My Heart is Open

Closing

I guess I've been too busy living a meaningful life to write about it.  Check out my work blog or my Seattle blog.

Thoughts

There are times that writing feels like a drug to me, a habit I can't quite kick.  Half written novels (OK - one complete draft) and half-documented ideas litter my hard drive like so many discarded beer cans.  Periodically I look at the mess around me and think "this is not helpful"  or "this is not a good use of my time" and I get distracted with other things - but I'm afraid these periods of lucidity rarely last long.

Like Morgan Llewellyn's creature Shinnan I feel unconceived children burning in my belly - except that they are of words and not flesh.

I have not chosen a writer's life.  But I still feel something inside me struggling to get free.  I don't want to get distracted by that call, but I also fear that after so many years of turning away that fire will be extinguished, leaving me less than I once was.

Or could have been.

Roller Coaster Consulting: The Cart is Going Up

I haven't written here in a while, mostly because I've been busy writing my other blog and also just because I've been too consumed with the activities of life to be introspective.  I'm usually introspective-a-rama girl so this is a bit unusual, but not necessarily a bad thing.

But I'm sitting in my office ready to launch into some curriculum development (never as much fun writing things down as thinking them up), and I did want to say something about this whole consulting roller coaster ride.

A month ago, I was sitting on a small mountain of proposals I'd written for various groups, feeling low because I was doing all of this work and I felt like I didn't have a lot to show for it.  Lots of interest, lots of new business friends, lots of activity, but no signed projects.  Half of me felt proud of the hard work I was doing and my continuous improvement, and the other half coldly reminded me that until I have more bucks in the bank pride is not an appropriate reaction. 

I'm doing things right.  I don't feel successful.  I'm doing things right.  I don't feel successful.  The litany ran on in my mind.

Then suddenly, everything changed.  Two new clients signed on within hours of each other.  I get cc'd on an email where a business contact of mine is recommending that an organization down in Tacoma bring me in as a speaker.  A request for consulting recommendation comes across my industry association list and two people chime right in and recommend me.  A proposal that I thought was long dead is suddenly resurrected.

The reason why I'm writing this down is to remind myself of this:  All of the "success" of these last few weeks has only come about because I've refused to give up during the weeks when everything seemed hopeless.   This wasn't "two weeks" of great work, this was over a year of hard work finally ripening into action.

I hope that next time instead of saying "I am doing everything right" and "I dont feel successful" while nashing my teeth and feeling low, I can remember that all of my effort goes into the same bucket, and that it doesn't so much matter about one day or one month so long as my trend line is going up strongly.

Easier said than done.  When it comes to my inner motivation as a business owner, half of me is supportive and kind, and the other half is a rampaging drill seargent, never satisfied.  This may cause some inner turmoil, but I do suppose it lights a fire under my ass.

For today anyway, the business roller coaster is going up!

   

Mysteries of Life

Our world is full of mystery and wonder.

"What happens after we die?"
"How does the human mind store and retrieve information?"
"Is there a unified theory of quantum physics?"
"How can we create world peace?"

I'm going to add to this list today.

"Why do people believe I'm a middle aged man with erectile dysfunction and a short penis in need of investment opportunities from Nigerian banks?"

I'd like to think that this last statement is silly, but my email spam folder says differently.

.....

It's a Seattle Day

It's a perfect kind of Seattle day.  The kind of day that makes me think that this is probably the part of the world for me.  Ireland may steal me away someday, but until that day, it's hard to imagine leaving all of this.

I'm sitting at Uptown Espresso on 4th and Wall watching the rain blast down on concrete and the traffic lights swaying like drunken sorority girls in the wind.  Cars speed by, covered in a few months worth of freeway muck, and all around me I see the habitual Seattle crowd.  A handful of business people gesturing pointedly and talking to each other without even listening to what the person across from them has said.  A few solitary laptop users oblivious to everything around them.  A forty-something man in khakis gesturing flamboyantly and letting his head roll from side to side as he shares a bit of gossip with another rotund khaki wearer. Some long haired bicyclists in damp hoodies.  I even see another OD consultant (I know him - but he hasn't spotted me yet) rising to hug a friend as she enters the shop.  Yes, we OD people are huggers.  I resisted for years but they finally broke me down.  Half of the cafe dwellers are sitting with someone, the other half (like me) are sitting alone.   

The coffee grinder screeches and the latte frother squeals, the cups clank on the table, and outside a Land Rover is doing a very poor job of trying to parallel park in a bus zone. All everyday drama in this wet, windy, coffee slurping city.   

My legs are cold underneath my "proper" business skirt (Did I ever tell you that dressing like a consultant is boring?), the metro buses keep spraying my car with grime as they roar down fifth avenue, and I've run about out of coffee.  But I think I'll stick around a while longer.

I like it here.  There is something comforting about all the noise and smells and activity.  They say the city is where people go to be alone.  But at least we can all be alone together, with coffee and the din of conversation, on a cheerfully dreary Seattle day.

Forgiveness

I've been thinking about forgiveness lately.  I think it is probably one of the most powerful forces in human relationships, and it's probably one of the ones that is hardest to come by.  Anger and hatred are easier most of the time.  Avoidance is even easier than that.

When I gave up on one of my parents, I figured it would be easier to spend most of the time pretending like he didn't exist.  This didn't always work.  I would get small glimpses of him in my mind, driving his car to work.  Feeding his dog.  Watching the evening news.  I would see these things and feel a little sad.  Then I would push them from my mind.

That worked pretty well until I picked up the phone the other week and suddenly he was on the other line.  As he spoke, my heart betrayed me with a surge of happiness so profound it shook me.  I felt foolish.  Isn't it wrong to be happy to hear from someone you've tried to cut out of your life?  Isn't that just incredibly stupid?  Stupid but true I suppose.  Children love their parents, and I don't think that ever changes for most of us.  Love is an irrational thing.

In the end I stood up for myself and said what needed to be said.  I may have been surprised, but I wasn't going to fall back into all those old patterns.  I made it clear that any further communication was going to need to be on my terms.  And to be honest, I'm not sure I'm ready for any of this.  "My terms" may be quite a while in coming, if at all.

I think in letting him go - in cutting off all contact - I finally freed myself to release some of that old anger - because I find it is mostly gone now. I wouldn't say I am hopeful about the future.  I wouldn't say that I'm eager to stick my hand back into the fire that burned me.  My expectations are pretty low really.  But if it's true that this phone call ripped the bandage off my pain, it's also true that I found my wounds mostly healed.  A surprise.

Perhaps this doesn't make any sense to anyone but me.  But I think that sometimes forgiveness is like a boomerang.  You take the person that hurt you and fling them as hard as you can away from you.  In that empty space after the throw, you find the space you need to feel healed.  Then although you never admit it out loud - you scan the skyline when no one is looking.  Hoping that someday they'll come back changed.

The part of me that is sensible wants to deny this hope entirely - bury it down deep where no one can see it.  Actual change seems so improbable, an irrational expectation.

But love is an irrational thing I suppose.  So is forgiveness.  Perhaps the former leads to the latter for some of us.  Will this happen to me?  I don't know.  I don't even know if that is what I want. 

 

Life After Death

I've been settling back down into Paganism over the last six months.  Not that I ever entirely left, but after a few years of bouncing around between different schools of thought, I feel like this is a kind of homecoming.  I think it's probably healthy to re-assess your spiritual bent every so many years.  I've incorporated a fair amount of Buddhist thought into my brand of earth spirituality after this last round of seeking, and it suits me.  And I find myself thinking about what paganism means in the context of my current life - and what ideas I am choosing to live by.

So I've been thinking about this notion of heaven and and an afterlife.  Anyone who says with certainty that they know what happens (or if anything happens) to the soul after death may be kidding themselves, but many of us have our suspicions.  Christians naturally turn to the Bible as a source of wisdom about the afterlife, and Pagans turn to nature.  So when I consider my best guess about what death has in store, I don't see a heaven of eternal bliss, I don't see a moving reunion with long lost loved ones.  I don't see a "me" surviving at all in fact.

Consider the tree.  Each year new leaves grow and unfurl, and gradually die and fall to the ground.  Those leaves decompose, allowing new life to flourish.  In this cycle, no individual leaf is recreated, but there is a renewing of life in each season.  This metaphor is aligned with how many pagans, including myself, view death.

I subscribe to the view that when we die our "spirit" or soul returns to the source (some call this God/dess) and that the energy that makes us up is recycled into a new life.  Reincarnation you might call it, but without remembrance.    Without a preservation of identity.  Druids think of this "source" as a cauldron, from which we live out ever-changing cycles of experience.

At the end of the day, what this amounts to is a belief (suspicion) that there is no heaven.  A belief that when I die, my soul might live on but there is no happy afterlife where I'll be with my family and friends and long lost pets and Patrick.  And while I strongly suspect that heaven is not real (or will not be real for me), it can be a hard thing to cope with.  Death is a fearful thing to contemplate - when you think it means separation from those you've grown very attached to.

I think if I believed in Heaven, it would be easier in many ways.  I could be prepared to die someday and know that everyone I've ever loved will be there waiting for me forever.  But to the pagan mind this notion seems childish - a denial of the natural cycles of life.  Nothing is forever.  Not the stones, not the mountains, not even the Gods.  Our individual lives are precious exactly because they are so fleeting.

When I find myself saddened by the impermanence of life, I think back to when I was fifteen and falling in love with Patrick - really knowing him for the first time.  And as much as it is terrible to let go of someone at life's end, wouldn't it be more terrible if we were not free to experience all those "firsts" in life's next cycle?  What is love if it isn't discovered anew?

And it's hard to understand I think what it means for your soul to return to God when you die.  Perhaps this is the notion of heaven.  Perhaps heaven is a kind of oneness that we can't seem to realize when we're all walking around in our distinct flesh prisons.  I don't know. 

But I do know I don't believe in heaven.  I do know that I suspect that when it comes to me being me, this life is all I get.  I know this makes me want to live a fully expressed life, without regrets and with full appreciation for those I care about.

I think I only get one life to be me.  May my candle burn brightly while it can.

A Case of the Blues

I haven't been blogging much lately because I've had an old fashioned case of the blues.  The kind of demotivating, depressing, don't-want-to-think-about-anything kind of mood that leaves you taking lots of naps and ignoring what is good about life.

I'm pretty much out of it, and I don't know what caused it.  Winter weather?  Random emotional thunderclouds?  Bad luck at work?  Anyone's guess.

I suppose the universe has been throwing me some rotten tomatoes lately.  A couple carefully nurtured consulting projects that evaporated due to surprises entirely outside my control.  A heart-rending phone call that I wasn't prepared for.  A scale that won't budge after months of diligent exercise. Nothing that I can't handle.  But let's just say I'm looking forward to a better February.

And in the mean time, it probably wouldn't hurt to get one of those full spectrum lightbulbs eh?  That and a fresh packet of Bitch-Be-Gone.

In the mean time I'm on a strict diet of laughter, friends, Patrick, and good books.  The clouds are clearing.

A Free Trip Through My Psyche

I had a dream last night that I was on a big camping trip with friends, except that we had all spread our sleeping bags out slumber party style on someone's front lawn. It may have been the lawn we park on when we go to ShiShi Beach. While everyone was cleaning up, I took a walk and got lost on Harbor Road.

I suddenly remembered that I had a seventy five dollar bill in my pocket, and I decided to get change so I could call Patrick to come pick me up.  I knocked on the door of a crumbling blue house, and was greeted by vampires.  They invited me in, and one of them painstakingly made change for me (I had to keep pulling the Euros out of the change - and telling her we were not in Europe) while a knee-high vampire repeatedly poked me in the leg with a surgeons scalpel until I took it away. 

I walked out the front door, and found my ride waiting for me, but it wasn't Patrick, it was an assortment of friends (although I didn't recognize them) and one very pissed off looking Brad Pitt wearing one of those dorky tweed hats he likes.  He said that my carelessness with vampires had ruined everything for everyone.  I remarked that I needed change.  He yelled some more.  I told him (the idea suddenly occurred to me)  "It is satisfying to walk into the tiger's cage and leave without getting bitten."
He snorted in disgust, and was gone.

I tried to go back to the vampire house to retrieve my forgotten wallet (I didn't trust the vampires not to steal my credit card numbers) but when I got there the vampires were all frozen like wax statutes.  A grizzled old neighbor looked in the window with me and yelled "The Children of Christmas!"

Suddenly the car (a whitish land rover) was up on blocks, the wheels gone.  It was the future, and everything was over.  I got in the car and drove it anyway.  We got out (suddenly, there were other people there) and began following a trail down between bushes and rotted planks of wood into a kind of cave.  There were notes for me left along the route, scrawled in a kid's handwriting.  One of them was a torn yellow square mostly covered with small exclamations like "Hi!  Hi!  Hi!"  In small spidery print the note asked me if I remembered the first thing I wanted to do when I saw the oven, or what lived in the back of the closet.

I realized that this note was from someone familiar, a kind of sprite or spirit that I had talked to when I was a tiny child.  I began walking down into the darkness of the cave.  I felt someone poke me in the back, and I woke up.

To find Victor staring at me.  He made one of those cat chirping noises - then took off up the stairs.  So much for un-reality. 

A Shiny New Year

I like a new year.  Even though I know that the little "tick" from one day to the next is no different whether it is December 31st or May 7th, it still feels nice.  It's that kind of feeling you get when you purchase a new journal and a smooth writing pen.  All those blank pages waiting to be filled - all of those brand new days just waiting to be experienced.

I also can't help but feel that 2008 is the year that is really going to mean something professionally.  Having spent the last year laying the groundwork for my business, I find myself starting off this year in a much different situation than I was one year ago.  In January of 07, I was nervous, fearful, and anxious.  I had all these plans and no sense that I could tell if or when they would pay off.  I had all this insecurity about marketing and networking and speaking in front of large groups.  I had yet to write a single proposal or have a single prospect meeting.   I had no business to speak of, just an empty calendar and a distinct weakness in the knees.   I found it remarkable that people would comment on my courage and boldness when I felt like a big wimpy chicken most of the time.

This year feels a whole lot different.  After a long 18 months of plowing the field I'm starting to see tiny green shoots appear.  First it was the realization that if all of my current proposals out are accepted - I'll be over halfway to meeting my revenue targets for the year.  Then it was a call out of the blue from a stranger who had heard "I was good."  Then an invitation for some repeat business with a former client.  Bit by bit, I've come to feel that this is the year when things will really start moving.

No one can predict the future.  And I realize that at this point in my business cycle, a gigantic success may simply mean getting to the point when I can afford to pay myself.  I know by next year, these joyful accomplishments may feel less than significant.

But in the cool light of a winter day, looking at the days stretching out ahead of me like an unbroken road, I can't help but feel good.  It's a shiny new year.