2018

In the lovely mellow space which is the week between Christmas and New Year's - those by-design moments not occupied by the usual noise and activity of a vibrant family - it's not difficult to pull inward and consider the upcoming trip around the sun.

It has been my reality that, for most of my life, these earnest, tender-hearted resolutions found their speedy demise shortly after the midnight bells on New Year's Eve. In a stereotypical description, I may have had the want, but not made a decision. Such bland, overused word, and yet the implication is severe. A decision, as I continue to consider things, is a phenomenon of will, rather than emotion. With that in view, perhaps the best decisions are the ones made with explicit understanding that emotions will soon work *against* - rather than for - it. Because most of the change we seek are the things which have been difficult to obtain; accomplish; change; or face.

The right decisions are also intensely personal and highly tailored; and therefore requiring no justification to anyone else about why those, in particular, are what should drive me forward, and not something else. Vague semi-societal aspirations of 'better shape', 'better time management', better what-the-fuck-ever are perhaps the primary reason we jump the bandwagon as heartily as we do. Over the last few months, the sequence of primary life drivers have begun to reverse, for me.

It has not been a wasted consideration to attempt to design what my overall life vision is; and as that ultra-deep conversation with self floats more and more into view, the decisions I commit to are no longer in and of themselves, following random, albeit predictable, blueprint of 'bettering' everything; rather, they become specific, preordered support beams for the over-arching, ultimate life structure that I mean to be now intentional, designed, sought-after.

Armed with a more strategic view of life, it is also easier to prioritize the near-term focus. For me a somewhat-midlife transformation began with my physical self, and that change, once successfully permanent, has begun to bleed predictably into next life sequences (like career).

I realized while reading this morning that the things I find holding me back from venturing broader out into the world of those less advantaged - sick, homeless, hungry, lonely - are mostly two-fold. One is emotional readiness to step into pain - to truly fall into limitless compassion & kinship which, I still fear, will likely rip my heart open on first contact. My leading tendency remains to soak in the others' pain, and paradoxically, I expect my natural talents to be dulled and rendered almost useless by being instantly overwhelmed - overrun - by injustice and suffering. So preparation to live immersed in another's struggle is important (although I have to be mindful that I spend so much time in mental prep that I bypass the opportunity real life offers every day that passes). The other obstacle I face mentally is instability that remains in my own life, resolution for which does not set me free to fully engage into situations and solutions of others. Here, primarily, the 'undone' pieces center around my legal status (severe procrastination to obtain citizenship); and our financials - specifically settling debt and providing a savings baseline to stabilize provision for the needs of our family before I feel secure enough to provide for others (both financially, and through potential future career choices, etc.). It is not necessarily that I feel that lack of right paperwork or fat savings account makes me ineffective; it is that by failing to resolve this bit of life for us, I don't feel confident that I have the multi-faceted solutions - or frankly the clear unburdened focus - for others. It is a clean-up area of our life that I would like to address and put to rest, to complete the mental build-out of *me* that is more shored up to start traveling upstream into places where hurt lives, and stay there wholeheartedly.

I'm careful, in considering this, not to assume that God's work has to be premediated. But I do feel that stepping out too far before I'm ready - whatever that means, but I can usually tell very well when 'ready' comes, and God has proven immaculate in his timing of every stretch of the soul he's required of me - 'forces' rather than 'flows', and I'm aiming for flow.

In his perfect sequence, and through significant difficulties, I've already absorbed a high number of building blocks to the larger looming outline of the life I am aiming to live. I've learned to set boundaries. I've learned to truly accept myself. I've learned to take care of myself as a non-negotiable priority. I've learned to dislike digitized human connections, and reject the impersonal nature of most of the human contact now available to use. I've learned to fully own, and therefore freely design and implement, my professional decisions. I've learned that coaching and mentoring are foundationally important to me, to feed both my growth and my humility (which expands at the same speed as does my sphere of influence). I've learned to absolve myself of the weight of others' opinions, while neither neglecting nor being fed by those.

Advent

Madeleine L'Engle quotes Cardinal Suhard (Archbishop of Paris throughout 1940's) in her book, "A Stone For A Pillow: Journeys With Jacob": "To be a witness does not consist of engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one's life would not make sense if God did not exist."

I cannot know if my life is lived in such a way - seen in such a way. I suspect that paying too much attention to how it is understood from outside can also be a dangerous path to a hunt for self-righteousness. Even so, this has resonated with me as a minor litmus test of faith; the proposed definition reminds me to commit, in the instinctive way, to making choices that are solely framed by the word of God, by grace, by holy expectation, and not culture, vogue, desire to fit in, or self-validation.

I know my heart to be restless, in a major, always-present way, regarding my impact on the world; the footprint of my life on life of any others. I'm zealous for consistency in my approach to those whose paths my life crosses, although I often fall short of utter engagement and pull back into my shell where I keep considering my role, my purpose. Similarly, I hurt deeply considering the grief - simply astounding grief and sorrow that wash over the rest of the planet, and I'm consistently troubled by my own perceived ineffectiveness to contribute to larger causes.

Austerity. Pairing down. Minimalism. Maximizing resources. I really do suck at unlearning decades of poor decision making when it comes to spending my 3 T's (time, talent, treasure) and filling holes in the mental fabric with quick things, or informational fast food readily made available by social media, which is both ineffective and terribly wasteful. I'm trying to pull back to the stripped-down, made-naked, fully-exposed, hard-core essence of who I am made to be. I'm closer now than before, and the impact of living closer to my own center is powerful; but I'm OK knowing I still have 'miles to go before I sleep', before I strip facades further down.

Jessica once said that money behaves the way you behave toward it; if it usually fills you with fear and insecurity, if money appears to you something ephemeral, unsteady, hard to keep, you end up repelling money - it is as if it washes through your fingers. If money, instead, is rather firmly in your service, and you steadily a master, it behaves well, sticks around, and becomes of benefit. I have no need to be wealthy, but I do yearn for fiscal discipline and freedom from debt and dependence. In addition, I want to know what it's like to freely give - to drive benefit to others. I'm 38, and I feel pressure to get shit together and get this aspect of my life out of shady corners of the subconscious, and tackle it almost aggressively - like I would tackle an overgrown closet, or an overlooked pantry. Weeding out, pulling all out into the light, sorting, divesting, organizing, putting it back paired down and neatly tied up. I think it's all about unadulterated freedom, in the end - as long as there are strings of debt and obligation, the world has its anchors on you, on dreams, on ambitions, even the selfless ones. I have to know that to truly soar, I have to grind down and clean up the mess first. That's hard and requires forethought and sacrifice, and more discipline in areas of life that haven't seen any for a while.

Discipline in general has also been a subject of some consideration for me. One easy definition has been along the lines of doing what is right no matter how it feels. Feelings, in general, I'm finding to be increasingly poor guides of sound decision making. I've had many a train of thought run along these tracks; from being mildly fascinated with Eastern cultures where self-discipline is exponentially more a priority than the Western - especially American - hunt for instant gratification and ease of consumption to the point of dulling the senses; to my own upbringing where the feelings & discipline were more tragically misunderstood and made to clash, and critical life relationships lost in rigid insistence on denying one their space & emotion & depth of spirit. For this season of life, I'm choosing some focus on discipline as a self-imposed method to overcome typical inertia and resistance to making deep, key changes to stabilize the health of several key life aspects - physical health; personal boundaries and setting expectations for others about how I need to be treated; clearly financial health as well; professional acuity which revolves around priority principles of teaching, coaching, focus, and learning.

I'm still accepting applications for a best friend. That person who gets me at a previously unconceivable level. During Thanksgiving, Laurie, observing me puttering in the kitchen after the meal, noted in my direction - "I see you and your introverted ways." I knew she knew - that I needed to get away from small-talkish conversation. For some reason, that flash of more than surface recognition of WHY I was doing what I was doing was superbly refreshing. I want this - all the time.

A week in October

A week off work.

Still, a week full of hard work, with even longer hours; but the time was put into *my* people; *my* homestead. And so, it barely felt like work at all.

I've sat for long minutes observing a more (not yet fully completely) minimalist environs I'm attempting to carve out for the family.

I've brought the garden inside - I bought more houseplants, and revived my dying orchids. There's no peace without green, in my world. On the same note, I've been brought much unsolicited joy by a florist at New Seasons who sought me out in the store to hand me stem after stem of gorgeous plants which were destined for compost for some invisible minor infractions. Flowering orchid stems post-Homecomings! Free! I salivate at mere sight of these.

I have uncompromisingly moved almost all furniture to remove the hidden rubbish - to broadly sweep clean, to make even the covered-up spaces clean in my mind so the whole of my household felt showered, made well.

I have gone through all toys (to be fair, inside the house - the population still strewn about the garage floor remains there to be tackled when both time and bravery return), and I have weeded out the clutter, and, for most impact, gathered up bits and pieces which belonged together. Which, of course, instantly changed the toy-playing dynamic and has self-directed kids' imagination, not to mention freed them (and us) from the oppression of a looming tangled mess of disjointed toys.

Most notably, I have lost easily and without precedent any need or want of staying in touch with the office. There were texts, and probably emails, but my burnout rate must have been elevated in an unprecedented fashion - I have avoided any attempts to remain current with the goings-on.

I have enjoyed a quiet mid-week hike with Allan through Cooper Mountain, an easy nearby favorite, having given myself permission to take it easy and with breaks even while working on my own home-improvement project. I find balance of doing and being more viable as I get older, I think, and having recently read a meme (...yes) on the subject of 'forcing' versus 'flowing', I'm more mindful of allowing the latter.

Having granted myself things like office-free mind space and a measured approach to my own work, I now feel like the nine days away truly were a month, in slowed pace, and with purposeful mindfulness (an overused term these days, but the soul springs at a sound of it with recognition and quiet satisfaction).

My kids got a much more available Mom out of the deal, the home-cooked meals, the games, the vastly improved play space; and I was offered a front row seat to the moments that typically escape me via my standard schedule - their collaboration through play, their individual moments of being fully consumed by a task, their improving, and still so varied, abilities and skills. It is tempting to feed resentment rising at moments of observation I know I miss out on, but this is undoubtedly a false choice for me for now, and so I 'flow' here, too, instead of 'forcing'.

There were a few ad hoc moments worth jotting down - a case of lice (unwanted, but we found a new expedited service which took care of it swiftly and professionally); my first job of both hanging blinds, and caulking (all small victories, no doubt, but they feed my confidence crawl in ability to handle fairly standard repair tasks with fairly standard hand tools, which I secretly love); a joyous trip to everyone's favorite spaces (a nursery; a hardware liquidation store; a game store; a beautiful delicious lunch spot in an unexpected place). I hope kids retain these days as 'core' memories and hold on to these way after I've allowed myself to forget them.

And to jot down a thought I've been gnawing on - I believe a way to realize that something really moves you is to discover that you do not mind being very average, very amateur at it, at first. If a particular task nurtures my soul, I do not rush perfection, nor do I experience frustration at not getting it right, from the start. For me, this held (and still holds) true with photography; gardening (inside and out); home improvement projects; writing; cooking. Maybe recently this works also as we try to adhere to improving our lives financially, and staying more disciplined in following a budget.

"I'm glad to live in a world where there are Octobers," as L.M. Montgomery writes in 'Anne of Green Gables', in the end.

I'm nearly offended by terms 'slim' or 'slender' or 'my, you're thinner now.' Show me a thin lighthouse, and I'll show you a disaster.

I'm strong, sturdy, and grounded. I'm built for every weather, and remain undeterred by storms. Not disaffected, of course. But immovable - by the virtue of piercing faith from without, and time-tested grit from within.

I have accepted a growing calling that my primary thing in life is light-bringing. A light lit from within. Not a cozy chorus of candlelight; not a familiar zigzag of artisan light bulbs - rather, a solid, steady, straight, directed light of a towering lighthouse, calling home those lost, hopeless, doubtful, scared.

The mental image empowers me, and keeps me humble at the same time. I am nothing without a light house keeper, and I'm ever certain and grateful that mine is the real deal. That a light which Christ lights is dimmed by nothing and no one.

Shine on.

'37 was the year the fear left.'
One day I'll write a beautiful, sunlit, stirring piece of prose, to which this would be an anchor.

In which I'll also distinguish between fear (which I pray, hard, is truly gone for good) and anxiety; burnout; sadness. But the latter alternatives are fully human to me and coexist somewhat peacefully with living out loud and fearlessly. In fact, not being afraid allows me to allow the less shiny emotions to take their time, to wash over, to sit with me a while, and then shift out of focus again.

Fresh parsley smell, when chopped, all crunchy and full of spring, transports me instantly to grandparents' dacha - orchard, or small garden - where my quiet, boring summers were spent. To this day, my most coveted, most memorable meal is a memory of small, whole boiled potatoes, minutes out of the ground, roughly mashed, with nothing but salt and butter; and the simple salad of cucumbers and tomatoes, sometimes with herbs, also just removed from the vine. No restaurant ever will knock this out of its first place on my meals-to-die-for list.

Things to not covet ever doing again? Changing sheets on the top bunk of a bunk bed.

It is possible to feel literal toxicity of not having enough alone time. No amount of dutiful reminding myself that I should appreciate the hustle all around me of a healthy, loving family is sometimes enough to offset the drowning urge to hear silence and to relinquish simmering expectations of small daily upcoming crisis or someone needing you or someone calling your name. I'm so much healthier mentally when I can soak in solitude.

There is a lot I teach myself. That doesn't mean I've stopped looking for a soulmate mentor.

I don't do coffee as 'cult'. I'm addicted to the weight of the morning cup in my hand and its life-giving power.

I often look at my kids and imagine what'll it be like when they're grown. I try to talk to them now as if they're grown already - this way I feel they'll be prepared, for life after us.

I am becoming a better friend, and as a result, I'm having more. I crave friendships more now, too. I still have a long way to go, though.

I still love silences. Now I enjoy more outside silences - of the ocean, of the woods, of the nighttime rain.

Trees have permanence, which satisfies my anxiety, and steady indifference, which calms me down. I'm rather a fan of the trees.

I'm not a good photographer (in the professional sense). But I enjoy the image composition even if I only use iPhone for photos. Some do turn out rather well.

It is fairly human, I think, to search unwittingly for symbols - for somewhat tangible (physically, or even mentally) permanent reminders of fundamental events in our lives.
I've thought now for a number of months that the number '37' has been taking shape as such a marker for me.
It is only my age, since last July. So perhaps I'm not very inventive with my meaningful markers. Yet it resonates with me and provides a sharp milestone, a line crossed which takes me into the rest of my life a deeply changed person.
I'm not sure why now. Why this year, and in such an effective progression. I've always been the type to over-analyze myself and definitely focus on improving everything I thought needed improvement, in me. I'm open to my own blind spots and derive satisfaction of molding my own character, and I'm convinced I'm guided by a permanent, real faith, which satisfies me as the ultimate litmus test.
But last summer, maybe - I'm guessing - accentuated by the ending baby stages of Emery's life, when all three of my kids finally needed less than 100% of my energy 100% of the time, something shifted in a rumbling-earth kind of way.
I couldn't, anymore. I couldn't feel 'behind' anymore. I was merely making it through the days, anxious as I woke up, and exhausted as I went to bed. I've disappeared from any family photographs and told myself that shopping for plus-size clothes wasn't the end of the world. My confidence continued to trail my competence, at work. I have been hit broadside in both my marriage and my career in the few years prior, and recovery from these impacts has been excruciatingly difficult. And I finally felt cheated.
Out of life lived out loud. Out of fantastical freedom of not giving a damn about anyone else's take on my life, or my words, or my thoughts, except God alone, with His voice roaring clearly and singularly to me, and for me, above all other noise. Out of crucial life energy that now laid dormant for years. Out of forward force which would dismantle anything in its way to get me to the ultimate, legitimate, inimitable me, created for Love.
I don't remember why I went for a walk that day. Maybe it was as trivial as wanting to give something new a try, anything, to get me out of status quo. July 17, 2016. Midday on a Sunday - I left the house and returned, drained, after three miles. Like a popped glow stick, it felt to me, in a bad metaphor, as if months, if not years, of physical and mental toxins were set free in my body, and I felt ill. I knew how unhealthy I was, then. That first headache lasted all afternoon.
Pathetic as they were, those first minutes and steps would give birth to a breeze, a flutter of hope and a sense of new direction. I was headed into the sabbatical, and I knew I wanted to start something new before I left the office for six weeks. It was getting easier, too, as I was ramping down things at work, to decide to spend (always just one more) time on myself without the usual rigor of excuses about how busy I was.
Looking back now, after seven months, over 600 miles, and four or five half-marathons I did just for me, after a winter - first in a long time - when I lost weight instead of gaining - walking was a major catalyst to confidence. And with confidence, of pushing myself to my own goals and freedom to not compete with anything or anyone than my own old self, came massive - in full fairness, incomprehensible - freedom to know my truth. All of it.
Those hours spent in the dark in the evenings, as my brain churned, have been healing in a way that should carry me forward through the rest of my life. I'm simply no longer afraid.
My choice to stand for myself, to invest in my well-being, have broken open all the truth I have pushed down and out of sight for years.
In the last seven months, I have seen the future I hope for. I have lost my dependency, the choice to not speak up for what I need and for my boundaries, my lack of self-esteem. Nothing I pursue is about arrogance. But the freedom and backbone I sense now are inescapable, and, I hope, fully permanent. I have chosen to see and call myself as strong, and I have seen the response of those who are pulled into my confidence. I have realized the responsibility of leading others into their own strength, and the humility this requires. I have begun to need approval, or even understanding, less; and sincerity and trust, more. I have realized my perceived introversion, all along, was perhaps a way of hiding. And I have become hungry for the variety of deeply human relationships which can be offered once my own walls are removed.
Yes, I have been my own cheerleader throughout, and have learned to fake it until I make it. But as I 'make it', even the need for the pep talk is disappearing slowly. My truth is acquiring an exoskeleton strong enough to withstand scrutiny, to remain open-handed to inquiry & cynicism, and to give of itself at no cost.
I'm hopelessly optimistic and my drive forward are unstoppable. Meaning even I can't halt the forward motion; no matter the delays, the detours, the occasional darkness. I'm not my own but God's and his purpose for me, I know now, is too large, too vast, too staggeringly beautiful to be in any way seized or paused by my frailty or doubt or incompetence or fear. So I jump, and continue jumping, and expect - no, demand - to grow wings on the way down. And for 37 years, this has never failed me - even when failure was all I saw in the moment. I stand free in a dizzying, fierce Love of the true God and, having acknowledged all I have and all I am as first having come from Him, I fear nothing. For the first time, at this scale, in my life. I cannot wait to see the rest of it.

It is positively breathtaking, how fast my preferences for life have changed in the last year. Winters have always been harder for me, the dark, the cold, the light-less. A typical remedy would be to burrow inside and eat my feelings until spring finally, eventually arrived. Outside were the unwanted elements, the harsh temperatures, and the gloom.
After the last few months of slowly acclimating to outside as my extended reality, this winter I hardly can bear staying inside. If not broken away from the usual boxes of home & office, I feel agitated, full of shifty yearning, and completely new pull to escape - outdoors. Hard to believe, but I've made myself accustomed to the elements, and with proper gear, none of it repels me anymore - not rain, not freezing temperatures, not even occasional snow.