The Dancing Swarm of Fireflies
I have a friend who juggles her writing job with her own fiction writing, being a wife and mom, homeschooling her daughter and a hundred other things that come up in her day.
She recently starting taking swimming lessons and commented that “she can do nice, efficient strokes or remember how to breathe properly, but doing them both at the same time was going to take practice.”
I love when an experience shines as a larger metaphor for something else going on in our life.
When I was in Phoenix earlier this month, I spent an afternoon with Marika at the Phoenix Art Museum. My favorite piece was Yayoi Kusama’s interactive installation, You Who Are Getting Obliterated in the Dancing Swarm of Fireflies.
To experience the piece, we entered a dark room that had thousands of fiber optic lights suspended at different heights from the mirrored ceiling to the mirrored floor. The walls were also mirrors, so the lines of reflecting lights extended forever, like a big city skyline, like the solar system, like an ocean of fireflies.
I went in first and the darkness was disorienting. I had no concept of where I was in the space. I took small, tentative steps, my arms extended and waving in front of me so that I wouldn’t walk into a wall. Marika walked slightly behind me, her hand on my shoulder, as if she were a blind person being led.
The thick strands of lights brushed against my legs, across my shoulders as we moved further into the room. It was like walking through a fairy tale forest of hanging colored vines.
The lights dimmed and changed from blue to red, yellow to green and we ooohed and aahed at the expanse of lights that seemed to extend into infinity. Sometimes we could see our reflections on a far wall, but more often, we were walking nearly blind through the sea of hanging lights.
“I know there’s an exit,” I said. “I saw the sign before we came in.” She doubted me, but followed my lead. But I couldn’t find the passageway out, so we made our way back to the entrance.
We walked around the outside of the room and I showed her the exit sign I had seen. “OK let’s go back in,” she said.
This time she led. I held her hand as we walked between the dangling tangle of lights. She moved slowly but confidently through the maze of colors, pointing to the shadow of us on a wall, laughing when a strand of lights trailed across her face. “Look over there.” She pointed to a glow of orange on a far wall. “It reminds me of that sunset on the beach.”
She led us through the changing colors toward a large rectangle of dim light and suddenly we were standing in the main gallery, next to the exit sign.
Of course, the metaphor of it all is not lost on me: How I, with my usual cockiness, thought I would lead us through to the exit. My sureness gave her the confidence to follow me, but it turned out that SHE led ME through to the exit.
And in the larger metaphor, after spending three weeks with me in the RV in California, she is now telling people that, yes, she IS moving there. She also says that it will take some time because there is a lot to do to make it happen.
I am constantly surprised and amused by this dance we do, the give and take, the partnership of it all. How we walk this journey together, at any given time one or the other is able to take the lead and the other is willing to follow, with trust and faith and so much love.
What experiences serve as larger metaphors in your life?
I’d love for you to share your experiences – just click on the Comments below.
[ssba]Every Choice Is the Right Choice
As you read this, I’m in Phoenix for the week, visiting friends and working with Mac clients. I’ll be driving my car back to California next weekend and settling into my new home at the Bella Vista Mobile Lodge in Cayucos. (This is the view from the office.)
Some folks are surprised that I didn’t choose the bungalow, or at least choose to wait to hear whether the landlords had picked me to be the tenant.
But on Wednesday afternoon I still hadn’t heard from the bungalow owners whether or not they had chosen me as their tenant. I had paid to stay at the RV park through Thursday and Marika was heading back to Phoenix that weekend.
I was going to drive back with her and a lot depended on what I decided.
If I got the house, I’d be driving the RV back and we’d leave on Friday, stop overnight in Ventura and visit a friend’s open studio. Then, back in AZ, I’d have a friend help me load up a U-Haul with my things and drive it up and I’d drive my car.
If I didn’t get the house, we’d drive back on Saturday all in one day in Marika’s car, I’d stay for a week working with clients then drive my car back.
Either scenario was do-able, so it became a deeper choice. What did I really WANT.
The more I sat with the options, I realized that coming to California in the RV to find a house was indeed my original plan. But I was really enjoying the simpleness of things, living in my small, contained space, the ease of feeling like I’m on a working vacation. I just needed my own car, so I’d have more flexibility and mobility. I also knew I didn’t want to stay in the RV park that I’d been in all month, now that the summer season is over and I was by myself.
The mobile home park in Cayucos offered me a very affordable way to continue living this working vacation life. And it was across the street from the ocean.
I heard voices in my head urging me to start working full-time again, that this vacation life was fine for a month but really, I should be making money, connecting with the Apple store, living a real life.
But this IS my real life! And when I step back and claim that, out loud, it makes me very, very happy.
Often, our original vision is what gets us to take action, that brings us to a new place. And in that new place we have a different view, a new perspective and so it’s natural for the vision and the dream to change.
And that is why I have chosen to spend at least another month in the RV in the new park in Cayucos where there are permanent residents in their mobile homes as well as travelers coming and going in their RVs.
And the owners are so flexible. While I’m in Phoenix, I moved my RV to the dry camp area (no hookups, but I don’t need them) and it’s only $10.00 a day. And if some folks with previous reservations for my space come in over one of the weekends, I can return to the dry camp and not have to find a new place to stay.
I love the ease and effortlessness of this decision.
Sure, I could fall into the hole of wondering if I made the “right” choice. After all, the bungalow was pretty perfect, even though I’d have to buy a refrigerator.
But I realize that whatever choice I make is the “right” one. Because eventually I’ll have the opportunity to make another choice. And another. Because each choice isn’t the end of the road, it’s merely another step on the journey.
I’d love to hear your reflections about your own choices. Click on Comments below.
[ssba]Saying Yes and Letting Go, Again!
I can’t believe it’s already September and that I’ve been in Morro Bay for a whole month now, gloriously enjoying the weather, the air, the ocean and the bay.
In the last few weeks I’ve affirmed that yes, I’m ready to settle down, create community, and continue to explore how I want to connect and serve in my life.
As much as I love the freedom of RV living, I’m ready to say I live here, to have neighbors and a space to share with new and old friends. But rental houses are far and few between in Los Osos and Morro Bay. And having a dog limits the choices even more.
I have been double and triple checking Craigslist and various realtors sites many times a day, looking, looking, looking for my perfect house.
I even downsized my requirements-from a 2 bedroom to a one bedroom if it had a bonus room or a sunroom or a secondary space for working. It could be in Los Osos OR Morro Bay, and I didn’t have to have easy access to the walking along the water right out my front door.
Still, nothing appeared.
Then I saw an ad for a cute 2 bedroom in Morro Bay. I called the number even though it didn’t say anything about dogs and the woman said she’d consider pets and would call me either way when they were ready to show the house.
Marika went with me to see it last Friday. It’s a 2 bedroom beach bungalow with a yard, washer/dryer hookups, a gas stove and a garage. The landlords are a working couple who live two hours inland and plan to retire in the house at some point, so it is well maintained and cared for. And it has an ocean view!
The master bedroom has great shelves in the closets (for my art supplies) and a sliding glass door to the patio. The smaller bedroom could easily fit my queen bed, side tables and dresser with room to spare. There are ceiling fans in both bedrooms and wall heaters in the master and living room. The kitchen is open to the living room and there’s a second door that leads to the fully fenced back yard. There’s plenty of storage in the separate laundry room off of the garage. And the yard is buffered on both sides by garages so there’s no chance of Laddy being harassed by a neighbor’s dog.
More than a dozen people came to see the house while I was there, and they were expecting many more. I filled out my application and told the woman about my very very high credit score and we chatted a little and she said they were fine with a dog. I even showed her a photo of Laddy, standing on a pile of kelp on the beach. I could tell she was overwhelmed with the turnout of people so I thanked her and we left.
Afterwards, I wished I had taken pictures, sketched the floor plan, given her my business card. But I too, was overwhelmed with how many people had come to see the place. There were two young couples with toddlers and babies on the way, a family of five, a young woman with no credit. I wondered if the landlords would be more interested in helping a young family or renting to a mature professional woman with great credit and a dog.
And I wondered if I should call them and tell them how much I really wanted to live in the house.
But I had to let it go.
I asked friends to send up good mojo, while I imagined Laddy and I living in the house. At the same time, I tried not to be too attached to the outcome.
The landlady called the next afternoon to ask a few more questions about my business. She told me I was in the top running but she didn’t know how to verify my income since I don’t have an employer. I offered to send her a copy of my financials, but she declined. I suggested she take a look at my website to see what I do and how I make my money and she liked that idea. And I was able to tell her that I would really LOVE to live in the house.
Again, I asked my friends for their good wishes. They reminded me to trust the process, to allow THEM to hold the vision for me so I could let it go.
I breathed in their support and tried to stay focused on the present moment, walking along the beach, eating more delicious seafood, enjoying Marika’s company.
But I kept thinking how perfect it all was. The house is the right size, in the right location, for the right price. It has everything on my wish list, including invested landlords. And Marika is driving back to Arizona this weekend. If I got the house, I could caravan back with her, then work for a week with clients in Phoenix, load my stuff into a U-Haul and drive my car back, ready to settle into my new address.
It all seemed so easy, so right, so meant to be.
My controlling self wanted to call the landlady 100 times to convince her to pick me, pick me.
But each time I realized I was too attached to the outcome, I breathed into my heart, easing into trust and remembering that there are some things I simply have no control over.
And now it is Tuesday night and I still don’t know about the house on Hemlock. And if I don’t get it, then what?
Now that summer is over, the RV park is empty. We’re the only ones here and it’s a little creepy and very lonely.
Should I just stay here, as is, and be the only person here in this RV park, but close to the beach and in familiar surroundings?
Should I leave the RV parked here, drive back with Marika this weekend to get my car and drive it back so I have more mobility and flexibility?
Should I check out the RV park in Cayucos that our last neighbors told us about because it’s cheaper?
Cayucos is a very small beach town five miles north of Morro Bay, known for surfing, antique stores and a great dog beach. They also get much less fog and much more sun than Morro Bay, which is not necessarily a plus for me.
Marika agreed to drive up there with me this evening to check it out. We pulled into the Bella Vista Mobile Lodge in Cayucos just as the sun was setting pink over the ocean. The park is mostly mobile homes, with 29 RV spaces scattered through the park, all with a patch of grass, full hookups and wifi but no TV. It’s on the hill at the north end of town, just a short skip down the road to the beach, the pier and Duckie’s Chowder House. You can hear the ocean rolling from many of the sites.
I like the idea of living in a community of full-timers. And the price-OMG-only $525/month! I could park the RV in my spot and use my car to drive into town, explore, play, volunteer, go to yoga, see clients and whatever else I want to do. I wouldn’t feel the pressure of having to make a lot of money and build up my business. Instead, I could continue to walk and write and connect and keep exploring how else I want to serve.
So tomorrow I will call the office and see about staying there for at least through the month of September. If it’s a yes, then Laddy and I will still drive back with Marika, but in her car. I’ll stay with her and work in Phoenix for a week if I have clients, then drive my car back and settle in with a new Cayucos address. And there are plenty of motels and hotels where friends can stay when they come to visit.
Of course, I’ll keep you posted. Meanwhile, if you want to rev up some good mojo, please do. And then, let it go!
Share your comments by clicking on the Comments below!
[ssba]Of Whales and Lighthouses and Flowing with Traffic
Marika and I have been exploring new places along the coast. Sometimes we take our trips in Marika’s car so it’s faster, more economical and easier to maneuver around a town. Other times we take the RV so that the dogs can hang in comfort while we’re out adventuring.
Last weekend we had reservations to tour the Point San Luis Lighthouse a few miles south of Morro Bay. We took the RV and made a day of it.
We turned onto Avila Beach Road, a two lane stretch of road that curves around the wide C that is San Luis Bay, then dead ends at the Port San Luis Harbor. We got there early, before ten o’clock, so that we could find a parking spot for the RV and have time to explore and relax before our 1pm Lighthouse tour.
Since it’s the end of summer, we didn’t expect too many cars. But four days ago, humpback whales were spotted feeding in the bay and the crowds have been coming ever since.
So we parked in the first spot big enough along the road and started toward Dog Beach. But there were too many people and dogs already on the beach so we took a short walk up a hill, then piled back into the RV and drove back into the actual town of Avila Beach just down the road to explore. But the streets were hilly and narrow and the public parking lot said NO RVs, so we returned to the beach road, found a place to park closer to where we needed to meet the Lighthouse Tour bus and had lunch.
The dinette window faced the expanse of water, still smooth and gray like the sky. Anchored boats bobbed in the water and a few pelicans glided overhead. Kayakers and stand up paddle boarders moved through the water, all watching for whale activity.
We watched the cars, bumper to bumper, driving in and out. As soon as one car pulled out of a parking space, another pulled in. People set up beach chairs along the narrow sidewalk, sat in the backs of their pickup trucks, leaned against their cars, watching and waiting.
There was no unusual bird activity, no gathering of thousands of pelicans diving for fish like they had reported days before. Still, people came with cameras and binoculars and lined up along the road, watching. I wondered if they were noticing anything else – the kayakers, the dogs running on the beach, the subtle changes in the sky – or if they were only looking for what they wanted to see.
The fog rolled out, revealing the curve of land on the other side of the bay, and the water turned blue to match the sky. And still the cars drove in and people stood and watched the water.
At 12:30 we walked down to the Lighthouse meeting point and got in the van that took us onto the private property of PG and E, up a narrow, winding, single lane road through scrub oak and cyprus trees. About half way up, the road hugged the steep edge, revealing the water below us, shining and spectacular in its bigness and blueness.
The tour was fun and informative. We learned about whaling in the area in the 1870’s and saw the original Fresnel light, long since replaced by an electric light and now housed in the old fog horn room. The tour bus driver said that the whales had been feeding on giant schools of sardines and anchovies, but they had all moved further north. Too bad no one told all of the folks who had driven to Avila Beach.
We got back to the RV around 3:30 and the traffic was moving even slower than before.
We could have felt rushed to get back to camp, or, if we’d been in the car, maybe we’d have been too hungry or tired to stay. But with everything with us in the RV, it was an easy decision to stay put, enjoy the view and hang around for the sunset.
We took a nap and read. I wrote a bit and we took the dogs for a short walk along the sidewalk, away from the flow of traffic. Marika made dinner and we dined with a view of pelicans and gulls gliding along the curve of the coast.
The sun went down behind the mountain we had driven up in the tour bus hours before. Traffic finally thinned. A bonfire blazed on the beach and a few kayakers floated on the water, now silver and rippling in the wind.
We pulled out at eight, easing into the light flow of cars. We made every light and cruised north on the 101 in the dark, all of us ready to be parked and settled. Home.
[ssba]Walking a New Way
For the past few weeks, Laddy and I have been walking a half mile from the RV Park to the street that runs parallel to the beach. We follow the street another half a mile until it dead ends at the dry Morro Creek, where we turn into a large dirt parking lot and follow a sandy trail down to the beach.
I’ve watched people walk across planks over the dry creek and up to a dirt road on the other side and I wondered where the road led. But I was afraid it would be too far for me or Laddy to walk all the way from the RV.
So this morning, the four of us got in Marika’s car and drove to the dirt parking lot and began our walk down into the creek bed, across the wooden planks and up onto the other side, heading south.
Marika is a slower walker than me and she likes to bird while she walks, stopping often to scan the brush for sparrows and warblers. Mabel is happy to stop and sniff around. I am more interested in keeping a steady pace, getting a little cardiac workout, and Laddy tends to get impatient if we stand still for too long.
Often, this difference makes me resentful that I have to walk at her pace and then I feel bad that I’m not willing to just be with her as she is.
But today I was able to accept each of our ways as good for who we are. I took Laddy and Marika took Mabel and we agreed to meet at the end of the road.
It was only about a quarter of a mile walk to the end of the dirt road and we were greeted by the sight of water and fishing boats and a relatively new bike and pedestrian path that leads from the north end of the busy Embarcadero out to Morro Rock.
The morning was still draped in fog, the Rock half hidden under a blanket of gray. Laddy sniffed the bright green pickleweed as I sat on a bench perched on a small hill overlooking the bay and the boats, happily waiting at the fork in the road for Marika and Mabel to join us.
Marika wanted to continue on the pedestrian path toward the rock so she could watch for otters and birds. I wanted to explore the docks. Again, there was a moment where I thought we should stay together, but we easily agreed to go in our preferred directions.
Laddy and I walked along the Harbor Patrol offices where a giant sign welcomes boaters to Morro Bay, a state and national estuary. People stopped, as usual, to comment on Laddy’s size, his beautiful coat, his unusual pedigree. “He’s a little something tall, something gentle and something smart,” I always say.
We walked along the docks where fishing boats would return later in the day and unload their fresh catches. Laddy smelled the white spots of bird poop on the wooden planks and I breathed in the cool, damp bay air, both of us utterly happy. At the end of the dock we turned around and headed back onto the sidewalk, intending to walk further along the Embarcadero.
But the sidewalk ended and too many trucks were moving in and out of the roadway so we turned back toward the pedestrian path, then took a detour down into a small sandy inlet where the water gently curled onto the short beach. Laddy found a stick and carried it back up to the walkway as we headed back toward our meeting point.
I sat on a bench watching the gulls bobbing on the water, the mist rising around the base of the rock. Laddy laid down near my feet, panting, sniffing, watching people walk by.
We met up with Marika and Mabel, then headed back along the road at our own pace, across the planks, to the car. The dogs were tired, thirsty and happy. We all were.
[ssba]The Pause of a Comma
I am here. And my life is everything I have envisioned it would be for all of these months/years: My days are filled with lots of walking, cool, clean air, writing, working virtually with my Mac clients and delicious bounties from the local farmers markets.
But the voices in my head keep asking NOW WHAT?
At first, I felt the pressure to get on with things, to find a rental house, to re-create the life I left behind in Phoenix.
But I realize the voices are not screaming, “NOW WHAT!! Hurry up, let’s move on to the next thing!” with demanding exclamation points.
They are merely asking, with the pause of a comma, “Now, what?”
What do I want to bring more of into my life?
How do I want to connect and serve?
What else would make me even more joyful, happy, glad to be here?
And honestly, I don’t really know. Or rather, I haven’t taken the time to explore the question.
But I have created this time and this space, so, in these next few days and weeks, I’ll be doing just that.
I’ll be
• walking with my eyes wide open, noticing what catches my attention
• journaling the questions and answering with my non-dominant hand
• curious without judgment
• writing a future diary, as If I am already living it, not knowing what it will reveal
• paying close attention to what thrills my heart
• creating a new vision board or dream altar
• following the energy
• allowing myself to imagine the wildest possibilities
• encouraging myself to live beyond my routine, to explore at least one new place each week
• asking for guidance from the Universe
• staying open to possibilities and ideas that present themselves
I’ll be settling into the pause of the comma and asking myself, “Now, what?”
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Reunion
When I left Phoenix, Marika had no idea if or when she would come and visit. But after a few days of me being here and her still being in the relentless heat, she emailed me and said that she and Mabel were coming for a three week visit.
They arrived yesterday.
After a few tail wags and some butt sniffing, it was as if we’d been together all along.
We’re all settling into sharing and moving in the space together, just like old times, with Mabel hogging every available sleeping place and Marika and I playing musical chairs between the various options.
It was a clear blue day yesterday. Marika and I drove to the Strand where we used to always camp and watched pelicans divebombing for fish just a few hundred yards from the shoreline. Then we drove into town and walked along the Embarcadero and had mediocre salads with crab and prawns.
In the evening the four of us walked on the beach and it was so fun to watch Mabel running, running, running…
This morning it was gray and foggy so we went food shopping at Albertson’s and stocked up on pancake mix and real maple syrup, cans of beans and frozen corn for chili, quinoa pasta and sun dried tomatoes so we can eat more meals at home. Today it was salad with farmers market veggies, smoked salmon from Giovanni’s fish market and sourdough, also from the market.
After lunch I napped and Marika took the dogs for a walk, and then got started putting her new seat covers in her car–something she couldn’t stand to do in the heat. Now she’s gluing a carpet onto the ramp that Laddy uses to bypass having to jump up the RV steps. Hopefully it will give him more traction and more confidence to take the short jump in.
Tomorrow we’ll head over to Baywood so I can share my favorite bay walk, then check out the afternoon farmers market for more fruit and tomatoes.
I love having them here. I enjoy their company, the laughing, the singing, the way Marika challenges me to be my best self. I am constantly reminded that, no matter what I might think is best for her, she needs to decide for herself, in her own time.
She says we are very different from each other. I agree. I also think that we learn more about ourselves when we are around people who aren’t just like us, who aren’t just reflecting back what we already know about ourselves. And that, it’s when we accept and embrace the differences, and allow others to be how and who they are, at their own pace, on their own timetable, that’s where the greatest rewards are found.
Morning Begins In Fog
Morning begins in fog, a thick gray layer of quiet that mutes the colors and the sounds. Fat drops of moisture hang on the thick grass at the park and everything is wet.
We take our first walk before the sun rises behind the fog and the air is balmy and moist. But I put on a sweatshirt because I know that, as soon as the sun comes up, even if I can’t see it, it will turn chilly.
Some days the gray moves out before noon, revealing the colors of ocean and sky, the horizon line, the enormity of Morro Rock. Other days I don’t see any blue in the sky and only the top of the rock appears between streaks of moving gray.
This is summer on the coast. A far cry from summer in the Phoenix desert, where it doesn’t cool below 90°, not even in the middle of the night. Where it’s already 100° at noon, and sometimes as high as 115° by the peak of the day. And the temperatures are measured in the shade.
It is no wonder my body is so happy here. I can walk morning, noon and night without breaking a sweat, without rushing to find a spot of shade. And I can challenge myself to walk further because the heat isn’t limiting my activity level.
Laddy is thriving too. His coat is thick and full and, even though he’s still shedding, he’s shedding much less. He is enjoying the increased activity as much as me. There are new plants to smell, new bushes to pee on. He watches horses saddle up for beach walking and he’s meeting dogs in the RV Park and at the dog park.
As the sun goes down, the fog rolls back in, creating a haze around the big lights at the park. The rock has disappeared, the ocean is gone. I can only see a thin line of low surf rolling onto the sand.
We settle into the RV after a last walk and I close the windows against the chilly night air. The surrounding trees are bathed is a gentle mist and I pull down the blinds for an extra layer of warmth. The best part is getting into bed under a thick blanket and sleeping long and deep.
[ssba]Luck Has Nothing To Do With It
Luck is winning the lottery. Or making all the green lights. Or getting the perfect camping spot with an unobstructed ocean view. Living out a vision that you’ve been dreaming about for years is all about intention, effort and taking actions that may mean you give up one thing in order to get something else. But it has nothing to do with luck.
When I tell people about my new lifestyle, that I’m living and working in my motorhome two blocks from the ocean, often their first response is, oh, you’re so lucky. Or worse, they respond with envy.
I want to sit them down and tell how long I’ve been working for this dream, how much I’ve invested in my business to get it where it supports me virtually. I want to share some of the creative tools I’ve used to keep the dream alive.
And I want to offer them hope and a starting place so that they, too, can begin manifesting their own biggest dreams.
The first step might be to take the energy that you’re investing in envy and jealously and use it to get clear about what you dream of doing with your life. Never mind the voices that say, “I could never do that.” Instead, ask, “what if I could, what would I really want to do?”
You have to have a destination first, if you’re going to create a road to get there.
You may not know HOW you’re going to do it, or when, but if you begin with the vision, the desire, the intention, you have the most important piece of the plan- your WHY.
Your WHY is your heart speaking. It is your deepest truth, your guiding light, and it is often connected to how you can best serve others. Your WHY is the unbending compass that will keep you moving forward on your path.
The where and the how and the when may change, but your WHY remains constant and strong, so that, when you are faced with the challenges of making it happen, you can come back to the heart of the reasons WHY you’re sacrificing, WHY you are working so hard, WHY you want to do this big thing. And you’re able to take the next small step toward making it happen.
I met a woman last week who spent summers in Morro Bay as a kid and she’s always dreamed of living here full-time. She’s been working extra hours at her job in Phoenix, living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and only going out when someone else picks up the tab. She’s been willing to make these temporary sacrifices so that she could save up enough money to not be stressed about finances while she is here for two months, renting a temporary house and checking out the local art scene to see if she can support herself with her artwork.
So what dream is you tucked in your heart? Are you ready to take it out into the sunlight and claim it?
Maybe you’d like to make a vision board or dream altar so that you can SEE your dream everyday and keep it in your daily consciousness.
Click here for a guided exercise and instructions to help you get started.
[ssba]Affirmations For My Right Big Toe
There is a philosophy in the healing arts community that our toes are great indicators of our deeper selves. The study of toe reading, or foot reading, explores the idea that each toe is connected to an emotion, an element and a chakra, and that the left toes have different meanings than the right.
For years, I’ve had a thick callous on the outside edge of my right foot that needs regular trimming by a podiatrist. As I’ve been walking more, I’m noticing that, while my weight is evenly distributed front to back, left to right on my left foot, I walk with most of my weight on the outer edge of my right foot and not equally balanced between all of my toes. In fact, when I am acutely aware of my walking, my entire right ankle turns outward and my right big toe bears very little of the pressure of walking.
And so I wondered what the big toe on my right foot represents in toe reading, that I might need to pay attention to.
According to the toe reading experts, the big toe is about self-expression. The left big toe is about sorrow and the right big toe is about joy.
This makes sense to me—for the past few years I have not been very happy where I was living and I was so focused on working and not really experiencing much true joy.
And so, with this new information, I can consciously choose to step with more joy, toward more joy.
I have been reciting these affirmations as I walk every day. And with each step I shift my right foot in my sneaker to bear the weight of my body more equally. My ankle is not turned, there is equal weight across the balls of my entire foot. And I can feel my big right toe fully greeting the ground, literally stepping with more joy.
(Next, I will focus on my pinky toe that curls under, hiding from the others. The chart indicates that the right pinky toe has to do with fear, but I’m hoping that, as I walk with more joy, the fear will begin to dissipate on its own.)
For more information about toe reading, check out this video http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/770038
or this chart http://www.serenapowers.com/podomancy.html
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