Stepping Away from the Edge

Happy New Year!

I celebrated my own, personal version of Rosh Hashanah on Sunday evening.

I'm not Jewish, and I have never celebrated Rosh Hashanah before. 

But this year, I decided it was time. . . to partake, at some basic level, in the Jewish New Year!

So I ate my first Honeycrisp apple of the season.  With some honey (and, truth be told, some peanut butter, too).  And I set about writing my goals and resolutions for the coming year.*

• Freshen up
• Pare down
• Sharpen tools
• Get out
• Keep moving
• Big stretch
• Make room
• Try things
• Pressure OFF
• Consume responsibly
• Explore faith
• Create light
• Express myself
• Eat well

Happy New Year!

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*Writing my goals has actually been a month-long journaling project.  I'll spare you the details, but just know that each of the two-word goals listed above has a corresponding "story" and set of sub-goals. . . deep in the heart of my current journal!

On Everyday-Ness

When I was young, it seems I was always waiting for . . . something.  The Next Big Event or Special Day or Turning Point that would mark my life and make it "special."  I was totally bored by the ho-hum, everyday cadence of my life.  I wanted Big Things. 

As I grew older, I started to get it.  I began to get a glimpse of what was actually behind all those "life-is-a-journey-not-a-destination" quotes and inspirational posters.  That Special Days . . . were special, sure.  But they weren't . . . everything.

And then I got cancer.

All I wanted, then, was Everyday-ness.

I craved the ordinary, "normal" pace and cadence of life.  I wanted to feel a breeze and drink some wine on my patio and pet my dog and see movies with my husband.  I wanted to talk to my mom on the phone and send cards to my sister and hug my kids and cook a plain, old, ordinary dinner.  I wanted to meet my friends for coffee and sit through committee meetings and sort the mail and pull weeds.  I wanted to put gas in my car and run errands and vacuum my floor and watch tv. 

Yes.  That kind of excitement. 

Sometimes, you have to have the absolute wonder of Everyday-ness threatened. . . to completely appreciate its value and loveliness.  Or . . . that's how it worked for me.

Back in January, in that flurry of goal-making so common to a fresh, new year, I stated that I wanted to "Celebrate the Ordinary" as one of my annual goals.  I try to do this every day.  I really do!  But I was looking for a way to do this with more intention.  Then, a while ago, I saw a new online class being offered by Big Picture Classes called  31 Things. 

31 Things . . . is a class designed to to celebrate the everyday-ness, right now, right here . . . through 31 daily writing and photography prompts.  It's a class designed to help document, understand, and celebrate the routine, daily stuff of life. 

When I read about the class, it seemed like a perfect fit for me!  Not only did I find the content and the structure appealing, but the timing actually works perfectly -- tucked neatly between the end of a very busy work time and my upcoming travels.  I signed up right away!

Day One started yesterday.

So now. . . I'm immersed in 31 Things.  I'm still figuring out how I'll share the process on my blog.  I know I will.  I'm just not sure in what format*. 

Stay tuned!

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*There is also a scrapbooking component to the class.  One thing I know for sure . . . I am not a scrapbook kind of gal!  Although I'm often inspired by the scrapbook journals other people put together, I have found that the scrapbook format does not work for me.  Rather than becoming an extension of expression, scrapbooking becomes a barrier for me!  So, I will NOT be participating in the scrapbooking element of 31 Things.  Just sayin'.

 

 

Shining Images

Each month, the One Little Word project leads you through a guided exercise to help you connect with your chosen word in new and different ways.  For February, it was all about images. . . connecting with your word through photographs or other images that represent your word.

I had a lot of fun with this exercise!  I enjoyed looking through my photo files and finding those that "spoke" to me, in some way, about my word.  I ended up with quite a collection of photos that said SHINE. . . and then I winnowed it down to just nine.

After I chose my images (or maybe. . . I let them chose me. . .), I started reflecting on just why they said SHINE.  What, exactly, was it about each image that so represents SHINE for me?

Well.

Sometimes, something is incredibly beautiful and delicate and fine.  But you don't always notice it until the sun shines and catches it in the light.

There can be plenty of color and passion and beauty . . . even at the end of the day.

Take time to smell the roses!

Embrace each new day.

Quit putting your dreams aside.  DO the things you've always wanted to do.  SEE the things you've dreamed of seeing.  Find a way.

It's a beautiful world we live in.  Get out there.  Notice.

Even when things are in shadow, or you just see an outline, remember. . . the light is shining behind you.

Go for it!  Sip a café crème on the Champs-Élysees!  Follow your dreams. 

Every day is a gift.  Embrace your birthday.  MORE candles; more light; more chances to SHINE.

And, as a final reminder, I included a large image of the Holstee Manifesto - one of my favorite reminders to SHINE.

One Little Word. 

SHINE!

Shine On

When I finished chemo (nearly 3 years ago now!) and started . . . living my life. . . there was a certain sense of . . . Newness.  Freshness.  Shiny-ness. . . all around me.  It was like I had been polished; like whatever had been hidden beneath (from all those years of lliving. . . instead of LIVING) had been suddenly exposed.  A little raw, surely, but also fresh. . . and. . . new. . . and shiny!

The colors seemed brighter; contrasts sharper.  My senses were heightened.  I was more aware.  Of everything.  And the world felt more . . . mine.  I didn't want to wast a minute!  I wanted to DO and GRAB and BE.  I wanted to SHINE.

I really liked that feeling. 

Having cancer sucked, no doubt about that.  Chemo is just plain creepy and unpleasant.  It is shattering to pull back the Veil of Illusion and know, deep in your bones, that your life really IS limited (maybe not now, but . . . eventually).  I came out of that experience, though, with a new attitude.  A sense of . . . Freedom.  Appreciation.  Newness.  Clarity.  Prioirty. 

For a while, I really did live a shiny, new life.  Little things didn't bother me.  I was joy-filled and open to new things.  I felt free-er and happier than I had in a very long time. 

And, in most ways, that is still the case.  But.  I can also tell that some of life's "tarnish" is building up on me again.  It's been long enough (and that's a gift in itself!) that I'm losing some of that . . . shine!

So I think the word SHINE started coming to mind . . . as a way to remind me of what life felt like in that first year after chemo.  To encourage me to buff off the tarnish building up on my life.  To let that fresh, exposed me SHINE through.

One little word.

SHINE

 

Unwrapping: The More Things Change. . .The More They Stay The Same

Last week, I explained that I have been a "journal-er" for a very, very long time. 

When I was a young girl, I loved the notion of keeping a "secret diary."  I was totally enchanted when I got my first diary -- the kind with a locking tab and a tiny key -- for one of my birthdays (probably when I was 9 or 10).  I remember it was gold, and it was embossed with some flourishes and the words "My Diary."  The key was tiny and silver-colored, and I kept it in my jewelry box. 

I loved writing in my little diary.  I remember tracking "important" things -- like what I ate for dinner, what I was going to buy with my allowance, why I hated Certain People at school, and how I wanted a dog.

It seemed pretty magical at the time.  I don't know what ever happened to that particular diary.  I know I kept writing in it - off and on - for several years.

A few years ago, I was going through some old boxes of junk at my parents' house, and I stumbled on to this . . .

Gulp.

It's my journal from 1975!  I was 15 when I started writing in this journal; a sophomore in high school.  I gotta tell you. . . it is humbling - and slightly nauseating - to read what you wrote when you were 15.  Mortifying. . . yet compelling.  I mean, there I was -- raw and uncensored -- on the pages of 1975. 

What did I write?  Well.  Most of it, you just don't want to know. . . but,  I suppose . . . just what you'd expect to find in a 15-year-old's diary.  Lots of He Said-She-Said (to the point of actually documenting dialog).  Hopes.  Dreams.  Heart-wrenching life.  WAY too much about boys and cheerleading and swim meet results.  (Really.  WAY too much on the boys.)  Excruciating details about who-I-saw-where-and-what-they-said-and-what-that-probably-meant.  Real-life drama about learning-to-drive and daily updates about my summer job at the Dairy Queen. 

Here, on Friday, June 6 (the last day of school), if you squint really hard (because I'm just too mortified to actually show the whole page. . .) you can see that I was having a "red-letter"-day --- because (a) I got my driver's license; (b) I got a job (DQ); and (c) "Kevin saw me drive."  Now, I don't remember the "Kevin" I was referring to ---- but it was, apparently, a Big Deal (a really Big Deal) that he saw me drive.

You might also see. . . if you work hard at it . . . that the rest of the entry is a list of the resolutions and goals I had for myself that summer.  Yeah.  I know.  #1 is "get a great tan" (and I did!).  I was 15.  And vain.  And most of the other goals are equally . . . trite.  But.  I also had goals about reading and sewing and working hard at my swimming and keeping up with my French.

Funny.

Sort of . . . like me. . . now.  (With the goals in general; not the back handsprings in particular.)

The other book in the photo above -- the one with the maroon cover -- is another type of journal I started when I was a senior in high school and continued through college.  It's not so much a journal. . . as a collection.  Of quotes and "sayings" and poems, song lyrics and doodles.

I remember loving this "blank book" -- the first I had ever seen back in 1977.  No lines!  You could just . . . draw or write anything you wanted.  Free form!  I loved it!

It is full of . . . all kinds of silly things.  And even though it's not a "journal" detailing the day-to-day of my life, I can look back on what I wrote and what I drew and remember who I was and what I was thinking.

The most amazing things about looking at my journal from 1975 (once I get past the mortification) and my "quote collection" from my college years . . . is . . . how much like ME now. . . I was then.  How I used my journals - then - to work out frustrations; to test out new ideas; to think through goals and hopes and dreams; to record poems and quotes and ideas.  Just like I do now.

Some things change (thank god).  And some things . . . just don't!

Unwrapping: Working It Out On Paper

For as long as I can remember, I have been . . . a documentor. 

As a girl, I kept secret diaries.  As I grew older, I was drawn to journaling.  As a mother, I tracked my kids' daily antics on calendars with big date-spaces.  As a gardener, I maintain detailed notes and drawings in dirt-covered notebooks.  Until recently (when I "went digital"), I documented my entire career in day-planners.  I have kept a family Christmas journal since Erin's first Christmas.  Now, I have this blog.  I'm not sure why, but I am drawn to recording my life.  Documenting my actions.  Committing it to words.  Working things out on paper.

This stack of journals (each one absolutely crammed from beginning to end) covers the period of my life from 1999 through 2009 . . . about the time I started this blog.

My journals are private.  Not that I write about private matters, necessarily.  No, they're just . . . for me.   My own space.  A window on what's going on in my mind.  My journals are much more than writing, though.  I tape in pictures and cards and quotes I especially like, or mementoes like ticket stubs and program books and postcards.

I include dreams and goals and frustrations and disappointments.  Plans and hopes and fears and wonders.  I tend to be a lot more. . . grumpy and neurotic. . . in my jounals than I am in "real life."  (Maybe that's because I get through it in my journals?)

I really do a lot of thinking . . . through writing . . . in my journals.

It's much different (for me, at least) than blogging.   I mean, I'm pretty frank in my blog posts.  I share a lot about my life and my joys and my fears; I think it's pretty clear . . . who I AM.  But.  I'm hyper-aware that this is all public.  That anyone can read it.  That anyone can know me.  So I'm very intentional about what I include in my blog posts. . . and what I don't!

Journaling -- on paper -- offers a release and a "place" that my blog just can't.

My journaling has declined since I started my blog.  Lately, I've been feeling the pull to begin journaling again - in earnest.  Not instead of blogging, but alongside blogging.

Now, I need both outlets in my life. 

After all . . . I am a documentor!