Last year's daffodils

Today I wake to the sun shining in the California blue sky. That brilliant shade of blue that told I was home when I arrived in Northern California.

A vestige of melting frost glitters on the grass under the clothes line as I hang up some linens to dry. I know it’s still January, more rainstorms are promised for tomorrow, but for today the soft whisper of spring hangs in the air. Tim has planted tulip and daffodil bulbs in pots once again and their green shoots are poking through the soil, a promise that life is reborn again and again.

Old things pass away, and something new and just as beautiful always arises in its place.

A riot of color will arrive when the tulips bloom, but first the daffodils will nod their sunny heads even through the lashing rains and despite the frosty mornings. They’re hardy like that, unlike the tulips whose petals might scatter when the wild winds blow in off the Pacific. Each tells me a different story, just as each year they’re back again long after I’ve forgotten to mourn their disappearance.

If I can step away from the work-a-day routine, take a walk and look down I will likely see the fragile beginnings of the coming season’s wild plant profusion. My herbal allies and the simple wild weeds. The sun after a rain brings them out. If I slowed my steps and just watched for long enough I could probably see those little shoots grow a bit taller.

That’s why today’s writing vignette is short. All of those plants, that blue sky, that sunshine are beckoning me, pulling me. Come on out they call. Out. Out.

Today is the perfect day to plant my little seed of confidence into the garden. The one I poked into a pot on the day of the new moon. Now the crescent moon is growing and I’m ready to seed the inner and outer garden.

Every morning Balinese women make flower offerings to the gods and goddesses

A year ago today (can it really be that long ago?) I wandered around Honolulu airport, nervous excitement coursing through my body. I was about to embark on an adventure I’d dreamed of for so many years. eleven hour flight on Korea Air would land me in Seoul, Korea and by midnight the following evening I’d land in Bali – almost a mythical place in my mind.

I’d longed to visit that country since Ciel was a baby and I’d sit at my kitchen table nursing her while friends freer and more adventurous than I regaled me with stories of the sweet nature of the Balinese people, the treasures they’d discovered in the market, the beaches, the art, the temples, the next-to-nothing cost of living (once you’d forked over the cash for the plane ticket halfway around the world.) Even my more conservative aunt had glowing stories of her long-ago trip to Bali with her husband.

I’d never been to Asia, and had not taken any trip lasting longer than three weeks since college (the first college stint, age 19, when I backpacked around Europe after a semester studying French in the south of France. That time, determined to see as much as I could, I spent no longer than two or three days in any one location, taking night trains to save money. This unfortunate choice resulted in spending the entire trip in a state of exhaustion.)

This trip would be different. I had no specific itinerary, just a couple of guidebooks and a plan to fly over to Thailand at some point during the two months.

The two and three-week travel adventures of the past years had left me longing for more. Now finally I had the chance to really stretch out, get past that unwinding time and let myself explore the inner and outer horizons that a journey exposes. Two months seemed like plenty of time to do this (and it was all the time I could afford.)

I didn’t anticipate how life-changing that trip would be. Turns out two months is not much time at all. I’d thought I’d spend some it volunteering somewhere, have plenty of hours for writing in solitude, in addition to meeting the people and exploring the cities and countrysides of Bali and Thailand.

Time did slow down during that journey – as each day brought new knowledge, new adventure, new inspiration, new dangers, new friends. (If you missed some of my stories of these adventures, check out the Bali and Thailand tags in the sidebar.) But it never moves slowly enough. I realized that I’d need a much longer time period if I wanted to do more than just explore.

I found myself regretfully boarding the plane home far too soon – happy to be soon reunited with family of course – but mournful to leave this adventure behind.

And, oh, the food! So good. And so cheap!

The travel bug bit me a year ago – and I’m still working out how to manifest another, hopefully longer,  journey. Slowly I’m figuring out how to arrange my life so such a thing can be possible. Even a Round The World trip  perhaps.

Meanwhile, I’m making it a priority to get away on shorter adventures – and I feel so blessed and grateful that the Universe has offered me opportunities to do this. But I like to think the days of 2-week vacations are numbered. I’m ready to incorporate the journey into my lifestyle – not just make travel a separate aspect, something to enjoy aside from my ‘real’ life.

Where this longing will take me I’m still not quite sure. But I do know it will lead me to uncharted territory – and I don’t mean just in the outer world.

I wrestle with a lot of resistance with this project. Invariably I feel like I have nothing to write, I’m pulling from a void. But I want this. I want to explore the various pathways my writing can take. And, it’s a lot of fun to hang out with these talented women.

In typical writerly self-deprecation, we all pooh pooh our efforts before reading them to the group. We are each utterly convinced that we have just written total crap.

But a sort of magic happens once we muster our courage and read our words out loud. Sometimes they don’t sound quite so much like crap even to our own ears, and definitely not to the group.

Sadly, I haven’t made the time to follow through on any of my fiction vignettes once I leave this lovely group of women each Wednesday night. One of those resolves that drops down to the bottom of the list once I am faced with day-to-day life again, and all those seemingly urgent activities that clamor for my attention.

I’m not always sure what to do with these characters who visit me on fiction night, but I’m glad they show up once I set pen to paper (or, more often, fingers to keyboard.)

Since I’m feeling a little empty this morning as far as my commitment to daily writing on this blog, I thought I’d share my exercise from last Wednesday. Our prompt was “Secrets.”

Secrets

Amber hiked her purse higher on her shoulder as she hurried across 2nd Avenue. A freezing wind whipped her hair across her face and crumpled bits of paper blew down the gutters appearing to race for their own shelter. She stepped up on the grimy curb, careful to avoid jamming her heel into a grate and raised her hand to signal a taxi.

She sighed as she watched several unlit taxis sail past ignoring her motions. One stopped not two yards ahead and a young man strode toward it and disappeared inside. How could she have forgotten to turn on her alarm? Again. She craned her neck up the street, looking for an empty cab. Her freezing finger hanging in the air like an antenna. Ah. Finally.

Once in the warm elevator, she fumbled through her bag through her keys, while her fellow riders stared at the walls. Whew. She’d made it just in time. Mary was due in for her appointment in just six minutes. Flipping light switches while shucking her jacket, she threw some grounds into waiting coffee filter and turned it on. The satisfying gurgle greeted her ears , a familiar friend along with the rising aroma of Italian Roast.

Okay, desk cleared off. Check. Fresh tissues on the coffee table. Check. She pulled Mary’s file from the heavy drawer, setting it on neatly in the center of the desk just as she heard the jingle of the bell  from the front door. Instinctively, Amber reached behind her and straightened the framed certificate hanging on the wall. As if the fact that it was slightly askew would alert an observer, compelling him or her to take a closer look, perhaps find something even more askew…

“Amber?” Mary’s voice was tentative, and Amber realized with a start that she hadn’t called out her customary greeting.

“Mary! How are you this morning?” She slipped easily into character as she reached for Mary’s hand in greeting. She gestured to the overstuffed chair opposite her desk. “Have a seat.”

Mary pulled off fur-trimmed gloves and shrugged off her sienna brown coat, folding it carefully before laying over the arm of the couch. Then she plopped into the chair, sinking into the cushions with a sigh.

“Oh, it always feels so good to be here,” she said. “Amber, do you know what a gift you are?” She leaned forward and stared earnestly into Amber’s eyes. “If I hadn’t found you I don’t know where I’d be. Maybe dead.”

Amber held her professional smile and willed herself to hold Mary’s gaze. “All I’ve done is facilitate,” she responded. “I’m just a catalyst, allowing you to discover everything you already know.”

“You’ve saved my life,” Mary insisted. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate your gratitude, but my job will really be done when you recognize that you hold all the answers inside. Now. How are you feeling today?’

Mary sighed again, looked down at her hands, examining the blood-red ovals of her fingernails. “Ohhh, I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been slipping. I fell apart last night, I mean fell apart, when Brad told me he was taking off for Baltimore again.”

“What do you mean, fell apart?”

The frustration of her hectic morning slowly slipped away as Amber gently questioned her client, slipping in the clues to guide her toward self understanding. Once again in her element, she was born for this, she knew it. The hour flew by, as the tension in Mary’s face slowly softened.

“I love you Amber, I really do!” Mary’s voice trembled as she clasped her hand. “ I know that sounds weird to say that to a therapist, but you just always make everything so clear. Please don’t ever go anywhere.”

Amber smiled and changed the subject to small talk as she walked Mary to the door. “See you next week.”

As she turned back to pour a second cup of coffee, the flood of surety she’d felt during the hour began to drain away. She hoped she wasn’t going anywhere. But the fear always haunted her. What if she were ever caught?

Since that is occupying my writing brain today, I offer up the prompt for my promised daily post. There were actually two options, the other is “Why I’m A Great Writer.” I decided I’d rather write on a subject I passionately believe in rather than struggling to toot my own horn.

(Actually I really believe everyone on the planet deserves health insurance, but I’m following instructions here.)

Wish me luck!

Why Every American Deserves Health Insurance

I live under a shadow of fear.

It’s such a huge and awful bugaboo that most days I push it out of my mind. But at night it sometimes reaches up out of my dreams, grips me around the throat with claws of steel. I wake, heart pounding, in a cold sweat.

What if?

What if a speeding truck driver knocks me off my bike – as happened to my friend Bob last month – and I crack my head open? What if this nagging ache in my neck is really a tumor?

I just turned 50, and I’m watching friends and loved ones drop like flies from the cancer epidemic that plagues our modern society.

Chances are, like many of them, I won’t even know until it’s too late. I rarely visit a doctor.

You see, I’m self-employed and I can’t afford health insurance. At least not the kind that pays for doctor visits.

And I’m not alone. Nearly half of my fellow Americans have inadequate health insurance – if they have it at all. I bet many of them wake up drenched in a fearful cold sweat too.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I enjoy good health and I don’t need medications. I am educated in natural healing modalities and in preventative self-care – so I have a chance at staving off the kinds of diseases that can rack up hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical expenses in a matter of weeks.

But all the best self-care practices in the world can’t save me from getting hit by a bus, slipping on an ice patch, or a head-on collision with a drunk driver. I could end up speechless with a feeding tube in the blink of an eye. It happened recently to my sister-in-law’s sister.

Thank God for her family she had health insurance. The poor woman may not have been able to care about such things anymore, but her family would have suffered exponentially by adding bankruptcy to the grief of losing their beloved mother, sister, wife.

How can it be that the United States of America – the most prosperous country in the world – does not have a system in place to care for the health of its citizens? Sure, many states have programs for those on the very bottom rung of the poverty line. But what about the rest of us?

If you work for the government or a large business you probably enjoy the privilege of regular doctor visits, along with the peace of mind of knowing their insurance will kick in if tragedy strikes.

But today’s small businesses often cannot afford to offer their employees a health insurance plan. And those that do are forced to resort to a plan with such a huge deductible, it qualifies as ‘catastrophic insurance’, rather than a true health plan.

And that’s what most independent contractors like me must resort to. (Note to self: find the money to buy that plan ASAP! I need the sleep!)

But even with catastrophic insurance, many people find themselves faced with bankruptcy, or even homeless when disaster strikes. That’s because many of these plans only cover 50 – 75 percent of the medical costs incurred – and that’s after a deductible of $10,000 or more.

That’s why an estimated 50 million Americans have no health insurance at all. Many lost their insurance with their jobs in the economic freefall of the last few years. It’s enough of a challenge to put food on the table and shoes on their children’s feet. Luxuries like health insurance just have to wait.

We remain the only developed nation in the world that does not offer a universal health care plan to its citizens. This is just plain wrong. It is a moral and ethical crisis and flies directly in the face of the values this country was founded on.

Our failure to come up with a plan to provide health insurance for the nation’s citizens makes poor economic sense as well. Current law requires hospitals to treat uninsured patients who arrive bleeding or dying on the emergency room steps. Guess who foots that bill? Hint:  It’s not insurance companies.

Often hospitals must write off these unpaid treatments, which forces them to charge higher and higher fees for their services. Which raises insurance premiums for everyone else.

Think about it. Would you rather pay a little toward your neighbor’s preventative health care, perhaps saving his life, or would you rather continue to pay higher and higher premiums to some of the richest corporations in the world?

Every American deserves health insurance. Every American deserves regular doctor visits and health education without being forced into bankruptcy. This is not socialized medicine. It’s simply good sense. And a moral imperative.

Later we each planted some seeds – calendula and sunflower – to signify the nurturing of our intentions. As we buried our seed in the soil, we each spoke just one word to voice this intention.

As each woman voiced her one-word aspiration I thought that each of these words could apply to all of us. We’d all expressed diverse yet similar struggles and dreams. Clarity, balance, inner silence, ambition, acceptance, these were just some of the single-word intentions spoken in our new moon ritual.

My word was self-confidence. It’s time, as I begin my 51st circle around the sun, to start to believe in myself and my capacity to bloom. I struggled a bit to come up with just the right word. I’m longing to discover my unique super power and harness it to my individual passion. I want to create work for myself that feeds my soul , earns an income, and makes a difference in people’s lives. To heal both people and the planet through the work I do.

I’m realizing that in order to get clear on what this is, I need to cultivate this confidence that I can do it. That I am worthy, capable, courageous enough to do this.

Now that I’ve voiced this intention, and publicized it here on this blog, it’s time to finally open up those two flower essences I bought the day after New Year’s and start taking them. They’ve been sitting on my counter ever since my return from our trip. It seems that my inner self-saboteur would rather I left the confidence at the counter.

I’m not going to let that happen anymore!

Okay, I just took four drops each of Cerrato and Larch flower essences. Going to make up my combo bottle now and keep it right here on my desk.

Here’s to my confidence flowers blossoming big!

Today is the first new moon of the new year, and I didn’t want to let it pass without some acknowledgment. It’s an ideal time to focus on my intentions for this phase of my life, to plant the seeds.

Inspired a bit by Goddess Leonie Dawson’s article in last week’s installment of A Year With Myself, I called a women’s circle so I could share this new moon intention ritual with some of the women I care deeply about. Leonie’s story of when she entered her first sacred women’s circle struck a chord – reminding me of the first circles I took part in back in the days when Ciel was crawling around knocking over the candles on the altar.

I sat in a living room, holding hands with a dozen or so women, not knowing then that these were people I would cherish for years to come. These were the women whom I would laugh with, cry with and grieve with as we traveled through our early motherhood years into middle age together. Some have dropped away from my sphere. New ones have been welcomed into the Circle.

We lit candles, burned sage, sang songs, called in the four directions. We went around the circle allowing each woman a chance to speak her heart, and each of us took in her pain, her inspiration. We embraced each other with love and support while in that sacred space – and our connection to each other was deepened forever after.

It’s been too long since I’ve circled with intention, for the new moon or any time. It only seems to happen about once a year these days. Life got busy, new moons arrive on inconvenient dates, our partners demand our attention. I’ll often think about calling a Circle, and then get swallowed back into the routine of life and let the opportunity slip by.

So this time I decided to make it happen! I’m a little rusty at creating ritual, but the lovely thing about this group of women is we can let things unfold organically and the Goddess always arrives to join the circle.

I craved this Circle because I’m working hard to set my own intentions and follow through. I’m feeling the pull of my old stories, my complacent, comfortable self that hates and fears change. I don’t want that part of me to take over once again – as she has so many times before. So I’m pulling out any tools I can – magical and otherwise – to give me strength.

And it turns out I couldn’t have planned this gathering at a better time. Crisis erupted on Ciel’s birthday and she’s looking at some big changes in her own life. She’s ready to take some space from her relationship and request a time of separation – so she can explore her own needs and how she might best shine her light for the world.

This is huge for her. And incredibly painful. I’m so glad we can encircle her with our love and support, and bless her with some magical wisdom to help her navigate the difficult days ahead.

The new moon is an auspicious time for introspection – to set these intentions if it’s for the next month, the next year or the rest of our lives. A dreaming time.

Happy new moon dreams.

Baby Ciel with Mom

Today my beautiful Ciel celebrates 28 years on the planet. Four 7-year cycles, there’s no more question that this baby of mine is fully an adult. Of course she’s been self-sufficient for nearly a decade, so there  hasn’t been any ‘question’ in years. But it  hits me a little more deeply with each passing birthday.

Of course by the time I was 28 I was raising a 7-year old and running a store. Since Ciel still has the luxury of sleeping past 9 – without little fingers prying her eyelids open – I can’t help still viewing her as somehow younger. (But don’t get me wrong, I am infinitely relieved that she didn’t follow the generational pattern of early motherhood. I’m a big fan of letting the 20s be all about self-exploration.)

Ciel is entering what astrologers call her Saturn Return – a time of transition, big changes and perhaps a period of reckoning. Many people experience significant life changes during this period (between about 27 1/2 and 29). I know I did. I got married, got pregnant and had my second child by the time I was halfway through 29.

Some people say it’s a time when you discover your true destiny. Not sure if I quite buy that – but I’ve definitely noticed that for a lot of folks these years bring some significant changes.

Well, in a few weeks Ciel is moving back down to the Bay Area, where she will (presumably) begin working in her chosen field – public health. So that by itself is a pretty big transition. But these next couple of years might bring a few more changes than career building. And it’s only natural at this age – even without all the astrological mumbo jumbo (that’s the scoffers on my shoulder, I really don‘t think its mumbo jumbo!)

I’m nowhere near my second Saturn Return yet, but I’m also feeling the stirring of big changes. Maybe I get to experience a bit of a mom Saturn Return? A mini cataclysm? Who knows?

I’m blessed this year to have the chance to share this special day with my first-born. We’ve always made a big deal of birthdays, I like the idea of honoring that day of one’s birth. When the girls were young I made it a point to take that day off work on each daughter’s birthday so I could spend it with her. I’d let her take the day off school, and we’d go do something fun. This was a real treat for them since usually I spent so much time at work.

Cakes, parties – we’d do it up almost every year. (That’s kind of my MO – any excuse for a party!)

Then she moved away from home. That first birthday (her 19th) we traveled down to the Bay Area to celebrate with her.  We took her out to a Persian restaurant and did up a fun birthday celebration.

Since then, I’ve only managed to spend one birthday with Ciel – so today is special. We’re planning a spa moment this afternoon, with professional foot massages – something we NEVER do. And tonight will be dinner, friends, cake, wine and celebration.

A celebration of Ciel. Words could never express how much she means to me. She is one of my greatest teachers and a source of my greatest joy. I am so grateful for this past year – I think of it as the Year of Ciel. As I wrote the other day, I’ve spent more time with her in 2011 than I had since she left home. What an amazing gift.

Ciel last February during our adventure in Bali

We were having a great time!

This week I may write some stories about Ciel – those childhood years, the tumultuous adolescence, her ill-fated Peruvian adventure. And of course the story continues to unfold.

Today, on the day of her birth, I thought I’d post an essay I wrote several years ago. It starts out with Ciel’s birth story (she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be here when she arrived!) and weaves in the birthing experience with ruminations on what it means to mother. I was proud of this essay at the time – now I’d probably make some changes. If you’d like to read it, just click here.

I wrote a little on this yesterday, I know, but this modern affliction of information overload is something I wanted to address just a bit more deeply (Not too deeply though – because I might miss an important email   )

Seriously though. Of course I’m using the word “addict” loosely. An addiction to checking email and RSS feeds is not at the same level of an actual physical addiction, and I don’t want to gloss over the serious nature of drug and alcohol addictions. However, I’ve always known I have an “addictive” personality – and perhaps that’s not the correct terminology because I’m referring to being psychologically addicted rather than physically.

Whether it’s sweets, coffee, gin & tonics, weed, or now email – once I get in a habit with something I get attached (addicted) to having it ALL THE TIME. Well, I guess email is the only one of the above that makes the “all the time” cut, but I’ve been known to turn to each of those things on a daily basis during certain periods of my life.

When I try to stop I get anxious, grouchy, something’s just not right. I might wake up and tell myself that today I won’t touch whatever the offending substance is – only to break down hours later. (I’m usually full of resolve to be a better person in the early morning moments – unfortunately it usually only lasts a few hours.)

I’m just a creature of habit. Habits and routines make me happy. Well, they make me comfortable. The problem is they make me stuck. At least the ones  that no longer serve me do. (One ‘addiction’ that I’m glad I’ve developed is to exercise. But that’s another, more uplifting, story.) Over the years I’ve succumbed to so many ‘addictive’ habits, and I guess they served their purpose to help me through particular difficulties. Even if that purpose was perhaps counter-productive, for example numbing my feelings so I don’t have to dive into any pain.

God, I hate pain. Physical, emotional, mental – I can’t stand any of it. Who doesn’t? I know.  But sometimes I wonder if I’m particularly wired to avoid it even more than the average population. I’ve sure done a pretty good job of it for the last five decades.

Trouble is, that very avoidance, that push to avoid pain at all costs, has cut me off from countless  opportunities. To grow, to live more fully, to stretch into my true potential.

Wait a second! This post was supposed to be about my addiction to email, RSS feeds, and reading blogs. I wanted this to be light and funny. Oops. Strange where the writing takes you. I’d never really thought of my email addiction as a method to avoid pain. Could it be? I just thought it was about procrastinating and avoiding more challenging work.

I’ve made some progress in harnessing some of these other ‘addictions’ (although I slip more than just occasionally). But this email thing is kind of new. It’s got me in a tight grip. Within seconds of waking up I start to wonder what might be in my in-box. Who may have responded to something I sent? Who might have a creative or inspiring story to share? What’s the biggest news of the day?

Since I started my Meditation Experiment I’ve forced myself to stay away from the computer until I’ve done my 10-15 minutes of quiet time. So, I’m slowly weaning myself I guess. I get up, do some morning routine activities such as making tea, emptying the dishwasher. I do my meditation, and only then do I open up that revered in-box.

My goal though is to tackle some activities that challenge me more before checking in on that cyber world! I’d like to do at least do some writing before I get lost in link-land. And ideally, I would actually “eat the frog” – an expression I learned from a blogging friend – and deal with a task that I’m resisting because of fear or lack of self-confidence (or whatever.)

I’m not making any promises here. Baby steps. This addiction has still got me by the throat. At least my Gmail account doesn’t ping every time a new one comes in. Otherwise I would have left already to go take a look.

Baby steps. At least I’m not at the computer the instant my teeth are brushed. Maybe in the weeks to come I can report that I’ve found the will to delay my email gratification until after I’ve written my blog post or my 500-1000 words.

Anybody else out there deal with this? Have you found any workable solutions to email overload and addictions?

I have to admit I hadn’t been following it too closely – although I registered my protest. So many issues, so little time. This one really just hit my radar in the past week. But, I do know that messing with the freedom of the Internet is just wrong. Our so-called American birthright to freedom has already been so eroded. Losing our right to add our two cents to the online conversation is the last straw for many.

Today, though, feeling particularly uninspired to write or do my other work, I’m clicking around the Internet only to find site after site blacked out in protest. So this issue really struck a chord for folks. Hmm, maybe I should have blacked out this site – then I would have had an excuse not to do my daily writing exercise!

This working from a home office thing has its drawbacks. I’ve never been a whip-cracking boss, so being my own boss (without any customers or employees bearing witness) is turning out to be quite the challenge. All I have to do is open my email inbox – and whoops! There goes one of my most productive hours. So many links to click through, articles to read because maybe they’ll inspire me, or maybe I should share them – and oh yeah! Sharing! Networking! Better hop on over to Twitter and see what all my new online friends are up to and whether they have some earthshaking news that I just have to know about.

But today on Protest Day some of those links are taking me to a blacked out page – or blacked out text. Too bad Twitter’s not blacked out! (Not really, I think that would inspire an even fiercer protest from some folks! True mutiny!)

The Internet’s still going and here I am in the home office on the computer, trying to write and/or get some work done. But the blackouts reminded me of a thought I had the other day: There’s another big problem with the work at home thing. I find myself in a vacuum – devoid of inspiration from the outside world. I get so caught up with my (way too long) To-Do list that I just can’t see the way clear to get outside, go into town, go see some friends. There’s simply not enough time to do that AND get all this work done.

But when obligations (or the occasional outside paying gig) draw me away from my little office world, that’s often when I find some new inspiration. Someone will share a story. I’ll witness a new offering from Mother Nature – sometimes a spectacular sunset, but it could be as simple as a red-breasted robin strutting across the yard on a January morning. And boom! My mind is whirling again with ideas.

So – yes we need a free and uncensored Internet. But we also need to back away from our computers from time to time.

But since more eyes will fall on this writing, I want there to be some sort of point to the daily meanderings. And it’s been a good challenge, because often just getting started takes me to places I didn’t even realize I would go. And I’m liking that. It feels more creative than the ‘information-based’ writing I do and have done for other venues.

I sheepishly admit I’ve already missed one or two days. Rosie’s departure and an unexpected weekend job pulled me away from the computer and my commitment. But I’m feeling pretty good about pulling it off 6 days a week. So, instead of chewing myself out for not meeting the daily goal, I will be content if I manage to post 6 days each week on this blog for the rest of the month.

Today I wanted to write just a little on resilience – the resilience of the human spirit, and why is it that some people have it, and others not so much? Why do some people rise above their ‘story,’ while others may wallow in despair for years or even decades?

I haven’t even dived in yet to this week’s chapter of A Year With Myself, I’ve only read the introductory page. But the overarching theme is Our Stories. Owning and embracing our story, rewriting our story to fit who were are now. I’m looking forward to spending some journal time with this one.

I worked with a friend this past weekend whose story never ceases to amaze me. I keep learning more pieces each time I see him. It’s a heartbreaking story of loss and illness and recovery. But what amazes me about this friend (I’ll call him J) is how he has managed to travel through all this pain and emerge one of the most energetic, positive and loving people I know.

Both of J.’s parents were killed in separate car accidents within two weeks of each other when he was seven years old. His youthful father had recently been released from prison where he’d spent time for drug offenses. In first and second grade, J. lived in a rough neighborhood where he routinely confronted bullies on his way to school. He learned how to fight then. But you’d never know it now if you met this gentle man.

When his parents were killed J. moved in with his aunt and uncle who soon became ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’. But tragedy, violence and grief still stalked that family.

At 22, J. was  suddenly afflicted with a rare disease (caused by a polio vaccine) which left him completely paralyzed for 87 days. At the time he was married to a mentally unstable woman and had a young baby. He walked out of work one day, his legs gave way, and next thing he knew he was in a hospital bed unable to move.

Nothing worked in his body for those 87 days. Eventually he had to learn how to walk and talk again. The disease will never go away and now, almost 20 years later J. still deals with debilitating chronic pain.

But, as I said, if you were to meet this man you would never, ever guess at the challenges he has faced! He now is remarried, has a beautiful family, holds down a few jobs and teaches Pilates. Despite his physical limitations, one of his favorite hobbies is river rafting down the wild and scenic rivers of Northern California.

Best of all, he laughs. He laughs and smiles all the time. He has boundless energy. Everyone loves J. because he is just so much fun to be around.

I realized this weekend that J. is somewhat of a hero, and I told him he should write down his story to share with others who might gain strength from it.

And it got me thinking. I sometimes feel so held back by my own (piddly compared to J.) story. I can’t even imagine trying to raft down a river with unless my body felt pain-free. I hesitate to sing and dance in public because big, scary people told me I suck.

I have allowed myself to get stuck in some of those old stories, for them to depress me and color my outlook on the world.

Granted, some of it is just personality – some people do see that half-full glass no matter that it’s nearly drained. J. is one of them.

Resilience. J’s got it by the boatload. I picked the word for my Angel Card the other day. I didn’t know what it meant for me at the time.

Now, I’m thinking: Yes, be resilient. So what if you get punched? Get up again and give it another go. So what if you fail at one endeavor? Time to move onto something new. Laugh about it and move on.

It’s all about the journey and having fun along the way. Thanks J!