Bounty in Baywood
I am in Baywood Park, parked in the wide lot next to where the vendors are setting up for today’s Farmer’s Market. Pop-ups are being raised, truck beds unloaded, fruits and flowers and crocheted hats are being laid out on cloth covered tables. A cool eucalyptus scented breeze blows through the window, giving me goose bumps.
While I wait for the market to officially open, I am writing and checking email, thanks to free wifi from the Merrimaker Market across the street.
Before here, we parked along the bay trail on the dead end road next to Pecho By the Bay. What a perfect leash-free walk along the sandy trail that curves around the cuesta inlet.
Laddy met a younger dog with similar markings. They sniffed and smelled and I can tell that Laddy is getting more comfortable with these random meetings.
He romped down the bluff and waded into the water, chest high and happy. He sniffed the succulents and rubbed his face in the plants, keeping up with me the entire walk and coming every time I called him to me.
At the end of our walk I sat on a log looking out over the water while he laid in the sand, panting and resting and content.
And yes, this is everything I dreamed. Working in the morning, writing, walking in cool, clean air. And now that I have this, what else do I really want?
I remind myself that I don’t have to know right now. All I need right now is to be here. Enjoy this. Stay open hearted and allow the dreams to filter through.
And connect.
With strangers and acquaintances who live nearby. With the other campers at the RV park. With kind words and small gestures.
Like with the people at Maya’s Restaurant, sitting down to lunch at the next table, with a man in a wheelchair wearing a helmet, obviously suffering from a brain injury. I eavesdropped on their conversation—the younger sister and her husband were teary eyed, observing, asking the caretaker about the man’s condition.
After my lunch I went up to their table and put my hand on the caretaker’s shoulder and told her what a gift and blessing she is. She was touched and said thank you. And I cried.
The market was delicious. Flowers, fruit, jewelry, jams. I bought a bounty: purple string beans, spicy salad greens, cucumber, zucchini, peaches, tomatoes and a small piece of smoked local wild salmon. I will be making a hearty salad for dinner tonight.
Email me to get on the list to read the book that’s coming soon!
[ssba]When Soft is Hard and Hard is Easy
We took our first beach walk this morning. For a big girl who barely walks any distance, it was a hard, heavy breathing effort across the soft sand to the beach. But I took my time, pausing to toss the Frisbee far enough so that Laddy could retrieve it without jumping for it.
After several rounds of play, I had a moment of being ready to turn around, but I reminded myself that I had all the time in the world and I could stop and rest as often as I needed to. I leashed Laddy and we continued the strenuous trek to the water.
We stopped several times, to notice where we had entered the beach, to read the signs that cordoned off the dunes for the nesting snowy plovers, to pep talk my exploding calves that I could, indeed make it to the water.
The sand at the water line was hard-packed and so easy to walk on, even with the clumps of sand that had gotten into my mesh water shoes and filled the area around my toes. The tide was going out and dozens of shorebirds were beaking into the exposed sand.
I breathed in the sweet ocean smell that I’ve been dreaming of for months as the waves rolled up to the sand to greet me, welcome me. The cool breeze was like a kiss on my face and t-shirted arms.
We walked to the south, toward Morro Rock. Laddy led the way, carrying his hot pink Frisbee between his teeth. He noticed a young dog on a leash splashing in the water but he didn’t pull me or even seem very interested. A woman picking shells commented how happy Laddy looked and I said, “We both are.”
The top of Morro Rock was hidden by the morning fog and only a few people were beach walking. A pair of runners glided by us with a silent nod. An older couple wearing jackets and scarves stood close together, looking out at the water. A ladies walking group, carrying water bottles and trail mix, passed us going in the opposite direction.
The beach was dotted with rocks and shells and bits of crab legs. Laddy stopped to sniff and then pee on a clump of seaweed and the sand flies buzzed at the disturbance. A man in chest-high waders cast his fishing pole into the surf.
We walked almost as far as the Rock, now fully exposed against the soft blue of the sky. Surfers black-dotted the rising waves and several families with small children and unleashed dogs were playing on the beach. I wanted to avoid the interaction so we turned around.
For a brief moment I chastised myself for not walking all the way to the Rock, but quickly let it go, accepting how far we did walk as a great accomplishment for our first beach walk.
I watched Laddy leave his paw prints in the firm sand and noticed how his back right leg barely makes a mark. Although he doesn’t limp or favor his leg, he has an issue with his ACL and he doesn’t have the stability for quick stops or the confidence to jump up the RV steps.
So, even though I’m out of shape and in no hurry to walk a hundred miles, part of the restraint is also to make sure he doesn’t overdo it.
The walk back over the soft sand seemed even more strenuous than before. Laddy pulled me forward but I still had to stop several times to rest and catch my breath. The breeze was gone but my skin was cool, my lungs clear.
At the end of the trail I sat on a log that serves as a parking barrier and I gave myself permission to sit as long as I needed to, until my breathing was regular again. Laddy laid down in the sand and was happy to wait.
So we will walk a little more each day, several times a day, each step getting easier and stronger for both of us.
KEEP READING…
[ssba]The Road From There to Here
I pulled out of Marika’s driveway on Wednesday morning, August 1 and arrived at Country Hills RV Park, my overnight destination in Beaumont, California seven hours later. It was a long day but relatively easy driving across the desert.
I met up with my friend Kathi who lives near Beaumont and we enjoyed some delicious Thai food and catch-up conversations. Bedtime came early and Laddy and I both slept long and deep. In the morning we took a walk through the high desert, ate our breakfasts outside while we watched hummingbirds and I readied the RV for the drive the rest of the way to Morro Bay.
But as I sat there in the quiet of the morning, I realized I just wasn’t up for a second day of freeways and mountain passes and six more hours behind the wheel.
So I changed the plan.
I decided to drive only half the way and stay overnight in Ventura where my friend Leslie lives. I had planned to camp at the nearby state park, but Leslie said I could park on the street in front of her house, just two short blocks from the beach.
Leslie is a Buddhist, and being around her calming, non-judging energy was exactly what I needed. We talked, I cried, I made myself lunch and then I had to take a nap.
I didn’t realize how exhausting all of the driving AND all of the emotions of this journey would be.
After my nap, Laddy and I took our first walk on the beach. Pelicans and gulls flew over our heads but I was still too tired to walk very far or even take my shoes off to get my feet wet. I wasn’t sure how comfortable Laddy would be off leash with other dogs coming up for smells, but he did fine.
We hung out in the RV until bedtime, him asleep in my bed and me watching Project Runway on Hulu using a neighbor’s free wifi.
Friday morning, after a good night’s sleep, I still wasn’t ready to get behind the wheel. My body just wanted to rest. So I chose to stay another day and night in Ventura, being gentle and forgiving with myself and my changing plans.
We walked, I wrote, we napped and walked some more. I finished the last of Marika’s grilled chicken for dinner. While I wanted to join Leslie for First Friday Art Walk at her Studio, I knew the four hour commitment would be too long for me. So instead, Laddy and I took an evening harbor walk and I watched TV until bedtime.
I pulled out early on Saturday morning, rested and ready for the three hours of driving, ready to reach my destination.
The drive was easy, with very little traffic, just rolling hills, vineyards and horses feeding on fresh hay. I drove to the back bay first to walk around a bit. I had lunch in the RV overlooking a frenzy of pelicans feeding on a clump of kelp, then drove into Morro Bay, stopping at the market for some provisions before checking in.
The office at the RV Park was closed when I arrived but a man was standing right there, and he showed me how to figure out where my spot was. And then he was there again when I was ready to pull in, happy to help me back in so I didn’t have to stress about that either. Blessings!
I video chatted with Marika for a while, testing out the connections and it’s fast enough to rely on for work. YEAH! I told her that I’d been invited to do a presentation at the local Mac User’s Group, but was concerned about backing in after dark. She suggested I ask someone for a ride. I did, and the president said he’d be happy to come get me, even though he lives in Shell Beach! So I can relax about that too.
So we’re settling in. And I still can’t believe I am finally here.
Laddy and I have taken several short exploring walks. There’s a green grass park at the end of the street where we played a little low-impact frisbee. The beach is a little further the other way. And the trolley that goes downtown and to the Embarcadero stops right in front of the RV Park, so that will be a fun adventure, too.
This drive from there to here has been such an opportunity to check in with myself, with my body, my energy and ignore what is on the calendar. For a person who lives and thrives with a schedule, this is the new definition of freedom. And so far, it is working.
I’d love to hear how you honor your own body and energy, the voice within. Please share by clicking on the Comments below.
CLICK HERE TO KEEP READING….
[ssba]How Yoga Works: A Personal Story
I am driving today. headed west and north until I reach the Pacific Ocean and the central California coastal town of Morro Bay. Here’s a reprint of an article that is as true today as when I first wrote it.
We all have bad days. You know, when everybody bugs you, when nothing anyone does is good enough, when you wish you could run away for a while, even from yourself.
In an ideal world we could retreat from the world and wait for the moodiness to pass.
But in this real world, how do you find your way back to your own center?
I was dangerously grouchy with the world this morning. I was annoyed at the school boy riding his bike on the sidewalk instead of in the bike lane. I was short with the woman at the grocery store for talking with the previous customer when it was clearly my turn. I grumbled at the way my neighbor crookedly parked, making it difficult for me to back out.
I felt like I should have had yellow caution taped wrapped around me, as fair warning.
Usually, I am able to honor and accept the ways and rules that people choose for themselves without letting their behaviors annoy or aggravate me. But this morning for whatever strange reason (maybe hormones), I had no compassion, no patience, no benevolence. At all.
Fortunately, I have my weekly yoga practice.
In the sacred space of my yoga class, I stepped onto my mat and allowed myself to release whatever was harboring those un-compassionate feelings. It didn’t need a name or a reason. It was just energy that wasn’t serving me and I needed to let it go.
I breathed into my core, imagining only strength, no emotion at all. I followed my breath to the bottoms of my feet and felt the floor, the ground, the earth, supporting me as I let it all go.
And then I breathed into my belly, my lungs and lifted my heart toward forgiveness and gratitude.
I know it sounds hokey but this is what yoga is for me.
Yoga is more than the physical poses, the bending and stretching and strengthening of my outer body.
Yoga is also connecting with my breath and stretching and strengthening my inner body.
Yoga helps me integrate my physical energy with my spiritual energy. Yoga is how I connect my individual self with the greater life force that is each of us.
And when I am part of this connection, I no longer feel angry with the bike rider or impatient with the grocery clerk or frustrated with my neighbor’s parking skills.
Instead, I am able to lean back into compassion for each of them, and I can more easily, more freely, accept the choices they have made.
I started going to yoga classes seven years ago to become more flexible. Little did I know that the flexibility would translate beyond just how far I could bend to touch my toes.
I have become more flexible with how I approach my entire life, from letting go of strict schedules and deadlines and not wearing a watch, to sitting back and giving people the space they need to do their own growing.
Yoga introduced me to my spiritual essence and the deeper inner wisdom of my body. When I was recovering from open heart surgery several years ago, it was my yoga practice that helped me stay patient and present and focused on healing. Even before I could return to class, I would sit in my chair and just breathe, relaxing, releasing, healing.
My yoga practice reminds me that it doesn’t matter if someone else can bend further or reach higher, that we each need to only focus on our own best selves and to tune in and listen to our own bodies as we stretch to our own soft edge.
And so, when I find myself comparing myself to someone, or judging someone for how they are acting, I come back to my yoga practice, to my breath, to my heart.
And I remember that, “when I honor the light and love in me where the entire universe resides, and I honor the light and love in you where the entire universe resides, then there is only one of us.”
Namasté
What does your yoga practice offer you?
I’d love for you to share your story with my readers by clicking the Comments.
[ssba]Ready to Break the Rules
A week from today I will be pulling out in my 24 foot Class C motor home, headed west to explore and create the next chapter of my life.
You’d think that this would be easy. I have no children, no spouse, no mortgage, no employer, no ill and elderly parent that I need to care for. There is nothing to hold me back, tie me down, nothing to keep me from living my dream.
Except my own self. The only thing that can stop me are my fears, my doubts, but mostly my rules.
Many people think I am spontaneous, flexible and adventurous. They think I live like a free-spirit, easily exploring new places and embracing new experiences. They are surprised to learn how structured and regimented my life really is.
I wake up at the same time every day and immediately jump into the shower. It wakes me up, refreshes me, readies me for the day. I get dressed and take the dogs for a walk, pressing the on button for the coffee maker when we return.
I feed the dogs then the birds at the feeder, then I have my own breakfast. It’s the same every day: a bowl of bran flakes with dried cranberries, no milk, and a single cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee.
I tend to eat at the same favorite restaurants and vacation in the same places.
I go to bed at exactly 10pm, switching off the lights in the same order, adjusting the thermostat and even saying the same “ok, it’s time to move over” to Mabel every night before getting into bed.
Spontaneity is NOT my middle name.
In fact, when I travel, it takes a lot of gusto to explore where I am, to venture beyond what is familiar and comfortable.
Maybe this incredibly structured living provides the necessary support system for my wildly creative ideas to blossom.
But I see how it can so easily limit me, too.
Several years ago I worked with a high level business coach who constantly told me the only thing limiting me were my rules. I was always quick to say NO to her suggestions that would uplevel my business, bring a more professional look to my website, connect my with a higher paying client base. They were all good ideas but my response was always, I can’t do that.
Yes, in business it is essential to be able to say no, to set boundaries, schedules and limitations. And I’ve gotten very used to being in such control that most things go exactly how I plan them.
But only saying no can quickly become self-limiting.
Well, now it’s time to let go of the control, the knowing, the way I’ve boxed myself into such a comfortable, predictable, controlled existence. Now it’s time to practice saying YES.
Yes to risk
Yes to driving alone
Yes to not knowing how and what will unfold
Yes to meeting new people
Yes to trying other people’s suggestions
Yes to walking even if it means breaking a sweat
When I think about moving to CA, I can only imagine that I am going to be living this same life, just in a different place. And I see that’s not enough.
I don’t WANT to keep doing the same things in the same way.
So I guess that means I’m ready for whatever it will take to do it completely differently. To let go of everything and try a new way. Where I DON’T know everything ahead of time, where I can’t plan every detail, where life becomes about the present moment, from when to dump the holding tanks to where to find fresh local produce.
And I have everything I need to begin: a fully functioning RV that I love traveling in, a new MacBook Pro, and a reservation for the month of August at an RV park in Morro Bay 2 blocks from the beach. There is free wi-fi there so that I can stay connected to friends and clients and there’s even a laundry on the premises.
So, this is my path, the road I am traveling. All I know is my initial destination. Beyond that, I will be open to change and spontaneity, a word that is hard to spell, much less live every day. But I am ready.
Click here to read more….
What rules hold YOU back? Is there one rule that you are ready to break? Share your story by clicking the comments below.
[ssba]
Letting Go and Saying Yes
There is a space between letting go and saying yes to the next thing, between one rung on the monkey bar and the next. Often that space feels unsure, emotional, maybe even terrifying. If we breathe through it, really lean into it, yes awaits us on the other side.
I feel like I’ve been treading water.
In the big ocean of relocating, I’ve been in a holding pattern, getting my bearings, regulating my breathing, building muscles, stamina, waiting for the right moment to begin swimming again.
I suppose I’ve needed this time to move from the uncomfortable and disappointments and frustrations of the past three months. I’ve needed space and time to unwind, regroup, to NOT make any decisions.
I’ve been sleeping well, dinnering with friends at favorite restaurants and swimming every day. I’ve been catching up on a lot of behind the scenes upgrading on the Mac to School website and I’ve recorded and edited twelve new training videos that are scheduled for release in the Virtual Classroom over the next three months.
And I’ve been scanning Craigslist daily for housing.
But I realize I can’t say yes to anything from so far away.
And so I have made a reservation at a no frills, no shade RV Park a few blocks from the beach for the entire month of August so that I can BE there to actively look for a new home.
The funny thing is, when I very first decided to move, my plan was to go in the RV! I even considered making a reservation at this same RV park. But my vision then was to live there full time, not use it as a temporary place while I looked for a more permanent place to live.
And I talked myself out of doing it because I didn’t want to live in such a small space for that long a time or deal with putting my things in storage and then moving them later. It seemed too expensive to be there in the high season, I didn’t know how I was going to get my car there too.
I was so focused on the details that I couldn’t see the bigger picture.
Because I wasn’t ready.
It’s been my dream for years to live full time in the RV. Except my vision always included my former partner.
So whenever I considered it as an option in the house hunting plans, I could only imagine how miserable I would be doing it solo. I could only see myself sadly reminiscing about the places she and I had travelled together as a couple, longing for her company, pining for that idealistic past.
And then I remembered how, several years ago I took myself on my first solo vacation to San Diego. I was terrified that I would be bored without a companion and not be motivated to explore on my own. What I discovered was that I enjoyed doing what I wanted, when I wanted. I realized how friendly I am and I met some great people and I took myself to places that I may not have gone if I’d been with someone else.
So when I start to freak out about the road ahead I remember this excitement of traveling with myself, and I shift my focus to how I can redefine the dream of living in the RV with myself and Laddy.
What parts of it still call to me? How can I let go of the partner part and get excited about being my own traveling companion?
And the more I ask myself these questions, the more I know that I am meant to do this alone, that it’s an opportunity for me to embrace my own company, rely on my own self for directions, for cooking, for dumping. And it’s a chance for me to create a new life and open to new relationships.
So, here I am, months later, my things are in storage at my Dad’s house and I am doing exactly what I had originally planned: I’m going to live with Laddy in the RV in Morro Bay. But I’m taking it a month at a time.
My intention is to acclimate to my new world and actively look for a place to live, but without obsessing or forcing it. I will connect with the Apple stores in the area, maybe teach some group classes and continue to build my virtual Mac training business.
I will walk on the beach and along the bay with Laddy every day. And I will continue to write about the things I am bound to discover about who I am and how I show up in the world.
Keep reading…..
[ssba]Floating as Meditation
Image by © Sean Williams/LuckyPix/Corbis
According to Wikipedia, “meditation is a practice in which an individual trains his or her mind or induces a mode of consciousness to realize some benefit.
Meditation is generally an inwardly oriented, personal practice, which individuals do by themselves.
Meditation may involve invoking or cultivating a feeling or internal state, such as compassion, or attending to a specific focal point. The term can refer to the state itself, as well as to practices or techniques employed to cultivate the state.”
I am a Pisces, born on the last day before water becomes fire. So it is no surprise that one of my favorite ways to meditate is to float.
Several weeks ago when I began a daily pool practice, I was so emotional, feeling like I had failed because it was officially summer in Phoenix, and I was still here. I was so stressed that, I hesitated before inching my way into the water and, when I tried to float, I couldn’t relax enough to even rest my head on the water.
Now, four weeks later I have eased into a regular routine of water time.
I dog paddle from the steps to the deep end, then bicycle peddle back, focusing on a different part of my body with each lap, moving, stretching, propelling myself across the coolness.
Laddy lifeguards from the pool deck, following me up and down the length of the pool. I plunge and splash across the shorter width of the pool and he runs from side to side, barking.
Mabel follows him with her green squeaker toy in her mouth, then drops it so I can toss it in the water. She rushes to the loveseat, steps in and swims to retrieve it, then takes the long way across the pool to come out on the steps where Laddy is usually waiting.
When Marika joins me, we move through the water side by side, chatting about the day, the dogs, how the birds love her homemade seed wreath. Sometimes we play knock and run, swimming up to the three foot, made in China lighthouse with the revolving solar light that stands on the edge of the pool where the diving board used to be. One of us knocks on the door of the lighthouse, then we quick-swim away, laughing every time.
And at the end of my aerobic time I slow my movements, keeping my shoulders under the water line so that I make no waves, no sounds. I move into stillness, standing in the deep end, suspended, focusing only on my breath. When I inhale, my whole body rises, as if levitating out of the water. When I exhale, all of me sinks into the water, up to my mouth until I breathe again, rising.
Eventually I move onto my back and float, my body loose and sure, leaning into the water beneath me. I feel every molecule of the water holding me, supporting me. I wiggle my fingers and snow angel my arms through the water until I can no longer feel where my skin ends and the water begins.
My ears are underwater and I hear myself breathing, slow and deep. The more air I take in, the higher my body rises. As I exhale, the water covers my belly and my chest. I allow my whole face to submerge, leaving only my nostrils exposed. And just when I think the water will fill my nose, I breathe deep, lifting, rising, floating.
How do you relax? Meditate? When do you feel held by a power larger than yourself? Please share on the blog by clicking here.
[ssba]Finding Home: The Story Continues
Prayer Flag by Debbie Wohl Isard
It’s the first week in July and last Friday, three friends and two strong teen boys moved my big furniture and the rest of my packed boxes to my dad’s house to store.
But my bed and my desks are still here. And so am I.
Maggie Feldman
After finding and then losing the original “dream house” and then the backup house, I was all set to move at the end of June into the furnished studio by the bay.
Communicating with the landlady was challenging and I had started looking for other options. But I kept coming back to the furnished studio because it seemed so perfect as a transition space.
But when the landlady informed me that she was trying to refinance the house so we’d have a house, I realized it was all much more drama than I needed.
As scared as I was to not take this only known option, I also knew that I had to let go in order to move forward.
It’s like going across the monkey bars. You can swing with one arm for a while, propelling yourself forward, but at some point you have to let go in order to catch the next bar.
So two weeks before I was scheduled to move, I called her and said I was no longer interested.
Karin Rinestone
Friends wrote me wonderful emails and messages, assuring me that the best is waiting for me, in the right time, that I WILL get to the bay, that I WILL find the most perfect home.
But in that moment, I just couldn’t muster their faith or enthusiasm. I was exhausted. And disappointed. And tired. And I was barely breathing. I sat in my favorite chair after a good long bawling and it took a lot of effort to breath past my chest, into my belly.
With each new prospect there had been hope and excitement, seeing how one thing led to another, one idea blossomed into something else. But with this last NO, I felt like I had lost my way.
I had been so focused on the HOW and the WHEN that I had lost sight of my WHY again. Worse, I felt like I had lost my sense of hope and grace.
I cried for several days, completely drained, emotionally, physically, and even spiritually. I ate chocolate fudge ice cream by the quartful and boxes of cookies in a single sitting. I even returned to some old addictive behaviors. And I just allowed myself to indulge, to sink into everything I was feeling.
Cyndi Coon
I decided to take the last week in June off of all things–work, moving plans, everything. I called my current landlord and told her I’d be staying another month.
In that pressure-free space, I started looking again. I thought I’d found a solution with a month to month one bedroom apartment that would get me to the area so that I could actually look at more permanent places when they became available. But the landlord wanted someone to commit longer term.
So now it is July and I am still feeling a bit lost, defeated and hardly optimistic. And the 112 degree days don’t help.
I do know this is only temporary. That this is all part of the ebb and flow of life and moving and the bigger picture.
I also know that it is the generosity and love my friends and family and clients and FaceBook connections that keep me buoyed, even when I feel that there is no movement.
And I know that the only thing I really need to focus on right now is reconnecting with WHY I want to expand my life and HOW do I want to show up and connect bigger so that I can do more of my real work in this world.
Nancy Ayers
So the a/c is cranked up high, the shades are drawn to block out the relentless sun and I have a schedule of work stuff to keep me busy for the next few weeks. And now I have more time to get together with friends, swim with the dogs and maybe even go camping.
But mostly I’m learning to let go of control, to embrace what IS, and to trust that I am on the path, even if it seems like it is leading nowhere.
I’ve been asking friends to keep holding the vision for me, even if I can’t see it for myself right now. This, in itself, is a Very Big Thing for me. Asking for help. Admitting I’m not at my best.
But maybe this unsure, vulnerable space is part of my best, too. It’s certainly an uncomfortable place for me. And isn’t that where our biggest growth happens?
So thanks for all of the support and visioning and cheering me on, and for continuing to believe in this journey with me, even and especially when I have lost my way.
It means everything to me.
Friends have been making me Prayer Flags with wishes for my journey. If you’d like to make one, email me your snail mail address and I’ll send you the fabric. <3
click here to read the next installment of Finding Home.
[ssba]Sex and Funerals–What’s the Difference?
I wrote this in 2010, shortly after my mom passed away. Today, on the two year anniversary of her death, the message is just as important.
It’s been an emotional couple of weeks since my mom passed on June 27. My family flew to Philadelphia for the funeral and my father asked me to handle all of the arrangements.
While it was a daunting job to make the travel plans, the funeral arrangements and all the other decisions that accompany a death, my mother left me with such specific instructions that it was relatively painless. Which is why I encourage everyone to start talking about wishes and plans while you still can.
We are encouraged to talk about sex with our kids, to educate them, to take the mystery out of it, to prepare them so that when they are faced with a choice, they can make sound and educated decisions.
Years ago it was taboo to talk about sex. But we see how important it is.
So why is talking about death and funerals, which is just as important, still a taboo subject?
Because it’s uncomfortable. Because it makes us face our own mortality. Because talking about death pushes us sharply into those inevitable feelings of loss, heartbreak and despair.
But, we’re going to feel those things anyway, so why not be as prepared as possible.
Imagine yourself standing at the edge of the ocean, the waves are breaking at your toes and the water is cold. Painfully cold. If you charge right into the waves, the cold is going to be so terribly shocking to your system.
But if you slowly move into the water a few steps at a time, you get a little more used to it. First the water is up to your calves, then to your thighs, and you are gently adjusting to the temperature and all of the sensations. When the big wave breaks and splashes your chest, your shoulders, and then takes you under, it’s not quite as shocking as if you had just plunged in.
Talking about death can be like this too.
My mother and I talked many times about her wishes for her funeral. The first time, eight years ago, was very uncomfortable for me and I remember sitting there, just listening and crying. She said she was sorry to make me sad, but she needed to discuss these things. And I knew that, even though it hurt my heart deeply, it was an important thing to talk about.
We returned to the conversation several times in the last few years, clarifying the details, discussing different options, even laughing about what clothes she wanted to be buried in.
The taboo of the subject was gone and, in so many ways, our talks helped prepare me for her death.
And she wrote everything down so that I wouldn’t have to rely on my memory, so that her wishes were clearly stated, just in case anyone wanted to choose something different.
When it came time for me to actually make the calls, make the choices, make the arrangements, I knew which funeral home to call, what kind of casket to pick, who she wanted to officiate at the services. And I loved reading her handwritten instructions, knowing that I was lovingly and dutifully carrying out all of her wishes.
And that gave me so much comfort and strength.
Making the final arrangements for a loved one can be especially painful if, in the midst of our loss, we have to make guesses and emotional choices. Not knowing our loved one’s wishes opens us to opportunities for doubt, regret, even guilt.
But if you start talking about these things NOW while you still can, you are actually giving your loved ones a great gift.
You get to be real and honest. You get to comfort them while you are still here. And you are giving them the gift of knowing that they are doing everything you wanted.
So open up the dialogue. Begin the conversation. Empower your loved ones with what they will need when that time comes.
[ssba]How Courage Begets Courage
We’re all afraid of something. Ignoring it may work for a little while, but facing it head on is the only way to really conquer the fear.
I have my mother’s body, from the two chins and small hands, to the renaissance curves and pendulous breasts. My belly, round and firm at the same time, a small waist compared to my buttocks that are wide like all the women on her side of the family. I have the same thick thighs and narrow feet, and the pinky toes that curl under the other toes.
My mother chewed antacids as far back as I can remember. I could always find a white box of peppermint CHOOZ gum in her pocketbook, on her headboard, in the glove compartment. For years my mother swallowed her anger, her grief, her feelings of losing control.
I am much better at expressing myself – crying, yelling, feeling my feelings and letting them go. And still, I have the same reflux issues that she did. The ones that eventually turned into esophageal cancer and killed her.
And it scares me to death.
Already I am coughing up gastric juices in the middle of the night if I don’t sleep with the head of my bed propped up on risers. I am taking the same medicine that my mother was on (in smaller doses) and not eating after 6 pm. I try to avoid chocolate and spicy foods and sugar, all triggers for the acid. And still, the reflux wakes me up from a dead sleep.
And each time my food comes back up at me I think of my mother, how she felt full after eating a quarter of bagel, or three little peanut butter crackers. How she tolerated the experimental procedures to blast the cancer with pellets down a tube in her throat when radiation and chemo were no longer an option.
I know that the power of my fearful thoughts can’t be helping the situation. And that stress is a major contributor to reflux. But I have been too afraid to do anything about it.
My friend Liz has a family history of colon cancer and she’s been avoiding a colonoscopy for several years. When we got together a few weeks ago she told me she had finally made an appointment, just to get it done. To know. And the results came back-no cancer. No pre-cancer. No need for another test for five years. She was ecstatic.
I was so inspired by her courage that I finally made an appointment with the gastroenterologist, the man who first discovered my mother’s cancer. I told him I wanted an endoscopy to know what the inside of my body is really doing. I wanted to hear him tell me that I don’t have Barrett’s esophagus, the wearing away of the lining that is a pre-cursor to cancer.
I wanted him to tell me that if I just lose weight, the symptoms will go away and I will live a long and healthy life. I wanted him to reassure me that, in this particular case, I do not have my mother’s body.
He assured me I don’t have any alarm symptoms. That losing weight will, indeed, alleviate the reflux. And, as you read this, I’m having that endoscopy just to be sure. And I’m expecting the same all-clear results that Liz got.
ADDENDUM: All tests were clear! No problems in my esophagus. I am rejoicing on so many levels.
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