is part of shedding the “tough act.” I DO need friends. I DO need support. I DO need people who care about me.

However: I do not need you to solve my problems. I do not need you to guide me. I need you to care about me, have an interest in my well-being, want to laugh with me, and be willing to listen when I need or want to talk. I need you to accept me for who I am, what I am comfortable with, and what I am not. I need for you to like me for who I am, or leave me alone.

I need you to like me, to even love me, for who I am right now, in this very moment.

And I will do the same for you.

If we are different, I am happy to find our similarities and celebrate them. I am happy to accept our differences and move forward. It *is* okay to be different, that really is true. What I have come to feel very deeply is that when you can accept someone, despite their differences, without trying to change them, that is true acceptance.
That is the basis for real friendship, humanity, and love.

[I am also okay with not needing to be friends with everyone. Tolerance and acceptance are the most important when there are differences that drive us apart.]

When I was a little girl, I loved Popeye, and I delighted in him saying, in his scruffy, twisty voice, “Iyam what Iyam, and that’s all that Iyam!” And I guess that’s what I’m saying. I am what I am, and that’s all that I am. And it’s enough.

I am Me.

I am {learning, growing, adjusting to being} comfortable with who I am. I know I am a being in process, unrefined, unsure, and, in many ways, different than others, different than you. I accept me for who I am.

I accept you for who you are, too.

No, really.

What?  Hey, I can guarantee you that there is some serious wrecking with the alcohol going on right about the time this here beauty publishes.

Here’s hoping that 2011 will bring to all of you the things you most desire from it, anything you didn’t find (but wanted) in 2010, and also… lots of cheese. (You can never have too much cheese.)

Remember too, that all the low points your year is bound to have will only serve to create stark contrast with the great joys you are sure to experience.

May we all be able to focus more greatly on the latter.

Happy 2011, Y’all.

At least a thousand words for each missed prompt. #reverb10

Sometimes you just have to get busy living, and the various other assignments you’ve given yourself just kind of fall to the wayside.  I’ve been doing that, and Reverb 10 went on the backburner.  I don’t feel any guilt about that, but for fun, here are the prompts I missed. I’ve assigned each one a photographic answer(s).

Day 12 – Body Integration

This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn’t mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present? (Author: Patrick Reynolds)

Day 13 – Action

When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step? (Author: Scott Belsky)

Day 14 – Appreciate

What’s the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it? (Author: Victoria Klein)

Day 15 – 5 Minutes

Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010. (Author: Patti Digh)

Day 16 – Friendship

How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst? (Author: Martha Mihalick)

Day 17 – Lesson Learned

What was the best thing you learned about yourself this past year? And how will you apply that lesson going forward? (Author: Tara Weaver)

Day 18 – Try

What do you want to try next year? Is there something you wanted to try in 2010? What happened when you did / didn’t go for it? (Author: Kaileen Elise)

Day 19 – Healing.

What healed you this year? Was it sudden, or a drip-by-drip evolution? How would you like to be healed in 2011? (Author: Leonie Allan)

Day 20 – Beyond Avoidance.

What should you have done this year but didn’t because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?) (Author: Jake Nickell)

Reverb 10 is an annual event and online initiative to reflect on your year and manifest what’s next. Use the end of your year as an opportunity to reflect on what’s happened, and to send out reverberations for the year ahead.

Community. Beautiful. #reverb10

Two prompts rolled into one post today. It’s like the Reeses Cup of Reverb Posts. How can you resist?

Day 7 Prompt – Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011? (Prompt Author: Cali Harris)

Day 8 Prompt – Beautifully Different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful. (Prompt Author: Karen Walrond)

Community.

I’ve found it in my neighborhood – for the first time in my life I have neighbors who I’d also call best friends.  They have enhanced my sanity in countless ways over the past many months, and, man, am I grateful for them. (They also ply me with wine, and man, do I love them for that.)

photo courtesy of Kristi Pryor

I’ve found it in my town.  Friends who see your flaws and issues and don’t care, but go the extra mile to help you get around them are pretty damn priceless. (Especially the ones who make thinly veiled crotch jokes with you.)

And I’ve found it where I’ve found it for the last several years: online. On blog, Twitter, and Facebook, and with Skype, I have found, forged, and maintained friendships that will last a lifetime. Many of these are with people I’d never have met, much less had lengthy emotional conversations and in-depth philosophical discussions with, if it hadn’t been for this Information Super Highway.

The Internet saves my life a little bit every day (laugh if you will, I am not joking even a little) by connecting me with people who form a support network that gives me advice, makes me laugh, sometimes makes me cry (jerks) and lifts me up when it seems impossible to be anywhere but down.

Different?

I’ve spent my whole life focusing on the ways I’m different. My parents taught me that it was okay to be different. The world argued.

As an adult I know the truth: we’re all different from someone (which is okay, fabulous even), but nobody is different from everyone. And that is one of the very reasons we can find community here.

Because the things that make us different and the things that make us the same are all beautiful, in their place. They keep us connected while at the same time interesting and valuable to one another. We are able to share different perspectives, experiences, and strengths, while simultaneously finding kindred souls who share our heartsong.

One of the greatest lessons of my life has been this: the most beauty blooms when we don’t focus on either the similarities or the differences, but on being there for one another, supporting, building and growing together. Dare I say it, Loving together. Then we truly thrive.

Community. Beautiful.

Reverb 10 is an annual event and online initiative to reflect on your year and manifest what’s next. Use the end of your year as an opportunity to reflect on what’s happened, and to send out reverberations for the year ahead.

The first three days. #reverb10

This time of year has me in a weird place – I’m both surging with joy and childish wonder at the beauty and spirit of the season… and scraping the barrel of my emotions, coming up with fingers mired in the black tar that lies at the bottom of my heart.

When I eyeballed #reverb10 yesterday, “an annual event and online initiative to reflect on your year and manifest what’s next,” I was intrigued. I was a little iffy about signing a commitment, because, let’s face it. The very nature of depression is that it’s hard to give a flying fuck lots of days. But then I decided it’s not a legal contract, and if I want to flake out like I do on everything else I’ve ever taken on, I totally can! Yay! (?)

But seriously, and more importantly, I see these writing (thinking/exploring/creating/discovering) prompts as a chance to find inspiration and motivation to keep me going through this season, even when the anchor tethered to my heart seems the heaviest, and the chain link line the shortest.

Day One:

December 1 – One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you? (Prompt Author: Gwen Bell)

Belong.

As in, where I do.  This has been a hell of a year for me, for my family. In both joyous and heartbreaking ways, and both literally and figuratively, I’ve come from far away back to where I belong.

I feel at home again… in my body, in my home, in the world, and in the arms of my husband (who, by the way, loves me with a depth and in a way I sometimes can’t believe possible, but for which I am grateful).

I’m not sure how I’ve really been lucky enough to make it here, but I’m so glad to not be wandering in the ether as often anymore.

I’ve refound where I truly belong this year, in so many ways.

My word for next year is…

Challenge.

I’ve been far too complacent about a lot of things for some time. (I know, how much more specific can I get, right?)  I’ve also allowed myself to fail at things (which is sometimes okay, but that’s another story) and I’m not okay with that right now.  I’ve felt left out, unconsidered, not good enough, and neglected in certain arenas.  I hate feeling that way.  I hate that I feel that way about myself, ever. I’m going to challenge myself in the coming year – to overcome those feelings, to focus on positives, and to accomplish successes that will help make those first two things easier.

I need to rise above the stopping point on my comfort level and push myself to new heights, both personally and professionally.  (And share it with all of you, whether you like it or not.)

Day Two:

December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it? (Prompt Author: Leo Babauta)

I do quite a lot of things that probably don’t contribute to my writing.  I don’t see that as a problem, though, so the idea of eliminating those things is somewhat puzzling and I find it unnecessary.

Writing is a deep part of me.  I do it often, share it sometimes. I write about… well, everything.  When I think about this, in fact, I’d have to say that, because of that very truth, everything I do and think while I’m not actually writing *does* eventually contribute to my writing. (Which is making this feel like a moot point, but I’m going to continue with the beating of the dead horse, for s&g.)

I write about my experiences, things I think, how I feel, etc.  As such, all things I do affect my writing in some way.  Writing and living the rest of your life = mutually exclusive? Nah.  Is life full of distractions?  Sure.  But I’m going to lean towards saying that time management, rather than elimination of life stuff, is the key to writing and still doing.

I’m never going to regret that I didn’t spend that hour writing, for deadline or for pleasure, rather than building an epic train track with my son or sharing some wine and my heart with my husband.

What I would regret is if I let everything in my life get in the way of ever writing.  So “balance,” once again, is the word of the day.

When I’m not wrapped up in my son, my husband, photography, cooking, gardening, Twitter/Facebook, fart jokes, Dexter, wine, or menial chores/errands/tasks that make me want to stab a pencil in my eye (clearly a favorite)… I’m writing.

Where the most time is devoted ebbs and flows, and I’m totally okay with that.

Day Three:

December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Prompt Author: Ali Edwards)

This makes smoke float out of my ears as my brain fries to a crisp.  It takes me eons to choose from the menu at a restaurant, deciding what to wear has the potential to cook up Angst Soup with a side of ARGH Salad, and any Bio or Profile where I’m required to list 3ish favorite books/movies/songs throws me into a mindlock of epic proportions.

I might be a little indecisive.

This task was difficult for me.  Really difficult. REEE-HEEEAAALY.

And I’m going to bend the rules, here, and tell you that this is ONE OF THE moments when I felt most alive this past year.  Seriously, I FEEEEEL way too much, far too often.  There is no way ONE moment can be the MOST of anything in a whole year.

In any case, right up there hovering damn near the top moments when I felt most alive? When John, Braden, and I walked through this house for the first time, in the middle of the night, after having traveled nearly 1000 miles to get here.

Something pleasantly electric ran through me.

During those first moments in this house, my heart was so full it seemed it might push its way up  through my throat and out my mouth, finally floating away. I took a photograph of myself, reflected in the back patio door… I think you can tell how I felt?

It was a dark, quiet night outside, and inside there was an air of neglect and loneliness, like the house had been alone for too long, waiting for someone to love.  Our voices rang out as we passed through together, seeking the room we’d put our air mattress in for the night.

I felt alive because this (this town, this neighborhood, this house) is where I belong, where we belong, and I knew it, felt it.  Maybe the house did, too.  When I woke up the next morning, it didn’t feel alone any more.

And hopefully, it never will again.

In the rain.

I like rain.  I am opposed to the idea that it means you can’t still enjoy being outside.

I wrote a poem about it last year.

Braden loves to play in the rain.

He always has, and I’ve always allowed it.

I recently enjoyed running in the rain during a tropical storm for a couple of days. In Texas, any run without the hot, beating hell of the sun is pretty much awesome, though.

Last night we chose to eat at a Tex-Mex place for dinner – Chuy’s.  They have good food and margaritas, and there’s a fun patio with room for kids to run around in the grass and play.  We love sitting on the patio there.

Apparently, we’ll even do it in the rain.

There was only one other family out there. They were laughing at the whole thing, having a good time, too. I kind of think we should have gotten their number.

What do you like to do in the rain?