Trust Exercises

Ace Hotel art gallery, New York City at the James Victore show

My Mama Di and I don't make new year resolutions—we set intentions. We also like to home in on a guiding word for the year, and her word for 2014 is "trust." I like that word so much that I'm adopting it as well.

My first reaction to "trust" is that it implies letting go of control. Without the illusion of control, fear takes over and contorts, riddles, and ransacks my relationships, my work, and my life. But even when I feel I am in control, the fear is there, simmering. There are moments when I am in complete trust—when time seems fluid or nonexistent and relationships are effortless. I don't usually appreciate them in while they're happening, but most definitely mourn them once they've passed.

I've spent much of my life as a worrier – I want to be a warrior. My vision of the warrior is self-possessed, strong, present, not necessarily combative except when the weapons are truth and love. There is an absence of fear, and in its place is trust.

There is a lot of power in simply stating an intention. When I take a few moments of silence in the morning and focus on trust, the intention becomes a gentle reminder throughout my day. When we let go of the features and benefits we think are going to come to us by stating an intention (overtones of my judgement of The Secret here), this exercise pulls us into the present and amplifies our days.

And when I'm at a loss for words, overwhelmed, or fearful,  I say to myself, "Warrior, not worrier."  

Practicing Whims

After the hubbub of the holidays, I found myself a full day with no guests, no plans, and a refrigerator full of leftovers. So I decided to have an entire day to let whims take over –  doing whatever task I felt like doing in the moment.

Here are some of the whims I had:

1. Tried and failed to fix the kitchen window. Some things aren't meant to be, like functioning double-hung windows from the 1910.

2. Washed my makeup brushes with this super simple DIY recipe.

3. Wore my dirty, dirty hair in Heidi braids.

4. Wore red lipstick.

5. Found the most flattering lighting in my apartment (standing atop the breakfast nook bench in my kitchen).

See?

6. Read about 48 entries on XOVain. I've never been one for makeup/beauty/trying new things, but once you start down the rabbit hole of product reviews, DIY remedies, "puppy eyes" eyeliner how-tos, it's hard to stop.

7. Started up Words with Friends again, after being the sorest loser when I lost my ninth game in a row.

Completely legal move made by my friend Kyle. 

8. Cleaned out my bathroom cabinet. So, so many travel-sized hand sanitizers.


It's rare and privilege that I have an entire day to myself. I used to treasure my solitude, but at one point it turned into isolation. I used to think it weak to need the company of people. Now I know it is a human (and okay) to want and need to connect. But sometimes I need to reset and recharge, and take advantage of those days when I can relish and enjoy my own company.

Let's Make A List -- One Down!

A few weeks ago I posted a list of things I would do if I lived without fear. Today, my biggest fears are failure (in my job, relationships, creative pursuits) and rejection (from strangers and intimate relations alike). In that list, I included:

• Sing an original song at open mic.  Again, I haven't actually had the opportunity yet, but I have a feeling that if I were asked I would make some kind of excuse not to do it. 

I'm happy to report that the opportunity came and I seized it! Joe and I sang a song gifted to us by his father (so not a an original song of ours -- but an original song nonetheless). Our friend captured the moment on video. My nerves made me cold, so I wrapped myself in my scarf and looked a little like a homeless, disheveled Stevie Nicks.

One down -- six to go! 

A Change in Perspective

Project 52 – Pic of the Week by Dianne Poinski 

I rag on social media a lot, mostly because of my own insecurities and how I choose to interact with various platforms. However, sometimes, goodness shines through the bullshit. 

My mama Dianne shared this experience on her blog: 

A few months ago, Kim Klassen, who writes one of my favorite blogs, revealed in a post that her husband had been diagnosed with leukemia. I have never met Kim or her husband in person, but have come to know and be constantly inspired by Kim's writing, images and the occasional email exchange. 

Having lost my mother and a good friend to this undiscriminating disease, I was filled with sadness when I heard this news. I know first hand how a diagnosis like this affects everyone. (I am sure most of you do too........) I wasn't aware that her husband was scheduled to have a stem cell transplant until while scrolling through my Instagram feed, I came across this post by Kim's friend Myriam Joseph:

I immediately grabbed a candle and then spent ten minutes looking for matches. 

...

The point of all this is, here I was feeling a little "snarky" about social media when it was brought to my attention the power of the online community. Of course I wish deeply I could do more than light a candle and this won't cure any disease, but sensing the energy this simple act was creating, made me pull back, count my own blessings and send good thoughts through the universe for a friend and her loved ones. 

This is a small sampling of the 193 posts made with the hash tag "LightForJohn". 

Before I end, I just want to thank all of you for being part of my community. This includes my online friends and those of you I am lucky enough to be able to engage with occasionally in "real time". Participating in social media through this blog, Facebook and Instagram has definitely enriched my life and broadened my experience of the world. While it's not always perfect, I now have a stronger sense of the important role it plays in our lives and I am grateful.

I needed this reminder that social media is not all selfies and posturing. Sometimes, genuine connection and raw honesty break through the noise, and we put the "social" back in "social media." 

Let's Make A List

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I love lists, big fan of lists. Lists are cascading, straightforward, physical records of intention that follow a delightfully simple organizing principle. And it is also delicious to cross things off lists with beautiful red ink.

A friend of mine challenged me to make a list of things I would do if I didn't have fear. My biggest fears are failure and rejection (not so much fear of broken bones – which is why skydiving isn't on this list). So here it goes.

If I didn't have fear of failure or rejection, I would:

• Sing an original song at open mic.  Again, I haven't actually had the opportunity yet, but I have a feeling that if I were asked I would make some kind of excuse not to do it. 
• Move to a new city. I haven't been given the opportunity, but I would make every excuse not to do it, most likely. 
• Talk to strangers I find intriguing. I always want to compliment people, and for some reason I think they will be offended or find it weird. 
• Work to create the life I want. One with higher engagement, deeper connections, authentic ownership, more risks, less excuses. 
• Embrace the richness, fullness, wholeness, oneness. I have a life that is rich and beautiful, I have a disease that tells me otherwise, I have evidence of a different way of being. Instead of exploring facets, I tend to shut down or get insular, because it is easy and safe. Easy and safe is not working out for me right now. I'm getting restless.  

What does your list look like?

Feeding the Wolf

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I love the story of feeding the wolf, but what made it real for me what this little tidbit of information (articulated well here): 

In Jill Bolte Taylor's book 'My Stroke of Insight,' she points to scientific evidence showing that the life span of any particular emotion is only one and a half minutes. After that we have to revive the emotions and get it going again. 
Our usual process is that we automatically do revive it by feeding it with an internal conversation about how another person is the source of our discomfort. Maybe we strike out at them or at someone else--all because we don't want to go near the unpleasantness of what we're feeling.

In other words, that internal marching band of self-pity when we're passed over for a promotion; that white-hot rage at an ill-timed comment from a partner that you know stems from years of them actually hating you rather than having your back; that steady rap of guilt from not performing perfectly at school; those emotions typically last 90 seconds until you give them a story.

And we get to choose the story.

That self pity you feel? Maybe choose to see that everything happens for a reason. That anger? Cultivate some compassion. That guilt? Let go of perfection in favor of progress.

Cue the response: "Easier said than done."

It's true. But think again about the wolves – which one do you want to feed? Imbibing in the negative emotions will give strength to the evil wolf. The good wolf will eventually have no room to exist at all. The practice of feeding the good wolf will make it easier over time, and your default will be choosing to see the positive.

The next time a turbulent emotion strikes, try pausing. Live in it for 90 seconds, acknowledge its reality, and then choose which story you give it.

And let me know how it goes, I'm still working on it.

Mind Full or Mindful? – Exercises in Staying Present

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"Mindfulness" has been a buzzword for me lately. I've been adventuring a lot, and there's an urge to capture every moment on my camera phone, immediately scroll through and delete the unworthy photos, filter the chosen ones with soft focus and blue tones, share with the world on various platforms to show them what a great time I'm having, and then check my phone every 10 minutes to see how many "likes" or "hearts" or "favorites" I got. 

It's exhausting. 

I've shared the validation trap I often fall into, this song and dance doesn't help me stay present in the slightest. 

On many of the adventures Joe and I took this summer, we tried to be deliberate in not pulling out our phones and snapping photos (it helped that we were often in areas without service). Instead, we sat in the valley of the Gifford-Pinchot, drinking in morning fog and watching as first rays pierced through. We scrambled down fallen logs to find a clear lagoon at the base of a massive waterfall and listened to constant crash. When we visited Milla, we stargazed at the big, bright Milky Way (the brightest I had ever seen it); combed beaches and found seaglass and agate; danced to local country and bluegrass music. We often left our phones in the car – their only use were as watches, and we were on our time, so it didn't matter. 

On one of our hikes on the island, a group of ladies asked us to take their photo at one of the vistas. I peered through the viewfinder and snapped several options (landscape, portrait, golden section, etc.), and none seemed to capture what I was seeing right in front of me – the iridescent bay, the faint outline of Mount Rainier, the vultures circling in the distance. They left the vista after reviewing my photos, and my companions and I stared out over the view in silence. When I was certain the ladies were out of ear shot, I said, "There's no way you could capture this on camera." 

These exercises in staying in the present proved to be fruitful. I can more easily recall those moments in my mind – what the air tasted like, how my bare feet felt on the ground, how the waves grew bigger in the ferry wake and how their force began to scare me – because I was there. Really and truly there. 

So what would happen if, on your next adventure, you resisted the urge to capture every moment for your social media profile? Would you enjoy it any less? Would you be able to share your experience with others without using photos or video? Would your companions be curious or follow suit (or volunteer to take photos, like Milla did for Joe and I)? 

Lastly, a video to illustrate my point. 

Are You In?

Live Rhythm Tumbler 

Paying Attention to the Signs

Like I said in this post, just because I've made a few changes in my life does not guarantee that it will be perfect. Recently, shifts have occurred in my world that make me question what I thought my future would be. I've gotten good at letting go of outcomes, but what do I do when the unexpected erupts?

On the morning after I received this news, I saw this writing on the wall on my walk to work:

This gave me pause, and it zapped me back to the present moment. It didn't say everything will be fine, it concluded that right now, in this moment, everything is fine. And that is the truth. My future tripping about the situation did nothing but foster fear. Heeding to the sign, I was able to pause, recognize, breath, and relinquish control. 

I also recognized that the sign did not say "everything is good." Reality is the full spectrum of human emotion, and not everything is all great all the time. What comes next is how I choose to respond.

Learning to Live

Me with my 30 day coin — My sponsor has my 1 year coin

So a year has passed since admitting I was powerless over alcohol, and I have learned so, so much. Here are just a few of the lessons (mostly captured for my own benefit—in the darkness, I tend to forget).

1. My goal is serenity, not happiness.

While happiness has certainly been a by-product of this decision (since my serotonin and dopamine levels are not constantly chemically altered), I'm learning that it is okay to feel the spectrum of human emotion. As long as my serenity is the touch stone, I can experience what is real.

2. Just because I made this one change does not guarantee my life will be perfect.

In the same vein, I imagined nothing bad would ever happen again because of this one decision I made. Reality is that bad things will happen, and I have the tools to deal, but there is more potential for joy, peace, exhilaration.

3. Future tripping is not as fun as it sounds.

I used alcohol as a balm because I was so, so afraid of the future. I would try to control people, places, and things, and when one element fell out of place, I assumed the worst and would detail how this one thing would make the rest of my life a shit show. I know now you can never, ever predict the future. We can actionable intentions, and nothing ever happens by mistake.

4. FEAR = False Evidence Appearing Real

Before, so much of my life was ruled by fear. Now, fear still appears, but I know most of it is exactly the acronym above. I can convince myself of almost anything, and it was often easier to live in a place of fear, self doubt, and worry. Those are my defaults. Shifting my focus from the imagined to the actual, and learning to identify the difference, is pretty powerful.

Today, I am full of gratitude. A girl couldn't ask for more supportive friends, family, and fellowship. I'm going to keep coming back.

I'd Like To Find A Way to Love You

Right now, I'm sitting in my underwear, with dramatic cat-eye eyeliner sharpening my eyes, listening to  the second album I've made with Joe, and this all seems so wild and crazy as this makeup (the eyeliner was a whim—I've been watching a lot of Mad Men).

I've been absent from Blogland (pronounced "blahglund") for good reason. Since making the shift last year, my world has burst like a firework—opportunities have risen, love for myself and others has blossomed, and I'm processing everything raw and unfiltered for the first time in my life. As I'm circling back on a year, my values are emerging, as are those activities I want to develop into healthy habits. One of those is sharing and connecting with others, and I can participate in the collective conversation through this blog.

So there will be more on my sobriety when (by the grace of God*) I reach one year. For now, my reentry may not be super smooth, but I'd like to say "Hi again!" with our celebratory summer album, You Win Summer, You Lose Summer, available below! And check out a little video we made to accompany one of our favorite tracks on the album.

Love!







*Again, I feel the need to mention that I use God here as a placeholder for my higher power. I haven't found a word that captures what I'm trying to express more aptly than God. One of my friends uses Guide, which I love, but gets lost in translation without context. 

Thunderclouds Out of Balloons

San Francisco, December 2012

Last night, I had a dream I was at a cafe on the beach. It was the last day of my trip, I had spent the morning packing, and I was enjoying a cup of coffee in a blue-and-white-schemed shop. I looked out the windows into the impossibly bright morning and saw a massive, dark, ominous cloud traveling over the sea. It was coming toward land, and I knew I did not want to be caught in a downpour in the car on the way back home.

I left my half drunk cup of coffee at the cafe and called my traveling companion, imploring him to hurry so we could get on the road. His response was muffled, and I couldn't figure out where he was. I was harried and nervous and angry, and the storm was getting closer. Just as the storm reached the beach and I braced myself for thunder and electricity and confusion, the clouds dissipated and revealed a bunch of gray balloons that slipped silently over my head. The morning went back to being bright.

When I was younger and things seem to be going well in my life, I feverishly scanned the horizon for the next crisis. I braced myself for the nightmare workweek, the breakup, the house fire. Instead of being in the moment and enjoying the happiness, I thought, "Well, this won't last. I should start distancing so I can protect myself." Even though I was willfully making myself miserable, I wondered why my life was always so stormy.

Still today, the impulse to look for a crisis is there, but I know now that by looking for one, I am apt to create mountains out of molehills (or thunderclouds out of balloons, if I may). So instead, I practice the daily reverence and revelry, gratitude, and openness. I embrace instead of run away. I speak my truth instead of silently seething and expecting others to read my mind. I know that this too shall pass, but I can enjoy it while it lasts.

Intentions and Taking Advantage of Whims

As the summer crisped into fall last year, Joe and I decided to take advantage of one of the last tolerable weekends and camp out at the beach. Making regular sojourns to the ocean is in my blood, and all week I had been feeling the pull toward the beach. So with very little planning and some hand-written directions in a notebook, we took off toward the coast.



When I was younger, I was a hypervigilant planner. I remember once saying, "I can be spontaneous, I just need to plan the time to be spontaneous!" In my head, if it wasn't planned, it had every opportunity to go poorly. In reality, if it wasn't planned, I couldn't control the outcome, which terrified me.



When we got to the beach, we set up camp just in time to watch the sunset. We went our separate, silent ways, and I spent most of the descent staring at the vastness, the openness, the engulfing waves like mouths. I don't remember a single thought I had. I think I was just lost in the massiveness.







I learned my lesson several times over that trying to control people and situations didn't make me happy, but rather made me quite miserable. So since uttering the quote above, I have practiced a different tack—recognize my intention, acknowledge it, release it, do what I can, and let come what may. This practice varies from situation to situation, and has led to brilliant adventures, some ending horridly, some packed with lessons, some changing the course of my life.



That night, we built a fire and watched the moon rise. Joe suffered frozen fingers as he strummed the guitar and we sang songs. I saw my first shooting star. When we woke the next morning, we again went out to the ocean to just stare, gape, meditate. As we drove back to the city, we reflected on how random and lovely the trip had been.

This trip to the beach is a simple example of the practice of letting go. I had the intention, I put out the idea, and took advantage of the whim. Along the way, I didn't worry about the details. And it proved to be the best possible process, and allowed for the most bliss.

Ode to the Bath*

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Everything is a miracle. It is a miracle one does not 

dissolve in one's bath like a lump of sugar. – Pablo Picasso

There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, 

but I don't know many of them. – Sylvia Plath

Sorrow can be alleviated by good sleep, 

a bath, and a glass of wine. – St. Thomas Aquinas

One of the simple pleasures and leisures I am most grateful for is bath time. When I was nine years old, and the family was looking for a new house, what sold my mother on the 1920's bungalow we eventually would call home was the clawfoot bathtub. And, like mother like daughter, while looking for my first "real" apartment, what sold me was the beautiful, white, deep clawfoot bathtub.

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So it was at a young age that bath time for me was revered as a sacred space for the bather, not unlike meditation or prayer. I draw my bath, pouring the suds by the capful under the running water, and close the door to allow for the scented steam to fill the room (for me, the chosen scent is EO's Rose and Chamomile). I light candles, slip in, and listen to the bubbles' whisper pops. I like to gather the foam around me, like a sudsy shawl or watery wrap, and feel the bubbles kiss my skin. Silence seeps and thoughts vanish, dissolving like lumps of sugar, and everything seems a simple miracle.

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*Reposted from my old blog, Merci Me. I finally have a bathtub in my apartment again, and I have brought the ritual back into my life. All the above sentiments still very much ring true.

AFGEs (Another F**king Growth Experience) and Acceptance

Odds and ends in transition.

Upon returning to my apartment after recording the Christmas album, I was surprised to find a rent increase notice on the floor of my entryway. I knew it was coming, but I wasn't expecting it until after the new year as I was still in my lease, and I wasn't expecting the increase to be to the tune of $325 more a month. But there it was, in bold and staring at me from the freshly-folded-and-slid-under-my-door paper, signed cheerily by the new building owners.

The universe seemed against me for a moment. It was the holidays! I was just getting control of my finances! I had expressed gratitude about my apartment to my higher power on the daily—the location, the brick facade, the gardens in the back, my neighbors. I had been such a great tenant and person for recognizing my privilege, I deserved this apartment. And surely no anonymous property company would force people to move during the holidays, in a market as cutthroat as it is, in the winter?


The welling of frustration that pounded at my temples reminded me of when I was unemployed, shortly after graduating college. Hundreds of resumes and two unsuccessful interviews into my unemployment, I felt like I was being undeservedly punished. For four years during school, I thanked the universe for my life. I loved my school, I loved my city, I loved my friends, and I knew it wouldn't last forever. I thought expressing my gratitude would safeguard me against anything bad happening ever—a kind of insurance. There must had been a mix up in the universe's Punishment Rolodex. It meant to heave frustration and dead ends and self pity on Nicole Richie, it's just that our names were so similar.

My entire life in the back of a truck.

This feeling gave way when I heard myself think, and when I shifted my perspective. I have no children, no pets, very little furniture (although I had just acquired a bed frame off Craigslist that was being held together with zip ties, so that was going to pose a problem). I was in the best possible position to pick up my life and move it to another part of the city.

I also know now that expressing gratitude is not insurance against bad things or unhappiness. It is a lifestyle that brings you to the present moment and encourages revelry. What this was, right here, was an AFGE—another fucking growth experience. Yet another chance to learn some lessons, apply some tools, practice acceptance. I took what I learned from my unemployment—that gratitude insurance didn't exist and that everything that happens is supposed to happen—and dove headfirst into my apartment search.

After a few misses, I found a corner of the world I could call my own. And it, of course, is perfectly lovely.

Unpacked, unfurled, unwound.

Christmas Time is Hear Ye!

Christmas Eve will find me

Where the love light gleams...

Like I've waxed on about before, music has played a large role in my life this year. It soothes, awakens, enlightens, enthralls, makes clear what is swirly and dark. It has been a gift in my sobriety, a wish I had that has somehow come to be. 

This year, the gift culminates with my first Christmas album with my friend Joe, Christmas Time is Hear Ye! We cover our old and new favorites, from the crooning standards like I'll Be Home for Christmas, to the unconventional carol Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis.

Click here to view the album, or listen via the player below. May your holidays be filled with love and light!

10,000 Hours

Music video shoot for a Seattle artist. 

"Ten thousand hours felt like ten thousand hands.

Ten thousand hands, they carry me." – Macklemore

Since making space in my heart and mind earlier this year, incredible things have come to pass. I am relearning language, articulating truths and feeling out honesty. I've explored my own backyard and found beautiful new corners of my city and state. I've learned hard lessons. And most delightful of all, music has bloomed, billowed, exploded. 

How band practice usually starts. 

From helping out at a music video shoot (see above), to crafting a song out some lyrics that came to my head while carrying coffee back to my apartment (I've learned that the voice memo app on iPhones is perfect for capturing words when you don't have a pen and paper), music has suddenly become a very important part of my life. I put the intention out that I wanted more rhythm and joy, and people started knocking on my door. I sang my favorite song at a house party, I recorded some vocal tracks for a friend from high school, I'm slated to record a demo with my bandmate in January. Sometimes it makes my head spin. 

Recording in my childhood bedroom. 

Music has also given me something to hone and practice, to wildly make mistakes and learn from them. As I've written before, I struggle with perfectionism and living within other people's definitions of success. As I log my 10,000 hours, there are rough moments, raw realizations, the potential for me to get hard on myself because I didn't get it right the first time. But those cracks give the light a chance to shine through, and I am grateful for every moment I get to spend making music and mistakes. 

Rocktober!

This has been a month of music for me! I am very lucky to live in a city that lives and breathes music—some of the best musicians in the world call this place home, and many artists make a stop here on their tours.

The month started with Xavier Rudd, an Australian artist with a giant spirit. I stumbled upon his closing prayer at his Bumbershoot set a few years ago, and stood spellbound. He trances with didgeridoos, deep drum beats, and words of healing and love.





Next came Macklemore, who has been making waves around the world with his track Same Love, which supports marriage equality. I've been following Macklemore's career since he started making waves on local nonprofit radio. Now he is suddenly huge, performed to a sold-out audience of 7,500 people, and had the number one album on iTunes for four days. All without a record label. His lyrics are authentic, hilarious, and heartbreaking. If you haven't already, watch the video below. Warning: it WILL make you cry.




The following week, I fulfilled one of my life goals and saw David Byrne in concert. He is currently touring with St. Vincent in support of their collaborative album. The show was a show: choreographed dance moves, crazy lights, and head-filling sound. My friend and I didn't think they would perform any Talking Heads songs, and they performed three of our favorites!





Next up was First Aid Kit. I missed them the first time they came through, but this time I was lucky enough to snag a ticket. Plus, the show was a benefit for 826 Seattle! They cast spells with their music, and sing with voices beyond their years.




Lastly, Lord Huron. I didn't get to go this show because I was sick, but the music is too good not to share. I call it ambient surf rock, lovely harmonies glide with a lilting guitar. Check it out.

Of Accidents, Emergency Rooms, and Letting Go of Anger

Sometimes, things have to explode for you to take a moment to pause. Sometimes those things are hot, sugary shards of glass that embed themselves in your skin. Let me explain.

Yesterday, an accident in the kitchen involving a Pyrex of cinnamon rolls set on the wrong burner (I meant to heat the tea kettle, and accidentally set the front burner to high) sent glass all over my tiny kitchen and into my right hand and forearm. I let out a string of incredibly creative expletives just as my friend Joe showed up for our afternoon music session. I told him we were going to the emergency room instead.

The lacerations were minor, the burns second degree, but it still hurt like fire in my veins. After the emergency room, Joe and I hunkered down with Thai food and British comedies. My apartment still smelled like delicious cinnamon rolls. I fell asleep trying to keep my arm propped up, like the nurse had told me to.

Joe was a champion, going above and beyond his friend duties. He kept one arm around me as we drove, cleaned my kitchen while I called my people to tell them what happened, and helped me redress my wounds before bed. Earlier in the week, we had gotten into a disagreement, and when I spoke to him about it in the moment, I felt my teeth grind, my heart pound, my voice tip into that strained octave. By the next day, I felt fine. I had let go being angry, and after a quick conversation, we were right back where we had started.

Two years ago, I would have let that anger burn. It would have smoldered into a resentment, possibly ending our friendship. I used to have no patience. I would cut people out of my life for minor offenses, but held on to toxic friendships that fed my addiction to victimhood and perceived power. Now, however, I'm able to practice "live and let live." If I had held on to that anger, Joe wouldn't have been there.

These cuts and burns will heal, and one day I'll gain full mobility of my hand. I'll always remember to check the burners, and I'll be forever grateful to my friend who was there in such a stellar way. Lessons learned.

Explanation for an Absence

Back in December when I wrote about love, I made a wish to the world for peace, health, and light in the new year. While I included myself in that collective whole, I had no idea the transformation that take place in the coming months. I had a vague sense that something would shift, but I thought it would be an external factor, like a new job or boyfriend. Turns out, the shift was internal and scary, joyful, and radiant.

After some dark moments, I started to realize that the things I wanted were within my grasp, but I was making unhealthy choices that cut me off from them. This started a slow awakening, a laborious sunrise, light that crept into the edges of my vision (Missa picked up on this in my posts). Then, something clicked. The answer was in front of me the whole time, the pieces were in place, I just needed to speak the words, and when I did, my shivers ran through my body like cold lightning.

Before I came out as an alcoholic, the idea of not drinking terrified me. I thought about everything I would lose (the friends, the loose limbs, the confidence). I looked at it like a deficit, something I would have to trudge through life without. Now, on the other side, my life is taking turns in ways I never thought possible. It's like I opened the doors and invited warmth, music, adventure, and a new sense of physicality to come and roost. The first time, I'm feeling what it's like to live wholly in the present, to engage on a corporeal level. I'm more my self than I ever have been, and it is a wondrous thing.

So, after a few months of experiencing this new way of being, I'm ready to return and dive in head first.  You are all so lovely and gracious, and it is a privilege to share my thoughts with you. Thank you thank you thank you.