Let go. #reverb10

Day 5 Prompt – Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why? (Prompt Author: Alice Bradley)

Not too terribly recently (but not so long ago) something pierced my heart, and in fearful defense, I locked her away in a heavy cage.

I held on to anger.

I let fear and doubt grow strong and high, in thorny bush and tangling brambles.  I saw the deadly brush thriving, and turned my eye, rather than cutting it down, as I should.  It grew thicker and tighter around the cage of my heart until almost no light could break through.  The more time passed, the less I even noticed it.

Her wounds too painful to see, even through the dense and thorny vines, I did not visit.  With no warmth from another allowed through the thick canopy I had allowed to flourish, she grew colder, ever colder.  No longer feasting on love (she deserved), comfort (she desired), the heart inside me grew weak, famished.  She beat dimly for a great time; my body kept grinding mechanically through the motions of necessary life.

So hungry was she that, when something found its way through the tangling cover to her living tomb, she questioned it not, but absorbed it fully, wanting to consume, to be warmed.  A fine and lovely trickery, this black ink was, but not the warmth she needed.  And where had I been?  It was my job to protect her, and I allowed her to be exposed to this clever poison.

Only when forcibly lead through the darkness by another was I able to realize how absent I had been, what I had relinquished so easily.  He gave me the strength I needed to bring down those brambles and vines, though the process was painful, and many thorns drew blood from us both.

I am excellent at building cages, walls.  I am a great grower of the thorny vine.  I hold tight to anger. I harbor fear.

I’ve struggled with being truly loved.  I’ve allowed circumstances to make me doubt it possible.  That is changing in me.

I have slowly, this year, let go of the fear of being loved.

And it is warm in this light.

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.

Wonder. #reverb10

During December, I will be reflecting on my year and manifesting what’s next by participating in Reverb 10. Maybe you’d like to join me?

December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? (Prompt Author: Jeffrey Davis)

There are two things which are a large part of my life that help me maintain a sense of wonder on a regular basis: my photography habit and my son.

I am very rarely far from a camera, and am very often photographing the world around me, from the spectacular to the mundane.

What I have developed over many years of doing this is an ability to actually notice things that I used to take for granted.  The longer I do this, the easier it has become for me to see the small things in life, things which contain such huge beauty if only you notice them for what they are.

It is an amazing gift that is bestowed upon the habitually practicing photographer, and one that I will always be grateful to possess.

Every day is full of things you do  not expect… practice awareness.

Part of that lies in having a sense of wonder, and that really needs flexing, too!  Luckily, my second muse helps with that.

If you’re a parent who pays attention to the way your child sees the world, you know what I mean when I credit my son with helping me cultivate and maintain a sense of wonder.  His viewpoint continually renews my ability and desire to explore, discover, believe, enjoy, and love.

“Mommy, that beetle is not moving.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“Why is he not moving?  I think something is wrong.  What is wrong?”

“Well, that beetle is dead, honey.”

*pondering silence*

“Well, then, we should recharge his batteries, so he can have energy again.”

The world is full of possibilities for him, that I have long ago let go of or disbelieved.  It’s nice to turn that back when I see the wonder and potential for all things in his eyes.  It truly is catching, and even if I can’t fully believe all things he still considers (like recharging the batteries of the dead), he opens my spirit and mind to so many possibilities again that I wasn’t just not believing anymore, but that I wasn’t even imagining.

He has given me, in many ways, a ticket to ride back through my own youth. That is the height of wonder.

How have you cultivated/maintained a sense of wonder this past year?

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.

so wise, the moon

In a lonely backyard under a full moon
weeks of untamed grasses
tickle the bottoms of bare feet

wind chimes usually soft and melodious
sing out furiously, keeping time with the
stinging breath of a riling wind

while goosebumps break the skin
unprotected by sleeves of any kind tonight
a chin tilts skyward; hair whips madly

clouds up above that might otherwise linger
on a warmer, more lazy night
rush by overheard now

hurry hurry hurry
the wind is chasing at them
biting their heels, anxiously

lips part in a lack of self awareness
arms hang at sides, uselessly
eyes widen, taking it in, lost in the clouds

they seem to cover the sky
but for spaces of black ink in patches
large and small, leaked from some large well

and puffy thick here, thin and wan there
they flow, flit, fly by
racing past the moon

the orb burns bright and wide and round
and doesn’t flinch as each band of cloud
stretches and gallops before it

the glowing eye, stoic and almost aware
instead creates an explosion of color, a rainbow
bursting from nowhere, everywhere, right there on each cloud

lips purse and eyes narrow
then the mouth bends in a crooked smile
gears spin in my mind as my right brow arches

oh to be like the moon -
to brightly color and then chase away
all the fluff that dares to come between you and me.

time

they say it flies
often it rolls and tears
sometimes it creeps
and sneaks quickly, while you are distracted

it’s a flower that
drops its petals
far too quickly

you look around you
and they are scattered
like the pieces of your soul

changes explode all around
milestones rip past you
things you try to cling to are lost
others are found, unexpectedly

nostalgia will mock
serendipity can tease

the man holding the hourglass
has a snide grin
a cruel, jagged laugh

we all struggle to make sure
the joke is not on us
but when the laughter fades,
what side of the punchline will you be on?

always, we are progressing
through the stages of life
whether we resist the movement
or just flow

time pushes your existence
along a path that isn’t paved, but
being created by your own passage

do your feet drag lines down
your path
or are there hand prints
indicating that you did
cartwheels along the way?

your life, like time
tumbles by swiftly
and often quietly
if you let it

like the life of that flower
from bud to fragrant memory.

lets
try to stop and notice
those moments when
it is in bloom
just as often as we note
the petals that fall.

Hodgepodge of things to share…

First and foremost, there is a wonderful update by Peter Mayhew about Anissa – she is going home!  That totally made me cry big, fat tears of joy.  Please read the update and pass along the good news in any way you can – on your website, Twitter, Facebook, shouting from rooftops, etc.  We need to spread this – ANISSA IS GOING HOME!

The tweet announcing she’s left the hospital is here. RT that sucker!

Additionally, we need to do everything we can to  help them now, again.  The copays for her outpatient care are $100 a day.  Anything we can donate to The Mayhews right now will be of great help to them.  You can click here to access their Paypal donation page, or click the image below.

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Of much less importance, I have another two posts syndicated at Blogher: Falling Happens, But Jumping Takes Courage and The Not Good Enough Mother.  You may or may not have read them here, but if you have a chance, I’d love for you to check them out and leave me a comment over there.

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I’m also excited to share that I’ve started a new job as Nashville City Guide Editor at The Savvy Source. They are still looking for Editors for other City Guides (you’d provide regular info on preschool-age child-friendly activities in your town) for the following places: Berkeley, Charleston, Chicago, Cincinnati, Cleveland, Halifax, Honolulu, Houston, Indy, KC, Louisville, Memphis, Miami, Minnesota, Northern New Jersey, OKC, Pitt, St. Louis, Toronto, Vancouver. If you’re interested, Tweet @whithonea or email him

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I’m also contributing to Room 704 in its new, monthly format. (Officially, I’m Visual Editor/Cartoonist, but I’m submitting posts, as well.)  Check out the February issue!

Whew.  This really cramps my sitting-on-my-ass-doing-nothing style.

What have you been up to?

Yeah, that’s my horn you’re hearing.

Essss-cuse me while I toot it.  I’m going to have some of my content syndicated at Blogher in the next couple months (SQUEEE!) and today I have a post up over there – if you’re interested in showing me/my piece some love with a comment, you can see it by clicking: My Child Wouldn’t Nap: The Day I Learned Perspective.  (You know you want to “show my piece some love.”)

Okay, I have to put my horn down for a little while now. It’s throwing me off while I do this here booty shakin’ dance.

Why flinging yourself off the ledge is a good thing.

I have written, in the past, about how I truly enjoy spending time alone.

This is not to say that I don’t enjoy the company of others, or that I don’t have genuine interest in people. I thoroughly enjoy time with friends and acquaintances alike, and I’d say that other human beings interest me more than almost anything else.

These things, enjoying time with others as well as time alone, are not mutually exclusive. While I like people, I need a considerable amount of time to myself. I always have, and I always will. There is a sense of overload if I’m around too many people at once or for too long. I literally require the decompression that being alone brings.

I revel in being isolated in quiet, adore to be wrapped in nothing but my thoughts. There is a level of reflection and philosophy that I am incapable of reaching in any way other than alone in stillness. On the other hand, I delight in pounding my brain with loud music and smiling at a room that holds only me while I assault my surroundings with my interpretations of the lyrics and melodies. This is like medicine for my soul. I need it as much as I regularly need to feel sunshine on my skin.

So yes, I like to be alone. I like to have my thoughts to myself, to be able to control my environment, to be the master of my domain at any given moment. I am a hair away from saying that my sanity actually hinges on my having time alone regularly.

And so it feels odd to say that I’m horribly afraid of being alone.

I don’t think I’ve ever really admitted that. I’m afraid to truly stand on my own.  Confessing that is difficult for me. I have always valued strength and independence, wanted those qualities for myself. Yet I feel as if I hold my head high on the outside, while in reality, I often tremble and cower inside myself.

Many years ago, fearing that he would never marry me, I suggested to my long time boyfriend that we part ways.  He had given me some ominous answers to some very pointed questions, and my heart was registering some unwelcome and heartbreaking truths.

I told him that I felt I had lost myself in him. It would have been unfair of me to blame him for that, and I most certainly didn’t, but I had allowed myself to be dependent on him for so much, practical as well as emotional, for so long. I’d poured myself into him. I always knew I shouldn’t but I felt powerless to stop doing it.

When I realized that he would likely one day need to flee the suffocation of my pressing need, that he would surely turn and walk from me eventually, I panicked. I felt the crushing fear of falling alone on that impending day.  How could I protect myself?  How could I learn to be stronger?

I had to force a situation that would make me let go and step away. Inside, I knew I had to take a leap, to make myself learn how to stand alone. Jumping, after all, always seems easier than falling.
It is not. Falling happens. Jumping takes courage.

He did not disagree with me that we should part ways. Even though it was my suggestion, I have always been pained by that.

And so, what happened then, after separating myself painfully from my best friend of 7 years?  Did I spend a good deal of time alone afterwards, learning to trust my ability to be an independent person? No. I lacked the courage to jump.

I am so ashamed of that.

I immediately started dating the man who would later become my husband. I leaned on him as hard as he would let me. He let me lean in all the way. My ex told me in a sad tone, after learning I was seeing someone else so soon, “You are dependent. You just go from one man to the next, always looking for someone to take care of you because you’re afraid.”

I was stung by his words, angered. I dismissed them as jealousy.

The kicker was that I secretly knew he was right.

I held my head high and moved on. I said to myself that I couldn’t walk from the love John was offering me, that I couldn’t allow myself to pass up a chance at happiness. I told myself I’d regret it mightily one day if I did.

Those things are true, I was not lying to myself.

But the other truth, the one I’ve never admitted outside my own head is that I was also afraid to do what I had set out to do. I was frightened to stand completely alone in the world, daring it to knock me down.

“What if it really does?” I thought. I wasn’t confident enough in myself to believe I could get back up.

Was it a mistake that I did not take that time and learn the value of being strong in myself? In a way, yes, very much.

You see, it is not so much that I am truly weak, or unable to stand on my own, to be a strong person and take care of myself. Even through my fear there is a knowledge in my core that I am strong enough. Fear has a way of making you near-sighted, though. I am often unable to see my core. I believe the lies that my insecurity whispers so close to my trembling ears in moments of doubt.

I do not regret loving my husband.  And how could I regret a union that brought me the joy that is my son?  I do not.  This is my life.  I take my past and wrap it like a bow around the person I have become.  I cannot change my past, but I can most certainly examine it, always reflecting on where I have been, learning, and watching where I am headed.  I am the constant analyzer, if you will.

The mistake was not that I allowed myself to love and be loved. That is never a mistake.

The harm was in not allowing myself a chance to see the living proof of my own strength. If I had jumped, I’d know for sure that I can fly, and that would have banished my fear of falling infinitely.

Today’s post is my answer to Broccoli, a writing challenge at {W}rite-of-Passage.

The following people took the challenge, too.