“I feel as if I am floating, taking it all in, letting it wash over my body . . ."

I feel a bit like I’ve been floating these nomadic days of travel. From desert to mountains, climbing up altitudes and then twisting down again. People we know come in and out of the picture. Friends from random points of both of our lives are dotting the trail we’re on, each with something valuable for us to gain from them. I go back and forth from loving the solitude of just us to craving a sit down with a good girl friend, to wanting to simply be done with people for good.

There are long moments of nothing, where I keep thinking I should be coming up with some amazing epiphany, but no all I am doing is counting the cows on the side of the road. That’s okay. It would be hard to be philosophical all the time. And some one must count those cows. But for the most part I feel like I am just needing to float, to let all the simple things flow through my finger tips. To relax on thinking, on thinking what I should be thinking, thinking what I should be doing, or not doing. To just float and be okay with the world going on in my absence, or rather to be okay with my old world going on in my absence and okay with the floating status of the new.

Those big moments of understanding have tended to sneak up in a split second, some swoop by a few times before deciding to land. And in the few weeks that we have been traveling there have been a few. Perhaps it is too soon to acknowledge them, but perhaps it is not. Perhaps we will state them here as a prelude to future embellishments of thought, I always liked the preview the best at the movies:

You cant make everyone happy, and you have to be okay that some people are not going to like you, and the best you can do is surround them with love and acknowledge their process, what they are needing. And right now there is someone that is needing so very badly to hate me. And I need to allow her to do that.

I’m finding an understanding of myself in the difficulty there is in being someone who has strives for so long to be independent of others, yet needs the security of them at the same time. Understanding in the fight between what I know and want to live like and the way my community raised me.

Understanding the power of the earth itself, the voices of your inner desires and mother nature – how to follow those and not be defined by a society or another persons schedule.

Loving with abandon.

Finding a home within ones self as a nomadic traveler.

Really being undefined by the opinions of others. And the emotions of others. Creating that impenetrable shield in which only love goes in and out.

Stay tuned for the feature . . . just allow for a little float time first.

Blinded by the Food

Okay I admit it. I fell. I fell into consumerism. But does it count if it was food? It was early after our departure from Texas and into a weekend in Santa Fe that I found it. Trader Joes. Like a beacon the sign rose up from the faux adobe walls that Santa Fe insists all its businesses to adopt. It was even more exciting because it was my partners first time at a TJ’s. We walked in, my jaw dropped, and for the next 40 minutes I was in a state of, well I was in an orgasmic state at the sight of all the vegetables, the fruit, the organic reasonably priced unique shopping experience! It was perfect for camper world, our current home for two months. Small packages of pre-cut sweet potatoes, zucchini, stirfry mix. Perfect two portion sized fish and meats. Trail mix, yoghurt that was less then $8! No pudge brownie mix, and of course, 2 Buck Chuck. I had to restrain myself from buying 6 cases of the cheaply priced, but decent tasting wine, as the couple in the parking lot had in order to take back with them to Colorado.

We moved quickly, and tried to get out as fast as we can, and though the bill was in the hundreds, it was a fraction of what it would be at a whole foods. As we walked the cart to the camper we both looked at each other, a little shocked, spent.

What did it all mean? Had I succumbed to what I was at first revolting from? So I began to reevaluate my America opinions. I began to make exceptions for good healthy organic foods, and for the fact that recycling is now prevalent, and there are movies, and there are yoga studios, and good sandwich shops, and good beer. Hmmm, but wait . . . all those things are true in Indonesia too, and it is a fraction of the cost. Oh goodness. Oh goodness.

America – The Bold, Big, and Ridiculous

Three days since arriving on my home soil, and I am beginning to get disillusioned. At first the largeness and the ability to have anything you need at a finger tip was a novelty. How fun! Look at all the beers, all the vegetables, all the different kinds of toilet paper, juices, how do you pick a toothpaste? But as we drive back and forth from one humungous store to the next outfitting our camper for the tour across Western and Midwest America, I started to get a funny taste in my mouth. A kind of unfortunate wish I didn’t eat that taste.

As Hummer after Hummer drove by, as large after large human passed, as choice after choice presented itself I found myself wanting to bolt to back to my little island where you have to search 5 stores to find a part that might not even exist on the island and requires ordering from the states. Where there are only a few choices of cheese and frozen vegetables (expiration dates are for sissy’s), and once in a while a zucchini shows up that is not bruised and dented from the ship it came over on.

Upon further inspection I started to notice the empty yards. It was a lovely day, only 75 or 80 degrees F. Yet no one was outside. No children biking down the street, no one working in the yard. The huge yards, neatly manicured, recreation vehicles standing at the ready, but no humans. Where are they? In the cars, the SUV’s, going from one activity to the next, one store to the next. Zoom, zoom ya’ll.

‘Really,’ I say to myself, ‘you came from this why should it be such a shock? Why should buying product after product at super sized stores in super sized vehicles, then stopping by the super sized church be a shock?’ It is no wander that we Americans are huge, are ignorant, are dumfounded at the rest of the world. We have everything that we could possibly need neatly located on a shelf down the street in a huge warehouse of a store.

Ah but I know I am shell shocked. And they are good people, I happen to know that because I know many of them, and I adore them and love them, but the masses, the large picture, it just turns my little island head round and round a few times. It makes me appreciate living without. And it puts me in check when I get all excited at the ‘things’ you can get in America. And you know, it makes me long for a little island where you are spared the ‘As Seen on TV’ Margarita-Ville blender that makes perfect margaritas for $349.99, or the egg heel scraper to get those calluses off, or the $9.99 purse organizer.

Ah . . . America . . . Welcome Home

The silver lining!!!!
I am happy to report that many of the large warehouse stores are pushing reusable shopping bags as opposed to the plastic that is damaging so much of the world. Good job corporate headquarters! And yes, they do come in 'super-size.'

Without

I am learning to live without. Without power, without water, without computers, without internet. I am learning to live with patience, learning to change plans at a moments notice. To always have a bucket or two filled with water. To take a shower at 3am if you wake up and find that there is power, to grind the coffee beans when you can, to buy non perishable foods, to cook only with a butane stove and to eat by candle light. I am learning to enjoy the hammock, to do yoga on the balcony, and to get to the ocean to cool off. Through it all I am in a state of incredible gratitude. For with all there is to learn to be without these days due to the power being on a total of 12 hours a day and at random intervals, there is so much to be thankful for. And there is an incredible amount of love surrounding it all. My partner is home. And for the first time in many, many months, I am feeling complete.

Life knocked me off my platform . . . but I've got an appointment on Thursday . . .

(The following post was written one week ago and thus comes before the Neon Arrow post, yet was not ready to be unleashed until now. . . )


The body is an amazing, incredible, precious thing. And a woman’s even more so for from it comes life.

I’ve always gone back and forth about children. I think I want them, I enjoy them, yet as a teacher I realize what it takes to be a good parent, to raise a child, I help parents through the hard times and am glad when I go home to my dogs who require only a belly rub, a little walk and a cuddle. Those aspects make me rethink the idea of motherhood. And they make me carefully think about bringing a child into the world, with whom, at what point in life.

For awhile I said that I would never want a child if I was not stable, had a well paying job, and a stellar partner. The joke these days that goes with picking a father is, “is this the man you want your children spending their weekends with.” Hmm what does that say about our society and about how we choose relationships and partners in life? And then there is adopting. I always had a funny feeling that I wouldn’t be able to have children that I would adopt even if I could. There are so many children that don’t have a home, how could I deny them one for selfishly wanting to create my own?

Tonight I did a summersault, half twist, nose dive, into a completely different frame of mind. I’m three days away from a doctor’s appointment that will let me know if there is cancer or not. And to find out they do a procedure that may have to be repeated for a few years as they keep checking. The procedure and even the treatment if there are cancer cells create risk factors in future pregnancies. Silly me I researched way to far until the hysterectomy word loomed in front of my face – blinking on and off with a crackle like a vacancy sign on a sleazy hotel. A hotel where countless ‘accidents’ happen giving children to mothers that have no idea how to care for them.

The past weeks I have been finding friends and family members who have been scared in this way, some much older after they’ve had a family, some younger on the verge. Talking with them I realized how I’m more scared of the thought of never having children, then of anything else. That is what makes the tears come. Not the doctors, not the description of procedures, not even the idea of being alone through this – well okay that part does suck but I am thankful to have friends that will come with me and pick me up, and hold my hand.

Years ago a roommate of mine had ovarian cancer. Her family was not around and I became the shoulder she leaned on. She was older then me, divorced, and had once been pregnant as a teenager, but aborted the child as her family wished. I will never forget bursting through the doors adorned with “no visitor’s allowed” after not being told where or what was happening, and finding her through the curtains of surgery prep cubicles. A pen in her hand, tears in her eyes, her body shaking as a nurse waited for her to sign the form that stated she understood that after the surgery to remove the cancer she would never have children.

And though I know now after researching this thing, that the chances of cancer are only 15%, that if it is they can get it out quickly – I’m beside myself, thinking of her in that surgical gown signing away her uterus, her motherhood.

I don’t think I am ready for children. I don’t have a job, a savings, hoping to have enough to get the jeep out of the shop. My partner, I know he likes the thought of children, but I don’t know that he understands what it means, especially for the mother, what it takes to be a family, and to be a parent. We’re just figuring out what it means to feed a healthy relationship with each other.

And at the same time, this appointment on Thursday, for the first time in my life I feel like I am on a schedule. Like I need to let nature take its course. My roommate was 34 when she lost her uterus. That’s not that far away.

It’s a precious thing to be a human. It’s a precious thing to be a woman. It’s a precious thing to be able to house life.

I have faith that it will all be fine, I’m manifesting that it was all a mix up anyway.

Almost a week later : Biopsy Smiopsy, I offered to personally take them to Hawaii, it would be fresher I argued, but alas the larger part of me is still here, and in three weeks they will tell me what level and if we wait and cheer the white blood cells to do their job, or if we do a little zip zap and just 'get er' done.' All in all it will be gone, it is not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things because it was an early catch. I had a great friend with me, and great friends afterwards.

However, the emotional and mental process of this 'catch' was a whirlwind and still is. And it made some things clear. I'm done waiting forever to get going on this sharing a life and creating a life thing. I'm ready to settle, in the light terms of settling. Meaning I want to start making steps to life partner family planning. No need for there not to still be adventures just family in tow instead of dinner for one. I'm not interested in waiting around for someone else to be ready. I am interested in taking steps forward, not meandering around for long periods of time waiting for everything to be exactly perfect. Because, things are never going to be exactly perfect. They are only going to be what they are, and as long as they are surrounded by good Intentions, Love, Communication, Partnership and Trust they will be good.

Neon Arrow Please

I’m avoiding writing. I’m avoiding thinking. Yet, in my avoidance of thinking I am going back and forth in half thoughts that never really get a chance to finish before being shoved to the side by other half thoughts. It’s really a time consuming state of being, leaving room only for the annoyance of power outages and frantic spurts of cleaning, which is closer to moving dirt from one place to another.

One might inquire as to why. Why these crazed half thoughts, why these elusive posts of vulnerability and then nothing. Simple: You open up the door to Intention and you don’t get to choose what comes in. You choose what you send out, what you intend, but the Cosmic Joker out there isn’t always following the same script that you wrote. Oh said Joker is working towards those same intentions, I do trust that, but they have to have their ‘fun’ with you along the way, making sure you learn those valuable lessons, have those epiphanies, those strokes of insight that come from cause and effect, thought upon thought (if you can allow them to complete themselves), from falling, from getting thrown off the train that you had booked months in advanced and forced to take the horse and pony cart.

So then you are left thinking, “Okay, what lessons AM I supposed to learn here, what directions AM I supposed to be taking? Jeez if you you’re going to high jack the train like a band of old west robbers at least you can leave a map to the nearest town.”

All I have to say is that I am manifesting a great big neon arrow flashing like a vacancy sign on a sleazy hotel, pointing in a defined direction. I intend to see a blinking flashing arrow. I intend to allow a thought to finish itself.

vul·ner·a·ble

Pronunciation:
\ˈvəl-n(ə-)rə-bəl, ˈvəl-nər-bəl\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Late Latin vulnerabilis, from Latin vulnerare to wound, from vulner-, vulnus wound; probably akin to Latin vellere to pluck, Greek oulē wound
Date: 1605

1 : capable of being physically or emotionally wounded 2 : open to attack or damage : assailable 3 : liable to increased penalties but entitled to increased bonuses after winning a game in contract bridge


4. A perfectly horrible state of being when you have torn down all your walls, dropped all your clothes, and presented yourself to the world. You frantically look around for your clothes, but somebody has already given them away. You then turn your attention to getting those walls back because with them you at least knew where your boundaries were or were able to pretend that you did. They are gone too. Then you take a breath, say to yourself, "um, this is what I wanted right? This is what the sign said to do if you Intended to Live with Intention, be happy, find your true path right? Can't I just have one wall? I must have been insane to do this, was I high? Those clouds over there look threatening, could storm, on the other hand it could clear up and the rainbow could come out. I don't remember hearing the weather forecast. Brrr. . . getting chilly. How long will I have to sit out here? It's getting late . . . Yup, those look like rain clouds . . .

Amazing Women

When I picked her up from the airport I hardly recognized her. The feeling was mutual as she hugged me and asked in disbelief, “who are you?” Funny, that’s just the question that I had been asking myself for the past 6 months, the past year. As we drove from the airport I had a sudden feeling that I was old. No longer was I the younger sister, no longer was I just starting out, but in her eyes I saw that I was old, that we had both grown and changed, that life had given each of us joys and pains, that I was no longer learning from her, but we were learning from each other. It was the beginning of three weeks with my oldest sister in a country far from the place we’d grown up. It would be the most time we have been together since we were both girls living in the same house. Three weeks together, sharing a room, a bed, meals, and life.

I was struck at the internal reactions that I experienced in the build up to seeing her and then in the first week of her being with me. She represented more then just herself, she represented my whole family, all that I had been working to forgive and let go of, all that I was trying to understand about myself, who I was and wanted to be. I had written down my intentions for the trip before I left: to have a peaceful and meaningful trip with my sister, to find balance, clarity, understanding, to find love for myself. I didn’t feel that she needed to know what I was working on. I recognized that it was mine to work on, not hers.

It seems funny. A sibling, or any family member for that matter, is the one person in your life that you are never really introduced to, yet you are a part of each other for your whole existence. There is no, ‘nice to meet you, tell me about yourself.’ Even if you have not lived near each other for ten years, you still pick up right where you left off. The time that has past, the little details, ups and downs not recognized, life journeys are overlooked and immediately you are 12 again and fighting over a shirt.

A sister is like a mirror, in which you scrutinize the image more then anyone else in the world for the simple fact that you are made from the same people and have had the exact experiences to a point. Making them become the closest glimpse into what your life would be like if you had taken a different path, and the closest glimpse into who you are now.

Within each other we see what we are and what we are not.

We compared, sometimes out loud, sometimes inwardly, bodies, clothes, wrinkles, choices, fears, accomplishments, failures, lives. Even the way we spoke. Mannerisms from our parents manifested within us in different ways – proving we were cut from the same cloth. And there is the competition. I’m not a competitor at heart, but with a sister it is there just slightly. She jumped off the cliff, so I had to. I went down to the ocean floor so she had to. Or perhaps we were just showing each other what we both were capable of.

The one thing that was still there immediately, the one thing that gave us a forgotten glimpse of the tie that binds us forever was always apparent at night time. Lying in bed we were once again school girls teasing each other, throwing out jokes and smart ass comments, giggling. An unspoken understanding that we were the same no matter what different choices we made. That we were in the same boat and would be for the rest of our lives.

When you have been gone a long time, it can be easy to not address the past. It is easier to forget on the exterior. But that water damage is still there. And I knew I had to fix those leaks if I was ever going to be the person I wanted to be. I started that work months ago, really a year ago. However, my sister was an important part in the mending process; she represented me in so many ways. In the first weeks I went from angry, to sad, to bitter. I fought tears in the showers of the spas where we pampered ourselves. And I started to close up again.

Then one day I wrote it out, I wrote and wrote and wrote and I gave it up. I had begun understanding a while ago what negative patterns I had and where they might have stemmed from, but I hadn’t been ready to let them go. There was a part of me that still clung to them. My sister’s presence helped me to say goodbye to those patterns, to separate myself from the bondage of the past. To no longer be defined by anything but the present.

It was freeing. It was freeing to finally be able to be a person, and not a family member, to see her as the beautiful person she was and not just my sister, not just the mirror to my mistakes. To recognize that we were both on different paths, we had different journeys in this life, but we were both beautiful amazing and wonderful people and I was glad to make her acquaintance. She helped me to find unconditional love for myself, and for my family. And for that I am forever grateful to her.

And the beautiful thing about it all is that unspoken binding. In the end, after three weeks together, those initial representations, those initial feelings were gone. And we were sisters. Through it all, no matter what has happened or will, we loved each other and knew that we would always be there for each other.

When we parted, I had tears in my eyes again. This time my tears were full of love and gratitude. I am thankful for this person who I am almost identical to yet completely different from, this person for whom I am bound to forever. This amazing woman who is on an amazing journey, doing the best she can, ever growing, ever learning, ever loving. This Friend.

One month, One lifetime, One breath.

It is my second day home, I think. Yesterday I awoke to a phone call and had no idea what country I was in nor who I was talking to. A bit more settled today. The house has been swept of cobwebs and dust. The dogs bathed and loved, the laundry done. I’ve had some sleep and am now able to better collect my thoughts and to contemplate where to start, or rather where I am at physically and mentally.

I wasn’t ready to come home. The time away seemed as if it was a lifetime, and yet as I sit here it seems as if it all happened within one breath. One breath and my world changed.

There are a million things that I learned about myself and the world on this trip. I’m finding that I am not yet ready to jump back into the routine and life of my little island. I haven’t left the mountain yet. Today I haven’t even spoken yet. And that is okay. My soul needs to rest, to process, to internalize, to be silent.

Just me.

So far I have been documenting the preparation. The getting through all the hoops so that I can start. Start to write, start to be unemployed, start to be on this unknown journey. Okay, okay I know I am already on the journey, but now I really am. I’m in that moment of free fall. And all those lessons of how to fly, all that mental prep, everything has to kick in soon or I’ll fall flat. Of course I know that even as I am writing this, that it is ridiculous. I’m already flying, I’m being redundant in every way.

School is over. I had a week. Then I became a hostess. Now I’m done helping others and I really have to help myself. This is it, there is no one else to do things for, no one else I have to take care of, no more responsibilities to the school. It’s just me.

It’s just me. How weird is that to have just me be my focus. Damn, just me. Really I am more comfortable with something or someone else to have to put my focus on, but it’s just me now.

I just had my last conversation with my other half for a month. No phones. I’m all packed. I’m headed to Indonesia for a month. The house is all closed up, save the dishes, I hate washing dishes – but it will get done before the next two hours are up and my ride to the airport is here. My ride is one of the first friends I made when I moved here. And now three years later, she is married and leaving. And it is just me.

It’s a bit scary to know that it is just me that I have to focus on. Just me.

Within the last month I have gotten a severe boiling grease burn on one leg, a severe dog bite on the other leg. A sign that I am not grounded?

I’m meeting others in Indo. My sister will join me in a week. But still, it is just me. It needs to be just me. Or else it can never be more then me.

From Product to Process

I learned in my child development courses and in my art therapy courses that you never ask a child what their painting or drawing is, never assume what it is either. Nor do you praise it with an "Oh what a wonderful grand picture! I’ll frame it on the fridge.”

The reason being children create not for products sake, but for the process. They 'do' because they have an inner guide telling them to 'do'. We as adults are the ones who turn their joyous efforts into something that is judged good or bad. As we force labels, give praise, or critique the child learns that there must be a product and end result, something to show for all the hard work. If they themselves were not happy with their work and an adult praises it, then the child understands that their effort was good enough. Why challenge themselves when the adults are happy with a few squiggly lines?

I’m trying to preprogram myself away from all those years of training when I learned to seek approval over personal satisfaction, over the journey, over the process.

It’s been 3 working days since ‘retirement.’ I did go to the school, did walk around in a few circles, then I left. Came again the next day, but fewer circles, less time there. And now I think I’m over the first hill. I sat down, I made my lists, I made my rough draft schedule, I organized my home, and I started following through. I'm getting to be okay with the fact that I might not be published, that I don't have to all of a sudden be producing results, that this path could lead to another. That its not about the product.

In my training they told us to instead comment on the shape of a line, the colors the child used, and ask them, ‘are you happy with your work? Then I am too.’

I’m continuing my journey, and with each step I’m working on enjoying the sound of my foot on the path, the breeze in my face, the sun on my shoulders, and the process of a person living with intention.

The Roller Coaster

You know that moment when you are slowly on the way up the hill of the roller coaster, inching your way along all the while knowing that there is a huge drop just beyond that last bit of track you see? And there is no turning back, you my friend are strapped in, it is inevitable you are going to drop, fast, and there are going to be twists and turns and more ups and more downs, and there is no getting off this ride, you are strapped in till the end. It's exciting, it's terrifying.

Well, it’s kinda like that. Here I am in the last week of school. Three more days left of children, then cleaning up the class. Still so involved that the thought of not being the teacher seems ludicrous, but yeah its reality. And why, why in the world would I be feeling annoyed and stressed when it is home stretch time? It’s that hill, oh God I always hated that hill. I wander if perhaps I am trying to hold onto that hill the closer I get to the drop. I think that means that I am doing the right thing. The right things are always the hard ones right, or so it seems. Just wow, I can’t believe how hard it is to let go of a 9-5 job for me, does not mesh with my vision.

My dear friend has so far presented me with two gifts in the last two days. Day 1 of ‘retirement’ preparation, and Day 2. Day 1 was a tin of cigars – learn how to relax and enjoy. Day 2 was an energizing mixture of aromatherapy oil to keep me energized in my new life. She’s getting me ready as if she knows that I am not capable of doing it myself, that at the rate I am going it is going to be so overwhelming that first day of no children will probably find me at the school wandering around in dismay. Thankfully the universe is putting people like that in my path.

Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.” ~ mary anne radmacher

(thanks mom)

The Road to Dependence and How I fought the Ego Bandit

I have spent my career thus far preaching to parents to please allow your youngsters independence in order to aid their natural development. Granted I am talking about letting them walk for themselves, put on their own clothes, solve their own problems when the glue runs out how will they attach the cut out turkey to the card for Grandma. And I have spent my entire adolescence and twenties wanting to do it my way, without depending on anyone.

Since 11 I’ve had an income. Babysitting money, pizza parlor money, walking beans, detasselling corn, waiting tables and the list goes on. I worked ever summer since I could drive, and in Iowa I got away with that by age 14 and a half. I remembered the hard times growing up, the grocery bags delivered by the church do-gooders, the scrimping. It didn’t effect me too much then, I just went outside and made mud pies and climbed trees, but I saw what effect it had on my parents and I didn’t want to ever be a burden, it was obvious that lack of money made people angry and sad. Of course as a teenager that rebellious edge only added to my want to make my own way. All in all I’ve been moving down that highway of independence for a long time.

And now I stand at the beginning of the road to Dependence. It’s a little like that image I’ve always had when reading Frost, The Road Less Traveled. It’s dark down that road. I stand shifting my weight from right to left, twisting my hair, a little, “grrrr” escapes my mouth, a little stomp my foot. There is a rustling in the trees behind me, I turn quickly and catch a shadow of something before it leaps behind a tree trunk. Dang Ego, I know its there, waiting to catch me unawares so that I veer off this path ahead. It whispers sometimes in the wind, “You need to be in control, you need your things, your comfort, you don’t want to give that up to chance do you? To something, someone, some universe thing you can’t see or have no proof that it will provide for you?’ Do I detect a bit of sarcasm in that wind? “Please how can you call yourself an independent strong woman if you can’t take care of yourself?” Hmm you may have a point there, right, how can I? I turn to the tree trunk that Ego is whispering from behind. “How can I step backwards in this day and age when women have come so far? Trust someone else, a man? It’s like back tracking 60 years, or less really.” Ego puts a foot out from behind the tree, an eye peaks around, a hand, then slowly it emerges braver as it feeds on my words. “You know the only person you can really depend upon is yourself, and really what will people say?” Oh now that did it, and it was really doing so well, but Ego got too big there, that is the one thing I hate, “I am not the product of other people’s opinions,” I lash back the spell of our little conversation now broken. And with that I turn round again towards that path, and I see there are going to be some hills, I hate hills, but I’m getting stronger, and I see there are a few narrow passages on some slippery slopes, but I’ve been working on my balance, and then I see at the end a bit of light, and all the sudden I get a vision of a great big smile and a pair of green eyes. A different breeze wraps its words around my head, “it’s going to be okay, trust,” And I know that I am not depending on someone else really, but depending on the universe to provide.

“Okay so here I go universe,” I’m officially stepping onto that road to dependence, I hope to hell it is not as hard as that road to independence was, but for good measure I grab a rock and fling it back at Ego, catching it square in the eye that was peaking round that tree. A sharp screech, and a ‘damn girl,’ escapes, but the new breeze drowns in out as I turn down the road to dependence. Dare I sing a rendition of I’m off to see the wizard? Perhaps a little,’I’m off to be a writer, an adventurer and a lover. I may get a little help along the way, but that’s its all apart of the plan, because because because because because, because, because I Intend to be happy,do do dododo . ..’ Yeah that really didn’t work, did it? Good attempt though I’d say, I’ll stick to humming.

Never Underestimate the Power of No Power

The title allures to something more ambiguous then what is in fact the case, but I like it, don’t you? Really what I am talking about is the lack of power, electricity you know. It has become normal to expect and experience the rolling black outs on the little island I inhabit, Sometimes they occur at the most inopportune moments as last Wednesday when I was just stepping into the shower before work, all yucky from having not showered the day before because I hate baths as much as a cat, but that is another story. But sometimes it seems even CUC (our local corrupt power company) is all knowing and can see that what you really need is to put up the hammock, watch the stars, feel the wind blow, and look at all the lights below, because we share our power outages equally one village at a time now, and still your mind and get back to reality.

I had been working and going so strong the past week, reliving my days of college where I pulled all nighters and sat in front of the computer for hours. I was reminded why I did not stay in graphic design school, and that I could do that because I didn’t have class from noon to 2 and could take a nap. You see I was putting together a presentation for the parents at the school, and of course I wanted it to be a gift, wonderful, fabulous, and of course it was just okay, if i had been up to date on my programs it could have been better, and over in 2 hours, and probably soon forgotten. I’m still working on catching up on sleep though. And the funny thing about it is that I all of a sudden became self conscience and insecure about the whole thing, down to what I had hurriedly put on in attempts to be cool (meaning not sweating like a pig cause it is hot here). Then to top it off my boss asks, ‘when it is just finishing up, how much longer?’ Grrr that they suggested this event knowing I was the only one who could put it together like it was my punishment for leaving. Okay, okay, not really, but . . .

It was completely ridiculous. What I was feeling. I know. Yet there is something about being a known figure in a small island responsible for small children, and darned good at that, but you feel a bit as if you are a fish in a fish bowl and everyone is staring at you, judging you and you are never good enough in their small community gossip eyes, and once in awhile you get to step out of your role but then you feel all unprofessional. So there I was in the middle of the slide show, and I looked down. ‘Oh my god, I’m showing too much cleavage!’ Am I dressed inappropriately? But I was soo sweaty hot, I had to find something cool. ‘Oh no, there is a picture of me and children at the water park, I’m in a bikini top! How did I miss that? They must think I’m too risqué, they must think I put that picture in on purpose!’

And it went on, and on, and on. I spent three nights and days hardly sleeping in order to go through the 2,000 photos to put on something wonderful and meaningful complete with a soundtrack, and all I wanted to do was hide at the end and get out of there as quick as I could. I have to say I will be glad and interested in what it is going to be like as a community member as opposed to a teacher next year. And I also have a sneaking feeling that I really shouldn't give a damn what others think.

But back to no power. No power and the blessing of hammocks. I’m sooo thankful that my sweet heart put the hammocks up before he left for his tour. I don’t know that I would enjoy those power outages as much if I couldn’t swing and look up at the stars. And breathe. And write. Yes I was writing in that hammock. You couldn’t have realized this by just a glance but I had a whole slew of stories and vignettes and what not being devised in that hammock no paper nessecary.

So tonight I am thankful, I am thankful that I live on an island that still reminds us all we are lucky to experience the luxury of power, and as of May 1st they decided to really make it a luxury by doubling the power rates that were already higher then any 24 hour Wal-Mart in the states for a two bedroom apartment. I think they figured that if we can pay $4.44 per gallon then we must have enough for power. Or perhaps they are thinking that we need to just get rid of some of the riff raff on island and this was the best tactic, okay now I am falling into the sarcastic negativity. Really it’s not negativity, just a finding the funny in it all.

But I am thankful because in that hammock I gave pause to the silliness of the world and was reminded of rule #6 –DON’T TAKE YOURSELF SO DAMNED SERIOUSLY. In that light I am happy to be the foxy kindergarten teacher who shows too much cleavage. And I am happy that I have cleavage at all. I still find that fascinating as I never had it before a few years ago, sometimes it catches me off guard that I am an adult. And I am happy that there is no power and I get to lounge in a hammock, and even when there is power I have to shut it off so I can afford water, did I mention I picked this time to quite my job, and I am thankful that even though I find myself worrying about that lack of a paycheck that I know I wont starve cause that sweet heart of mine won’t let me, and I am thankful that that sweet heart can be thousands of miles away right now but still calls me to warn me of a possible tropical storm so I can stock up on water, pickles, dog food, and wine, and I am thankful that the truck gets me up the mountain every day despite the weird knocking sounds and the gas tank you can only put $40 in cause there are holes above the 10 gallon level that will leak. And I am thankful for a community of parents smart enough to put their children with our school and me. And I am thankful for my little munchkins, and I am thankful for reminders never to forget how to be a dragon (thank you, you know who for that – I just transferred that picture from my classroom to my home) and I am thankful for walks up Suicide cliff with dogs and friends. And I am thankful for realizing that I’ve been trying to be so darned philosophical with this whole blog that I forgot to just be me.

Hell I’m just thankful.

Everything Begins with a Thought

“What we think we become,” Buddha said. "For as he thinks within himself, so he is." Proverbs 23:7. Many wise men and women have said it in many different ways, but what it comes down to is your thoughts have a huge power over who you are and what you become.

Cleaning out that water damage I was able to take note of the thought processes that were creating within me something that I was not. I had to replace those thought processes with, I hate the word positive as it sounds like a therapists office, good energy thoughts. I AM. I am important, I am wanted, I am worthwhile, I am good, I am valued. I had to laugh thinking about how over the years I struggled with the idea that I wasn’t important enough. I was intent on proving that I was worthwhile, yet often those inner thoughts brought out the negative actions – enabling, people pleasing, self degrading . . . Funny cause so often I get mislabeled as confident and self actualizing, oh the power of becoming those characters of books. So gone away are those. I am, I am, I am Good. And I Intend to be Happy.

And as I think about what I Am, for it is I am, not what I’m going to be, I have to giggle. I feel a little like when my sisters and I were really young and we would cut out pictures from the JCPenny catalog designing our lives. Wishbooking as Grandma called it. Really that is what I am doing now. I am surrounding myself with what I want to be and do. I’m working on staying away from the negative music, books, movies, people, places that are going to keep me down. Later when I am in a better place I know that I will be able take the negativity of the world in a different way, as there is not a way to avoid it completely as of yet, but I gotta get the tools first. It’s funny, but I keep getting little reminders that I have work to, don’t go there yet, you’re not ready.

There is a space between the window and the bench outside of my classroom. Parents often sit their waiting for their children. I put a framed calligraphy of quotes, “Children Learn What the Live,” in August of 2007. I forgot about until recently.

If children live with criticism,they learn to condemn.
If children live with hostility,they learn to fight.
If children live with ridicule,they learn to feel shy.
If children live with shame,they learn to feel guilty.
If children live with tolerance,they learn patience.
If children live with praise,they learn appreciation.
If children live with fairness,they learn justice.
If children live with security,they learn to have faith in themselves and in those about them.
If children live with friendliness,they learn the world is a nice place in which to live.

I am that child once again, and if I am going to learn to Live with Intention, I must surround myself with what I intend.

“All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become.”~ Buddha

Water Damage

This process of living with Intention is more then a change of careers. I’m not switching companies here. I’m switching the way I view life and the way I view myself. I’m trying to take on all those if only’s and make them into reality. So how does one really go about a task such as that?

I think step one has been opening my heart, or rather listening to my heart. Step two – line up the teachers, step three trust, step four make those leaps, step five trust, step six . . .

How to best put it? Cleaning house? Maintenance? Repairing the cracks? The Universe in it’s ultimate wisdom has reminded me that ‘hey it’s great that you are on this path finally, the future holds so much, but remember when you never fixed that leaky pipe, well you’re not going to be able to get where you’re headed until you do.’ And to drive the point home the crack sprung a leak.

So down, down, and back, back I go to address, yes, the past. Sounds so cliché doesn’t it? Or wise. Upset me a bit I can tell you that. That danged crack shot a line of water right into my back when I was looking the other direction this weekend. But after a bit of negativity and basic disbelief that a tiny little crack is still causing me problems over a decade later, I think I’ve realized that I need to be thankful for it leaking a bit. Cause I’m finally gonna get it repaired for real, and along with it all that water damage it did over the years, cause I have things to do and I can not afford it getting in the way. You know I never realized just how much water damage there was - seeped into all the woodwork, some parts rotted out.

I apologize for the plumbing analogy, but in true Midwest fashion, you don’t talk about it. You ignore it. You get really good at ignoring and you start living as if it never bothered you. Let your defense mechanisms start creating within you actions, habits, thought processes, and beliefs, all the while it is attracting as much negativity as effort put forth to ignore it.

Okay so I’m working on something here. I’m going to be thankful for my crack (I do realize how that sounds) and I am going to find a way to embrace it, own it, and forgive it. I’ve got to do a lot of reprogramming, a lot of forgiving.

I really do feel like this came up for a reason – I’ve got to acknowledge it.

Walk To The Edge

Now when, Radmacher wrote, Walk to the Edge, she didn’t really elaborate. The thought is enough it seems, but really what does that mean? Walk to the edge look down and say ‘wow, that’s a long drop.” It could be walk to the edge but hold onto the rail so you don’t fall. Or perhaps walk to the edge and jump off but be sure you have your parachute intact.

Well I walked to that edge and darned if I didn’t jump off feet first, putting me in the state of free fall from which I now have to keep my cool and trust that it is all going to be what it needs to be. Like that spider in the air, you can't always see it, but the footing is there.


There were some moments this weekend when I found myself looking down though. Forgetting that recommended position of free fall before the parachute opens and waving my arms around like Wiley Coyote when he realizes he's been duped by the roadrunner into running off that cliff. You can imagine what I saw, yup there they were those jagged rocks of insecurity and doubt, and what was I really thinking? Who am I to think that I can do this? Who makes a living writing? And why leave my job, I'm good at it, I'm appreciated there. Deep breath, deep breath, trust, trust.


So in this state of free fall I looked for a little reassurance. I started listening to my little guru of choice, Wayne Dyer, again. Of course playing the live lectures entitled, The Power of Intention, gotta keep up with the theme. What I love about the universe is the way in which it works to get you in the right place at the right time, put the right people, place or things in your path just when you need it.

I like to play this audio book at random. Not start from finish, as I’ve listened to it so many times. So I randomly found a spot, and pushed play. Low and behold there were the words I needed. He say’s it in so many ways, but the gist is: Envision yourself as if you were already where and who you want to be, envision yourself surrounded by abundance.

Perfect timing as you see I had one of those moments of, I will not have a paycheck, seriously, what was I thinking? But it was good. It will be good. I’m just going to trust that I will have what I need - and I trust that the web is there, even if I can't see it.

Do What You Love

Ever since I can remember I wanted to be a writer. As a child I would hide away with a book whenever possible. The characters and stories would spur my imagination taking me to far off places and into the minds of others. Books and the characters within became my ‘guides’ for life situations. I would rack my brain for the right character for the given situation to influence my actions and words. Often I was a Hemingway Character, sometimes Tom Robbins, I was even a Janette Oak character, hell I’ve even been a Jean M. Auel character.

I looked at life as an opportunity for stories, I still do. Sometimes staying a bit longer in a situation than good sense would warrant just to see what would happen next, in hopes of someday writing about it.

It was around 12 that I decided the only way to begin my own great adventures was to become a journalist. I would be a war correspondent, or work for National Geographic. I wavered a bit through college, starting as an English major, then deciding that art was my true calling, realizing I may not make a living as an artist brought me to art therapy, from there I found Montessori. And that is where I landed for 5 years.

Not only did Maria Montessori speak to my heart as she spoke of changing the world by teaching peace to children, Montessori offered me a chance to have a trade, and a trade that could take me anywhere in the world. It was the first time I remember someone very important to me telling me they were proud of me, because of this new found trade, and unfortunately that made me completely sad, because I knew that teaching would not be my life long work, however much I did enjoy it, it was only a step.

In fact I must take a moment to remark that I don’t think I was as much a teacher to the children as they were to me. Those little ones are truly the teachers as they remind us of all that we once knew to be true and make sense before our life got muddled with, well, with life. Thank you dear ones.

The need for change comes to me physically. I get antsy, I get irritable, I get dissatisfied. A little voice starts piping up that this is not what I want to do, I have bigger things to do. Often that feeling has been paired with a giant move across the country or world.

A year ago I decided that it was time, I’d been putting off what I wanted to do for far too long. So I had student loans hanging around my neck, so I had no savings to speak of, so I had not written anything of substance in years. No more excuses that I had to finish some adventures in order to write about them. It was time. I needed to do what I always wanted in life. I needed to write. So I started to try the title out. I verbalized it. I went home to visit family and I said the words, ‘I am going to be a writer,’ I wrote my Intention down.

I wrote all of my intentions down. It took a year of angst, questioning, and reality checks. But soon things started to happen. It wasn’t even apparent. But the universe started to work towards my Intentions as I repeatedly put them out. Before I knew it my student loans were cut in half. Those digits did not haunt me anymore. People have started to come into my life that are influencing and affecting me in a way that is pushing me towards my Intention to write and live the way that I find most fulfilling. And now I am in a position where I can say goodbye to the classroom, thank it for its many lessons and opportunities to know so many wonderful people, small and large, and to embark on my quest.

I am immensly greatful to those who are spurring me along.

Live With Intention

The concept of living with intention came to me first in the form of a mug. Yes, one blue coffee mug covered in gold writing found in a little store in Cannon Beach, Oregon that seemed to make so much sense and spark within me a desire to:

“Live with intention. Walk to the edge. Listen hard. Practice wellness. Play with abandon. Laugh. Choose with no regret. Appreciate your friends. Continue to learn. Do what you love. Live as if this is all there is.” ~Mary Anne Radmacher , http://www.maryanneradmacher.com/index.php.

It was just a few weeks after I had picked up and moved myself from the Midwest to Portland far from the familiar and into the unknown, that I took a drive in search of the ocean. In that same day trip I not only found my first solace in the waves, but those words of Radmacher.

I drank from that mug each day, sometimes remembering to reread the words, to absorb them, work towards them, more often then not forgetting them. That was nearly ten years ago. Between the time of that purchase and now I've gone down many paths, made many discoveries, some pleasant some not, and though every once in awhile I was able to fully embrace those words - live with intention, I often forgot as the insecurities, anxieties, and fears got in the way. Yet they were there, planted. And I believe that they influenced some of the biggest changes I made in my life, for even though there were some crazy times where It seemed that I had lost myself to the negative, I always had a bit of Intention within to get me to the next phase.

As I embark on yet another new adventure I have Live with Intention engraved on my mind, for this adventure is not taking me across oceans as in the past, it is taking me into the unknown as I have leapt off the cliff of what is considered mainstream stability, a steady paying job, in hopes of creating a life that encompass’s all of my intentions and strives to reconnect to my source.



This is my journey.