Staying Present - Oh God.

There is a chapter in Geneen Roth's Women, Food and God that haunts me. It's called: Never Underestimate The Inclination to Bolt.

It's become a bit of a mantra. Because of course, I ALWAYS want to bolt. I've been doing it my whole life. Bolting with food, with money, with TV, with sex, with work, with procrastination, with shopping...you name it. Anything to keep me from staying present, and going to the centre of my fear, of my emotion, of myself. Yep, just going to go ahead and have this banana nut muffin over here.

Less than an hour ago, I signed up with a life coach for an intensive and integrative 3-Day Life Shadowing program. 24 hours with me. Full life immersion. She goes where I go. She sees everything. Warts and all.

And I'm already trying to figure out how to get the Hell out of it.

I'm furiously back-peddling. Oh, my Ego is kicking up a fuss. "I can't do this. It's crazy. I'm going to be too busy. I'm not going to be busy enough."

Already I'm eying up my apartment and judging it. Going to have to get all that mess in the corner cleaned up before she gets here. Can't have her thinking my life isn't in order.

HA!

Like she's not going to be able to tell in the first tenth of a second everything she needs to know about me.

Oh God. I understand from Geneen that not bolting -- being awake without being drugged by food, alcohol, work, sex, money, drugs, fame or in denial -- is the path to the heart of love itself. And to find it, I'm going to have to stick around.

Oh God.

So Ticked Off

I sat in silence today. For a really long time. Silence and darkness. It was a freezing 9 degrees and rainy with dark and ominous hail clouds. Very fitting to my mood.

I did something I never do. I took care of myself. I gave myself what I really needed: I nurtured my heart.

I bundled up in the middle of the day, closed the blinds, shut off the lights and sat. And did nothing but feel what I was feeling. Just let myself be where I was at.

Where I was at was angry. Angry and furious. Seething. So angry I could barely see straight.

I usually try and bypass this anger by ‘getting to the bottom’ of what’s really going on.

Fuck that. Today I gave myself permission to be mad as hell.

And from that, I burst into tears. And I cried. All by myself there in the dark.
And 35 minutes later, I got up, dusted myself off, opened the blinds and got on with my life.

I’m listening though. It opened the communication between me and my heart. It is hurting.

I asked it, ‘what are you sad about?’ and then I listened to the answer.

And I nodded my head. I understand.

I treated my heart like a friend today.

Instead of trying to boss it around and control it, I listened.

And I heard.

I know what I want now.

And the anger is gone.

Which makes my path really clear.

And I feel much better.

Ohm

Summertime
...And the living is...

Unsettled & discombobulated. I feel like it's got a stranglehold on me.

I'm having a hard time relaxing, hard time enjoying the weather and the company of family and friends.

This is not like me at all. I'm having a hard time being present in the moment and enjoying the time of the person I'm with.

I feel like I should be at home dusting the shelves while I sleep, or writing a book while I convert Windows to Mac.

If I'm out, I feel guilty and want to be at home. When I'm at home, I end up sitting and staring into space. And then feel bad ALWAYS for not maximizing my time.

There are a million things to be done. There are a million things that have already been done. My place is finally liveable after 3 months. I've taken it from a smelly, stinky, neglected hovel to a gorgeous, peaceful home. But there is still a lot to do. Front hall and bedroom have not been painted. And the bedroom needs some TLC.

But meh. It's a rental; I feel like I may have done enough already.

And work. Oy vey. I could work 60 hours a week as the Director of Operations for my main contract client and still have even more work waiting for me the following week. All of my time and energy is being poured into building someone else's business. Gladly, I might add. I love getting a regular paycheque again. I am happy to be paying bills on time, getting out of debt, being able to plan fun stuff and not eating at the Food Bank. It's kind of a bonus.

But then I have my own private clients - who aren't getting my full attention. There's my book which is getting almost none of my attention. And then there is all the rest: writer's Retreats, building client lists, networking, generating leads, following up with leads, spending time with family and friends, relaxing, doing nothing, enjoying summer. It leaves me always feeling like I should be working, even and especially on the weekends, where I could better maximize my time. So when I want to get on a raft and float down the Bow River and soak up some much needed summertime fun and sun, I'm not even enjoying it. There is the underlying guilt.

And then of course I should be at the gym, going for a run, looking for another Bootcamp to sign up for, cooking a nutritious meal and meditating. Yes, I should definitely be meditating. And my gratitude journal. I should be writing in that every night. And reading. It's taking me too long to finish that book. Oh, and the bathroom definitely needs to be cleaned. Right after I finish the laundry and phone about the car insurance. And oh yeah, I need to do my month-end as well.

And then I'm mostly so exhausted from the weight of all that I want to do that I end up taking a nap.

And then how much further behind am I??

I took 2 days off last week because my parents were in town and spent the rest of the week hauling ass to make up for it.

Then there is the wanderlust. Oh the crazy, crazy wanderlust. That has me absolutely GAGGING to get on a plane and plop myself down in a foreign country, lose myself for a couple of weeks in brand new cultural bliss.

I know these are my choices. Just recently, I've been feeling like water down a drain just after the plug has been pulled.

Slices of Beauty

I went for a walk with my business partner yesterday, just a quick 15 minutes to break up our day and stop our eyes from going bug-eyed. And we were talking about things that women talk about on 15-minute walks - life, men, hairdressers and pedicures. And she says to me in passing, very matter-of-factly,

'Well you're just so beautiful overall, Karen. You energy is so good, I wish I had a little more of that.'

And I was so shocked, I didn't even know what to say.

Except, well my goodness, thank you.

I mention it because it is astonishing to me that other people think I'm beautiful. And not only that I'm beautiful but that I have overall beauty.

This isn't something I've ever thought about myself. I believe there are parts of me that are beautiful. There are things I like about myself, but it terms of what my ideal of beauty is, well. I mean I'm no super model.

But then, what is that even? Supermodel? How ridiculous. And antiquated. In fact, I AM a supermodel.

It's gotten me realizing that it's time to question what my ideal of beauty is (which by the way, skinny to me = beautiful) and to just fucking stop the bullshit of not believing this to be true about myself.

It doesn't serve me, and it's certainly not attractive and It's time to see that my value is not judged by the number on the scale, the dress size, the image reflected in the mirror.

So cliche, and boring, and old all this self-esteem nonsense.

Really, I'm ready to grow out of it. And love and embrace my fabulousness. Love myself as much as others do.

Yes, please.

Nap Time

This has felt like a very indulgent weekend. Sleeping, reading and putting butter on my toast.

It is so peaceful out here that I can’t help but drink in the tranquility. And I didn’t realize how exhausted I was! Looking back I don’t think I’ve spent any length of time relaxing since Christmas, and that was 6 months ago.

Which means that everything around here acts like a narcotic. Any time is nap time out here at The Shack.

The wind rustling through the trees, I’m out.

The sound of the rain on the roof, I’m out.

Reading one page of my book, I’m out.

I’ve been here for 21 hours and almost 12 of that has been spent sleeping. That bed is so comfortable! It took me at least 2 hours to rustle myself out from underneath the cozy, warm, divine duvet this morning.

It’s lovely actually. Waking and rising and not answering to anyone. Hanging out with myself and doing whatever. I’m giving myself permission to enjoy this time, even though I’m not getting as much writing done as I would like. It’s ok. This time will clear space for creativity to rush in. It’s all perfect. And it’ll help me face my stressful, busy, loud and active life a little better when I get home.

For now, it’s nap time.

Bootcamp: Week #4

This has been my toughest week yet. Just trying to get through. Everything has been sucking the life out of me. Work, the things I need to do around this place (yup, still boxes everywhere. What's that about??), books to write, Bootcamps to attend, protein shakes to make...I'm exhausted.



And there just doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day. It's like I open my eyes and it's 8am and the next thing I know, I'm hauling my crippled ass out of the tub at midnight. Freaking pooped. On that note, there's no more messing around with the mini packs of Epsom salts. Nope. Buying them in bulk now.



Four classes left.

Slogging Through the Deep Snow

This post is from several weeks ago. I've never been quite happy with it. Now it seems a little irrelevant, but still such an important day that I feel I must post it.

~~~

Instead of my usual debauchery for my birthday, this year I decided to mix things up and go on a hike. The way up was fabulous - great conversation, cohesive group, sunshine, goodness. We decided to take a different way down, coming back down the north facing side of the mountain. This meant there was snow. A lot of snow. In some cases, it was as deep as our knees or even our hips is some patches. It was a lot of work, slogging through it.

Our feet got wet, the snow burned my bare skin, I had giant blisters, and I was pissed off. Mad as hell at the snow.

There’s nothing like a birthday to stir up a bunch of trouble.

I was swearing, negotiating, hating, resenting, stomping and trudging my way through the snow; I was asking myself how the hell I got there. I was wanting OUT, wanting to stop right there in the middle of the bush. Wanting a helicopter to swoop in and rescue me. Feeling all Blair Witch. Wondering: is it better or worse to stay here or keep going? Is it too late to turn around? Where is that damn helicopter?

How is that a fucking metaphor for my life??? WAITING TO BE RESCUED.

I wanted to be rescued out of a situation that I totally created, that I chose. And as soon as something I couldn’t control happened, as soon as something I didn’t like or want happened, I bailed. I mean I bailed on myself. And then I wanted someone else to fix it.

And so I’m hating this part of myself. I’m hating that I’m hating it. Hating that I’m ‘shoulding’ all over myself. I should be enjoying this.

And really, all I want to do is get through it. And others saying: what did you expect – we’re in the mountains in May.

And I'm wanting to punch them in the teeth. And I'm wanting permission to just be. Be present, be angry, be pissed off, and get through it on my own. I don’t need placating, I don’t need rescuing, I don’t need cheering up, I don’t need a pat on the shoulder, I don’t need a pep talk, I don’t need condescension or to be patronized. I don’t need a silver lining. I don’t need to BE TOLD HOW TO FEEL.

I need to be left the fuck alone to trudge through this god-damned snow.

And yet is that really how I want to live my life?

Well of course not. I don’t want to be left alone! I want friends there encouraging me, and helping me and supporting me and loving me.

And so the question remains to be seen – why do I turn it away when it is freely given?

Why do I do this to myself?

What is that about?

And what lessons are there for me, in the snow? In the now?

What’s the most beautiful part about that hike? Was it the summit? Was the most difficult the way up? No it wasn’t. The most difficult was the way down. Unexpectedly. It caught me off guard. I couldn’t control it.

So I've been carrying that day around me with, and trying to apply it to other areas of my life, trying to learn to love what I hate. To learn to love myself in those moments. To send myself and the snow and all those deep and nasty and ugly parts of me love, love , love when I need it most.

Surrender, surrender, surrender.

~~~

Some candid pictures were put up after the hike. And they’re not pretty.

What I don’t like about them is how my body looks and how terrible my posture is. I’m slumped down. I’m trying to make myself smaller.

Every cell of my being is screaming, TAKE THOSE FUCKING PICTURES DOWN. HOW DARE YOU, but I know there is value in leaving them, and breathing through it. And accepting and sending love to that woman with the bad posture duking it out with her demons.

Surrender, surrender, surrender.

Succeeding Sloppily

I'm a sloppy painter. And you know what? I'm perfectly ok with that.

In fact, I'm sloppy at most everything I do. And I'm perfectly ok with that. You know why? Cause I get shit done.

If you're familiar with personality profiles, I am a Promoter style. That means I get distracted by bright shiny objects and I like a lot of attention. A perfect day in the life of a promoter would involve standing on a table surrounded by a group of people clapping just for her. Yup. Promoter through and through.

Painting is a methodical, detail-oriented task. (P.S. We love the Methodicals because they build our bridges and are really good at cutting in. I'm just not one of them.) I am far too busy fanning the flames of my celebrity to waste my time making sure the paint doesn't touch the ceiling or the baseboard.

I just finished the final wall in my living room and kitchen. So much slapdashery. There is paint everywhere. On me, on the floor, on the counters and cupboards. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy.

Hooray, I say.

A colleague of mine has a mantra: Give yourself permission to succeed sloppily. And I have embraced this whole-heartedly.

Paint with wild abandon and enthusiastic gusto. Who cares if you miss a spot. More time to drink beer and dance on the speakers.

Ass kicking

So today is the day I start my TOTAL BODY TRANSFORMATION. Six weeks of ass kicking. Six weeks of writing down and counting everything I eat. Six weeks of being accountable, not eating my emotions, being honest with myself, NOT BOLTING.

And I have one over-riding thought: what the hell was I thinking??



I blame the Cleanse I was on a few weeks back. I was light-headed and irrational. It is the cause of my poor decision-making.

What I really want to do tonight is eat chocolate and drink beer. But of course ultimately I'm going to love myself for it. I've decided to blog the whole process and live out loud so that I can help keep myself on track. May as well come along for the ride folks. I promise you it'll be entertaining.

Tiny, Quiet Revolution

So here I am...5 days in to a new place of being. Exploring something I am completely shocked to find myself exploring. Uncharted parts of me. Shocked and delighted to find myself here.

10 days ago I agreed to do a cleanse for a friend of mine who is launching a new business. I am so fond of her and wanted to support this leap of faith she is taking. Sure, I can do a cleanse for 3 days. To support Neelam.

No big deal.

But the result for me has been monumental. Three days drinking juice has shifted something in me at my very core. Not only was I not hungry, I had no cravings. So different from my past experiences with weight, feeling deprived, wanting to eat everything in sight, using food to slather on my broken heart, my fractured nerves, my unmet needs. Needing it to nurture and protect me. Looking for all the answers at the bottom of my hot fudge sundae. And living with the hatred of the extra 30, then 40, then 50, then 60 pounds. Carrying it around as punishment, as an outward expression of all that I truly believed about myself.

Feeling so lost and desolate in my weight loss journey because I had been to hell and back, done it all, seen it all, heard it all, tried it all and just ending up somewhere broken and wretched and lost. Not knowing if I could or even wanted to find my way back.

And trying to live in acceptance.

Trying so hard.

But it's hard to hear what my body really wants when it was muffled and stifled by all those chocolate chip cookies.

~~

I met with Neelam months and months and months ago. She's a nutritionist who helps women release weight through proper nutrition and custom meal plans.

It was too much for me. The journey she was proposing I embark on was too much for me. I couldn't face it. I couldn't face starting from scratch and doing it all over again. I couldn't punish, torture and hate myself thin again for all the Blizzards in Dairy Queen. Couldn't do it. Couldn't even think about doing it. Nope, nope, nope. I needed to find my way back. I needed to find the start line and then decide if I even wanted to get there. And mostly I didn't.

Until this 3-day cleanse came along.

Can I face all the mechanics and work involved in losing 30 or 40 or 50 pounds? No. Can I drink fresh-made, all natural juices delivered to my door every day.

Ya, I can do that.

So I started this totally harmless thing and it turned into this REALLY BIG THING! Because, that's it, that's it, that's it. That's my START! I started! No over-analyzing, no overwhelm, no mechanics, no fucking 'weight loss plan', just a start, an opportunity, a new chance at feeling better.

A start. That's all I needed, Neelam. A start. A chance. A new beginning to a desperately and deeply unsettling problem. And isn't that what it's all about?? Isn't this the crux of humanity? Isn't the core of any good friendship, relationship - or business for that matter - about having someone stand at the mouth of a whatever dark cave you're stuck in waving their flashlight, calling your name and showing you the way out.

3 Days Without Food

What did I learn?

Well, for starters, as a society we are overfed. As an individual, I am overfed and I overeat. 2) While I eat fairly well, and mostly whole foods, what I do eat is all animal protein and dairy. Dairy, dairy.

So 3 days on a juice cleanse and despite the searing headaches (caffeine and sugar withdrawls) it wasn't so bad. Partly because I sequestered myself in a Retreat of my own making rebooting and refreshing.

It was an eye-opening experience. Watching how I function and think and feel when food is not part of my existence. What am I doing if not planning a meal, eating, or thinking about eating or thinking about planning a meal?

I am being.

And tomorrow the reintegration back to solid foods begins. I have stocked up on my fresh fruit and veggies. Oh, that pineapple looks so succulent. Am I going to return to my old ways? Who knows. This has been what I hoped - a reset button, a pattern interrupt. It has gotten me consciously eating, consciously focusing on what I'm putting in my mouth and why.

And the bottom line: don't I deserve that 100% of the time? Not just for 3 days once every 10 years?

The most interesting thing to me was that I wasn't hungry. I didn't have crazy cravings. Because it was done properly. Not eating, not hungry, not wanting to eat. Not using food to feed me emotionally.

I am proud of myself. It feels good to have made a commitment to myself and kept it. No cheating. What do I do when no one is looking? I honour my agreements with myself.

And that is the best part.

To learn more about the cleanse I did, visit My Fresh Cleanse.

Space

"When we commit to taking care of our own needs and feeding ourselves the feelings we desire, the true miracle occurs and we find that everything we've been looking for is right within our reach.
-Debbie Ford

I've been looking at apartments all this week. I've got some big decisions to make. So the question I need to ask myself is: which decision is best going to meet my needs? I am trying to keep in mind that it's a renter's market and I have plenty of options. I tend to get scared and want to grab the first thing that comes along in case anybody snatches it up. But now that I'm of a certain age, I'm not sure I'm willing to put up with any shit in my living situation any more. I want a beautiful space that I feel good in and that I'm proud to call my home.

I had that and I walked away from it. I'm not sure I've forgiven myself just yet, but now it's time. I also realize that I have changed on some fundamental level, and not in a good way. I used to go for the gusto and I always landed on my feet. I never worried that things wouldn't work out, and so they always did. Now that I've had the experience of them not working out, I wonder if the lesson was in NOT playing it safe. 'Playing it safe' hasn't worked out so well for me.

I've been feeling that the time is now to step back into that space of owning my environment, something I haven't done these past 9 months. It is time to grow up. It's time to choose what I love and be accountable for doing what needs to get done to deserve, appreciate and feel safe in that space. And it's about finding a space that meets my needs, where I'm not depending on someone else to do it for me.

Something funny has been happening when I find a beautiful space: I'm intimidated by it. It's because with a beautiful space comes a beautiful price tag. I'm afraid I won't be able to manage it. And yet I have in the past, easily. I know from experience that just by trusting myself and believing that I'm making the right choice that it'll all work out. So why the hesitation? I'm afraid I'll fuck it up.

I feel like now might be the time to prove to myself that I can do it all on my own. Which feels like I'm 21 all over again.

And maybe I am, rediscovering parts of me that I thought I'd lost.

Shedding the Good Girl

Your good girl role will rob you of your life. Piss off one person per day for the next 30 days.
~Cheryl Richardson

This quote rocked my world. I’ve been rolling it around in my head for the past few days. I’m someone who’s approval addicted and I really do want to make others happy, but sometimes at my own expense. I’m playing with the idea of genuinely and truly doing what’s in my best interests at all times regardless of what that’s going to mean to others and regardless of whether or not they like it.

And I feel very audacious even CONSIDERING it, like the mere suggestion of pissing others off is so outrageous that never can it be spoken, let alone written down in print!

Chernobyl

I feel like my head has been wrapped in plastic these past few days. My roommate has been out of town, so the time and space alone to BE has been deafening. Things rising from the ether. Lessons, and voices and messages I can’t ignore are shining their flashlights into the recesses of my mind and knocking very, very loudly at the door.

Vibration higher, muddle and clutter unsettled.

He’s back now, and I realize the reason this living situation hasn't worked out is because he is a mirror for all the failures in my life since I moved here. I rode in on a triumphant wave of righteous and false prosperity, not believing I deserved it and then proving myself right. Losing it all.

Now I am defeated, too many risks resulting in too many failures, all proving what I must believe to be true about myself at a subconscious level. And just being so sick of the patterns!

I’m missing the point, I know.

For me it’s about first acknowledging what must be true in order to then clear the pattern.

It’s like Chernobyl around here.

That plastic bag feeling is actually fallout. Fallout from nuclear disaster.

Like I was put through the meat grinder and now I’m trying to reassemble the pieces back together to form a whole me.

Ground Karen chuck.

I’m trying to take the ground minced parts of my triumphant and glorious past and make myself whole again.

You always see those pictures of the atomic bomb that they show on the History channel. Black and white, slow motion, deafening silence. And complete annihilation.

That black and white, slow motion, deafening silence? That’s what my life feels like right now.

How do I rebuild? In the wake of such destruction, self-imposed, well-intentioned? Where do I start?

I’m feeling uprooted, directionless, and my overriding feeling: stunned.

I am stunned to be here.

Yet. again.

Doin' ok

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything worth reading on this blog – a long time since I’ve had anything intelligent to say. It’s been mostly just ranting, victim, whiny pleading bullshit.

I only seem to come on here when things are really bad…or really good. Both are equally annoying. Whining about problems which I’ve created for myself OR talking about how awesome my life is. UGH. Meanwhile, I’ve got friends out there with real problems, problems over which they have no control, friends with ill husbands and children, friends dealing with death and loss and heartbreak. So it has given me pause enough to reconsider what I am putting out into the world. And it has really helped me to be grateful for how bloody good I've got it.

So today, I’m neither terribly good nor terribly bad. I'm just plugging along, doing some growing up, being called on my shit, figuring out what it is I really want in and from life and most of all remembering:

“Life is really very simple. What we give out, we get back.” ~Louise Hay

That is all.

All’s Well that Ends Well

Beautiful. That was New York, in a word. I didn’t expect that to be the word I would use to describe New York. I thought it would be ‘throbbing’ or ‘face-paced’ or ‘turgid’ and it was all of those things, which is what made it so beautiful. I spent 4 days in awe of all the beauty. Beautiful clothes, beautiful people, beautiful sights, beautiful scenery. 4 days in awe, 4 days being present, 4 days in gratitude, feeling loved and supported and lucky.

4 days of beauty.

The trip wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. I thought it was going to be about my weight and my body issues. It wasn’t at all. It was about love. Giving myself permission to love myself and finally see my money for what it really is: a nurturing supportive and loving conduit to help me reach my goals and desires. It wasn’t about the shopping. It was about claiming my place in this world, about not postponing my life until I have more money or lose more weight; it’s about throwing my hat in the ring, about earning the satisfaction of knowing that I jumped into the game.

Life is not meant to be lived on the sidelines.

I am ready to make peace with my money. I am ready to stop punishing myself. I am ready to stop denying myself love. I am ready to treat it well, to nurture and love it, and ask that it do the same with me.

So many years I have spent hatinghatinghating and using money to punish and deprive myself, giving it so much power. I am ready to disarm and disable its power. I am ready to frame my choices in a positive way and continue to be present and grateful in all areas of my life (and least endeavour to.) And most importantly, I am ready to take the action steps needs to make sure that happens!

I am ready to live my life.

Have I said all of this before? Yes. Will I say it again? Maybe, but the trip was a great reminder of my place in the world. Today I feel centred, grounded and focused, more than I have in a really long time. I let money have this power over me; I let my identity be defined by it. Money keeps me off-kilter. If I have it, it feels wrong; if I don’t, I feel entitled. It’s fucked-up shit.

Here’s what I feel today, after 4 glorious days in New York – an overwhelming sense of relief, and the reminder that I am a fucking colossus.

Everything you’ve ever heard about New York is true. It is a state of mind, a feeling. For me, it was about enjoying where I was at when I was at it. Doing all the stuff I love; it was about balance and appreciation and gob-smacking adulation.

Really, New York. Thank you.

My Life is a Grenade

I am leaving for New York City in 2 days. Less than 48 hours and I'll be on a plane with 7 other women to go on a shopping trip.

How do I feel?

Like a bloody, selfish fool.

My whole life is upside-down. I'm robbing Peter to pay Paul, I'm back where I started, I'm in no-man's land, I'm someplace new, I'm where I've always been.

I am frustrated, I am angry, I am raging.

My life makes me uncomfortable.

Is that a good thing? I don't know any more. I believe that in order to change results and create something new in life, you gotta live outside your comfort zone a little. I don't want to activate what I already know because that will get me what I already have. I don't want what I already have, do you?

But at what point does that tolerance for risk reach its breaking point? When is enough enough?

I have never felt lonelier in my life. I feel like my old friends don't get my new life and I feel like my new friends don't get my old life. I don't feel like I can trust anyone, and those that I can trust, I am afraid of their judgement.

So where am I? Nowhere.

So I talk to no one and I sit and stew and things get worse.

My life is a grenade.

I am 2 days from a trip to NYC and instead of feeling pride, joy, elation and worth, I feel selfish, scared, audacious, and mad as hell. I am frustrated and furious. And I need to be honest about it. Everyone is walking around asking, 'Are you so excited?' and the truth is, I'm not. And that makes me sad. Oh woe is me. How dare I make this into something other than what it is. Why can't I enjoy it? Why do I feel like I don't deserve it? I thought it was about the weight. It's not. It's about the money. Which is the same difference. It all boils down to love. And this being just another way for me to be hard on myself, beat myself up, get a hate on...and then feel guilty for not feeling grateful. And then I feel spoiled that this is my problem in life. And there are starving children in Africa...and in Canada who WISH that there biggest problem was coming to terms with a trip to New York. And then I feel like I 'should' be feeling a certain way and I stuff the feelings down even more and bend and twist and contort all of my feelings. Try to mold them into something they're not. Mad at everyone else for not understanding; mad at myself for not being honest. Mad at myself for not being able to enjoy.

I am leaving for New York City in 2 days and I am miserable.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe

So I'm movin' out...handed in my notice...still haven't found a place to go yet, not for there being a shortage of places to live, but because I don't want to compromise. I'm sure there's a lesson here, and I thought I was listening and learning, but now I'm not so sure.

Let me back up.

My decision to move was instantaneous. A lightning bolt of clarity. It is the right choice.

I want to own my own home. I have never really wanted to own my home in the past. It's a whole new idea for me. Suddenly, I want it, intensely, deeply and genuinely. So I am going to go for it. I thought home ownership was something other people did. Never really understood the appeal. I always enjoyed the freedom and the lack of responsibility renting afforded me. I fancied myself this free-spirit, able to pick up at a moment's notice and chauncy off to some exotic destination. Which is all fine and well until the thought started occurring to me that I can still chauncy off at a moment's notice and be a free spirit AND own a home. My big lesson of 2010 so far has been that it doesn't have to be either/or, it can be both/and.

Both. And.

For a former chronic All-or-nothing/Black-or-white girl; a girl who spent a great number of years living and dying in painful absolutes, Both/And is a glorious, freeing revelation. Both.And.

My plan - move to a place that is half of 1/3 of what I'm paying right now, put that money towards debt repayment and save for a downpayment.

Great idea.

Reality - I live in one of the hottest housing markets in the country.

So I kept increasing my budget, slowly, incrementally...until today I found myself applying for a place that is nice, but more than I want to pay. It's a great deal, there are a lot of good things about it, but my heart's just simply not in it. Because the truth is I already have nice. I have lovely, beautiful, condo of my dreams. If I'm going to trade nice for less nice, if I'm going to leave it all, it's going to be for some greater end. I am going to stand up and say 'I deserve this for myself.' And suffering is optional.

My heart's not in it because it's not what I really want. What I want is to pay less, yes. But I also want a little less responsibility. I want some company, good laughs, easy living. And I want to save like a madwoman. I want to be a debt-free, home-ownin' woman.

So I'm going to move towards that; I'm going to play to win instead of play not to lose.

And one thing I've learned for sure - whatever I dream for myself, whatever I ask the Universe for is always delivered, bigger, better, more delicious than I ever could have imagined for myself. So I choose to have it all. I choose.

I choose to remain undaunted. Because I have a new found belief that has been serving me quite well lately that I can have it all. It is possible to find a great place to live for $400 a month, yes it is. And enjoy my living situation to boot.

Both. And.

Post-birthday Detox

After my birthday, I decided to take a little break from all the boozin'. Two weeks have passed and it has been an interesting experiment to say the least.

Interesting because I haven't been the slightest bit interested in drinking, not even tempted. Tis the Season for birthday parties and BBQs and decks in the sunshine. Not tempted by Cosmos at the Sex and the City premier, not tempted at my weekly writer's club which really - has just been a good excuse to drink on a Wednesday night. Huh! What has been surprising is that a whole lot of crazy emotions have been coming up. Mostly loneliness. And it's interesting to realize what a salve the alcohol has been. A mask, really. A way to not deal with whatever's going on. Which of course is no news flash. It's hardly breaking news; I just didn't realize to what extent I used it to distance myself from my feelings.

Another great thing - I have been having just as much fun sober. And more importantly, I'm just as funny.

Other perks:

-no more pesky hangovers. Entire days are no longer maligned by dehydration and lack of anti-inflammatories in the house.

-more money in the wallet

-I can leave a party whenever I want and drive home without worry

Hm.

And really what I've realized is that what needed the most detoxifying was the unhealthy relationship. Not being attached to having to have the alcohol? And not even realizing that there was an attachment in the first place? Double huh!

One thing is for sure - a higher version of myself has been tryin to emerge these past few month, nay years. And as long as I'm drinking, it's a way of stifling down the creativity.

Don't know where this is going - or for how long- but all I have to say is a big, fat, giant HUH! I am tickled that, at 35, I can continue to surprise myself.

It feels good.

Who knows what's next - maybe a colon cleanse?

Building the New - the Next 35

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
~Walt Whitman

The good thing about having a birthday is that is the perfect opportunity to take stock of life. It’s a good time to see where I’m at, to laugh, cry, mourn, celebrate. It’s a time to pause, and catch my breath, look forward, look back, look around. It’s a snapshot of a life in full-speed.

It’s a time for gratitude, release, grief, hope, resolve and affirmation.

This year has been one of phenomenal growth. I look back on the last year and can only shake my head in awe. I feel like I’ve done a lot of growing up. Mine is a rags to riches story, emotionally, spiritually, mentally and physically.

I am learning more and more about myself daily, striving for better, but also standing in happiness and acceptance and harmony and awe. In awe daily of all the wonderful things I have created.

There has been a monumental shift for me these last 3 months and I am pushing forward, but still turning my head back, hand extended to those in my past who I am reluctant to leave behind.

I still miss my ex-boyfriend. I am still waiting for something to happen there; for the door to close, the rope that connects us to be cut. I have been visualizing a giant pair of scissors cutting this big, thick, sinewy rope that connects us and there is always a struggle. So I have to stop and ask why? And realizing from this, since I can no sooner move forward with him, that I don’t let go easily. Realizing that I am loyal and that change is hard for me. And that I am needlessly hanging onto something that never really existed in the first place. And mourning that loss.

I hit the ceiling on that relationship, but I haven’t been able to figure out why I’m still hanging on. Then I stumble on this post from last September and am both saddened and encouraged, reminded that what we had did in fact mean something, that it was a powerful force, a beautiful thing, a forward motion. So what I’m hanging on to is love. What I’m mourning is the loss of what could have been. There is grief that we couldn’t make it work; anger that I can’t control my emotions, or events or their outcome…or other people. Bitterness and hurt that I feel he didn’t appreciate me; that I wasn’t enough for him to step up; resentment that the man I fell in love with was a mirage; disappointment at my sqaut behaviour. And finally understanding that it’s got nothing at all to do with any of that. How could we go from the Centre of the Universe to…arguing about eggs? How could we go from walking down a path of security, commitment and trust to…bickering and tension and friction and constant power struggle? Why is my loving cup always so empty?

So I sit with it, lean into it. Instead of feeding it with food, or alcohol, or television, or conversation, I sit with it. I sit with the sadness, the fear, the loss, the rejection, the failure and the loneliness. I sit with it and I wait, I observe, I love. I don't judge or scold myself. I just sit with it and accept it for what it is.

And then I turn my head forward. I look around at all my great, great friends. I am bathing in gratitude, receiving all the love thrown my way, taking it all in. I am listening to music, being good to myself, treating, indulging, breathing in and out and taking new, slow, tentative steps in a direction that scares the crap out of me and exhilarates me all at the same time. I am surrounding myself with people who push the limits of my comfort zone on a daily basis and believe in me and see all the potential in me that I only started seeing for myself.

I am daring to dream again…to audaciously make choices and decisions that make my heart sing, skip a beat, beat faster….that turn my stomach into a blended drink. And in the midst of all the forward motion, this chaos, this intense energy, this higher vibration, I am learning to ground myself, to breath deeply, to carve out a sense of security, a sense of myself. I am learning to accept, to surrender, to feel the undesirable feelings, to receive goodness and love and to stop apologizing for my choices, for my body, for who I am becoming. I am 35. I am learning and practicing to be giving, to love freely and be generous with grace. I am learning to think the best of people and see the good in them instead of clutching onto fear and hate and lack. I am growing up, growing out, expanding, daring, reeling, crying for change, letting go, making bold choices and endeavoring to live a big and audacious, scary, exhilarating, life. I deserve this life, these riches, this power, and I accept it now.

I am 35 and I am beginning the new. This is the song of myself.