Saying Goodbye

One of the women from the telecourse I took this fall passed away recently.  She was in her 80s and was the kind of person I aspire to be - she was loving, courageous, outrageous, unafraid and a host of other wonderful qualities.  She made a deep impression on all of us as we navigated our coursework that was all about grabbing onto life and really living, embodying our own stories.

If you are interested in some inspiration, read Patti Digh's comments here.  She was able to capture Celeste's spirit and nature and our affection for her in her words.

I have a card from Celeste sitting on my desk at work.  She sent me a card that said, "Leap and the net will appear", which is one of my favorite quotes.  She had an uncanny way of SEEING people - everyone in our group received an individual card from Celeste that really got to the essence of the person, even though most of us never met in person - we were all on a teleconference together.

I thank Patti and David Robinson for facilitating the group that gave us the opportunity to meet Celeste and to be inspired by her. I thank Celeste for seeing our essence. Tonight, I will raise a glass in celebration of her life.  May we all become more like Celeste.

"Practice Being Who You Are" - David Robinson

"Practice being who you are." ~ David Robinson

Now think about this. We practice tying our shoes. We practice writing in cursive. We practice the piano or the violin or soccer or football or rehearse a play. But I'm pretty sure that not once...never...in my life until today has someone said so simply, "Practice being who you are."

I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out who I was, who I wanted to be, who I thought I should be, knowing what I didn't want to be, being ashamed that I wasn't "all that I could be". I never realized, understood, synthesized that to be the person I wanted to be, the person I imagine I am, the KIND of person I want to be, all I have to do is PRACTICE. Every day. Even when I am bored with it. Even when I am tired. Even when I think it doesn't matter. Every day, I need to be ME.

How powerful is that? How scary?

Think of it - if I'm not practicing who I think I am, who I want to be, I must be practicing something else - someone else. That's no good.

I am moved and inspired to start my practice. To build a habit. Practicing every day, in every way, Jean-ness. Putting on my cape. Not a super-hero. "Just Jean".

Nurturing Self

The most self-nurturing thing I have done for myself in a long time was to take the "Live Your Wild and Precious Life Now" Telecourse from Patti Digh and David Robinson.

I missed the last scheduled call and frankly, I felt a little bereft since I have talked to this group of amazing, compassionate, creative people. I feel a bond with them, a connection, even though I have only just met Patti Digh one time, for a brief 5 minutes after a reading she did in Manzanita, OR.

The last two weeks have been an interesting dilemma for me - I have been in pain, ill and extremely busy. I felt guilty that I wasn't participating fully in the activities I was committing to..."The Joy Diet", "The Artist's Way", maintaining this blog. After doing some of the readings for my call tomorrow, I realized that these two weeks have been the perfect illustration for me of what this is about. Instead of thinking about all the things I wasn't doing, I really just needed some sleep, some time and some healing. There isn't anything wrong with that. I know it in my head, but sometimes it is hard to remember what is really important.

I think many of us, especially those of us who are nurturers at heart, train ourselves to ignore our own needs - not on purpose, but through years and years of reinforcement and practice. So now, I am practicing taking care of myself. In being well rested, healthy, happy and guilt-free, I can be more present for those I want to care for. It is a good cycle and one that I want to be a part of on a more regular basis.

Thanks for bearing with me. Sometimes I have to learn things the hard way. :)

Peer Call, Rehearsal, etc.

My back is tons better, although not 100%. I had a great peer call today with one of the instructors of my telecourse - just the conversation I needed to have. Right before it, I was freaking out - literally thinking that maybe I was having a nervous breakdown (I'm not) and thinking about taking time off work and AARRGGHH! Then we had the most lovely call and I didn't feel so beginner-y and so lost or alone, at least.

Rehearsal was good but a little longish, so I am tired and ready to go to bed.

Good night, all.

P.S. I saved this in a draft last night (Sunday), but didn't publish. I guess I WAS tired.

Pink as a Transformative Device

"I am not a sidekick. I am the hero in my story and I am making my cape (it is pink)." ~ Jean (from my Live Your Wild and Precious Life Now! teleconference homework)

A few years ago, I experienced an intense period of grief and struggled to get a foothold on myself and my life.  It was difficult and I learned a lot about myself in the process.  I felt like my life was covered in a dark grey film - it covered everything, muted everything.  There were colors, emotions, joys, dreams, but they were all tinged with this grey film.

At one point, I had a health situation come up and I had to have surgery and was hospitalized for the first time in my life. During my recovery, I went to the beach with my family and some family friends.  I was not well and not up for running around the coast.  I mostly stayed at the beach house and slept and breathed in the coastal air.  One one of the last days I was there, I was bored and I decided to venture out on my own for an hour or so.  I ended up at the Seaside Factory Outlet stores in the Liz Claiborne store.  I was looking at purses.  My favorite color had been purple for years and purple was "in".  I found a couple of purses - one with purple and little white flowers on it.  As I was looking around, I spotted "THE ONE".   A PINK purse unlike any purse I had ever had and PINK!!!  I bought it, and the purple and white flowered one, too.

It took me a couple of weeks but then I started to carry the pink purse (I need to find that...).  When I carried it, people who know me well would say things like, "I never would have imagined you with a pink purse like that...but...it suits you."  I heard this over and over again.  After a few months, I realized that something was stirring in me.  

Pink became my color.  I would see pink EVERYWHERE.  Someone told me that pink had something to do with the heart chakra (when I looked it up, I think they were thinking of something else).  What I knew was that this attraction (obsession??) with PINK, the brighter, the better, had to do with the stripping away of the grey film.  PINK shows through the grey strong and clear before it is all gone.  

Now, there are still strips of grey and days when the film seems to cover everything, but it is less often and I see the PINK in my world, in myself.  I have a YELLOW car, another step in re-coloring my life after a long grey spell.

I know that this might sound weird to anyone who has not experienced something like this, but it is the truth.  I was always attracted to bright, shiny, neon colors - I wanted everything to be fluorescent colored when I was a kid.  I took a lot of heat for that as a kid and I buried a lot of those tendencies.  Now, I love PINK and YELLOW (capitalized because of the brightness I mean when I write it) and I am proud of that.  People in my world (work, home, relationships) know that I am "colorful" and they accept and embrace it in me.  It is part of my charm.  (See the pink Kitty Clock in a post from a couple of days ago).

So, stay tuned.  Who knows what color I will be next.  For now, I am tickled PINK.

Overcommitted in a Good Way

I'm overcommitted to my own personal growth and development.  I've been doing my telecourse, am interested in going through "The Artist's Way" with a blog group (any from the Wreck this Journal journey), finishing Wrecking and will be joining the "Joy Diet" group in September.

All of this is an attempt (it is working) to grow and en-joy my life more.  I am loving it, but I am in that stage where all I want to do is all the stuff that makes me feel good -writing, art, painting, wrecking, reading.  

Obviously, I maintain my work in the world, but it is a difficult choice most days.  For the most part, I enjoy what I do and the people I work with.  But something is missing for me on a deep, creative level.  Interpreting satisfied that level of need, creativity and connection.  Managing is not the same thing.  It is less intellectual and more emotional, it is less creative and more rote.  The more numbers and columns of numbers and rote tasks I perform, the more I long for something that taps into my thinking brain.

So, I am overcommitted to change.  Not that I need to be fixed, but that I am looking for a path that has more variety and musicality and color.  I just have to figure out the balance.  It seems like the more I discover myself, the more intense the work in the world gets.  Does it feel itself becoming second priority?  Does it know and therefore it is trying to defend itself against my exploration?

Am I just tired and rambling?  Perhaps.  Doesn't mean it doesn't have some merit.

Memories in a Hand Drawn Blueprint

One of the activities I did for my homework for my telecoaching class was to draw the floor plan of my childhood home.  Since I grew up in a lot of different homes as an Air Force Brat, I wasn't sure which home I would remember most clearly or which would be the most evocative as far as memories go.

I drew one for each place I have lived (several posts under the tag "Nostalgia" are about these places with Google Earth pictures).  A couple of interesting things happened for me.  First, it was interesting to really think about what I could remember of the places I have lived.  I remember 3 major childhood homes, and one other that I have a vague sense of where things were located, but more memories of the outside of the apartment building and the places we played.

The house that I used in my conversation was the first house I lived in until I was 6 years old.  My memory is filled with sensory moments - mostly visual snapshots.  Most vividly, I remember helping my mother make the beds.  She had a moss green chenille bedspread that had lighter, almost lime green fringe around the edges (it was the late 60s, early 70s).  I remember holding the ends of the bedspread and we would throw the fabric up to catch the air and I remember the sun shining through the windows, through the fabric and how safe I felt and how much I wanted to be like my mother.  I remember longing to go to school.  I remember the little alcove just inside the front door where we had a wooden carving of a siamese cat.  The doorbell rang from that alcove and I always thought it came from the cat statue.  I remember my dad bringing home a beagle puppy in his jacket pocket and him showing her to us right there in the doorway near that alcove.  

We had a room in that house and the apartment we lived in when we were on base housing in Germany, that we called "the little bedroom".  It was where we had a small TV, my mom's sewing machine, a couch that pulled out and our 8 track stereo.  My favorite tape was Kenny Rogers and the First Edition's Greatest Hits (the silver one that you can't really find anymore but that I have on vinyl).  My other favorite was the Fifth Dimension.  I remember dancing around helping my mother clean the house - I loved to help her dust with Pledge on all our wooden tables.  **Flash - just now I remember one time laying under our coffee table and drawing on the bottom with chalk.  When we moved, I was afraid my parents would be mad at me, but they weren't .  I had used chalk and it brushed off.

I remember the back yard with the swings and squirrels who lived in the porch.  I remember one time, I got in trouble and sent to my room.  I lay on my bed, but I was so scared of my mom being mad at me that I snuck outside and saw a beautiful flower - it was bright orange and yellow (I think it was a clematis  or amaryllis).  I didn't want my mother to be mad anymore, so I picked it for her.  When I gave it to her, I remember her just hugging me and letting me come out of my room.  Later, she told me that she knew it had come from our yard because that was the only plant around the city like that.  I remember we had a beautiful wisteria and my mom was so proud of that tree.

When we were getting ready to move, I took small treasures and hid them around the area.  I knew that we wouldn't be coming home for a long time, so I hid a Playskool plastic trike looking thing that was painted like a giraffe and hid it in the bushes at the doctor's office.  I took dolls that were not my favorite and hid them behind the garage in the back yard and in the bushes around that doctor's office.  It was a big black building with lots of shrubs along the walkway.  If any kids ever looked in there, they found a treasure trove waiting for me to return to it.

One time, my cousins came to visit us - I was about 4 or so.  We all went to the City Park that was across the medical center/doctor's office parking lot and across one more street.  We would say it was "kitty corner" to the house.  There were the 3 boy cousins, my sister, the dads and the moms.  We played on the swings and then finally, the dads said they would push us on the merry-go-round.  We gathered quite a crowd of people - lots of kids on the wooden toy.  The dads pushed and pushed and somehow, I let go and fell off, the centrifugal force pulling me under the merry-go-round.  I had rolled and ended up face down on the ground with the wooden merry-go-round whizzing past me, slapping me on the behind the whole time.  After what seemed like a long time, laying face down in the dirt, the dads got the thing stopped and pulled me out.  I don't remember if I was crying or not, but my dad carried me back home.  My mom had me change into my nightgown and as they were all sitting around shooting the breeze, they sent me over to my dad who took me over his knee, face down and spent the next however long pulling splinter after splinter out of my poor red behind.  Even at that age, I was horrified that they were all so casually sitting there chatting while my behind was exposed to everyone.  I loved my father for not hurting me while he was pulling the jillions of splinters out, but I hated him for doing it in front of other people.  

Happier memory - we used to take wax paper to the City Park and sit on it as we rode down the slide to make it go faster.  I loved to do that.  The more you waxed it, the faster you would go down the slide.  We used to go to the "Recreation Center" that was there and do crafts.  I learned to make potholders and did macrame, painted, made popsicle stick art and went to Shakey's Pizza for a party.  I remember that trip because Chicago's "Saturday in the Park" was popular and I got a migraine and threw up on the bus ride home.  

Good times.  Goal:  Get some of the slides scanned so I can add them to the posts.  Visuals help. :)  

[The photo is me in first grade.]

Fate or Sometimes Things Happen for a Reason

I'm participating in my telecoaching conference and part of what we are doing is making peer calls to discuss the principles in more intimate, personal ways. For me, participating in the large group is less stressful because, frankly, less is required of me.  In the large group, there is always someone willing to speak out, speak up and while I may not verbalize, I am fully present and participating - thinking, taking notes, having "aha" moments.

The first peer call was to be initiated by me - I would call my peer partner.  So I did.  It was a huge step for me to reach out and call a person I'd never met and talk about some personal stuff.  But I did it.  I was nervous that I would be lame or the person would think I wasn't "there" or something equally paranoid.  The person I spoke with was gregarious, curious, participatory, friendly.  It was a perfect match up.

I had my second peer call today.  It has been a couple of weeks since the call and I checked my email but no contact from my peer partner - they were the initiator.  I looked the person up and realized they didn't have email - but they had my phone number and they had an alternate email where the person would give them a message.  I sent off a note, just letting them know I would be game for trying to figure out a time (they are on the east coast).  We finally decided to talk today - 8:00am my time - I couldn't bring myself to force the person to wait until the middle of their day.

With the heat of the week, I have not really been as focused on the homework - sort of similar to my journal wrecking - away from home, out of my element, hot and miserable, so I didn't get much accomplished.  I did some of the assignments but not all of them.  I was worried that my peer would be so far ahead and that I would be letting them down by not having completed everything.  When we got on the phone, the first thing the person did was tell me that they had not done the reading and they had not done the homework due to a stressful week.  I reassured them that I had not completed all the assignments myself and we talked about what we had done.  It was a lovely conversation and the person really seemed to feel comforted by knowing they were not alone. I complimented them on following through with the call, even though they had been worried about it because many people would just cancel instead.  

I find it amazing that both weeks, I was paired with exactly the right person for me - comfortable, dealing with similar issues.  While I'm not proud that I didn't complete all of the work (I hope to by Tuesday's call), I do think that things happen for a reason. 

Shedding Skin

I imagine that when a snake is getting ready to shed its skin, it gets all itchy and twitchy and wiggly in preparation. I bet the skin is tight and the snake feels all squeezed in - uncomfortable.

I feel like I'm getting ready to shed my skin. Now, I don't know for sure, but I don't think snakes think, "But I like my skin the way it is. Even though it is uncomfortable, it is familiar. I would rather stay in this too-tight, not right, drying-up, ready-to-be-gone, scaly skin." Why do I? Fear of new skin? Fear of the time when the new skin is all pink and raw-like and easily injured? Fear of the new skin being weirder, tighter, looser, prettier, uglier, easier, harder? Different?

I know this is just part of the process of Becoming. But I hate it. And at the same time, I know it is important. But I don't like scaly, itchy skin. I can't get comfortable, no matter how I sit, stand, lay, crouch, sleep, wake, work, drive. I just keep worming around, trying to find a comfortable position.

I wonder how long it takes to shed one's skin? I'm really good once the thing starts...it is the dread of the unknown before something happens that is the killer for me...Maybe it has already started...or it will tomorrow.

I hope my skin is neon pink when I get done - bright and colorful and interesting. But not tender like a sunburn.

42nd Birthday Pronouncement

Today, I am giving up my fear of not being good enough.

This fear holds me back in ways even I can't even imagine and I have been living it for 42 years now (well, maybe when I was a baby I knew I was good enough). My parents didn't instill this in me - it came with me when I entered this world.

Perhaps there were reinforcements, like the multicolored Santa incident. Or comparing my art to my sister's (she was 4 years older and I was more focused on writing). Or when I stopped getting As in Math and decided I wasn't good at it (self-fulfilling prophecy). Even my first interpreting job was procured because of a dare. I didn't think I would be good enough to get the job, but I was damned if anyone was going to think I was a chicken, too. I have been pushed, bullied, and pulled into theatre, interpreting, interpreting theatre, getting jobs, interviewing for jobs, taking classes, meeting people...the list goes on and on. I stopped writing because I was afraid that people's expectations were too high. My expectations were too high. I didn't feel that my writing was intelligent enough or erudite enough. I didn't feel like I had anything important to say - or more accurately, I didn't think anyone would care about what I had to say.

I do have something important to say - maybe not important to you, but important to me. My life is its own masterpiece and I have to keep working on it, even if I don't know when I will be done. I have seen many masterpieces left unfinished in my life. Mine will not be one of them.

So, today, on my 42nd birthday, I'm taking back my life. I'm sure I will hesitate. I'm sure I will struggle. I'm sure the shadows will chase me as they always have. But I can shine a light on them. I can say that the struggle is part of the masterpiece. I can say that even if my voice was alone on the winds of time, I needed to have it and I needed to express it.

To commemorate giving up this fear, I will be sending in a 4X6 piece of art to Patti Digh for her 50th birthday. I know she will get some incredible pieces of art. I know she will get amazing displays of talent. But from me, she will get a piece of 4X6 bravery and a heartfelt gift of gratitude for helping me find my own unique voice again. And it will be good enough. For me.

"Just"ifying Myself

So, one of the things we talked about in the telecoaching call was about the language that we use with ourselves. I don't exactly have the same pattern that we are looking at - maybe because I have had to really look at my language as a manager, as an interpreter...I'm not sure.

What I did find was that I use the phrase "I just", "I'm just" or "I am just". When I started to think about it, I realized that is a minimizer of my experience, my comments, my thoughts as I try to express them. I remember when I stopped saying, "I'm just the interpreter" because I fel that was devaluing the role of the interpreter in other people's eyes. I didn't realize that the word "just" lived on so mightily in my vocabulary and usage.

My goal this week is to catch myself using minimizers and particularly "just" in my expressions in writing, in speech and in thought.

What do you call it?

"Patience is the art of hoping." ~ Luc de Clapier

I like this quote because people sometimes say I have too much patience, but they also don't see me as a hopeful person. I am very hopeful, but I also have the ability to be practical and look at things from a variety of viewpoints.

Take my post title - What do you call it? A mid-life crisis? a mid-career reevaluation? a life reprioritization? I don't like the first one...this isn't a crisis - that sounds so negative and hope-less. It is a revisit. Re-evaluation. It is a mid-life re-invention. I have hope that I am going to find ways to en-joy my life again. I have been talking about it for a year, and now I am making things happen.

I'm pretty sure I have been around this block before. Probably right after Roby died...probably when I turned 35, probably each time I wratched up my responsibilities, changed jobs. This seems pretty normal to me. But scarier.

Because this time it isn't all in my mind. It is active. It is alive. I'm alive. And I want to keep it that way. So here we are - Project Jean.

Reporting In

So, I worked on my journal this weekend in preparation for my tele-coaching class. Ultimately, I took the call in the car...It was the only place I could find where no one would call me or AIM me or need to talk to me or need something. When the call started, I was trying to juggle my journal (a little on the big side) and after a couple of minutes, I started frantically looking around the car for something easier to handle because I wasn't muted and I didn't want to accidentally honk my horn while I was trying to wrestle with my journal.

In the move, a few things that should have found their way out of my office a long time ago ended up in my car. One of them - a spiral bound 2007 desk calendar (no pictures, no frills, nothing). Obviously, it was no longer good for its original purpose, so I picked it up and it was THE PERFECT FIT. I KNEW there was a reason I didn't put it in the shredder.

I decided that the journal was the journal - for processing, for other work related to the class - stuff that I could do at home, in a comfortable place with a table or a desk. The calendar has found new life as my note notebook for the class.

I'm happy. I'm nervous.

P.S. I saw a piece of video of peole at MJ's house in Gary, Indiana. It had a shrine all over it. It made my heart hurt because it occurred to me that we are so desperate for human connection, for love, for a place to express all the emotions we have and we don't really know how to do it with real people. We are afraid to talk to each other, so we worship people we will never meet so that we can lavish our attention and our pent up love on SOMEONE. It makes me sad.

Wish Me Luck!

Tomorrow is the big day! Tele-coaching starts. I am charging my BRAND NEW BLACKBERRY just for the occasion. Sad to say I have had the stupid thing for a couple of months, but I didn't know what I was doing. Then I realized I needed some kind of hands-free device for my phone call tomorrow.

I have been a loyal Tmobile customer for eons, so one day, I checked the website and I had an offer to get a free/discounted (I can't remember) upgrade and unlimited minutes any time. I took it right away, but I haven't been brave enough to break out the blackberry. (Actually, the first time I tried, I couldn't find my old phone to transfer the SIM card...). Modern life is complicated sometimes. Ha.

So, tonight, I have read my 2 chapters in Life is a Verb (LIAV), I have colored pencils and a journal at the ready. The only thing I don't have is a pack of index cards, but I will get those tomorrow. I'm set. I'm nervous, but excited.

This is just for ME! I did it for myself and I'm so EXCITED. :) Wish me luck and fun and growth.

Preparations...

"Any change, any loss, does not make us victims. Others can shake you, surprise you, disappoint you, but they can't prevent you from acting, from taking the situation you're presented with and moving on. No matter where you are in life, no matter what your situation, you can always do something. You always have a choice and the choice can be power." ~Blaine Lee

My telecoaching course starts on Tuesday, so I have been prepping - physically and mentally. I got my journal as instructed and today, I spent part of the day working on getting it where I want it for the journey.

Mentally, I'm going to be re-reading Chapters 1 and 2 in Life is a Verb this weekend.

Here are the prep pics:







I love the phrase "possibility of joy". Yummy.

*8 Things: Guiding Values (*8 Things Thursdays)

Well, last time I did an *8 Things list, I did it on a Sunday. I had just found out about it and was so excited, I did it that day! Ha!

Anyway, I am doing it on the right day, even though it feels like Friday with the holiday being observed tomorrow.

My *8 Things: Guiding Values came from an exercise I was just working on for my telecoaching course with Patti Digh of 37Days. One of the questions on the pre-worksheet asks about my values. It took me some time to narrow them down and I had to eliminate a couple that didn't make the cut of the top five. I get to add them back now! :) Below are the 8 values I have chosen and how I define them.

1. Compassion - Understanding the pain/experiences of others and acting with kindness or helpfulness in an attempt to alleviate, even temporarily, the pain of others.


2. Creativity - Maintaining a connection with imagination, playfulness, art, music, theatre – things that make life beautiful. Incorporating creativity in our lives is an important part of joy and can manifest itself in many different ways. Each of us has a creative spirit if we allow/encourage that part of ourselves and others.

3. Humor - The ability to laugh allows me to rise above any situation – eventually. Making others laugh feels like a gift and raises my spirits. Humor is part of my daily existence.

4. Integrity - Living an honest life – treating people equitably – apologizing when I have hurt someone or done something wrong – being consistent with who I am – all these qualities allow me to breathe easier knowing that I am being myself. Living with integrity helps me to live with compassion, creativity, humor and joy.

5. Joy - Finding joy is different than being happy. Finding joy can come in the most devastating moments. Joy means seeing/celebrating the beauty in life.

6. Passion - 100% commitment to the people/things that you value, love, cherish. I have passion for books, for people, for stories, for musical theatre, for my loved ones.

7. Connection - Those moments when you truly know that we are all on the earth to hold each other up. When you know something clicked for you and another person or a group of people. Not disengaging.

8. Abundance - There is joy for everyone. There is love for everyone. There is work for everyone. We don't have to be stingy with any of it. There is enough to go around.

Routine or Lack of Routine

With the move at work, all my office stuff is in a box waiting to be placed into furniture fixtures I don't have yet. I am afraid I will make a wrong move, pick the wrong thing, put something in the wrong place. It is all on me now and I'm not sure I want the giant ball of responsibility that I now carry on my shoulders.

But the more important part of all of this is that when all your stuff is in a box and you aren't even going to the same place you have driven to for 4+ years, there is no routine. Everything is an effort - every file, every paper, every move I make requires a thought, a remembering and then action. Nothing routine. Nothing the same. Nothing in the comfort zone.

I know this lack of routine is probably good for me, but it throws off my equilibrium, it makes me anxious - my eye has been twitching. I need more magnesium, but the reason I do is because of stress. I find lack of routine stressful. Even when I was a freelance interpreter, I sought out routine. I worked for the same places, I built a routine schedule for a term at a time. I like that. I need that. If I have my routines, then all the rest of the world can be chaotic and I will be able to work through it. Having my world and the rest of the world in chaos at the same time rocks my world on its axis a little.

I guess Routine is a great theme for me this month. Maybe by the end, I will have established one.

P.S. 6 more days until my telecoaching starts. I can't wait!

Forget Regret or Life is Yours to Miss

I just saw "RENT" again - it is touring here with Original Broadway Cast members Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp. They were excellent and passionate - after 13 years, I was worried they wouldn't be able to meet my expectations, but they did. And Michael McElroy who plays Collins was BRILLIANT. I have a little crush on him from afar.

Of course I was moved to tears several times during the show. Sometimes I was just engrossed in the show, sometimes I was reliving some painful memories, and sometimes, I was thinking, "Why do I have to keep learning this lesson? Am I making ANY progress?" This question relating to "no day but today", "forget regret or life is yours to miss"...I still have these "Someday I will..." and I should know better.

This reminder came close on the heels of my somewhat traumatic viewing of Disney Pixar's animated movie "Up". Some of the themes are radically different than "RENT" but the basic one, "Live in the now", "Enjoy every moment of your life" is the one I'm talking about.

Why is it so hard for humans to learn this? It is mostly unfortunate that we have the capacity to think about the future - it prevents us from seeing the good and the joy in the ordinary and the everyday things.

I'm so excited to start my telecoaching in July - I think that is going to help me on this journey to enjoy my life right now and not put it off until "Someday".

How do you measure a year in the life?

Blocks - Or Maybe it is Just one Big One?

So, those folks who read this and know me in the 3D world will know a lot of this story, but it is THE STORY of my life, so it bears retelling - especially when it is bringing me closer to something. If you are sick of hearing it, skip this post. If you aren't sick of it, wonder what I'm going to say that is new, or don't remotely know what I'm talking about, read on. :)

So, I tell this as I am listening to "Chess" - "Mountain Duet", a song I loved to sing with Roby in the car. The timing is perfect...



Roby was one of my best friends in high school - he was in the drama department, an actor, and I was a groupie. :) I can finally admit it. There is nothing like sitting in the audience of a live theatrical performance, especially when you know someone who is in it. He was one of those people - charismatic, talented, charming, handsome, popular, controversial.

We got closer and closer as our senior year drew to a close and afterwards, we started hanging out together almost daily. In the fall of 1985, he met a man named Grant who was about 11 years older than he was...I actually went on their first date with them. The plan was that he would kick me under the table when he wanted to talk to Grant alone. The only problem with the plan was that he didn't count on the lack of leg room at Shari's and when Grant accidentally kicked me under the table, hilarity ensued because I trouped dutifully into the bathroom to allow them some "alone time".

They lived together for several months...December 1985 - May 1986, I believe. I will have to check my poetry for historically accuracy check. :) After they had broken up, Roby had a period where he seemed to have the flu...fever, sweats, some nausea. He went to the doctor - the family doctor he had been seeing for years. While there, he decided to ask to be tested for AIDS (this was before the AIDSspeak changed and we called it HIV testing). A few weeks later, his doctor called him AT WORK and told him that he had "been exposed to AIDS" and was sorry but Roby would have to find a different doctor because he didn't treat AIDS victims.

Devestated, he called me and I picked him up from work, drove him back to his apartment and started carving out the path for the rest of my life...That night, he begged me not to tell anyone...he didn't want to be pitied or hated or avoided. At the time, people who tested positive usually already had "full blown AIDS" and died within 2 years of diagnosis. People were denied healthcare, housing, fired from jobs, shunned, etc. There was a lot of fear surrounding AIDS back then. I never told anyone until almost 10 years later, when I had to tell my employer why I was missing work - to take Roby to his medical appointments. Roby had given me permission, so I didn't break my promise - EVER.

So, when I said in my post yesterday that I had a story to tell about my block, this is the story. It shapes and encircles all the other stories of my life. All the decisions that I made. Keeping a secret like that scars you and scars your soul. Even when you do it for all the right reasons. I was 18 years old at the time and I had never been around anyone who was ill, had never known anyone who was "dying", had never been to a memorial service or funeral and I certainly didn't know what to do with the situation in which we found ourselves. By the time I was 30, I had been to too many, interpreted too many, had lost too many of my friends.

Because of the "2 years from diagnosis to death" that I read about in my frantic research about AIDS, HIV, prognosis, etc.(pre-internet, mind you), we decided to live as if every day was the last. We weren't always successful and we had a turbulent relationship at times because I was the only person who knew what was happening to him - I represented the disease to him sometimes and he would push me away until he could pretend to be ok again. I was the carrier of information and he didn't want to know.

I realized right away that my plans for college would have to wait - I was not going anywhere when he might die. I had started to study American Sign Language and loved it. I didn't know what I could do with it, but I started looking at vocational careers where I could train at the local community college, work and stay local to grab up every single day I could with him. Later, I entered the interpreter training program. I was stoked, a career in 2 years, then I could figure out the rest. Once I graduated from the program, I decided to work in K-12 because it was the only thing I felt qualified for (a whole other post) and because I knew that I would have summers off and I could spend time with Roby. Happily, I loved interpreting and got better as time went on. I found theatrical interpreting and I was able to find some fulfillment there that I hadn't expected.

This kind of living lasted for 10 years until the fateful January morning in 1996. When Roby died, I was a little like a lost soul...I didn't have any purpose, I didn't know what kind of food or music or movies I liked anymore...I knew what we had shared. When I approached 30, I realized I had never imagined being 30 - all I had ever done was live for that day, that week, that month. I had refused to imagine life after Roby while he was still with me. When he was gone, I realized I had to re-define myself. It takes a long time. I still sometimes stop and think - who am I really?

Just in case you are wondering - I would NEVER change anything unless it meant that Roby could be here, healthy and happy. If he was going to die and he asked me again to keep his secret, I would do it. In a heartbeat. It was the only thing I could do. But it did create a rich interior life/monologue for me - questioning, seeking, wondering. Although I am starting to discuss those things here, it is difficult. Keeping secrets for that long make it easier to withhold. I'm still working on it.

Anyway, this is the story of my block - FEAR. Fear of loss. Fear of self. Fear that nothing in my life will every be as important as loving that man. Fear that it was all for nothing if I can't get past the FEAR. He would have hated that I have so much fear. He was not fearful of anything except being alone and dying.

Ok. I'm done now. I have been holding that in since the call yesterday. It came to me so clearly that I needed to talk about this somehow. Anyway, there you go.

Completely Ecstatic and Aflutter

I just finished signing up for Patti Digh's new telecoaching class called "Live Your Wild and Precious Life Now"!  For more information, go here.

I know I have been raving about Life is a Verb here since it came out, but it is honestly one of the most true and authentic books I have ever read. Having had a similar life-altering experience through Roby's death and others, Life is a Verb and Patti's blog 37 Days resonates so deeply for me that I feel it all the way down in my toes.

This is going to be life-changing and life-enriching.  I don't know where it will lead, but I know it will only lead to good places in the end.  I feel so good about giving myself this gift.  If I were a dancer, I would pirouette around the living room.  If I were a singer, I would sing the "Halleluah Chorus" at the top of my lungs.  But I can write here that I can't wait to begin this project - Project Jean.