out-smarting the conveyor belt

I used to think life held some great destination that I was going to arrive at one day and have it all figured out. I had a mental list of things that needed to be checked off and then somehow I was going to stop growing. Because I had gotten there. Or something weird like that. I don’t even know that girl anymore.

I am so aware of the journey now and cannot even visualize a destination, because that would be limiting myself from so many possibilities. I am cognizant of what I am passionate about yet believe there are a plethora of other things and experiences I don’t know I am in love with because I haven’t yet been exposed.  And if I was only on board for the destination I wouldn’t be living the journey. And how do you ever realize your true loves if you don’t constantly have your eyes open to what you might encounter on your path?

I am amazed that I spent so many years trying to get there, but didn’t ever really know where I was going. My journey was more of a transport via conveyor belt through a tunnel with ten demerits for opening your eyes or asking questions. I’m not so concerned with how I got dead-bolted to the conveyor belt in the first place, but rather with how I took a free-fall off of it, with eyes wide open, and realized the journey was up to me.

Truth is, I cannot even ride those airport conveyor belts any longer because they take too much of the control away from me; how slowly or quickly I choose to pace myself, or what I want to pause and take in along the way. I had my eyes fastened shut for so many years I don’t think I even realized what I was not living.

I find myself overflowing with gratitude for my life. I am living the life I choose to live. And I get it now. That in itself is a celebration.

 

melting into me

Does too much to say make the saying harder to come by? Have you consigned your will to create with the words that entice you or are they challenging you to do more and better, forcing you to feel deeper and stronger? You don’t know how to write yourself out of what you have fallen into so you simply stop writing because, maybe, if you don’t write then you don’t feel each moment as though it has permeated your soul.

You could fastidiously gather the words you love and compile them to write your story, punctiliously fashioning each chapter. But through trial and error you have learned that designing the chapters is not nearly as exciting as letting the chapters bring you to life. So you have an experience and define what it means to you; minute by minute, day by day, month by month, and you take pause with each temptation to formulate the words that will make perfect your sermon to self. Trusting and living with intention provides words abundant with which you can tell your story. 

The words that are so much a part of you are simultaneously screaming to speak and begging silence. There are lessons learned you want to share; perhaps in hopes of precluding collective travels down the same path you have found to be lackluster by comparison. You are learning to welcome love and pain, to let raw emotion consume you as it provides the truest form of living you have experienced. You have feelings so intense that they threaten the pillars of strength you have built, brick by brick, which ground you. And as each step and misstep petitions for grace as it dissolves into your melting pot of growth, you see your authentic self with increasing clarity. 

There are so many questions but you don’t know where to begin. What path led you to this leg of the journey; which choice or un-choice to this outcome. And as you think about your life and attempt orderliness of the pictures and flashbacks, of the note cards and summaries and dissertations, your omniscient core knows that the questions are not yours to have, to beg, to postulate. Journeys happen and they take you where they may and you tiptoe, run, walk and sometimes crawl as best you can in the moment. 

Meanings are myriad depending on what you choose to believe in that moment and from that experience; to where you let it guide you, to what ensuing experience you let it lead. Life has many serendipitous happenings if your mind is open to receiving them. The relational nature of life becomes vivid when you seize what presents itself along the journey. Open-minded living is joyous because the surprise of the next serendipitous moment is looming… another opportunity to make a connection on your journey of here and now. 

Life is education on your terms: you hold the power to decide how you will let each opportunity color, change, mold and improve you. Life is an auspicious exploration of self; an offer to learn, grow and attempt to understand you. One day at a time. And one day at a time really means one moment at a time, one experience and then another to form an existence, to create a story, to live a life. 

Be in love with you. Be in love with life. Be.

mentor me tomorrow or always

I have been remiss in my writing.  I have no excuse other than one that is fabulous:  I have too many passions.  I am and have been trying my gosh-darndest to devote equal love to each on a daily basis but I am, as I have always been, a work in progress.

I could spend each moment of my existence happily floating amongst the freedom of art.  Creativity in motion.  In fact, I am working quite harder than is visible to the human eye (other than my own two which, coincidentally cannot see all that well) to propel my visions into reality.

And the reality is this.

I am 100% passionate about the following things:

-Spending copiuous amounts of time inside my own mind

-Writing and writing and writing my daily thoughts and observations; I have so much I want to share and so little time to put pen to paper to share it

-Each hand-written journal of quotes that I create; especially those designed for a specific person

-Every ancillary project that I have in the works under The Winking Phoenix

-Books I want to publish – forever wishing for more chunks of time in my day to free-flow my mental file cabinets

-Being the most loving, listening, kind, giving, compassionate wife, mama and general human being I can be each day

And, I am 100% committed to the  following things:

-Being the most loving, listening, kind, giving, compassionate wife, mama, and general human being I can be each day

-Being a better version of myself tomorrow than I was yesterday

-Offering the best of me to all I encounter, and absolutely to my husband and children on a daily basis

-Freeflowing my groove on a continuum that makes it all come together with some semblance of grace

So, with all that out of the way, I will enter into what propelled me from one creative endeavor to another:  What is a mentor? 

And you know I have a ton to both share and ponder.  And it was witnessing a mentor-in-action tonight that really got me thinking about the concept of mentoring, and what a true mentor does for others – and I am really excited to talk about it.

Stay tuned for my next post which promises to explore the many facets of mentoring.  I am tempted to start now (that passion thing is a killer)…but I am exhausted and it wouldn’t be as good as it could be for any of us…so after some much needed sleep I shall make my way back to these pages :-).

phoenix

from the ashes of her deconstructed being,

she learns to take hesitant breaths.

from the fears that left her knowing nothing of herself,

she sees glimmers of enlightenment

and love for her soul, and

lightness in her dark.

sate amid her famine

tears with a purpose, she knows,

but is still to weary to define.

from the ashes of her deconstructed being,

she learns to see herself as beautiful again.

from the fears that left her knowing nothing of herself,

she repurposes her heart

she walks with less trepidation, and

does not convulse

does not regurgitate

signs of healing, she knows,

and she allows herself to slumber.

finding my way home

I felt myself traveling away from me in those moments and days I let me fall into you.  You holding me up in your way held me captive as I experienced what had never before been a gift to me.  If I could have found a way to exist solely in those moments I might have let you love me longer.  But living as a vibrant woman requires being true to me, and each time my fingers interlocked with yours I lost a little piece of me.

I wasn’t cognizant of the changes instantly; perhaps because falling into another precludes us, temporarily, from seeing through our full peripheral lenses.  But, the act of the fall is temporary as well, and as I approached the landing zone I started to regain my sense of clarity.

I loved you as one who shared my journey with me momentarily, and I loved you fiercely in those moments we found ourselves solely focused on one another.  I am grateful to have the beauty of those moments stored somewhere in my heart, just as I am grateful that I knew it was time, again, for me to sojourn.

The pull to be true to myself is intrinsic – a force of my inner nature – that elemental part of me that recognizes detours and sends me speed bumps to get my attention.

I am grateful for the beauty of unplanned moments that test my understanding of self.  Equally, I am grateful that my inner map is strong and the journey home repeatedly fills me with life.

reflections on the hill i was late to climb over

I did not…I wasn’t even fucking close to…getting this one right away, this 50-thing…just as I did not get 40…or 30, or likely any decade before the afore mentioned decades.  I had great aspirations and goals for the turning of each; only to find that where I found myself at the changing-of-the-calendar-guard was not, in fact, remotely even hopefully close to where I actually wanted to be.

I would say, looking back behind myself, that each monumental decade-turning number held some force over me – perhaps as a reminder that I had lost the authenticity of myself somewhere between the non-zero years.  Lost I was, only later to realize, with each decade, that I had been screaming out to a self – for some painfully and mistake-making period of time – who could not hear me.

Each new decade in my life has gifted me with a massive life blowout; an ending or beginning of sorts.  With each, I returned to the warrior within.  Through each, I surfaced stronger on the other side whilst collecting the pieces and particles of self and soul again; combining them back into the woman they best knew how to be.

She writes her words and even still is amazed by the patterns threatening to define her existence.  She thinks that she probably starts slipping away from her core so slowly that she does not notice until she can no longer tolerate the place in which she finds herself; the impending blowup the necessary catharsis for her to take steps to re-re-re-re-(this is getting really old)-define herself.

Is it only the writer who is plagued with these thoughts over and over again until they must explode onto paper to help her understand her existence?  Where does all the endless pondering go if not given an outlet?  Surely it would take you down swiftly, without remorse, and with so much baggage that you may find yourself, at some point, unable to utter even one more spoken word.  Or breath.

I know you non-writing ponderers have some of the most poignant thoughts never shared.  Your real and raw is to be admired, and I’ll tell you why.  What you hold so deeply is sacred.  You know your thoughts are brilliant and that alone scares you.  I get it; trust me, I do.  But whaddya you say you just throw out a proverbial bone and see what happens?

a new year in july

Albeit late.  Hanging desperately on the precipice of 51 and feeling like I don’t know any more or better than I did at 21.  They say time makes you older and wiser, but presently, and for a while, if I’m being truly honest…I only feel older.  The wiseness does not come like they tell you it will…you have to really work to earn it.  And work you will.  And even then it is still quite surreal, like you might feel it at one moment but it surely does not last, sometimes not even long enough for you to figure out if it was real or completely within the confines of your own delusional mind.

So what am I saying exactly?  Quite possibly, I’m not at all sure.  I only know that I want to continue exploring that which I don’t get or understand on an intrinsic level, so that I may, most hopefully, grow some sort of brain mass that helps it all make sense in my head.  And maybe the sense-making in my head will guide you to be able to make some sort of sense in yours, and we will each surface on the other side of self-imposed impossibility, just a bit more enlightened.