10/23/17—Seeing Passion Again

I had a very emotional day or two come to me this week. It came out of the blue. I thought I'd tell you about it.

The day after I moved into my house back in 1999, a little puppygirl moved in. I named her Passion. At the time, I'd carried around a key fob with "passion" on it for years to remind me to always follow my passion. And one of my passions was dogs. 

Regular readers know me as a big lover of the canine set. I currently have three dogs. But for five years, it was just me and Passion...Pashie. Pashie grew to be 100lbs of alpha female aggression and stubbornness. She wasn't human aggressive at all. But she did not like female dogs. Nor did she like male dogs who questioned her authority. And in the 10 years I knew her, despite trying all sorts of alpha rolling and other things you read about online, she never quite conceded to me either. Passion and I both share the strong, stubborn woman gene. We were, at once, each other's most loyal compatriot and biggest pain in the ass.

It quickly became clear to me that Passion wasn't like other dogs. Most dogs have dog souls. Passion, I felt, had a human soul. I don't say that lightly. I wouldn't say it about any other dog I've had, save maybe one when I was growing up. I'm quite convinced Passion was someone from my soul group who loved me so much that s/he volunteered to come here and live the short, boring, dependent, and captive life of a dog in order to teach me what love is, and how to love.

And by love, I don't mean care for. I mean love. Unconditionally. And not just love unconditionally, but love in a way that, even if you don't get love in return, you give it without the expectation of reciprocity. And the kind of love that, even when they make you mad, you can't really go there. Because you are always aware that you will land right back at love again. So what's the point? Love—and the surrender to it—was a power and a blessing Passion and I held over each other.

I consider that a great privilege. Because while some people learn that kind of love, some do not quite get there in this lifetime. Not in a romantic relationship. Not in a friend relationship. Or even in a parent-child relationship. And some don't even know what love is. They think of it as sex. Affirmation. Attention. Money...any number of things. And because they don't know what it is, they don't know how to fully give it or feel it either. They don't know how to surrender. And love is one of—if not THE—greatest things for a soul to learn. I myself, never learned it from a man. Or a parent. Or anyone else. I think my mother came the closest to knowing it and feeling it, but anything I learned about it from her pales in comparison to what I ended up learning from a dog. 

Wrapping up the story of Passion so I can tell you what happened, when Passion was five I could see she was bored. And since Passion and I were both stubborn, and also because both of us just take ourselves too damned seriously, I proposed getting another dog. That dog was Kizzie, the boy I watch sunsets with. I let Passion co-parent him. And she ruled with an iron fist. I'm adding in many links, because the story of Passion and what I learned from her has so many good nuggets I couldn't possibly say them all here. Anyway, she was rather oppressive to be around for both me and Kizzie, and I think she has visited many times to make it up to Kizzie, at least. 

Pashie as a puppygirl, still growing into her ears.

As you can see from the picture above, Passion was a beautiful dog. And she had this quirky thing where one ear stood straight up and the other flopped down. Another thing you might be able to see in that top pic is the regal, soulful way she could look at you. So one of "our things" was that I might catch sight of her and, with hands on top of my head simulating ears, I would signal one ear up and one ear down. And then I would smile or laugh, because my god, she was just so precious.

So earlier this week I'm at a stop light and, in the back of the jeep in front of me, I see a German Shepard mix with one ear up and one ear down. Without thinking, my hands were on top of my head, and I was laughing. Until I realized it had been 8 or 9 years since I had done that. Then I cried. At which point the dog looked at me head-on and looked EXACTLY like that photo above...that soulful look. And in the black and brown of the dog in the back of the jeep somehow...somehow I saw my red-headed Passion. For a second, she was there. And I lost it. 

All that day and most of the next I felt her with me. And each time I thought of her, I started weeping. At one point, I "asked her" why she was here. Kizzie is old and I was afraid maybe she was coming for him. But what I heard back was, "I come and see you all the time, but you never see me. I wanted you to see me." I'm crying again, just thinking about it. 

You know, I had mentioned that Pashie's strong personality was oppressive. And as guilty as I feel saying it, there was some release when she died. Of course I was heartbroken, but I also felt the lifting of the oppression. As a kid we got a new dog immediately after the old dog died. So within a few weeks, Kizzie and I chose the funny, sweet, loving and incredibly loyal Magick Moonbeam. 

Kizzie and Magick, sharing guard duty in the back yard.

I don't feel like I neglected mourning Passion. She died right before a weeklong vacation and Kizzie and I healed a great deal during that time. Passion had once had a really deeply spiritual encounter with a deer...I should tell that story sometime ...and we went to the site of that and held a little ceremony for her. And after her ashes came back, he and I released them where she wanted them released...in the river she loved to swim in. 

But I don't know. This German Shepard thing made me realize for the first time in a long time how much I missed her. And, at first I thought maybe all the crying was some sort of delayed grief. But maybe it was just to remind me that the mourning never goes away. The missing never goes away. My mother has been gone 33 years—way longer than I ever knew her—and I can still ache from missing her. 

But maybe there is yet another reason this made me cry. What Passion "said" really strikes me...she can see me, but I can't see her. Pictures are one thing, but seeing that kind of "incarnation" is stunning. When she was alive, I used to tease her by saying, "You pretend not to love me, but you really do." Chow dogs are known to be aloof. Passion meted out her demostrative love like a miserly old lady pulling a quarter out of a coin purse. It was part of the oppression...lots of stern looks and a blase attitude toward snuggles and kisses and other shows of affection. 

But this week she came back, not just to see me, but also so I could see her back. And maybe that's why this has been so emotional for me. Passion really did love me after all. She loved me every bit as deeply as I loved her. And she finally learned how to show it.

10/16/17—Redefining Goals

Lately, while watching the sunset with Kizzie, I've been seeing a man and a little boy walking through the neighborhood. My guess is they are father and son.

The little boy might be around four years old. And he's very curious. They move slowly because he needs to inspect the bark on a tree. Or pick up an acorn. Or look at a plant. Or run his finger through the crack in the sidewalk. Or follow a passing squirrel to see where he's going. By my count, he stops an average of four times for each property. It's a long block, so it must take at least an hour to walk around.

And while that's all sweet and everything, what really catches my interest is the father. Because he is SO patient. And not only that, but he points stuff out for his son to stop and inspect. It's really nice to see a father spending that kind of quality time with his son, especially in a region where most people are workaholics and hire aupairs to deal with their progeny.

The dad's patience got me thinking. I could never be that dad. My god. If you're going for a walk, then go for a walk! This kid stops way more than my dogs do to sniff and whatnot, and sometimes I'm too impatient even for their sniffing.

To me, the goal of a walk is for you to get to the end efficiently. It wasn't always that way. When I was in better shape, the goal might have been sustained aerobic activity. Enjoyment. Or to see scenery on a hike. But now, I guess, it's just to get it done. Which makes me a little sad, but that's for a different blog post. This post is about patience. And goals. And it's also a little about "thank god Tierney never had children because she is definitely not suited for the reality of being a parent."

There are times I can muster patience. But I don't really need to practice it very often. Most goals in my life are met before patience comes into play. Or maybe that means I'm sufficiently patient enough to enable my goals. Looking at that man and his boy, however, I saw there were levels of patience way beyond what would be realistic for me. And don't get me wrong. I'm not knocking that. I admire his patience. I'm just saying I clearly am lacking because it would drive me batty. I could do one walk like that maybe, but they're out there a couple of times a week!

Still, I can see what a special time it is for both of them. My dad had no patience for his children, which is probably where I get my lack of patience for them from. And as a result, I grew up feeling like I wasn't worthy of that effort. That little boy will never forget how his dad took time for him, tried to see the world through his eyes, and was truly interested in whatever interested him. It's a very healthy and wonderful thing, assuming he's not similarly indulged at home. Then it could turn the kid into a monster. But from my front stoop, as I sit there with one around my boy, singing to him and whispering sweet nothings even though he's a dog, it's a beautiful thing to see.

This has also got me thinking about where I might be chasing the wrong goals. For me, on a walk with a child, my goal would be to get to the end. But look at all I'd be missing. Like my time on the stoop with Kizzie, this is probably the best time of that dad's day. (And, in my defense, plenty of people don't have the patience to watch a sunset, so I do have some patience in me.) It's like how my dieting goals are screwed up...my goal is to sufficiently deprive, rather than strategically nourish, for example. Or with exercise...the goal is clearly to torment myself with inaction, instead of strengthening my asthma addled lungs or some other more compelling reason. Up until recently the goal with my book writing was to power through, as if it is a chore. Instead, now I'm more inspired to serve the needs of people who want to form a one-on-one connection with spirit. It's a more fulfilling goal.

So it's a question worth considering, especially in places you're stuck or unable to move forward. Maybe instead of beating yourself up for not meeting a goal, maybe you're pursuing the wrong goal in the first place. That man's goal is not to take a walk with his son. It's to make special moments with his son so he doesn't miss out on anything. Both goals get you to the same finishing line, but one is more motivating and fulfilling. How might you apply this to your life?

10/7/17—Enjoying the View

Here's a classic post...

I was giving a reading the other day and said something so wise I surprised even myself! :D I may not be the first to say it, but its worthy of repeating and reconsidering even if you've heard it before. Plus, I've been living it and considering it for a few days and it's a great thought to carry around... 

At this very moment, your dream has come true and your future dreams are coming true. Today was a day you dreamed of. 

Think about it. THIS was a moment you dreamed into fruition. And even though it may feel like a "flawed moment"...or not as perfect as the dream you envisioned...it is nonetheless the moment of manifestation for you. A moment to cherish and celebrate. 

Consider that everything that happened today and will happen tomorrow is in response to a prayer you put out. We're always making dreams of the future...always working toward a future dream that continually expands ever further into the future as we meet goals, take unexpected turns and live our daily lives. And because of this, it seems like today is just never good enough. But today is the answer to a dream you had not that long ago. Rejoice in the answer to a dream rather than poo poo it as not as good as the revised vision you have now. You couldn't even have that vision if you didn't once dream the dream you're living today. 

A year ago I dreamed I'd be more mentally clear and more physically capable. And I am. And yet it's not good enough. I want even more now. And a curse of being human is that we don't know how to exist without a dream of something more. So we're never satisfied with what we have. The thirst for more serves a purpose in moving us forward. But with all these mountains we climb, we really should take the time to enjoy the view. Living a life of purpose that doesn't account for appreciating the beauty of the process is missing the point, imo. 

Part of the challenge of taking personal responsibility for having dreamed this and every day of our lives—whether consciously or unconsciously—is realizing that the things we dreamed of, in the reality we actually live in, have upsides and downsides. For example, I dreamed of having dogs. So when I carry three sacks of poo with me for a mile on a walk, that's a day I dreamed of. Because that's part of the reality of dogs. 

Say that, years back, you dreamed of the day you'd be married to the spouse you have now. Or say you dreamed of getting the job you have now. And now you're unhappy with that situation, whatever it is. Dreams, when translated into reality, have upsides and downsides. So this is a day you dreamed of. 

And so imagine that today you're dreaming of being free of that job or marriage. Then, in reality, things are probably going to get worse before they get better, because most of us need to be pretty miserable to take on changes like that. Therefore, the miserable times are all days you dreamed would happen. And now imagine that you're free of that situation, at last. But you're feeling lonely on Friday night or are unemployed or maybe having trouble settling in to your new job. Those are all days you dreamed of, too. And if you want to change that, it's likely it will all get worse before it gets better, so those are the days you're dreaming of now when you dream of changing the situation. 

And the same goes for all the happy and neutral days we all have, too. I just didn't mention them, because it's easier to imagine the good days being days you dreamed of. We'll readily take credit for having brought those into fruition using our powerful dreaming abilities...haha. 

So consider taking your head out of all that you want to accomplish before next month, next year or the end of your life and spend some time appreciating the powerful fact that you created today. It is an answer to a prayer. You are that good. So good, in fact, that all the dreams you have for tomorrow are unfolding effortlessly as we speak, just as today unfolded from yesterday's dreams. 

By the time we fulfill our intentions and reach the places we dreamed of yesterday, it's too late to enjoy the process. And, besides, we already have a new dream in mind that we're focused on instead. The only time to really appreciate and enjoy the striving is not when we've reached our destination, because we never really do. It's day by day as we're experiencing it. 

Today is the day you once dreamed of. You are magic. You are literally living the dream. Celebrate the beauty of this moment.

10/2/17—Winning

Lately I feel like I'm winning.

I've had two perfect, one-on-one, mommy-and-me dates with my dogs recently. I've been having good parkma. Work is doing ok. I've been doing some writing on my book. I lit the pictured fire with one match tonight.* The weather has finally realized it's fall. And I don't feel like killing myself lately. Perhaps my bar is set a little low, but I'll take it.

Anyway, some of this is due to circumstance, but I've also been using my One Better Decision method of getting out of ruts. Basically, it's this. We have all these bad or unproductive habits and we make unconscious decisions about them every day. So if we consciously replace one of those decisions with one different or better decision each day, it will shake us out of our rut. We just need to zig where we tend to habitually zag.

As an example, I wanted to work more on my book. For months, the only thing I've done about my book is feel guilty about not doing anything. So each day, I did something small, rather than do nothing at all. One day I attended a writing teleseminar. Another day I jotted down some notes when I had a thought, instead of telling myself I'd remember. I've written a few nights, instead of not writing. One day I came across two articles I could use to help shape some thoughts and bookmarked them. Tonight as I was watching the fire, I watched it through the eyes of me after I've met my goal...I visualized my dream. See, it doesn't have to be a big thing or a time-consuming thing. Just do something you're not doing now. Making progress at a snail's pace is better than making no progress at all. And progress begets more and better progress. It never fails me. I feel better after doing it for a week or two every time. The only flaw with it is that I tend to stop doing it once I'm feeling good and productive again.

But there are also cycles we go through. I am emerging from a long dormant cycle. And lately I've also been noticing progress that happened while I was in my pupa. So I'm bolstered by that. And I've had some positive vibes about the future. I've also had some very nice, satisfying days lately. Even if I'm just being lazy, I'm savoring more. I wish I'd been born someone who feels happy and hopeful and confident all the time. If that person even exists. But I don't get that often enough in my life...or haven't even really felt that way for years. At least not for any notable length of time.

But even with that, I'm feeling hopeful. Because my depression and other issues make me a virtual font of things to write about that help others who may be having my issue du jour. I have spent a lot of time feeling "broken" or put upon by my emotional happenings, both chemical/hormonal and self-made. And I've never really noticed or acknowledged that part of me as my special gift...my divine gift. 

For Van Gogh and Sylvia Plath and many others, it was the fuel behind their legendary expressions of art. Edvard Munch, the artist of The Scream, said, "My fear of life is necessary to me, as is my illness. Without anxiety and illness, I am a ship without a rudder ... my sufferings are part of my self and my art. They are indistinguishable from me, and their destruction would destroy my art."

Could it be possible that the very thing I've let debilitate and limit me throughout my life, is also my divine gift? Could its equivalent in you also be yours? For me, it's beginning to look that way. Little did I realize that I may have been winning all along.


*Just for funsies, open up the picture and see if you can see a woman's face in the smoke, just at the top edge of the bowl, immediately to the left of the flame. It is very faint, but very detailed in the faintness. I have captured a girl in the smoke in the same place twice before and tonight I asked if the girl was there when I took this pic. This looks more like a woman, but whatever. Also, over to the right, a little above the edge, there's very clear dog's head or horse head in an oddly manifested flame. It's in the flame and not the smoke.

9/25/17—Letting Go Of Holding Myself Back

Starting when I was 16, my mom began dying from cancer. I lost her when I was 21. Then a few years later, my father was murdered by my stepmother—the woman he met after my mother died—for the insurance money. When I was 25, I was the only person I knew whose parents were both dead. And I wore that story for a very long time.

I also wore the story of an abusive boyfriend I was with for a couple of years. And the two exhausting years lost to anemia because a nurse forgot to tell me to take an iron pill. And the many more exhausting years lost to asthma because a doctor insisted on diagnosing me as merely fat.

For many years I wore these stories and more—partly because they proved my resiliency, partly because I learned so much from them that I could share with others and partly, frankly, because they allowed me to feel sorry for myself and remain stuck.

When I was in my 20s, my stories were big for someone so young. Now that I'm in my 50s, I realize everyone has a tragic story to tell. Sure, not all are as dramatic as having a black widow for a stepmother, but everyone has something that is just as traumatic for them. Some have even worse. Maybe they lost a child. Or lost a limb. Or maybe they had to battle cancer.

I love watching TV shows where people compete, whether it's something inane like Big Brother or something cool like American Ninja Warrior. Because of higher priority DVR conflicts, I only get to watch one or two episodes of Dancing With The Stars each year. But I saw the first episode recently. Debbie Gibson was on and talking about living with Lyme Disease and how she doesn't know from one day to the next how she will feel. But she presses on. She said that everyone has something, so she can't sit around feeling sorry for herself. Like Tierney Sadler does.

At least that's what I heard.

Then there was Victoria Arlen who, at 11, became paralyzed and was in a vegetative state for four years, aware of what was going on around her, but locked in a body that couldn't respond. She was paralyzed for 10 years, during which time she became a Paralympic athlete and an ESPN sportscaster. In her life, she has had to relearn EVERYTHING...talking, eating and even just making simple moves. Then she relearned how to walk. She can't feel her legs, but she can move them. And, a year after relearning to walk, she's on fricking Dancing With The Stars!

Which reminds me of Mandy Harvey. This woman was in college, studying voice, when she suddenly went deaf. Well, she is singing again and she is amazing. Really. If you haven't heard this, you must. And it's not like all the songs she writes and performs are about going deaf or overcoming tragedy. It's almost like a side note, because her voice and her messages are so beautiful. But there was one song with the lyric, "I have no one to blame, because the only one standing in my way is me. Did you hear that, Tierney Sadler?" Of course, I'm quoting those lyrics from memory so I could be a little off.

These shows always make me cry. I've even written about it before. And I'm beginning to think maybe I'm crying because I am letting my stories hold me back. And while these people have the courage to use their stories as a springboard for something greater, I'm letting mine excuse me from not doing the hard work they have done. I've become comfortable, complicit, and complacent in my stagnation and mediocrity. And I hate that about me. It's not what I want for myself.

Although I sometimes doubt it or fear it isn't true, I believe there is much more I'm meant to aspire to and achieve in my life. And hey, where I am right now is a blessing. Don't get me wrong. But I feel my calling is intended to be something beyond where I am right now. In fact, I was musing over that very thought tonight while gazing at a crescent moon in a clear sky when a firefly literally got all up in my face, flashed his butt at me once, then flew off. A firefly! In September! They are gone by or around July in these parts each year.

So I googled the spiritual significance of a firefly—because that's what you do when the last living firefly on earth makes a point of getting your attention—and the meaning I found likened it to The Hermit card in tarot. The seer, the sage...the spiritual teacher. The Illuminator. Which just happens to be the "greater calling" I was thinking about when the firefly showed up. (And The Hermit also happens to be either my birth or destiny card in the tarot. I can't remember which.)

More than that, I see bats most nights at dusk. But tonight they were especially prevalent, circling constantly over my head and home for the 15-20 minutes I sat outside watching it get dark. Symbolically speaking, bats guide us through darkness and ready us for something new and healing in our lives. My thoughts had been swirling around that, too, as the bats were swirling over my head. So I took this all as a sign, because duh.

I have held myself back for quite some time because it's safe. And I get by like this. I get to work for myself in my own home. Sometimes I just barely subsist, but I'm nonetheless subsisting. I have three constant sources of love and approval and adoration no further than 10 feet away from me at any given time. I have the world's most adorable home. I have like-minded friends. I have a peaceful and quiet life. There is nothing tragic here. Nothing to escape from. But I know there is more I could...should...be doing. And I've known this for some time. And once you become fully conscious of something like that, it becomes harder to ignore...harder to indulge and deny.

I'm always going to have my stories. I couldn't leave them behind if I wanted to. But I don't have to have a co-dependent relationship with them. I don't have to use them as an excuse for the unhealthy, stagnating choices in my life. And I don't need the voices of doubt and fear that hide out in the folds of my stagnation steering my ship, either. 

I may not feel ready to start right this minute. I won't make lofty claims or timelines. But I know this—once I'm aware of anything at a new level like this, change is inevitable. 

Which led me to one more thought as I gazed up at that crescent moon. The universe has always brought the right things into my life. Some of them delighted me, some challenged me, some broke my will for a while, some broke my heart. But they were all necessary to bring me to where I am. And despite my fears and doubts, the universe will bring me what's necessary to get me where I'm bound. I just need to face forward, do what I can to help, and otherwise get the hell out of its way.

9/18/17—Cruising Into A New Phase

Kizzie and I went on a Canine Cruise today. Just a boy and his mommy on a one-on-one date (the girls will get their turns, too.) We had a blast. 

It was one of those days when everything went perfectly. There was a huge festival a block from the pier, but we slipped in early and got ideal parking just in time. There were a lot of dogs out for their morning walks so, since we got there early, we sat in the shade watching them trot by before the cruise boarded. Then the cruise went really smoothly. I'd guess there were 25-30 dogs and everyone got along very nicely. I had been feeling ooky the two days prior, and was worried I'd be miserable, but I felt good and had plenty of energy. The cruise was geared for tourists and we got a clear shot of the Washington Monument and other landmarks, albeit from a distance. Which was lovely. (For the record, I've lived within 10 miles of DC most of my life and the city's captivating beauty never gets old.) And the weather was beautiful. Everything was perfect. 

It's funny. I'm not around "normal" people very often at all...not where I have to interact in any way. I don't work in an office. I rarely go to parties. And when I get out to do something, I'm doing it with someone in my "tribe". Also, when I was sick, I got in the habit of isolating myself and I guess I really haven't broken that habit yet. I'm just a big hermit. With the exception of my late teens and 20s, I always have been.

But because I was focused on getting a plum parking spot, it hadn't occurred to me to get all anxious about being around mainstream humans. In fact, I actually think I forgot that I feel like I don't fit in to normal society. More than that, I think I no longer care. And more than THAT, I have begun to see everyone else as the weird ones...haha. So we interacted with others as was appropriate, but otherwise kept to our own little world of a one-on-one date with Mommy and Kizzie. It really felt like a newfound sense of freedom, devoid of social concerns.

I noticed something different about Kizzie, too. He has become quite comfortable in his role in our pack. He is the elder and he kind of holds court each day at home. He is a gracious leader. He only interjects if necessary. So he will sit back and observe as Magick and Mystic do their fisticuffs, but when things begin to escalate, he may choose to step forward and temper emotions with his presence. But most of the time he just sits back and watches, like a noble king surveying his court from a throne. Kizzie rules as a lover, not a fighter. He likes to maintain the peace.

The cute thing is that on the boat today, he just assumed all the dogs there understood who he was. So he sat back and observed his court, with all the pride and authority he shows at home. And when this one really big dog barked at something, he popped up to survey the situation and make sure it ended with that one bark. And it did. While most of the dogs didn't even notice him, he nonetheless seemed to think this was his cruise and the rest were merely passengers. 

I loved seeing this because the first time I met him he was so shy and scared of other dogs that, when they put me and his soon-to-be sister in a private room at the shelter to see how we'd get along, he circled us nervously for nearly an hour before he would interact with us. He had been abused and was afraid of people and dogs. The shelter people felt he and Passion, who was extremely alpha and badass, would be good for each other. And they were.

So I just thought it was interesting the ease both of us had today. I wasn't concerned with any of my neurotic crap about others or trying to be liked or accepted, and Kizzie wasn't worried about mean dogs or if he'd be accepted as pack elder. It was nice not to have all the noise in my head that was still there the last time I remember dipping my toe into light and breezy social interaction in the larger world. I even stopped taking the dogs to the local dog park because the other dog owners were kind of jerks...sort of dripping in their entitled egos. So it was also nice to know that, as an empathic person, I could go out into society and be around others and walk away without absorbing all their mess...that it was even possible to walk away blissful, at peace and untainted. 

See the flower at the bottom, separated
from the rest, but also of the rest?
That's how I feel.

I have felt like a fish out of water for as long as I can remember. Like part of society, but on the fringes. Not really connected. Maybe a little shunned. I only really fit with my group of similarly empathic, introspective and spiritual friends. And since I'm usually alone in any kind of social situations, I just feel awkward. I'm fine in professional situations, but otherwise I don't know what to talk to normal people about. I mean, self-employed single loners with no kids have different things to talk about than married, corporate types with kids. I have always been hyper aware that I don't have the best social tools. Which is why I have always sought quiet one-on-one interaction in favor of anything public.

But today, none of that mattered anymore. I feel like I have been lost in a long series of dark places for a long time...since even before I got sick. And each time I emerge from one of these places, I find myself utterly changed for the better. I find myself freer and more expansive. It would be nice to not spend so much time incubating. It would be nice, frankly, to be blissfully ignorant, if that really exists. I'm no stranger to making different choices in life, but even when you make and live and believe in those choices, there's always something or someone to push back or judge harshly. And as long as you're conscious of what others think, it can hurt. But each time I release one of those insecurities or beliefs that keeps me tethered to human conditions that expect us to all to march to a certain drum beat, I like myself more. I trust myself more. And I concern myself less with whether or not I fit anyone else's vision of how people should be.

Kizzie has amazed me at how much a creature can change and free himself over the course of a lifetime. And I'm beginning to amaze myself with the very same thing.

9/11/17—Getting Out Of The Weeds

This is a classic post...

A few nights ago when I was meditating, I asked for some insight. What I heard was very relevant and something I thought I'd share, because I'm certain I'm not alone. 

"You've gotten yourself too far down into the weeds." That's what I heard. And it sounded kind of like my father saying it. Regardless of where it came from, though, I knew what it meant. I'm putting too much thought and energy into things that have no bearing on my purpose and goals in life. I'm wasting my water and sunlight on things that won't grow and I don't want to grow. 

The more I thought of it, the more I saw all the ways I do this. I: 

• Engage in dramas with people who have no bearing on my life.
• Ruminate over things I don't do as well I've done in the past.
• Think about things I wish I could have done better. 
• Think about things I wish I could have said, but didn't.
• Linger over things that have already been dealt with. 
• Worry about things that haven't happened yet. 
• Think about things rather than just do them. 
• Fear doing things that haven't been done yet. 

None of that stuff is moving me toward my goals. Meanwhile, seemingly unrelated things do, in my opinion. Like a retail therapy trip took earlier in the week. It distracted me from energy-sucking thoughts and refueled my energy. In fact, I've done a number of things in the past week that have helped me push my reset button. 

I think I've probably been in the weeds for a long time. I mean, the goals and the move toward them is ever-present, if not always successful. But they're wrapped in a fog of insignificance and distraction, which, frankly has just added stress to the situation. While distraction can lighten the load, especially if you're overly focused, some types of distraction just add weight to your backpack that is not needed. 

The first step toward recovery is recognizing there's a problem. While I knew I wasn't as focused as I could be, I never saw it this way before. If you imagine a cross section of earth, you don't want to be stuck in the thatch of weeds. You want to be up above them where you can navigate the big picture. But then you don't want to be so high that integral parts of the picture are out of sight. 

Now that I recognize this, I need to retrain myself to slough what doesn't matter and not let it distract me. It's a habit that needs to be broken. I think it's important to balance things, so nothing of value gets neglected along the way. When you consider that most of our goals touch many areas of our life, we have to pay attention to the whole tamale. 

So we have to think about where we want to be. What does life look like with your goal met? What does it look like spiritually? How does it impact your health and relationships? If an activity or relationship or way of thinking doesn't align with that vision, part of reaching your goal will have to be letting that go. 

And while you're getting yourself out of the weeds and moving toward your goal, surround yourself with people who not only support your path, but can handle your success. I learned a long time ago that there are people who, for whatever reason, hold a smaller vision for you and your world than you have for yourself. That is their issue. Don't make it yours. Anything you try to pull out of the weeds with you will just weigh you down.