18 posts tagged “moments of clarity”
A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon this post by Kyran over at Notes to Self on marriage. At the time that I first read it I was stunned by the beauty of her writing and the honesty with which she told her story. I appreciated it for the literature it is.
Today I went back to it. I had meant to send it on to a couple of friends who themselves are struggling with their less than perfect partnership. I thought the empathy in her piece would be good for them, that the happy ending would give them hope. Just to be sure, I read the piece again, along with the long string of comments from readers who agreed that Kyran had just captured the beautiful essence of marriage.
Again, this piece of writing moved me, but in a way that surprised the hell out of me.
I wanted to throw up. For what I felt was not hopefulness, empathy or joy. No, what bubbled up inside of me today was raw, unadulterated, spitting envy, cynicism and derision.
Unlike Kyran and so many of those who left comments there at Notes to Self, my experience was not one of finding my way back to each other--I did not have that if you sit down and work hard and focus and negotiate it will all be beautiful fairy tale ending. Like them we worked hard at saving our marriage but ours was a journey of great pain, heartache and profound disappointment with no sunrise on the other end. A love that didn't exactly die but just in a fit of desperation gave up.
And I realized a few things about myself. I am completely comfortable in the company of couples that have healthy strong relationships, who dwell in a place of love and respect for each other. They give me great hope. I also have tremendous empathy for those whose true loves fell apart or who are struggling and not sure where it will all end up. But those people--the ones who were terribly unhappy but then figure out how to make it work and find their love again--the ones who are able to say they went to the edge of breakup and made it back--sometimes multiple times over--those couples make me want to spit with envy and call them things like smug. They make me a bit uncomfortable not because of anything else other than that they succeed where I failed. Because they have what I wanted. Because they won and I lost.
When you catch a glimpse of your wounded self in the mirror of your soul it is never pretty.
Every once in awhile something happens that causes me to shine a spotlight around the dark corners of my heart. The places where the air is stale and the cobwebs are thick. Today Kyran's piece surfaced in me the small jealous ugly self, the part of myself I rarely see anymore but who hasn't (much to my chagrin) disappeared completely.
More upsetting that the discomfort of the envy was actually realizing that this ugly part of myself still exists. Between my recent brush with insecurity and now this I am having some real quality time with the parts of myself I had hoped I'd outgrown.
Now the question is what to do with them now that they show up.
There was a time, not too too long ago when I would have given voice to my ugly self--when I would have given her permission to just go to town. I would have ranted and raved about the stupid smug people who actually believe in love and who think that kind of struggle is beautiful. I would have thought unkind thoughts. I might have even spoken them aloud.
Over the last few years, however, when the uglies have shown up I have been on a mission to lock them out. Their kind are just not accepted here in MY heart. I give them a good talking to and tell them why they are not welcome here anymore. I tell them exactly what I think about them and smack 'em around a bit too. I remind them that they are no longer part of me--thank you very much.
But tonight, driving home in my car, (the place where this drama all played out) I was too damn tired. I didn't have it in me to buzz with anger. I didn't have the energy to beat myself up either. So instead, I just stood on the edge of my emotions and put my arm around my ugly self and sat in silence--uncomfortable silence mind you--but silence. There was nothing else to do but sit with her and listen to Bob Dylan.
I am told that it is here, in moments like these, when we can actually feel grace. I'd like to say that something, someone came down and touched me and I cried tears of joy for finally loving my hurt and icky self. Or that my ugly, mean self kissed me goodbye and left.
None of that happened. Instead I drove to Target and bought some nylons for a wedding I will attend this weekend. But by the time I got there, the tears that had welled up in my eyes had dried. And when I got home, I had room in my heart to greet my ex who was playing with Max. I also had room in my heart to feel empathy for those who have been to hell and back. Empathy and envy mixed together in a murky muddy shade of gray.
And right now, that kind of a shift is enough. Its really just fine with me.
I am back from another magical romp in the woods.
The children self organized and made the campground their kingdom. While they ran about feral and free, we adults did the important work of cooking, tending the fire and napping. This morning after breakfast we sat around the campfire all of us, strumming guitars and singing. A pastoral Von Trapp family moment twisted only by the children's choice of songs. (I couldn't help but wonder what Child Protective Services would think about the fact that all of our children know this Johnny Cash tune by heart). No matter.
I am unpacking now. I carry the camp chairs in and put them away for the season. They smell like smoke, smoke from the glorious fire, tended by Eric, a blacksmith-wanna-be stoking a furnace fit for smelting. We sat around this fire as the night grew chilly, laughing, telling stories, nursing stout and tequila, sneaking brownies the children never knew were baked, sneaking cigarettes they never knew we smoked.
The little children have been tucked into bed in the Tent-Mahal, lulled to sleep in by the whispers of a father who's own children have grown too old now to be comforted by the cadence of his voice. Teenage fears are not easily chased away by fairy tales but here in this tent at this moment, he is a hero to seven wee ones, a hero with the power to keep the darkness at bay. Covered with children and sleeping bags he is able to relive a memory and to relieve those of us who are too weary of nightly stories, who just need a beer and some quiet. It takes a village...
The little ones are sleeping now. Soundly. The smoke blows in our face as the wind shifts direction and so do we, moving around the circle, shifting positons to talk, to pour a drink, to play. We laugh and sing to homemade music, two guitars, one harmonica. Red wine. Tequila. A few contraband cigarettes. Shake thoroughly. Instant bliss.
One by one sleepy people get up and drift away to our tiny tent city. They drift away until it is only three of us, the roaring fire turned to bright cooking coals now. My dear friend and I lay on our backs in the dirt and gaze at the seven sisters twinkling overhead. Another friend fingerpicking a guitar, Texas blues for the girl with boots, bending strings that connect right to a piece my soul.
And then it is just me, I sit at the fire, shifting the coals around, encouraging them to cool now. I breathe in the smoke, feel the soot settle on my face. I sit in the space of gratitude watching the embers. I am thankful for this trip, for the laughter, for the new people, for the joy my son felt when running free, for the easy hike, the communal dinner, for my dear friend and her family, for all the families together, for the music...for the sweet sweet music.
I lay back, the seven sisters on the other side of the sky now. I can't help but feel that everything is exactly as it should be at this moment. That I, sitting alone by the fire, am exactly where I need to be. That I can relax here in this space. That neither the past nor the future really matter all that much. That the now, these warm coals, this autumn wind, this feeling of rightness is what matters. I think this feeling is called grace. I touch it and wrap my fingers around it. I tuck it into my hair.
I hear my friends stir, shift in sleeping bags. I wish them deep sleep and sweet dreams while I stir the coals. Then, minutes or hours later, I pour water on them and watch the steam rise.
I am so gritty, so grimy from this trip. I have finished unpacking and slip into a warm shower, before I head out to pick up the take-out we will have for dinner tonight. Before I throw in the laundry. Before I check my email.
The smell of smoke wafts through the bathroom--it is washing out of my pores and running down the drain. I want to stop it and capture it. I do not want to let the smoke go. I want it to cling to my skin forever.
I am a little nervous about writing so openly about these issues of faith and my view of God in such a public forum. I am not a churchy person--it is one of the few things I keep close. But today it seemed approrpriate so here are a few of my thoughts...
Several months ago, Max came home from a playdate depressed and sad. It took a little prodding, but I finally got him to tell me what was wrong.
Max: (with indignation in his voice): Mom...Jake says we aren't Jewish. He says we are Christian.
Me: We are Christian. Actually we are Catholic which is a kind of Christian, although we sometimes worship at the Episcopal church. (I think to myself...IF we actually go to church.)
Max: WHAT? (with sadness and disappointment in his voice) But...we celebrate all the holidays...
It's true. We do. The New Year with his best friend Jake and family, Yom Kippur with our dear friends Stephen and Marilyn. We light Channakah candles with several different families each December, and we have sat at many a Passover Seder table in his young years. We have been to so many Shabbat dinners that Max actually can say the prayers over the candles along with our host if he or she prays slow enough.
And its also true that we are really bad at celebrating the Christian holidays--other than the big holidays of Christmas and Easter, which frankly feel so commercial despite my efforts to combat this at home. Aside from these two, there are not many Christian community celebrations that ring true for me. Lighting Advent candles and opening Advent calendars are quiet at home family affairs. We are not great about getting to church--in fact we are really bad at church. And those saints' feast days do not call out for big loud family dinners.
And Max and me, we are great at big, loud, chaotic gathering that involve food and bread and wine and apples dipped in honey. It is part of how we sing our prayers of thanksgiving. The Jewish holidays call to us in this way and so we find ourselves often worshipping alongside our Jewish friends who so lovingly welcome us into their homes.
I have struggled alot about how to raise my son in faith, how to give him a framework upon which to hang his own understanding of the mysteries of the world. And while I have never struggled with my own faith and my spirituality, I do struggle greatly with institutionalized religion and the Catholic Church in particular. I struggle with the limited role for women in my church. I struggle with the church's position on the love shared by my gay friends. I struggle with power-hungry bishops and money-hungry pastors and a bureaucracy that let so many children get hurt to protect priests who were sick. I have issues.
But my God, I have no issues with Him. I see Her face in the face of my friends, my loved ones. I see His hand in the tremendous people I know who work very hard for justice, fairness and kindness in the world. God is omnipresent to me in the laughter of children, in the bloom of a flower, in a blue blue sky and in the kind words of a stranger. But my God is also most present to me in the face of my loved ones, in food prepared with love, in big tables around which our most cherished ones sit. And that is why for us, these harvest holidays, the lighting of candles around a table, the breaking of bread and the introspection of the new year celebrations are what call us to worship.
I find myself thinking about something my neighborhood grandma once told me...something that rings truer each day. Grandma was the wise older woman in our neighborhood who looked after all us kids and loved us all as her own. She is Jewish and she and I were talking about her own children, one who had converted to Catholism in marriage. We were also talking about another of the neighborhood grandkids who had become a wiccan.
"Meggie," she said. "Yahweh, She is so big. None of us humans can understand how deep, complex and awesome He is. But God wanted to know us all. She/He gave each of our cultures a little window to look upon Him with, to communicate with Him/Her in a way we could understand given our culture. Religion is just the window--no one view is more or less correct. Its the same loving God. And thats the only thing that is important."
Perhaps I am a spiritual traveler, one who enjoys the view through many windows. In that spirit, I say to all my dear ones and all the strangers who pass this way, those who celebrate today and those who chose to celebrate in other ways or not at all: L'shanah Tova! --May your new year be filled with love, community, nourishment and joy!
"Seeing the small is called clarity"
---Lao Tsu
The other day Max looked at me with big big eyes and said, "Mom...Big things come in small packages." He was so sincere as he uttered this cliche, my heart just melted. Since then I have been reflecting on this childhood wisdom, so simple and sweet. It seems that lately for me the greatest wonder has come in the smallest of things. The fantastic, big and splashy become lost on me--they seem to get dissolve almost instantly into disappointment or some sort of anticlimax. Whenever I focus on the big, it leaves me feeling a bit let down.
But the small never fails to fascinate. Perhaps it is the humility of the tiny that make the small so endearing. Perhaps it is the surprise of tiny that thrills. Perhaps it is the intimacy that instantly touches my heart. I don't know why, but these days I am big on small.
When we were in West Virginia last weekend we found hundreds of the tiniest of shells along the beach. Each one was a marvel into itself, as perfectly formed in every detail as their huge seaside cousins. I was drawn in by these wonders, so precious and sweet and understated.
The sweetness of small this week has been captured in the joy of a single hour on a friend's front steps sipping wine, of a spoonful of mint chocolate chip icecream, of 5 minutes of stillness in the morning when no one else was awake, of 20 minutes of nonstop giggling as Max dances in the kitchen with our new roommate.
May hundreds of tiny sweetnesses fill your week.
It feels like ages ago that I started this little blog. Hard to believe its only been months. Time plays funny tricks on me these days, reminding me that it really is all relative.
When I started this blog, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with it. It was a place for me to write, to experiment, to be newsy and practice being brave. I expected that I would write stories about our life here in Maryland and that maybe through those stories I would reveal something about the journey that Max and I are on, a journey of loss and recovery, of independence and reinvention and grief and grace and that maybe someone would like them. I expected that some of these stories would be deeply personal and that I would need to make decisions about what to share to protect my own heart.
But an interesting thing is happening here in our world. When I started writing Max and I were on the tail end of what had been on a long dark hike through the loss of Juan. It was a lonely journey. Writing was a way to help me connect with my thoughts, beliefs and experiences as we walked into the sunrise of our new life. We are still on the journey of course, but it has changed. While it is true I am still struggling with issues around single parenthood, helping Max cope with not having a full-time dad, and the never ending juggling act of trying to do it all, these relatively lonely struggles are no longer at the center.
Day by day, my band of fellow travelers is growing. I have realized that my struggles are not any different really that so many others. I am lucky to have connected with some really interesting and cool people who are themselves reaching out, struggling, journeying--living really, just living, life to its fullest. Some are the people who have been walking with me silently through the long dark icky time when my marriage was going going gone. Others are new to us. Some have become a regular part of our everyday life while others are just passing through for a short time. But I am struck by how much in the last few months I feel connected to community, to a great body of others all trying to make it, not always succeeding, but willing to stand up and try (just try) to be brave in big and small ways. Each one of them is a teacher, a guru, and a partner (whether they intend to be or not).
I am awed by how much of what I am learning is coming from this interaction with my community. And so therefor I find it difficult to talk about my life without simultaneouosly talking about the lives of others. And so I find myself here struggling wanting so desperately to whisper stories to you that illustrate or punctuate what we are going through here in Maryland and yet desperate to protect the privacy of my loved ones who are my partners on this path. And as I sit to write I find myself dancing around the point a bit.
Some of the boundaries are clear--I would never share anyone's personal story without getting their permission. I wouldn't share something I had written just for them without asking their OK. But then once we move past black and white it starts to get murky... Do I need to get permission to mention their first name in passing? To post a photo? To share something beautiful or lovely they did or said? And how do I go about doing that in a way that doesn't seem self important? Suddenly the public-ness of posting on a blog becomes real to me--very real and apparent and scary and stark. I am embarrased and ashamed to ask them if I can share what I am learning from our friendship together here in this very public forum. Not because I don't think they will be giving or because I fear their judgement for asking but because the very act of asking permission means I need to claim the space of being "a writer"--something that seems scary to me. And it means admitting that I have a blog or that I think the blog is important or that someone might just be reading it. It means owning the fact that I am putting my writing out into the world--that I think it is good enough to put out into the world. And then I ask myself--Do I really? And this is a heavy thing indeed. I have put my writing out there not really sure if anyone is even reading it but now...now I need to assume they are. And this freaks me out as much as it thrills me.
And as I write here I am struck just how scared I am to claim this title so that I can keep going here, how I can keep going with the stories no longer of me--but of us.
I recently read this post over at the wise and funny Notes to Self. I love Kyran's writing - its not unusual for me to leave that site teary eyed. This time however, it wasn't just the deep honesty and beautiful pose that moved me but a deep sense of empathy about living without margins. I read the post with tears dripping off my chin, falling shamelessly into my lap.
Kyran was writing about living on the financial edge. This is something I can relate to all too well. When Juan left me with a child and one income it didn't take long for my social justice salary to leave us struggling. I remember nights staying up sorting through Max's beautiful grandma-purchased clothes trying to figure out what we could consign to help pay the babysitter or emptying out the spare change jar that Juan and I had started when we started dating and cashing it all in to pay for food and gas for the week. The rollercoaster of panic (will we make it this week?) and relief--all the effort that went into figuring out how to keep it together left me depleted and a shadow of my best self. I was so scared to ask for help from anyone afraid of what it would say about me (Would it mean I had failed?!?) but bit by bit the universe worked its little chisel on my pride and finally one night I was on the phone with my dad, choking back tears and asking humbly for a little help to get over the hump. Not too much longer, I was on my knees sobbing praying for a little help from anywhere.
I am glad to say that I am writing this from a better place on the financial front. Ask and you shall receive is a truth I can attest to. We are still living paycheck to paycheck over here and savings are a luxury I can barely afford. We don't splurge much on movies or pretty things and when we do I often reeling from it for weeks. My budget has very little margins for excess or comforts. But we are making it and I am no longer sick to my stomach each time I need to visit the cash machine. I am comfortable that as long as I stick to the basics the money is there.
But I wish I could say that about 2 other critical resources: time and energy. I am now in a similar desperate place that feels eerily similar to how I felt about my finances not that long ago.
I feel I don't have enough time for even the basics--like the laundry and cooking dinner or picking up the mess that has become our house. I feel I have cut out all the fat I can (no mindless TV, no relaxing baths) but it is still not enough. My schedule operates with no margin of error. I drop Max at childcare at the earliest possible moment and rush in to the office and maybe make it to work on time but often am late to a meeting. I rush through my work day and need to leave at 5 on the dot. God forbid there is traffic because I need to be home at 5:30, not a minute later. We barely unpack our days before it is far too late for dinner. On too many occassions, I am dragging him out to run errands at the time most children his age are in pjs in bed. The mad dash and the fact that I go to sleep each night with so many loose ends dangling leaves me feeling edgey and like a top spinning out of control.
My energy too is at an all time low and this is making this time crunch thing all the more troubling. I move so much slower these days. I fall into bed too early and wake too late. Precious hours are lost while I hit the snooze button or sleep through my alarm. I cannot multi-task anymore. I need to focus every bit of energy I do have on simply accomplishing one thing at a time. When I do pretend that I can move faster, things start to fall apart at the seams. This past week I had no childcare for Max so I thought I could bring him with me into work. In the effort to get him packed up to spend the day with me I forgot to pack my own purse and ended up with no wallet to pay for our lunch and parking. On good days I laugh light heartedly about the aburdity of this--my turtle pace, the chaos exploding around me, my inability to keep it all together. But at night when all is quiet I shiver a bit thinking about it all and pray that tomorrow it may feel a little bit better and I pray--please don't let it get worse.
Every day is an exercise in pushing the limits of my comfort zone. How much stress and time pressure and "rock and a hard place" choices can I live with today? I laugh thinking about how I was three or four years ago--how little I could take. I simultaneously feel like a champion (what a victory to keep surviving in this climate!) and a loser (why can't I just keep the kitchen clean or feed my son a real dinner?)
The time/energy crunch-its become a noose that I feel tightening around my throat--sometimes I have to remind myself to breathe. There are moments when I feel I am drowning from the stress of it all and I realize--I am holding my breath. Just the other day I thought if my life was a story written on a page I am spilling off the page. There are no margins on my paper. There is no room for errors, no room for scribbled comments--no place to put a forgotten word. I wonder when am I going to lose it living like this? I smile because clearly its not going to be today so if I can just focus on today I can loosen the noose a little. Yes...now I am breathing on my own. Good girl.
And yet I feel so silly even worrying about this all. Today my friend told me a story about a friend of hers--a woman who's has struggled with so much more. Her story makes me understand just how wide my margins really are--or rather what its really like to live with no wiggle room. Hearing her story I hang my head in shame and embarrassment that I fret so when my life is really so precious and blessed. For God's sake...I am writing a blog. Its not that bad when I have time to write a blog, is it? But the thought of giving up this newly reclaimed creative time feels like a dealbreaker. My journaling, my creative friendships they are keeping me afloat, they are keeping me sane. The laundry will just have to stay dirty and I will just have to forgive myself--but can I?
But I remember today this week when it has felt so loosey goosey that asking for help is magic and so I get down on my knees and ask the universe to deliver it in whatever way she sees fit. A cure for my energy blues? That would be nice. Someone to help me get organized and together? That would also work. A new way of working smarter not harder? Brilliant! A giant huge serving of perspective? That would do me just fine. Something I haven't even thought of? Yes. Any help--any little bit of help at all. Its hard to ask for help but its the only way I know to expand the margins even just a tiny bit.
I have been so grumpy lately. I have been banging-around-the-house grumpy. I think if only he knew how to spell, Max would be hanging out signs--WANTED: NICE MOM- interviewing for my replacement.
Getting rid of the foul odor in the house helped alot. Lighting my candle has helped too. Waking up to find that the couple of flies that had gotten in through the hole in the screen door had had wild nights of love that led to babies did not help. I am sick of being a nursemaid to the natural world. I grabbed the vacuum and the Raid.
After vacuuming up the wormy pre-flies and dropping Max off at the babysitter I drove directly to Pat's. It was time for an emergency intervention. I had the morning off. I hadn't seen Pat in a long while and had been feeling a need to seek her wisdom, hear about her new projects, soak up some of what she has learned. She is wise and kind and exudes love and acceptance. And she is fun to boot!
There is nothing like being nourished to soothe a grouchy soul. She made delicious green tea, a juicy fruit salad and homemade lemonade with crushed mint. We talked for hours about feng shui, Myers Briggs, the Enneagram. She told me about her latest class with Joey Yap. We dissected a project I had worked on, talked about science and spirituality, Chinese metaphysics. We pulled out books and papers and poured over them together. Compared notes, nodded alot, furrowed our brows and then said "Aha!". Sitting with Pat it all seemed to be true and real and of course! and why not?
And then the big OF COURSE hit me. I am happiest when I am being nourished in community. A big long table loaded with potluck foods. A lovely community loaded with ideas and concepts to share. Working together with someone wise on something mutually loved is nothing short of bliss.
I left feeling energized. Something in my soul shifted a little and made room for possibilities and for hope. I realized what I been seeking all these days that I have been mopey. I am in need of the company of wise women & conspirators in creativity. I have been going at my projects alone these days, trying to figure it out on my own. Its become a way of life really, proving to myself that I can do it all my own. I know I can now but I don't always need to do so. The self sufficiency and independence I have achieved is rewarding but as Winnie the Pooh says, "Its so much friendlier with two".
So much friendlier with two indeed!
Ever since I wrote this post I have been lighting a little candle on my serenity altar. I have been feeling so restless of late, seeking something I can't quite put a finger on. I have been praying for a little clarity..., to understand what my heart is yearning for so that I can make her happy.
A few nights ago, I was leaning over to light the candle and my eyes fell on the picture that my friend Pat had given me for Chinese New Year.
It is difficult to tell what it says from the photo here so let me transcribe it here:
Seeing the small is called Clarity
Keeping flexible is called Strength
Using the shining Radiance
you enter the Light
where no harm can home to you
This is called Enlightenment
- Lao Tsu
Sometimes the universe needs to just hit me over the head. I have been looking for clarity in the big, wide and sweeping instead of in the tiny. But isn't it true that real clarity only comes in little portions, tiny moments when it all seems to make sense?. Isn't it true that that we only understand when we explore the intimate, intricate details of any one thing or person or feeling.
I realized that in my haste to catch up with my life--my life that had felt as though it had galloped away from me while I was so tired-- I had stopped noticing the small. I wasn't doing my morning pages. I wasn't taking photos. I wasn't doing yoga or knitting or my mediatation work--all things that help me break down life into the tiniest of bits to appreciate each square inch of beauty. I was all full steam ahead, big picture, getting lots of stuff done.
So this week I am resolving to think small. To find my clarity in all the tiny little bits.
I know, deep in my soul, I am not alone--that I am held by something greater, a loving kind all-wonderful presence. I see Her work in my life, the many gifts that arrive on our doorstep--dear friends, wonderful opportunities, loving family. Sometimes I am just so overwhelmed with the abundance of blessings.
But sometimes it can all feel surprisingly empty, like something might be missing. Truthfully I have been restless lately, trying to put my finger on it. But what on earth am I seeking?
I get on the computer and I search--hoping some kind angel will guide me to the information I need to see. Strike one. I flip through books impatiently hoping something will grab my attention--ignite a passion in me that I need need need to follow, a project, an idea...anything. Strike two. I sit quietly with it--or rather attempt to do so. My mind wanders and jumps and just doesn't want to be still. Strike three.
After months of relentless fatigue I am gifted with space to do all the things I swore I would do if only I had the time. But instead I find myself restless, none of these things holding the attention they deserve: half-folding the clothes, half-reading my books, flipping through the TV, only half my heart able to focus on my son. None of this satisfies this thirst--in fact it leaves me even more parched.
I stay up so late kicking this around that I cannot wake to my alarm clock--not from crushing exhaustion but because I have barely gotten 6 hours of rest. I tumble into my day a little discombobulated and muddle but find I can't focus, stay mindful, be present. And then at night--I fidget again, seeking something I cannot name, something I cannot find.
I am lighting a candle tonight--asking for a bit of mental, spiritual rest. I am saying a tiny prayer that I can just feel still and patient and wait for the clarity I am so itching to receive. I know deep in my soul that I am not alone, that I am held by something greater and I believe that the answer is just bubbling beneath the surface of my heart.
This afternoon Max went off on a playdate.
I was left in my "how did it get this bad?" disaster of a home. Clutter is the number one no-no if you are trying to practice feng shui or even if you are just trying to live a sane and normal life. I had two hours to myself, nothing pressing so I told myself I would do nothing else until I had made some headway.
Despite my devotion to feng shui, clutter continues to be the constant struggle for me. Its a relentless uphill battle, all this stuff that piles up in our home. It sucks my energy and stresses me out. I get on top of it only to slip and slide back down again.
There are so many reasons, so many excuses for why and how it happens. I am a single mom who works at a full-time job. I have a boy who frequently impersonates a hurricane. We have a small(ish) house. There are a lot (too many) toys. There are not enough hours in the day. I am not a naturally organized person.
Back in 2005, when I was in the midst of my feng shui rescue mission, I read everything I could get my hands on about getting rid of clutter. Perhaps, I thought, if I just studied it enough, I would know exactly how to get a handle on this, the house would just magically clean itself, a fairy godmother would come in and show me the way. Needless to say that never happened, but I do remember a Body and Soul magazine article I read that has stuck with me.
It said something along these lines. When you are faced with persistent clutter, don't just rush to clear it but rather stop and really look at it. Then ask yourself, "What is my clutter trying to tell me? What is it telling me about my life? About lessons I need to learn? About things I need to pay attention to? About what's going on with me?" The idea was that persistent clutter was really just a symptom of being stuck in another way in your life and by treating clutter as a teacher we could correct the real problem.
It was a fascinating exercise. Today, overwhelmed by the mess all around and sick of the constant batte I decided to repeat it. Here is what my clutter said when I actually decided to listen:
--I am having a hard time finishing things. Lately I am feeling a bit restless and am easily distracted. I get 90% of the way through a project then get up for just a moment--only to be sidelined for weeks on end. I assume I will wander back after I (get a drink, make this phone call, deal with the laundry, kiss the hurt) but somehow the project seems much less interesting once I have moved on. However, I believe with all my heart and soul that if I just leave all my tools out (whether its a journal, knitting needles and yarn, bills, screw driver, sewing kit) I will be motivated to come back and finish, any minute now, but instead I am just bored.
--When I am feeling guilty about my inability to get back out there and finish a project I start something new which I am certain will hold my attention longer and make me feel better. Its a cyclical process as I feel guilty I create more and more activity.
--I have become rather loosey-goosey and inconsistent. I am not enforcing rules around where toys go (or for that matter shoes and wine glasses) and am not insisting on regular pick-ups even though I know we both need these rules. I am avoiding the struggles with my son (and my own inner child) because I just don't have the energy for the effort.
--I am moving way too fast and not alloting the proper amount of time for me to complete certain tasks. Groceries aren't getting completely put away, dishes aren't entirely washed, folded laundry not being put away because I am not giving myself enough time.
What's interesting to me is that this is so different from what my clutter told me back in 2005. Back then I was drowning in the abundance of things--things I couldn't let go of and things I bought to fill the void that Juan had left. I was clinging to things as a way to resist the loss of my marriage and my partner, hording new things to avoid feeling empty. I remember that day back in the spring of 2005 when I realized what was so obviously going on in my weary heart. It was a moment of earth shattering clarity. It enabled to me to move forward
I suppose this is another one of these moments but with new lessons, new challenges for growth.
Thank you messy house for showing me what I needed to see today: That I need to slow down and protect that which is sacred. I need to restore my energy and my will to protect my own boundaries. Thank you for giving me this new found awareness of a most uncomfortable restlessness, a searching for something, a yearning for newness. I don't know what is behind it yet, but it's worth peeking underneath it to see. To be honest, tonight as I sit in my straightened up home I am not entirely sure exactly how to tackle all of this but I believe a little compassion and gentleness is probably a good start.
