New Moon Blurb

rain and moon

About today: the rain is as hard as my heart is heavy. Physically I’m perfectly comfortable and safe and free, but transition is all around and it’s not emotionally comfortable.

It’s the first day of the Year of the Wood Horse and a new moon.

A month into my ‘unicorn’ leave, and it’s been a trip. I just extended it one month, with no idea how I’m going to pay rent in March. I want to have complete faith (I know I’ll be okay) but I’m really scared, too (I want to be so much more than okay).

I wrote this article the other day, and shared this last week, both of which were somewhat controversial topics. They generated a lot of discussion which to me is — well, that’s pretty much the most important thing.

Spreading awareness, getting people talking, changing people’s perspectives, helping others understand things. This is a big deal.

So here I am, fulfilling my purpose. I should be happy but I feel really strange and exposed right now.

I’m floating in the middle of an ocean and there is no shore and nothing to hold onto. Some days I’m happy as a clam, floating on my back and being warmed by the sun. Others I’m flailing around and feeling helpless. I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to stay afloat.

For me, writing is this weirdly painful necessity. It’s not always painful, of course, but it’s such a strange thing to have it be such a deep part of my life.

I feel like a fraud, but how can this be when really all I care about is being real and helping others be real and here I am doing just that?

Wonderful ladies night last night for miss MoJo’s birthday (so much love in that room), preceded by unicorn stampede on the weekend, a one-year-old’s birthday party, a lovely goodbye party, a last-supper date.

My best friend is heading to El Salvador for this. I’m so super proud and happy for her.

And he’s leaving. This very moment he sits at the airport and I can’t even stand talking to him because I feel too much.

And that’s not my life; none of these moments define my life. I may be feeling heavy today: sad, a bit angry, scared. But that doesn’t mean I’m sitting around feeling sorry for myself.

I’m doing everything I can to move forward, move through it, to face it and then step outside myself.

Last year I tasted possibility; this year I’m going into it, and I’m going hard.

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Ask for what you want

keep your coins

In this recent post I outlined some promises to myself for 2014, but I’d missed this big, big one: Ask for what you want.

Not like a kid whining for a toy that they think they want, but the real stuff. The heart stuff. The life stuff.

Directly, specifically, clearly.

Do it now. Do it reasonably.

Maybe sometimes it will seem less reasonable for some part of the party in question, but if you are sure of it, do it anyway.

Do it with a good balance of humility and audacity—depending on what the circumstance requires—but do it anyway.

If it seems scary but right, it means you need to do it even more.

The ‘need’ is more about expressing the want, rather than necessarily ‘getting’ the want met.

Be okay if the answer is no, because sometimes it will be.

Sometimes, the answer will be yes and then you will receive exactly what you asked for.

Then you will realize that it’s not what really want you needed or wanted at all, but you will have a better idea of what you need and want regardless.

Sometimes we won’t know if or when we will get what we want, and so we will have to rest in the uncertainty, in the in-between.

The in-between can offer us opportunity for patience, reflection, real work, true joy.

I am pushing myself to take steps into other (scary) places instead of going inside to hide.

I’m learning how to settle out.

Taking a Break From Work to Write

Image

But this break isn’t really about writing.

It’s about practicing other things that allow for greater compassion.

I regularly seek coffee-shop clarity.

So that my posts come out as more than vague thought-clumps.

So that community comes.

Really good writing cuts to the core instead of dancing around the edges; I’m afraid that I’ve been dancing around a little in my neuroses—a stifled jig at the edge of my bed, my head.

In some safe spot that rests on a foundation of stuck-sadness, muddy and thick.

Real writing requires transparency and movement.

I glimpse little pieces of this in the paths that condensation drips draw down the window panes, mini-rivulets carving clear streams through the fog.

Good writing carves new pathways between hearts.