The beauty of light

We stood in a circle, holding hands. I looked around at the faces of students, professors, staff and visitors. At that moment some of them looked radiant. Others looked stressed, tired, sad, or preoccupied. As the silent prayer began I looked down and focused on the center of the circle as I often do, to "center" myself by concentrating on that space where I imagine our energies converge.

First I noticed a patch of light flickering on the carpet, smack dab in the middle of the circle, coming from a window above us, fading in and out, wavering as clouds passed overhead.  I thought, "How nice is that? Sunshine is entering our circle".

 
Then I recognized the shape of the shadow within the distorted rectangle of light and I smiled.  I looked around at others to see if they had noticed it too, but their eyes were closed as they prayed.

Once a week we gather in a circle, hold hands, voice our joys and concerns, then say a prayer before sharing a meal together.  Some people, especially those who are not Quaker, might think this is a strange or uncomfortable thing to do with one's coworkers. I find it comforting. I feel at home. Peacefully at home. We are a group of people sharing the content of our lives with each other, not just sharing space as we do our jobs.

The people who work and study here are very intelligent, well-traveled, insightful, extremely caring individuals.  They each have their causes and passions that drive them to do good works, here in the seminary and out in the world. They have jolly laughs and endearing quirks.  They live simply and give extravagantly. They care about each other deeply.

The way they interact with one another, the way they interact with the world beyond the seminary, inspires me. It warms me to be in their presence. I can feel their light around me.  It is changing me.

I came here to work, exhausted, bitter, resentful and resigned. I felt I had struggled but lost my foothold on that rocky cliff called "career".

But while working in the light of those who study and work here, I feel I am being transformed, as light that shines through a gray dark window is transformed. Once again I feel I am doing good, honest work.  I feel I have a purpose and I am valued in many ways.  I enjoy my work and my coworkers again. Because of this, and because I'm exposed to so many faithful and spiritual others, my faith in "something greater" is being restored. 

I feel like the light from those around me is shining through a gray, dark window within me and it is being transformed.  It's a faint shadow, just a symbol, but somehow it offers hope and comfort.

 

It's the Most (un)Wonderful Time of the Year

I find it ironic that some people are so offended by the use of "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas"; they seem almost militant in their determination to accept "Merry Christmas" as the only appropriate greeting during the holiday season. This confuses me because Christmas is supposed to be about love, peace and giving.  "Christ Mass" is supposed to commemorate the birth of a man who is identified throughout the Gospels as teaching love, acceptance, inclusiveness and humbleness. Forcing "Merry Christmas" on every person, no matter what their background and beliefs, seems just the opposite.  I'm not sure how this kind of disrespect fits into Christ's "Love thy neighbor" teachings.

Many also complain when others use "Xmas" as an abbreviation, assuming they are somehow trying to "X out" or eliminate the "reason for the season." Each year I post an annual Holiday message in my Facebook status to spread the word to those who don't yet know:

"No one is excluding Christmas or Christ when they offer a "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas", and no one is "striking Christ out of Christmas" when they use the term "Xmas". The word "Holidays" comes from the term "Holy Days", which includes Christmas and religious holidays (many that were around before the first Christmas). The term "Xmas" includes the symbol X for the Greek letter Chi, which is the first letter of the Greek word Χριστός, often translated as "Christ"."

Another blogger explains, "The Greek chi which has a sacred history of being an abbreviation for "Christ" Thus, "Xmas" is short for "Christmas." Christ, therefore, has not been taken out of Christmas nor is this a secular, anti-Christian attack on Christmas. Abbreviating Christmas does not make one less a Christian or anti-Christmas anymore than abbreviating any other word. The chi is a reminder that Christmas is about the incarnation of God who condescended himself as a man in order to save mankind."



This silliness is just one of the reasons I don't like the Christmas season, a season that is supposed to be about loving and giving but has become about spending, rushing, exhaustion, complaining, over doing, greed, conflict and extreme commercialism. Again ironically, those who complain the loudest about "putting Christ back in Christmas", the "war over Christmas" and emphasizing Christmas over "holidays" are often the same ones who brag the loudest about their Black Friday buying sprees and their endless Christmas activities that really have nothing to do with Christ's birthday.

Even before Halloween the Christmas countdown begins. While many of us are trying to prepare for Thanksgiving others are preparing their strategies for Black Friday, which now starts on Thanksgiving Day at some stores.  The day's focus can no longer be just about family time and the feast of thanks giving. Store employees are now forced to work on a day that used to be set aside for family time because of this two-day period that is focused on mass consumption. It's all about store ads and coupons, pre-dawn camp-outs in front of stores, and the race to pick up an item before another shopper does. The news is filled with fights breaking out between shoppers. Yet the news is also filled with rants about the so-called "War on Christmas". 


I read a really great article in Sojourners Magazine (http://sojo.net/blogs/2013/12/10/theres-war-christmas-just-not-one-you-think) about the "War on Christmas". Here are some quotes:

"The real “war on Christmas” is when we are more worried about saving a buck than we are about the millions of people in this world without access to clean water or medicine or that there are 22,000 homeless children in New York City alone."

"The real “war on Christmas” is when Americans spend $450 billion on Christmas; however, it would take only $20 billion to ensure that all people in the world could have access to clean water for a year."

"The real “war on Christmas” is when Americans buy products because they are cheap without thinking twice about the person who made it, their working conditions, their pay, or even their age. (Yes, that’s right their age. In some countries it is legal to employ children.)"

"The real “war on Christmas” is when Christians support the overspending and mass consumption propagated by our “spend, spend, spend” culture."

"This so-called “war” is something that Christians every year are participating in but point the judgmental fingers at others."



I totally agree.  The over consumption, the greed, that "spend, spend, spend" culture sickens me, and that's why I don't like Christmas, or least what Christmas has become. Also I don't like feeling pressured to buy things I and others don't need and we can't afford.  I don't like feeling pressured to spend valuable time putting up decorations that I'm going to take down a few weeks or a month later. I don't like losing a meaningful holiday -- Thanksgiving -- to an ever expanding Christmas season.

What others do and what others think about Christmas is none of my business--as long as they don't force their views on me and try to control my thoughts and actions.  As soon as others start pressuring me to act or react in a way that suits them, without regard to my beliefs, then I have issues. Others can do what they want but for me I will continue to try to be inclusive and respectful of believers and non-believers, of Hindus, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists and those who believe otherwise -- citizens of  the good ol' US of A and citizens of the world who should have the same rights as I have to celebrate our respective religious beliefs. That's just who I am. So Happy Holidays everyone.

  

"Detour Ahead" and other signs of life

"Detour Ahead" was the sign that made an impression on me as I was driving home last evening.  Although I have driven past that exact same sign many times in the last several months, this time it kind of jumped out at me. It glowed. I have noticed this -- the signs I'm supposed to take special notice of will glow. They will seem larger than life for a brief moment. They will almost pulsate in size and color. 

This usually happens as I'm driving to or from work, when I've turned the radio off and purposely made myself "more present", or more aware of what's around me rather than what's in my head. I've sometimes spoke out loud to the empty space in the car "Give me focus, fill me with energy so I can meet the needs of this day and the people around me who depend on me." Sometimes I ask for clarity on a specific issue, on something that worries me or a decision I need to make.  Sometimes I ask for peace of mind or for pain to be taken away -- emotional and physical. Some may consider this prayer or meditation.  Some people may look at me in my car and think of me as a crazy woman talking to herself. I'm not sure what it is but it's a habit I've developed during the last 20 years of driving back and forth between Hagerstown and Richmond. It's my quiet time, my focus time, a buffer between the world of work and the world of home.

I sometimes "dump" my negativity or my problems in the river as I drive over the bridge on W.E. Oler Road.  I want to dump it where it will flow far, far away, not gather, build up, and re-attach to me when I drive over the bridge again.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't -- both the dumping and avoiding the reattachment.

Sometimes, symbolically ridding myself of stress, negative emotions or problems is all it takes to make life feel better, more balanced.  But sometimes I have to actually dump real things, make real changes and choices in my life to get back on track.  Sometimes changes and choices are made for me and I fight them, or resent them, because they take me in a direction I don't want to go, or at least not yet.  That resentment creates even more negative energy and stress, for me and the people around me. 

Yesterday, on my way home, one of those life changes, one that I didn't have much say in, one that was made for me many years ago, was heavy on my mind. I felt resentful.  I felt cheated, jilted, unfairly treated, then and now.  I thought about what it's meant for me and those I love, how different things would be now for my loved ones especially, if I had more control over the situation and the timing. I didn't like the negative feeling that had overcome me, that was filling me -- I wanted the moment to be my friend, not my enemy -- so I turned off the radio, focused on the world around me rather than inside of me, and waited in silence as I drove home. I imagined my heart opening and clearing itself of bad energy.  I breathed deeply and evenly. "Peace in, Love out". I looked for signs, patiently, and listened for a message.  And the sign that jumped out at me, pulsated at me, was "Detour Ahead", but the word that stood out the most, in bright glowing clearness, was simply "Detour".

At that instant I understood for certain that if I had been given the control, or the power, to make the the painful decision about my life several years ago, instead of having it made for me, I would have wound up exactly where I am today.  I may have taken a different path, a longer one or a shorter one, a more pleasant one or a more complicated one. However, I knew that the path I had taken, or rather that I felt forced to take at the time, was just a detour, a round about way of arriving at the very same destination where I rest today.

Detours will do that -- they force you off the road you planned to travel, through unknown territory, on a road that's a little rougher, a little less traveled than the main road. They generally take more time than what you allotted for the trip and leave you wondering where you are, how much longer it will take, and where and when you'll get back out on the road that you know leads to your destination.

"Detour Ahead" signs always make me say "crap!", but I realize I always enjoy the scenery, the new discoveries when I take roads I've never traveled, and sometimes find new routes that I prefer to the old one. I have to admit, though, I rarely take the official, marked detour, on main roads that are likely to take me way out of my way and waste lots of my time -- I usually try to find my own way on the little streets and roads that "the powers that be" don't want me to take, ones that help me avoid the traffic, the slow line of others who are blindly following the detour signs and who never question where there are or if there was a better way.  I am more likely to get lost that way but I love the feeling of accomplishment when I get there on my own accord, on my own terms. Maybe that's my way of gaining control over the situation.

Life is full of detours. Knowing that I will prepare the best I can for them, with a full tank of fuel, a map that includes rest stops (aka bathrooms), and reverence for the unknown.

  

Seasons change, love remains

I can't believe summer is almost gone. I am never ready to say goodbye to summer and hello to fall. Who wants to say farewell to longer days filled with warm sunshine, fresh food, wildflowers and green trees, family outings, long walks and road trips? I want to hold them tight and never let go.

Why can't winter pass so quickly?

"Half moon in a steel gray sky, dark clouds hovering, desperate, icy fingers clasp sleepy fields, rather wakened by the warm kiss of a spring sunrise." 

I'm not ready to see the landscapes that inspired this verse I wrote on my way to work one morning last winter. I try to make the best of winter, to just accept it and be patient, but winter hurts -- the gray, cold, emptiness that lasts forever literally hurts.

I have to admit that it's difficult for me to enjoy fall as much as I should when in the back of my mind I'm haunted by the thought that winter is on its way.  It's almost like the overwhelming beauty of the colorful, changing leaves taunt me and remind me the world will all too soon be gray and cold.

And fall is bittersweet, a reminder of both life and death for me and my family.

Our family celebrates the birth of three of our daughters in the fall. My husband and I celebrate our wedding anniversary and my youngest daughter and I celebrate the day I became her second mom.

In the fall we also commemorate the anniversaries of the deaths of two people we love -- my husband's first wife, who passed seven years ago, and my oldest daughter's first love, who died the September before. My first marriage both began and officially ended in the fall. Halloween is my husband's first wife's birthday. And then of course there is September 11th, a day that changed the world.

It's unfortunate that much of fall's sweetness is related to the bitterness. That's always on my mind and often pains me. We are able to celebrate our love because we lost someone we love. We are able to celebrate because of and in spite of our losses.   

"Ready or not, here I come!" fall is calling out to me, while I think about hiding from its painful ways. I sometimes want to pull my covers over my head and sleep through September, like in the Green Day song, to escape the pain, but that's just not me.  Not only do I believe in facing hard things head on, I also know if I sleep through fall I'll miss the beauty of the season and the celebrations of the lives and loves I hold so dear. Instead of escaping, I will celebrate our daughters' birthdays and our anniversary, while also remembering our loved ones who are now gone. I know from experience new love does not erase past love; past love does not diminish current love.

Winter is calling too but winter is a pain in the ass.  I think I'll sleep through winter. Or move to Florida.

--------------------

Green Day - Wake Me Up When September Ends

Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends

like my father's come to pass
seven years has gone so fast
wake me up when September ends

here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are

as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when September ends

summer has come and passed
the innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends

ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began
wake me up when September ends

here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are

as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when September ends

Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends

-------------------------

Collin Raye - Love Remains

We are born one fine day
Children of God on our way
Mama smiles daddy cries
Miracle before their eyes
They protect us til' we're of age
Through it all love remains

Boy moves on and takes a bride
She stands faithful by his side
Tears and sweat they build a home
Raise a family of their own
They share joy they share pain
Through it all love remains

Kingdoms come and go but they don't last
Before you know the future is the past
In spite of what's been lost
Or what's been gained
We are living proof that love remains

I don't know baby what I'd do
On this earth without you
We all live we all die
But the end is not goodbye
The sun comes up the seasons change
But throught it all love remains
An eternal burning flame
Hope lives on and love remains

  

Room to Breath

Sometimes I pick up a book, open it at a random spot and read a passage, just to see if and how it might speak to me at that moment.  Sometimes it's perfectly fitting to what is going on in my life at that time; sometimes it's so ridiculously unrelated to my circumstances that I get a good laugh and move on. Last Friday this is what I read during my lunch:

"Vocation does not come from willfulness. It comes from listening. I must listen to my life and try to understand what it is truly about -- quite apart from what I would like it to be about -- or my life will never represent anything real in the world, no matter how earnest my intentions."

"That insight is hidden in the word vocation itself, which is rooted in the Latin for "voice". Vocation does not mean a goal that I pursue. It means a calling that I hear. Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am. I must listen for the truths and values at the heart of my own identity, not the standards by which I must live -- by the standards by which I cannot help but live if I am living my own life."

This passage was perfectly fitting for me on Friday.

I had just finished eating my lunch of leftovers and reading the "Chronicle of Higher Education" (more proof I am a nerd who has to read all the time, even while eating) in our quiet little break room nicknamed "Patmos", which is modestly situated in a garage across the driveway from the historic house where my reception desk is located.  I spotted my favorite Parker Palmer book in a collection of his books, stacked on one of the library shelves that line one whole wall of Patmos (insert shiver of delight here...library...books). I picked it up and opened it to a random spot, knowing any page I chose, any line I chose to read, would speak directly to me.  I wouldn't expect anything less from a book titled "Let Your Life Speak", of course.  It's one I have at home, with underlines, highlights, handwritten notes and folded down pages.

I smiled as I read the familiar passage, for on that day I celebrated a month of working at the Quaker seminary, where I finally have "space" to listen to my life.

Unlike in my last job, it's not so crazy busy here, wildly chaotic, that I can't hear, can't focus, can't react appropriately to the demands of the job. I can focus on doing each task (large and small) well. It's not stressing me out so badly that I sit in my car and cry, or snap at the sixth person to ask me to help them in a one minute period. It doesn't completely zap me of my energy so I can't meet the needs of the other areas of my life - my family, my hobbies, my home, my friends and myself. It's so nice to have time and energy again to reconnect with friends, be creative and travel a bit.

A photo I took during a lunchtime walk at ESR

The people who I work with are so caring, respectful and warm. It seems to me they truly embody the principles and practices that guide the institution's mission (community, respect for persons, integrity, simplicity, peace & justice).  They care about the community, locally and globally, and are working for the common good, not just their own good, both here at the seminary and in their personal lives.  Their volunteer work on their own time simply amazes me. Besides, they truly appreciate my experience and skills and truly want me to contribute in a way that best suits me, not just the organization. It's a real Quaker community in action, not just words.

I feel like I'm doing meaningful work because I'm helping others do their jobs well. I help solve problems, I provide information, I direct people to useful resources, I help create materials used for teaching, I provide support to those ministering to others. I'm not making a lot of money but I am getting paid appropriately for the work that I do here (or I am now able to do the work that is appropriate for what I'm getting paid). I have good benefits and know that if I have to support myself in the near or far future, I can...well maybe with the addition of a weekend job or free-lance work.

Others may see me as a failure because I'm "only a receptionist and secretary" or because I don't make a lot of money.  They might think I'm not a success because my job doesn't relate to my college major of art education.  Oh wait, that wasn't even my final major because I didn't complete student teaching; my real major was "general studies" -- so I guess my job and my major do relate.

But right now I feel very successful.

I have struggled with this for many years, but I now understand my job does not define me.  It's not who I am and it's not the only thing in my life to give me a purpose.  It's just one component of my life. When I lose a job, or leave a job, I am still me and I still have the same "calling" to be of service to others.  When I'm in a job that doesn't suit me well and the rest of my life is out of balance, I still have a desire to provide information to others, to guide them and to help them grow.  I still have a desire to inspire.  I have learned there are so many other ways to go about fulfilling my "purpose" than through my paid job.

However (and this is a big "however"), my paid job MUST mesh well with the other parts of my life. It must not knock the other aspects of my life out of balance. It must allow me space to breath, space to grow.  The work I am expected to do and the mission of the organization, must not work against my personal values and goals. It must support me and my family in many ways other than just financially.

I always tell young people that they can't know what they want to do with their lives until they know what they don't want to do, and they can't know that until they try it. Even if they come away from the experience and say, "Holy crap, that was horrible!", they have learned something about themselves. It's a wonderful opportunity to examine what they did and figure out why it just didn't work for them. If they listen to their bodies, listen to their minds and listen to their spirits they can then know what is NOT the right direction for them, which will eventually lead them in the right direction. If they don't listen to their lives they run risk of getting sick -- their bodies, minds and and souls will become ill -- depression, anxiety, obesity, insomnia, high blood pressure, etc. The list is long.

Right now I'm successful because I have listened to my life. I listened to the voice within me and made a change that is already feeling healthier, more natural, more useful, more me. I will keep listening and keep making adjustments as my life speaks to me, knowing "Vocation is not a goal to be achieved, but a gift to be received."

A perfect example of  the beauty of "space" in my life.

A Trip Outside of My Comfort Zone

I dream of going away to a spa -- in the mountains, in the desert on on a beach -- where I take long hikes amidst natural beauty, practice sunrise Yoga, get massages and facials, eat fresh and colorful healthy food, and spend time on some kind of creative pursuit -- pottery, painting, photography, writing. This dream vacation would also include some kind of challenge, or something to force me out of my comfort zone, something to make me grow. I'm thinking of primitive camping for a night or two, rock climbing, cooking lessons, hang gliding, something like that. I would stay for a week or two and return home thinner, stronger, healthier, more relaxed and inspired. A girl can dream.

What I dream about having served to me during a spa vacation - Pad Thai with raw zucchini "noodles".

The reality is unless I get a huge raise, find buried treasure or win the lottery, the chances I will ever afford a dream get-away like that is slim to nothing. However, I did recently take a trip and returned home more relaxed and inspired, and if not thinner and stronger I was at least not heavier and weaker -- or poorer! 

Vacationing with a friend instead of my husband really helps reduce the cost of travel (I'll write about how I saved for the trip and how we cut costs, in a future blog). All the saving and scrounging was totally worth it because I came home a renewed and inspired woman.  Most importantly I reconnected with two old friends -- my old friend Marcie and the "old me" -- and I faced a few healthy challenges that made the vacation even more memorable (I wrote about one of them in my previous blog). I also did quite a few things I wanted to do during a vacation - I walked on the beach, swam in the gulf, visited art galleries and antique shops, explored old historic neighborhoods, and ate really, really well.

But by eating really, really well I don't just mean a lot of food.  I mean fresh, healthy, colorful and flavorful foods.

When I arrived at my friend Marcie's house, where I stayed the first and fifth night of my vacation (we stayed on the gulf beach during nights two-four), she told me she had been eating mostly raw, organic, vegan foods for the last three months and had lost almost 20 pounds.  She looked great and said she felt great. She said I didn't need to worry, she wouldn't make me eat those foods too, especially considering it was my vacation.  However, since eating healthy foods was a component of my "spa dream vacation", and I desperately wanted to get back to a healthier lifestyle and lose the weight I had gained during the winter, I eagerly took on the challenge of eating like Marcie. She was thrilled to have someone to share her new food passion with. She was also eager to have someone to try out interesting, locally owned restaurants with her.

Seared tuna steak with field greens and pickled sea weed.

For five days we ate a lot of fabulous food. It was a taste adventure in mostly raw, fresh, whole or "clean" foods -- fresh vegetables, fresh and dried fruit, whole grains, beans and nuts - whole and ground, eggs, fresh fish and seafood, healthy fats such as olive and coconut oils -- foods at their freshest and least processed. We also limited sugar, dairy and red meats, and we didn't drink soda (yet we had a few drinks and ate a few dessert items -- we were on vacation, after all).

 We drank smoothies, juices, infused water and teas; we ate hummus and guacamole, oatmeal with walnuts and fruit (with almond milk), "raw" pizza and tacos (with ground nuts in the crust and as replacements for meat), omelets, crab cakes, tuna, shrimp, sweet potato fries, fresh herbs and spices, amazing salads and even chocolate pie -- which was vegan. The food was fabulous looking and tasting. It was all made fresh and much of it grown locally. I would lie if I said I never craved a Coke or candy, because I did, especially the first few days, but I made it through.

Raw pizza and taco.

I returned home having gained not a pound.  Amazing considering I ate my way through vacation and never went hungry! I felt so good and loved the food so much I decided to continue eating mostly fresh, mostly unprocessed foods, when possible. I am proud to say I have done just that -- and have loved ALMOST every bite.

The biggest change in my diet is that I eat hardly any cheese, bread or sugar, and almost no processed/packaged junk food. I've quit drinking my one per day Coke (I'll have one per week, maybe) and I'm drinking at least 80 ounces of infused water per day (with slices of oranges, lemons and lime). Since I'm limiting dairy I use almond milk in my morning smoothies, along with spinach and fresh fruits and sometimes raw oatmeal. I also eat 2-egg omelets with spinach, mushrooms and tomatoes for breakfast, or sometimes oatmeal with nuts and fruit (with honey or organic coconut palm sugar). I bring fresh veggies and hummus or guacamole, a huge green salad (with olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing), or left over cooked veggies and quinoa -- and sometimes a little grilled chicken or packaged tuna -- for lunch. I fix greens and a grilled, fresh low-fat meat for dinner, with squash, sweet potatoes or beans for dinner. For snacks I'll eat fresh or dried fruit, or nuts, or sometimes whole wheat pretzels or corn tortilla chips.  I am down to one cup of coffee per day and to be perfectly honest I don't crave the coffee like I used to, but I don't want to cut it out of my diet completely because coffee has a lot of health benefits (and I don't want to get withdraw headaches). 

As of today -- a month after returning from vacation -- I have lost 8 pounds.  It's not a lot but it's a start. I feel so much healthier and I have more energy.  I don't have acid reflux like I used to and my digestion has improved noticeably.  I have also noticed I haven't had as many headaches and I have much less sinus pressure and allergy symptoms.  Also I have less joint pain and my ankles aren't swollen. My skin looks brighter and my wrinkles less noticeable. 

It's not easy to always eat "clean", whole foods, especially when one works full time and has to cook for and accommodate a family (which doesn't have an interest in eating "clean"). Also it's difficult to find a variety of fresh foods in a small town. When I do eat something that doesn't follow the fresh, clean or whole foods criteria, like pizza or grilled cheese, I feel really bad -- sluggish from head to toe, inside and outside.

Eating healthy foods has become a challenge for me -- a good one -- and I look forward to experimenting with foods, tasting new recipes, and feeling better and better every day.  I have forced myself out of my comfort zone, or at least to the edge of my comfort zone, where there is space for me to develop and experiment.  It's a good feeling.      



    

Deep Water and Shallow Fears

On our third and last morning of vacation on beautiful St. Pete's Beach, my friend Marcie and I stood looking out at the deeper water, just yards from the beach (yes I know, that's not really deep), catching sight of the sandy bottom, tiny shells and schools of teeny silvery fish between gentle waves and dapples of sunlight. We didn't want to say goodbye to the beach.

A lone man wearing goggles swam slowly, parallel to the beach, unaware of anything around him. We watched to see what would happen if he collided with a solitary couple standing shoulder deep in the smooth water. It was pretty early for anyone to be playing in the water so he probably didn't anticipate many obstacles during his morning swim. At the last moment they saw him and moved slightly out of his way -- he was completely unaware of the near miss and glided on. We wondered how long he had been swimming, how far he planned to go and if he did it often.  I thought how brave he is to swim like that and wished I could be so brave. 

Beautiful St. Pete's Beach, where we walked each morning of our vacation.

We had been wading calf-deep during our morning walks, but neither of us had ventured any further out. It wasn't just my irrational fear of deep water -- water where I can't see my feet or anything around my feet -- that kept me from going in deeper. My even more irrational fear of exposing my white, flabby body on a beach full of toned, tanned people -- young and old -- kept me from taking off the yoga pants that I wore over my bathing suit, rolled to my knees, wet and sandy from wading. I have always been modest and self conscious but even more so now as an overweight 52 year old. I wished I had one of those old type bathing suits or I was thinner. "Then I would swim", I thought. 

Now, though, I felt the deeper water calling me.  I longed to feel the softly rippled sand under my feet and gentle waves on my arms. I hadn't felt those sensations in years and years.  The last time I had been in the Gulf (or ocean or lake) any deeper than my knees had been over 10 years ago -- and it was not my choice to do so.  My daughters and I were at Point Estero in Florida and had just gone parasailing.  We got off the parasailing boat onto a  life-boat type raft that was supposed to take us back to the shore, but because the waves were too high for the raft to safely make it to the beach, we had to jump out into the pounding waves, almost chest deep (it probably wasn't that deep).  I was scared out of my wits, but the adrenaline rush from parasailing pushed me quickly through the water and onto the beach.

The feeling of being in the water was a lot like water skiing on Lake Erie with my aunt and uncle when I was a teenager.  I was at the far end of a tow rope, the people in the boat looking ahead, not at me, as I fell, letting go of the rope.  I was alone in very deep, dark water, as the boat sped away from me.  I hoped they would see that I had fallen, sooner than later, and come quickly back to pick me up. I grabbed desperately for the skis which had blown off my feet and put them back on, tucked my legs up, floated and tried not to think about what was swimming around and right under me. Or 10 feet under me.  Or 30 feet under me. I was scared an eight foot sturgeon would rub against me. "And what else is down there?" I thought. "I shouldn't have read "Jaws" this summer. I know there are no sharks in this lake, but what if...?"

The pier at Rye Beach, Huron, Ohio, on Lake Erie.  

Or it felt like jumping off the end of the pier at Rye Beach when I was a kid. I did it only once at the strong urging of my sister Karen and my cousins-cousins, Rick and Jeff, our summer playmates, who did it over and over and over.  The brown-green water, the slimy seaweed covering the rocks and sides of the pier where I had to climb out, the snakes and fish that swam below (I assumed), the fabled, supposedly extinct lamprey of the Great Lakes (they aren't extinct!). I just couldn't do it and my sister and cousins-cousins teased me when I wouldn't jump again.  I sat on the pier and watched them laugh and swim in the lake I loved but feared. I even feared swimming near the shore because globs of smelly seaweed and dead fish tangled with my feet much too often.

Nothing was forcing me into the water this third and final day of our vacation but I kept feeling the pull -- in a good way. I wanted to go in. Marcie heard the water calling too because she said "Let's go in".

"Really?" I said, like a kid. "You want to go too? But I don't have my water shoes (the ones that keep me from feeling slimy bottoms and seaweed) and my swim shorts (the ones that cover the stretch marks and bulges on my upper thighs)". 

"No one will care" Marcie assured me.  "No one will even notice us. And look how smooth the sand looks out there".

I took off my yoga pants and sunglasses, she took off her cover up and straw hat, and we lay them safely on one of the hotel's cabana chairs (which we didn't pay for, which made me feel guilty, and I worried someone would steal everything), along with our cell phones (for pictures, not calls) and my coffee cup from the hotel room (will they be mad at me for taking it to the beach?), then walked quickly back down to the water. I felt very exposed but quickly entered the warm water to my knees, then my hips, then my waist -- worried more about covering my exposed skin than what was in the water. Marcie held back a little, getting used to the feel of the water around her waist. I felt frightened but very brave to be out further than her -- even just a few feet -- alone. Should I shuffle my feet in case there are sting rays?  Were those tiny fish baby sharks or just tiny fish? Is there something larger chasing them like in "Finding Nemo"?

Soon we were both chest deep and began treading water, then floating, then gliding on our backs.  The warm, salty water felt incredible. Floating felt incredible -- relaxing yet exhilarating at the same time. Marcie marveled at my ability to float; I couldn't sink if I tried (another one of my super powers, I guess -- my other is predicting what size container will hold left-overs). A long river of tiny fish swam past us, between us, around us, but I never felt a thing, even though I both hoped and dreaded that I might feel them tickle my legs.

"I'm going to swim along the shore, just a short distance, just to say I actually swam in the Gulf of Mexico, along the shore, just like that guy". And I did.  Kind of. Head up. Face out of the water. Awkward strokes for only about 15 feet.  It wasn't like "that guy" but I did it.  I did it.  I faced my fear of "deep" water and got in.  I faced my fear of exposing my body in public, on a beach where we had just previously seen a very toned, very tanned, very fit, very good looking probable Tampa Bay Buccaneer (I'm sure it was Luke Stoker and now I'm afraid I'm a "Stoker Stalker") jogging in only shorts, sunglasses, a ball cap and running shoes. Oh my.

Sorry, I got distracted for a moment.  Anyway, I did it and it felt wonderful, relaxing, brave, long overdue. As we were in the water we noticed how far we had drifted from our entry point, which we had identified by our hijacked beach chair with all our stuff (yay, it was still there!), and it was okay. We simply swam back -- we swam back! -- got out, and excitedly talked about what we had just done as we gathered our belongings. I wondered if anyone looked out and thought we were brave and adventurous.  Or did they think the two middle-aged women coming out of the water were really silly? And then I didn't care what anyone thought.  I did it and I loved it.  I shared it with my friend Marcie and we will always have that memory, like I have my memories of parasailing with my daughters, skiing with my uncle, playing at Rye Beach with my cousin's-cousin Jeff, who passed away a few years ago. My friend and I swam together in the Gulf of Mexico, on the last morning of a beautiful adventure.


We're already talking about where we'll go next.

Seeing "Me Time" From a Different Perspective

I had a difficult time bouncing back from the brutal winter. Job stress also wore me thin. No, actually it wore me thick, unfortunately.  Inactivity and stress-induced eating caused me to gain weight and I have felt awful. Although warmer weather and a less stressful summer work schedule have kicked in, I've still had difficulty getting inspired to do anything other than eat, browse Pinterest and Facebook, take long baths, read fiction, flip through magazines, and watch the History channel. I've not been depressed or even in a funk, just uninspired and unmoved.

I think back to how good I felt and looked just over five years ago, when I was walking and working out every day, eating healthy foods, going on adventures with friends, doing design work, blogging and looking forward to personal and family projects. People told me I looked 10 years younger than I was; now I feel like I have aged 10 years in the last five.

Here is a photo of me on my last trip with my travel buddy Marcie, in January 2009, ready to turn 47. I was newly divorced and out of work at the time, but positive, hopeful, happy and very active -- and 25 pounds lighter.

I have tried my old standbys -- think positive, get outside, read inspirational books, do Yoga, create something -- but all my efforts have failed, especially when it comes to getting regular activity, eating healthier, and getting some of this weight off. But also I've not been inspired to make improvements in the house or yard, create artwork, spend time with friends, go out to listen to music, attend events in the community: things that need to be done and things that usually "feed my soul".
 
I've been telling my husband what I really need to get me out of this rut and back on track is to go away to a spa resort for a week or two. One where I eat only healthy food (that's made for me or where I cook it in an amazing kitchen), take long walks and go hiking/biking/kayaking or horseback riding among beautiful scenery (an ocean, red rocks, mountains), do Yoga (by the water of course), have massages (on the beach or in a beautifully equipped spa room) and paint or write or do something else creative. He laughs as if I'm teasing him -- but I'm serious. I have desperately needed to do something to pull me up and out of my lethargy and that sounds like the perfect cure to me. 

That's not going to happen any time soon (or in the future).  It's too expensive and I don't have that much vacation time. It also seems pretentious -- "That's for rich people and we're not rich people", Craig would say (did say, actually).

"But I need to do something", I told him.  "If you want me to continue to be the woman you fell in love with, I have to do the things I was doing five years ago that made me that woman."

So, after several delays for various reasons in and out of my control, I took a trip to Florida to visit an old friend who is also my favorite travel buddy.  Marcie and I haven't traveled together for over five years, and we've visited briefly only a few times in the last several years, so the visit with her (and her partner who I like to call our Cabana Boy) was way over due.

At first I felt guilty about spending the money and taking time away from my husband and pre-teen daughter, but then I remembered they were able to go on a spring break trip without me when I couldn't get away from my job during the busy college visit season. Also I felt like I deserved it because I had been working so hard at home and the office and had saved some of the money I earned working overtime.  Also, I don't spend a lot of money on "entertainment" -- or anything else for that matter.  I'm pretty frugal and practical with my spending.

I took the trip and it was amazing.  Maybe it's the healing qualities of the sea water, maybe it's the sunshine, maybe its the healthy food, maybe it's spending time with an old friend, maybe it's facing a personal fear and challenging myself (more about that later), maybe it's the change of scenery...maybe it's all of that combined.  Who knows for sure what helped me but I feel like a renewed, inspired person.  I plan to write about the trip in more detail in future blogs, but I can say now it was totally worth the time and money.

Here is a humorous picture of me on my recent trip, feeling quite frumpy and lumpy on the beach. My size horrifies me but not because of how it looks as much as how it feels and keeps me from doing things I love.  Marcie assures me I look like the 50 foot woman only because of the perspective and angle of the shot. I know better, however. This is not how I want to look and feel on a beach or at home in Indiana. This photo and my trip have inspired me to make changes.

Why do women have to rationalize spending money and time on themselves? Why do we feel guilty about taking care of ourselves and doing something just for us? When I ponder these questions I'm lead in many directions and I realize I have so much more to write about in the near future: general topics such as self-care, working mothers, saving for vacations, work/life balance, friendship, creating, living a purposeful life; but also more personal topics such as what I did on my trip, how it inspired me in many ways, how I faced a major fear (and survived), and how I'm making personal life-changes. 

I Can't Help It

I envy my husband's passion for football.  There is nothing he would rather do than watch an NFL game.  He can't wait until football season officially starts and he actually becomes depressed when it's over.  He proudly wears his team's colors and he talks about the players with anyone who will listen.  You can see his face light up when someone asks him about his team; you can see it darken when he realizes they love another team.

I have wanted that same kind of passion.  I've wanted something I can't wait to do each day or each week, something that excites me so much I can barely sit still. Most of all I've wanted something to do when my husband is preoccupied with his first love -- football.

"Get a hobby" he says, when I am bored while he watches football.   Yes, I will get a hobby! But what?  Decorating my home is fun but expensive.  I've tried collecting things but I really don't want more "stuff" to dust or worry about.  I like to paint but I don't love doing it and it zaps me of energy.  I love to travel but I don't have enough free time or money to make it a hobby.  I'm a magazine junky and a Pinterest fan but I consider that a past time, not really a true hobby or a passion.

So I thought about it and I realized there is something I can't keep myself from doing -- taking pictures. I once had a big, bulky, expensive digital camera and took lots of pictures during vacations, family gatherings, and even during walks. Once I got my first cell phone with a camera, I quickly realized it was a waste of effort to carry both a phone and a camera, so I put down my much used digital camera, which was already outdated, and used my small slide phone to take photos. I think it was a little too easy for me to take pictures with my phone. Last year my iPhone 4 started to slow down and I realized I had over 3,000 photos on it!   

Okay, so I'm an amateur photographer, perhaps? I guess I should get a nice, new digital camera so I can take "real" photos"?  But I don't want to carry my camera with me everywhere.  I don't want to have to use my computer to download my photos from the data card, or whatever it's called now.  I just want to use my phone and take pictures when the mood hits or when I see a good shot. And my iPhone 4 takes pretty good photos, I must say. Also it's so easy to upload my photos to Facebook or e-mail, then edit them.

I got online to see if there were any good hints or tips for using an iPhone as a camera and I found a lot of great advice.  I even found an iPhone Photography "school", or an online resource for those who are passionate about taking good pictures with their iPhone.  In the last few weeks I've had a blast learning about taking better pictures and sharing those photos with others.  One evening I spent hours looking at my old photos on my phone, editing them on my iPad and uploading them to EyeEm.com.

I spent hours researching something.  I spent time learning something new.  I was truly interested and curious about something.  I found others who share this new interest and I connected with them.  I felt a creative energy I have been missing in my life lately.  I felt a passion for something. 

I think I have found my creative outlet and my hobby.  I don't intend to make it a profession or even make money on it.  It's something I can't keep myself from doing, even when someone tells me I take too many pictures.  I like to take pictures.  No, I love to take pictures.  It's nice if someone else tells me they like my pictures, but really I am doing it for me.  Finally, something for me!

Here are some of the photos I've taken with my iPhone 4 or slide phone in the last few years.