Quiet Happy Wonder

I was taking to a stranger (a habit I have been cultivating lately…)

Trying to solve all the problems of the world. And trying to figure out what we (both in our fifties) want to be when we grow up.

He asked…. what do you WANT to do?

I replied …. I want to sit under a big oak tree and invite people to come and talk and share …. about how important it is to be authentic. Connecting to others. Learning from each other. Growing. Helping each other.

(Such a silly hippie girl is living inside of me.)

The very next day…..

I was cleaning off my deck. It is a nice place for me to have some quiet and solitude. I have one comfy chair that I love. And I was sitting …. and enjoying the 275 year old oak tree in my back yard. The tree. The big oak tree. The tree I sit under.

There is a big oak tree IN MY BACKYARD! And I sit under it on my very own deck!

But (I’m so embarrassed) there is only one comfy chair. No one will come sit under my tree if there is only one comfy chair !

So I shopped. Bought the perfect chair for a guest. Put out candles. A blooming purple flower. A new rug. I hung some lights.

Not fancy. But hopefully inviting.

So…..

Please come.
Sit under my tree with me.

Let’s connect and share and learn from each other.

We can talk about science music faith love family dreams magic wonder sorrows life beauty rhythms writing work hopes plans joy history patterns nature God books gratitude plays heritage peace friends disappointments humans teaching….

how everything connects to everything else.

Or maybe just sit quietly together.

You are invited.
Come. Sit with me.
Under my tree.

Every cell in my body is magic.

I subscribe to several Facebook groups that send positive messages. No interacting. Just receiving. And I drop ones that don’t speak to me. And keep those that do.

Today this came across my feed.

EVERY CELL IN MY BODY IS MAGIC.

Oh I love that so much. Yes!!

It is true.

And I repeated it.
(This one came from a site that sends mantras for meditation. I rarely use them in that way. But today it felt right.)

Every cell in my body is magic.
Every cell in my body is magic.
Every cell in my body is magic.

And…..

Every cell in YOUR body is magic.

And I wanted to share that. I want to stand on the roof and shout it. I want to dance and spin in circles and stop everyone I see.

Every cell in your body is MAGIC.
Do you know it??
Do you feel it??

But who can I tell ?

I love my friends. I do.

But I think even they might chuckle a bit.

And so I go about my day. Quiet- happy.

Running errands. Smiling at strangers.

Keeping my magic a little bit secret.

Every cell in my body is magic.

(Keep whispering it to yourself….)

I didn’t want to go to the grocery store. Long day.  (Very good long day.)  Tired.  So much left to do.

But there was no food in the house.  And everyone wants to be fed.  (Didn’t we just feed them yesterday?)

And on the way home.  Sunset.  This sunset! Stunning. Like a painting that would make you shake your head and say- no sunset has ever really liked that.

But there it was.

Thank goodness I had to go to the grocery store.  Thank goodness my eyes were open.

I have finally decided what I want to be when I grow up.

I want to be

An author
An artist
An encourager of dreams
A teacher
A learner
An educational consultant
A wanderer
A sharer of knowledge and wonder
A musician
A student of history and science
Strong and confident
A storyteller
A kayaker and hiker
An expert on trees and their stories
A practitioner of yoga and meditation
A curator of creative ideas
Healthy
A poet
A tutor
A resource and support for parents
A reader
A philosopher
A girl who dances in unusual places
A good and helpful friend
Authentic

I think it is time to begin.

(I am going to need a very big business card.)

My favorite quote is by Anais Nin. She said,

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

That day is here.

Blossom. Bloom. Grow.

Be everything.

~~~~~~~~

A miraculous and beautiful addendum….. a dear friend read my list and chuckled.

You want to be you! You are those things. You just need to own them.

Now there’s a revelation for this quietly happy girl.

She gave me the secret password. The toll to get into this place where I suspect I might want to be. A new door. (I am trying to embrace new doors. To walk through them confidently.)

She said to write a poem.
Three lines.
Describing a scent experience.

But I am a poet who doesn’t write poems.
This form I love to teach and to study and to carry in my pocket eludes me. I always have too many words for a poem. A poets heart but a storyteller’s rambling language.

Maybe there is a middle ground.  Not a story. Not a  poem. Somewhere in between.

Like the sandalwood and plumeria that blend into the secret smell of my home. The two intertwined and floating in the smoke of  smoldering wood.

So many smells swirl in my head. Tied to my memories more strongly than my other senses. Scent memories bring immediate flashes of the past right back.

Three lines. Okay. But long lines.  (So tempted to apologize for my too many, often awkward words… but no apologies today.)

One. Sitting cross legged on my four poster canopy bed. Patchwork quilt a little dated even in 1985. Adolescence. Slipping from the innocence of this frilly bed. Believing I am on the verge of adulthood. On the verge of becoming the woman I hoped to be. (What would this girl think if she knew I still only felt on the verge of becoming the woman I hoped to be?) I smell expectation. Plans. Dreams.  The way I thought adulthood would smell.

Two. Writing in my diary and A-Ha’s “Take On Me” playing on my boom box. Rewind and play. Rewind and play. Repeating.  The song and the smell forever linked.  “I’m talking away…. I don’t know what I’m to say. I’ll say it anyway….”. What was I saying I wonder ? What I would give to peek into that diary…. to peek into that girl’s dreams!

Three. General Foods International Coffee- French Vanilla.  Rectangular metal can with a blue rubber lid. Sitting right next to my knee. Breathing it in. Stirring heaps into my cup of hot water with a plastic spoon. I smell it. So clear and distinct. This memory. This girl. This scent. It is in my nose right now. (Will linger all day…. and will make me smile.) I still smell hope. Expectation. Dreams. Being right on the verge …..

There is a little lizard in my brain. I am just sure that she lives at the very base of my skull. Just below my hairline. Hidden under the long tangled hair. The little lizard that has lingered for millions of years. This sweet little lizard loves me very much and wants so badly to protect me from harm. She (surely my lizard is a she) is responsible for the “Four F’s.” I don’t know if eveyone’s lizard brain focuses on one of the F”s more than the others. Mine focuses on two. Fleeing and feeding. (Fighting and F***ing seem to be less urgent to my lizard.)

Oh sometime I will tell you about how successfully my lizard has made me run and hide through out the years. Fleeing from any possibility of pain. Leading of course to different pain. Such a misguided little lizard.

And misguided in her worry about feeding. For so many years… hundreds…. thousands…. millions….. there was not enough. Never enough. If you had access to food, you should eat it! Build up a nice layer of fat to keep you safe for the winter. Such a good survival strategy. But my body seems to have missed the memo. Scarcity is gone. Now there is too much. (My problems are all caused by too much.) When I try to eat more carefully, to lose weight…. my sweet little lizard jumps to attention. Oh sometimes she’ll sleep for a while. She won’t notice. But then… once a few pounds slide off…. there she is. Scared. Panicked. Protective.

And she takes over my brain and my stomach and my hands and my mouth and my appetite and my control. Driving me to food. Driving me to eat. Driving me – right over my plans and my willpower – to eat. With a force and determination that you cannot imagine. The strongest lizard you’ve ever seen!

And so I rub that little spot on the back of my neck. Just below the hairline. And I speak- a soft, soothing, loving voice. But I promise the words are spoken out loud. I so want her to hear me.

Oh little lizard. Thank you. Thank you for wanting to take care of me. Thank you for wanting to keep me alive. You are so good! So strong and so important! I know you think I am starving us… but sweet lizard – I am not. I’ve got this. We are not going to starve. There is plenty of food. We don’t need to panic. I promise I will keep feeding us. I promise I will keep us alive. I promise I am taking care of us.

Go back to sleep little lizard. Please. Please go to sleep. Rest. Please let go of the grip you have on my will. Let it go. Let me go.

It is beautiful- magical and wonderous- that you bring millions of years of memories and experience to me. Connecting me to everyone and everything that has come before me.  That you are part of me and that your instincts to protect me are so strong.

But you have to trust me. I know what is best right now. It is time. Let it go. Let me go.

Coincidences.  And lies.

I was having a conversation last week about lies.  Kinds of lies, lies we remember, lies we regret.  I’m 49 years old.  I have told a few lies….

But the first lie I can remember telling sticks out in my mind.  A lie I hadn’t confessed until this conversation.  I was probably six years old and I had a neighbor named Sheryl.  She lived across the street and down a little bit.  I remember the concrete steps that led to the side door of her house.  I remember the smell of the wild mint that grew there.  (I keep mint growing  outside my house even now because I have always loved that smell.)

We were playing in her basement, where we often played.  Her brother was there.  Younger.  If memory serves me correctly (and oh I hope it does) he was a toddler.  I think we hula hooped there.  Built with those big red cardboard blocks.  Maybe it was one of these that made us need more room to play on the day I remember.  But there was a TV set on a rolling cart.  (I think it was a rolling cart…)  And I needed to move it.  So I pushed.  But I didn’t push from down low on the cart.  (Which is of course what I should have done.)  Instead I pushed on the TV.  And. Down. It. Fell.  I remember the crash.  The shattering.  I swear I can hear it.  And then I did the most cowardly thing.  Looking back, an awful thing (but please remember I was only six).  I blamed Sheryl’s brother.  In my clever devious head I thought that he was too young to get in real trouble.  Young enough it could have been an accident.  And young enough that maybe he couldn’t tell on me.  I remember his mother being upset.  In my head I remember her yelling (though sometimes as a child I heard things as yelling that weren’t.  Criticism and anger have always been amplified in my head.)  I think (not sure) that my parents were even called over.  (Suggesting maybe they didn’t believe my lie.)  And I believe (I fear) I lied to them too.  “It wasn’t me.  It was him.”  Probably looking right in their eyes.  (Because once you say it – how do you get out??)

There it is.  My first real lie.  And I told this story last week.

This story led to others.  My friend Holly who lived behind me.  We played on her monkey bars.  Made dares.  Collected pussy willows and put them in match boxes and pretended they were our babies.  Our pets.  It was a lovely little trip down memory lane.

And then…. THAT NIGHT… I was on Facebook.  Chatting with a friend using messenger.  You know how in the top corner there is sometimes a number to indicate that you have unread messages?  Well it stayed after my last response.  That happens sometimes. Eventually it disappears.  I never can figure it out.  But that night it happened and it bugged me.  And I was sitting mindlessly in front of the television… so I tried to figure it out.

Hmmm…..  At the bottom is a small icon marked “people.”  And it had a four.  So I clicked.  Then a choice that said Message Requests.  And again the four.  So I clicked.  There was a fb message from a museum (come to our event).  Two messages from strangers.  (So maybe this is like a fb spam catcher??)

And a message from Sheryl.  My childhood neighbor and friend.  Whose mint garden I still smell.  Whose basement I remember.  Whose TV I broke.  Sheryl.

I was shocked.  Physically shaking.  It was a nice little message.  Giving a few details of my childhood life.  Wondering if I was her long lost friend from South Bend.  Whose parents bred Himalayan cats.  Sheryl said she moved away when she was seven and always wondered what happened to her friends Shelley and Holly (who I had also mentioned that very day!!)   I immediately responded.  I was just talking about you today!!!  How incredible is this?!!  And then I waited.  I finally thought to look and see what time she had messaged.  And I was shocked again.  Sheryl had sent her message in June of 2012.  Five and a half years. I had been carrying that message in my pocket for five and a half years.  And on this day…. THIS DAY…. I discovered it.

And guess what.  She wrote back.  We had a few exchanges.  And I kept wondering.  Was the universe telling me to apologize??  To confess the guilt of this big/little lie I have carried for 43 years?

And so …. I asked about her brother.  The one I most owe an apology to.  And it turns out tragedy had struck.  He was riding his bicycle as a young teen and he was hit and killed by a car.  I won’t have a chance to make an apology to this boy (whose face I don’t remember.)  And I asked about her parents.  Her mother has Alzheimer’s…. She doesn’t remember things….. most likely not a shattered TV and a lying little girl from so many years ago.  (Oh I hope the memory doesn’t sometimes haunt her, too.)

And so for now I am keeping my secret.  Holding onto my first lie so hard my knuckles are white.  I wonder if she will see this blog.  Read my stories.  Find herself here.  I wonder if she remembers.  I wonder how much we will reconnect.  I wonder if I will ever confess.

Liz said to observe.  To find someone and watch.  To notice all of the physical things.  And then to imagine what they mean.  To imagine what is inside.  To imagine the life and history that are just under the surface.

And there he was sitting on the bench at the doorway of Kohl’s.  Between four walls of glass.  Like he sat in that glass enclosure just so I could observe him.  Once again the universse is kind in sending me little gifts.

So he was sitting on the bench.  Loafers with tassels.  Wrinkled khakis.  Yellow polo.  Name tag encased in worn plastic hanging down from a lanyard.  Glasses.  Close shaved head- so close I thought he was bald at first.  Shoulders hunched down.  Elbows resting on his knees.  Now sitting up.  Elbows on knees.  Sitting up.  His only movement.  Eyes always cast down.  Even when people walk in.  Doesn’t raise his head for eye contact.  Holding something in his hand.  A candy bar?  Maybe a granola bar.  Off brand.   Nothing I recognize.  Taking a bite.  Holding it in both hands between bites.  I see the silver foil in his hand and then it is gone.  I  don’t know where it went.  Now stretching the fingers of his right hand.  Opening and closing.  Like he his hand hurts.  Maybe artheritis?  The weather is changing, after all.  A little cough from time to time.  His hand up to his face.  I thought it was going to be a kind of a rub, but he is holding it there.  Hand covering mouth and chin.  Elbow on knee.  Rubbing hands together.  Impatient but calm.  Not agitated.  Now looking around.  Crisp white undershirt peeking out of collar.  Wrinkles at the back of his neck.  No… rolls.  Ears are a little big.  Soft and plump.  Skin looks soft.  Even sitting I can tell he’s not tall.  Sitting up now but shoulders angled straight down.  Like a captial A.  Gravity pulling them down.  With better posture his shoulders might be broad.  Not sure his age.  60’s?  Late?  The ID badge suggest he still works.  Nose a little big.  A little red.  Broken capillaries?  A big drinker?  Pants a little short.  Belt and shoes both shiny brown leather.  Soft belly ovrhanging his belt.  Looks weary.  Tired.  End of a long day.  Very still.  Occasionally touching his face.  Wiping nose.  A little cold coming on?  He’s barely even noticed yet.  No kleenex in his pocket.  Forward and back.  Not rocking.  Shifting.  Stoic.  Former military?  A lump or a mountain.  I can’t tell for sure yet.  The glasses are bifocals.  Looking out the window but never in towards the store.  Waiting, I assume, but not looking in to watch.  Just leaned back and took his wallet out of his pocket.  Straightening out his cash!  Trying not to look like he’s just sitting thre with nothing to do.  Not playing on a cell phone.  (Reflective maybe of his age.)  Now organizing the credit cards.  Keeping busy.  Looking towars the store now.  Getting just a little impatient.  Ready to go.  Still not making eye contact with people as they walk in and out.  Hasn’t smiled once.  Looks weary.  Maybe a little bit past when he would’ve liked to retire.  Not quite doing what he had hoped.  Wanted a job with shiny shoes and shiny belts.  Not wrinkled khakis and a garish yellow polo.  Plastic nametags on lanyards.  I think he is disappointed.  Tings are fine.  Things have always been fine.  Just not quite what he hoped for.

Put his wallet back in his pocket.  Shifted a little.  A wiggle.  (He wouldn’t have called it a wiggle.)  Getting uncomfortable on the metal bench.  Butt getting numb.  Took something out of his pocket and I can’t tell what it is.  I can see his reflection in the window.  I’m standing behind him.  He’s almost caressing it.  I see it now.  Maybe it is a phone after all.  Maybe a little younger than I thought.  Yes.  HIs phone.  But I suspect he uses it mostly for phone calls.  He isn’t reactin to whatever he’s watching or doing.  Still no smiles.  No emotion.  Maybe he is texting his wife.  “Are you finished yet?  I’m ready to go.  Hurry now.”  But he doesn’t look angry at all.  Resigned.  Even patient.  It’s not the first time he has sat and waited for her.  A routine they have.  She doesn’t like driving very much anymore.   So he takes her shopping .  And waits on the bench.  Thinking about things that weren’t just the way he hoped.  Good wife.  Grandkids.  But some things he would do differently.  A little more adventure maybe.  A little more life.  Less sitting on a bench watching people pass him by.  Holding the phone.  Just looking at it.  Running his thumb along the edge.  Doesn’t quite know what everybody things is so great about these things.  He’s just fine in his own head.

Holding his phone in his left hand.  Swiping now.  Solitaire?  NO.  No games.  Thumbs are up and he’s focused.  Reading texts maybe?  Still ero change in facial expression.  Ankles crossed now casuall.  Leaning back a little bit.  Somehow this makes him look younger.  A little bit.  Now he’s looking in.  At the checkout.  Eyebrows up- making wrinkles on his forehead.

Damn.  I gave up one second too soon.  I walk to my car and here they come.  Following right behind me.  Walking right past.  And I misjudged every single thing.  He is smiling at her.  She is younger.  Cute.  Trendy.  (Blushing when I realize I am admiring her hair that looks much like mine.)  And she’s carrying her own packages, thank you very much.   But he does open the door for her.  With a little smile.  Not  the little old lady I expected at all.  You might think that standing next to someone younger would make him seem older… but he doesn’t .   He seems younger next to her.  He seems younger standing up.  Not hunched over anymore.  Nice strides.  Not a hint of a shuffle in his walk.  And his shirt says Baylor University.  Not what I expected.  And as he walked by I smiled andsaid hello.  And he said hello.  Strong low voice.  A little nod.  Not quite a smile, but friendly enough.

Maybe he was only waiting for contact.  Much like me.

I should have said hello sooner…

All of this read to my acting class.  Forgetting a bit about who and where I am.  Which was part of the task I think.  Liz- the teacher –  liked the things she saw on my face.  She liked that I got lost in it.  I liked that I felt like I belonged there.  In the middle of the makeshift stage.  Telling my story.

Years ago I lost a lot of weight, and I used the Wii Fit to help me. Maybe you know of it. It includes a white plastic board that you stand on, and a very judgemental squeeky voiced avatar on the screen letting you know how successful you were being. Oh my goodness I’m never going back to that particular kind of torture!

But one of the things it emphasized was balance. There were excercises where you stood on one foot, or leaned your body this way and that, at just the right angle. Holding awkward poses until the right lights lit up to show success or failure… at balance.

I know balance is important. It can keep you from falling when you miss a step.

And boy, do I miss steps! Physically (oh yes I am clumsy) and metaphorically. I forget things. I get sloppy. My head in a cloud as things pass right by. I know if my life is in balance…. it can keep me from falling when these things happen. When I have planned ahead- left myself time and room to fix small mistakes- then my misteps do not cause so much trouble. (Wouldn’t it be nice if beeps and lights on a screen would grab our attention when we are out of balance.)

I am losing weight again. I know, I know… you haven’t noticed yet. That’s ok– I have. I feel it. I am walking differently already. Noticing a very small shift in my balance. The way I am carrying myself. A little bit taller and straighter.

And I am paying attention to it. As I walk, I feel the balance. Controlling myself more. Not dragging myself along… but propelling forward with a bit more purpose. Maybe even confidence. (Loving this feeling….)

As I walk I have been holding my upward foot just an extra moment in the air. Just an extra inch or two along with the extra second. Pushing my balance. Aware of it. Feeling it. Making it deliberate. Pushing more and more strongly with the foot that is on the ground. Heel to toe. And floating on air just a tiny bit longer with the other.

Maybe that is silly. Maybe it means nothing. (Although I think very few things mean nothing.) A tiny step. A breath more balance. An inch more balance. So small you wouldn’t notice if you saw me in the hall (just like you haven’t noticed these first few pounds.)

Sometimes you might even catch me standing with one foot barely off the ground as I make my copies or pour my coffee. Silly floating moments. Exploring my weight and balance in such tiny ways. Feeling tiny shifts.

I want balance. And I am willing to work for it. To push for it.  At the very least, I am trying to be more aware of it.

Looking inward and looking outward. Giving and taking. Learning and teaching. Working and playing. Loving and being loved.

Balance.

I’m regaining my balance.

Watch me…. strong and floating and balanced.