Pause

I want to be like the bug in the picture.  I want to pause for a minute and enjoy the flower...

Pause

Pause before you speak and ask yourself, "what is truer than this"?
Pause before you act and ask yourself, "is this a response to this moment, or a reaction to the past"?
Pause before you eat and ask yourself, "will this make me feel more alive or less alive"?
Pause before you commit and ask yourself, "when things get tough, do I know how to stay"?
Pause before you leave and ask yourself, "am I running away because this is uncomfortable, yet calling me to grow, or am I going because it is simply time to go"?
Pause before you pause and ask yourself, "do I pause too much and is it holding me back from taking risks"?
Pause and search your field of consciousness for old patterns that no longer serve
Pause and savor the moment before a moment
Pause on the bridge between this and that
Pause where life can change
Pause where infinite possibilities lie

-- Coby Kazlowski

My daughter, Kate, had the above reflection posted above her kitchen sink for some years. In these past few weeks, Coby's invitation to pause for a moment beckons.

I want to pause in this moment between this and that. To pull to the side of the road while still on the bridge and climb out of the car. I want to look back at the roads I've traveled to get here, and be thankful for the gifts they've given me. (even the hard gifts. I'm trying to be thankful for those, too.)
I want to look forward to the paths of possibility and enjoy the view of the many options of roads to take in the miles I will soon travel.

I want to explore those paths a bit in my mind's eye. To see where this one crosses that, where that one looks good at the start, but could turn scary once it goes around the bend, and conversely, where this one starts out looking a little narrow and rocky, but is the only road that leads to the flower-filled meadow up ahead on the left.

I am trying to pause, and to savor this moment before a moment.
Infinite possibilities lie ahead.
How wonderful, how scary, is that????

Unknown plants

Since I first planted my butterfly garden five years ago, I've tried to plan what it will look like, and carefully select the flowers I want to grow there. My garden, however, seems to have some ideas of its own. It's my fault, of course. If I'd just pull all the plants I didn't plant as they sprouted, the reality of the garden would come closer to matching the ideal in my head.

But nature plants some interesting things. This year, the entire front half of the garden has been taken over by what is surely a weed. (aka a plant growing where it is not wanted). Its spread has been prolific, but its flowers are beautiful. They open to the morning sun, drinking in its rays, but in the heat of the afternoon, the bloom close tightly, trying to escape from the relentless heat. I can relate.

In the center of the garden is a something with large vaguely-squash-looking leaves. I have no idea what it might be. Just this last week, it started to send up a flower shoot. Maybe, before the end of fall, it'll bloom.

All things in their own time.

Baby Joe was thriving in the NICU, so they sent him home well before his due date. His parents are, of course, thrilled to have him home.

Rita-Marie spends her days caring for him, and wondering how it can be that the entire day is gone and all she's managed to do besides feed the baby is to grab a nap and to start (not finish) a load of laundry. (Hers is a common experience, I assured her - I remember those days.)

Big Joe is still in full-out nesting mode. He's determined to get done the things he wanted to get done before the baby's due date, and by golly, he's going to get there. The minor fact the baby is on the outside of his mother's womb instead of inside where he still belongs hasn't changed his instincts a bit. 

They are learning how to live as a family of three. (seven?)

Cricket, their dog, is fascinated by the new hairless puppy, and makes sure to alert Mom and Dad if he cries even a little and they don't jump up to see what's going on. Fortunately for all, the baby is of the mellow variety, and doesn't often scream. (At least, not yet.) 

The cats sniffed politely, and have decided he's neither good to eat nor likely to feed or pet them, so they're ignoring him.

And so their household resembles my garden. Some parts were planted on purpose, some joined as strays, all are learning to live together. It's not as tidy when it grows that way, but it has a beauty that can't be found in neatly ordered rows.  

Good Is.

Retirement, Version II

Cancer, mine, and that of those I love, has honed my desire to live the days I have. And so, I'm going to retire again next month. Nothing against the job I have now, but I no longer want to spend whatever days I am yet to be given looking at screens.

I turned in my notice last week, and instantly panicked. There is a part of my gut that's convinced retirement causes cancer. After all, that's what happened the last time. (as if somehow, if I only kept working, I'd live forever?)

The fear has been surprisingly strong. I've been ignoring it, to the point where my skin has broken out in rashes to make sure I understand the fear is there.

I understand.

But I've traveled a challenging road since I was first forced to take a detour on my camper van trip. I have learned fear will always be there - but to look beyond its dark whispering to see the beauty that Is, even on the darkest of days.

And so I'm retiring again, anyways.

My road has taken so many twists and turns while I was on my detour, I no longer know if there's another camper van trip on the map. (It'll have to wait at least a year if it's going to come back into the path of my journey.)

In the meantime, I'll be baby-watching through much of the winter; those days will fly quickly by. I have no definitive plans for my days once he moves on to regular day-care, and I've decided I don't necessarily need them. I'm trying to pause in this liminal space. To listen and just be, instead of trying to plot the path ahead.

After all - when I jumped into the camper van the first time, I had no clear map of where I wanted to go. No plans, no agenda other than to try to refresh my weary mind, body and soul. My next destination was guided only a vague sense of the direction I was going, and by the desire to see more beautiful places. It worked well enough that I'm ready to try it again.

I have three weeks yet to work. Somewhere, underneath my fear, my long neglected inner two year-old is beginning to stir.

Free???  FREE!!!!!

Soon, my dear, soon.

Class Reunion

My mumbletyth class reunion was this past weekend. As the date approached, I had sixty-three good reasons not to go. I was going to skip it this round, but then I looked at the list of people who'd already RSVP'd.

Sandy Kincaid's name jumped out at me.

For years, I've wondered what happened to her. In those first tentative days, back in 7th grade, we'd started to become friends. But then, she became the target of the class bullies. Her sin? Growing from four foot nothing to 5'8 in about six months, and developing a full woman's chest along the way.

I'm ashamed to say I backed away from her when the others started to torment her. I'd come out of a school where I was bullied myself, and had hoped to be able to get lost in the new school, which is a large, regional, junior high school.

And then - my memory blanks out. My mom died when I was in high school, and there's a large swath of time where I have few memories. Except for a few stutters, my memory paused shortly after the start of seventh grade, and picks up again partway through my senior year. (I presume it's a form of PTSD.)

Sandy has drifted in and out of my musings for years. I hoped I'd just backed away. Surely, I hadn't joined in the teasing, in a vain attempt to move the gaze of the bullies on from myself. Had I? (If I had joined in, trying to avoid her fate, it hadn't worked. Turned out they could pick on more than one kid at once.)

I've wanted to know the answer to that question for years, wanted to believe I had been kind. I'd even tried to track her down on Facebook once upon a time, but hadn't had any luck. Seeing her name on the reunion list, I added my own. It was time and past time to get my question answered.

I got to the event shortly after it started. Within five minutes, Sandy and her husband walked in the door. I hadn't seen her since graduation, but I knew her face in an instant; confirmed my knowledge with a glance at her name tag. (The event organizers created the name tags with their audience in mind - the font on the tags was big enough to read without having to pull out reading glasses. I wasn't the only one grateful to them for their foresight and thoughtfulness.)

I gathered my courage, walked up to her, and told her she was the main reason I'd come to the reunion. Much to my relief, she looked up, greeted me with a big smile, turned, and introduced me to her husband as a long-ago friend.

** whew **

We chatted of our current lives for a bit; where we live, numbers and ages of children, what we'd done in the world of work. I then turned the conversation to those long-ago days. I told her of the holes in my memory, I asked her how long the 'teasing' had continued. I asked her if I'd ever joined in the catcalls.

Much to my relief, she promptly said, "No. You never joined in. You were never one of them. They kept it up for a while, but I steadfastly ignored them, and they eventually tired of me and found other, more reactive, targets." Once she said that, the mental picture returned - I can see her striding purposefully down the hallway, face flaming, but head held high, ignoring the taunts as they deserved to be ignored. I remembered we never became good friends, but it was mostly because we didn't share many classes, not because I'd dropped her cold.

I can't tell you how much better that made me feel. I may not have had the fortitude to stand up to her tormentors with her, but at least my sin was one of omission - I'd not committed the sin of joining in. We talked a bit more, then were pulled apart by the dance of the crowd.

I enjoyed the rest of the evening more than I'd anticipated. Turns out I've become the kind of person I wished I was back in the days when I was being ignored by the cool girls, back when I carried my own 'bully me' target with me through the halls.

I can walk into a room where I don't recognize anyone, introduce myself, start a conversation, and enjoy the interaction. I know which clothes are the right ones to wear - not too much, not too casual, and I know to pick comfortable outfits. Perhaps more importantly, I am comfortable in my own skin.

I talked to anyone whose name sounded vaguely familiar, and as the evening wore on, I found some of my memories returning. I caught up on the joys and sorrows of several old friends, I found smiles and welcome every way I turned. There were a few of those bullies there - I walked right past them, taking inordinate glee in noting they really had not aged well.

As the evening grew late, and my feet grew sore, I realized the conversations had soothed some raw spots I didn't know existed in my soul. As I said my goodbyes, I turned to look for Sandy one more time, but she'd already slipped out.

I am glad to know she's made a good life, found love, raised a great group of children.
I am greatly relieved to know I was one of the good spots in her life during those tough years.

Sixty-three good reasons not to go - I'm glad I listened to the voice telling me there was one good reason to show up.