sunday grace: just be true

"the privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are."  -carl jung

i used to have a favorite t-shirt designed by my friend jen lee that read, "just be true."  i really miss that shirt.  i lost it at a yoga festival a few years ago.

but even though i no longer wear the words on my body, i carry them in my soul.

a few weeks ago, i worked through a values exercise with a class i was teaching to clarify our most important personal values.  top of the list for me:  authenticity.

i work really hard at showing up as my genuine self.  i don't pretend to be anything i'm not.  i enjoy being a beginner, living in the learning stages.  i also enjoy developing expertise, but i understand there is no quick road to that.  i'm not a fan of fake or imitation.  i even cringe a bit when people say, "fake it 'til you make it."  (for many valid, spiritual reasons, but that is another post.)

i am very sensitive, as i'm certain most people are, when my ideas, art, work or projects randomly show up, presented and claimed by someone who is not me.

i blogged about this very thing a few years ago:  stealing buddha.  (holy moly, nearly FIVE years ago!)  i reread that blog before i started writing this one.  because the message i keep getting is to just let it go.

but in the years since that post, casually using others' work has become even more commonplace in our culture.  it is often just called inspiration.  i see it as a spectrum of intentions and behavior that we must check in with on a regular basis.  if we operate from a place of replicating someone else's work, we are not using the time to truly discover our own unique thing.

. . . . .

inspiration:  when you are drawn to a piece, practice, project or person and there is an energetic flash of connection and you think, "i want to do something like that."  amazing.  i am endlessly inspired by so many artists and thinkers, i can't imagine what my life and work would be without them.  i honor their influence and the work they have done by connecting with them, learning from them, and publicly recognizing the source.

practicing:  this happens a lot in creative fields, when someone practices the work of another to learn the technique in their own practice, trying it on to see how it moves within and relates to their own style and body of work.

duplication:  when you put out the same work or ideas as another, without doing the foundational work or having a depth of understanding and meaning about the process.  the end result is often accompanied by a sense of secrecy, hollowness and desperation.  there is an overwhelming feeling that it is not connected to who you are.  your intended audience feels that, even if you don't.

race-to-finish-first:  this is the person who sees others working hard and putting in time for a future release of something that looks like it's going to be fantastic.  they quickly throw together what they perceive to be the elements of the work so that they can be the first to release a quick, fake copy.

impostor:  this is a little more involved than copying.  it is when someone takes on characteristics and practices of another and presents as a particular kind of person with specific knowledge, experience and skills, when they haven't developed those things.  this is not to be confused with impostor syndrome. (although sometimes people say they struggle with having impostor syndrome, when they might want to consider that are actually engaging in impostor behavior.)

stealing:  if you use or copy another's idea, art or work to make money or to gain popularity/publicity/attention, it is stealing.  this is doubly true if the person you stole from earns a living from their work.  your stealing cuts into their livelihood.

. . . . .

we are all influenced by the work of others.  but it seems we are losing touch with discerning the range of influence. dabbling anywhere but the inspiration-practicing end of the spectrum prevents us from discovering our own true gifts.

it prevents us from discovering and being our own true selves.

let's be true.

after the storm

it's been nearly two weeks since the derecho blew through.  for me it carried with it fifteen minutes of terror followed by a moment of profound gratitude and then ten days of misery.

we were without power in our home during the hottest week ever in our town.  it was unbearable.  i couldn't sleep well at all.  i was immobilized.  i was angry at the news and the power company and my local government for their inadequate response and for then calling it something else.  this was actually probably the worst part--the positive spin.  i hate a positive spin.  i live in the land of the positive spin.  i was angry with myself for being dependent on a system, for being left at the mercy of the powers that be.

my friend graciel sent me a message that helped me reframe my experience.  she mused that the lack of power immediately following me leaving the job that bled my personal power from me was not coincidental and she gracefully suggested (because she does all things with grace, that one) that the time arrived for me to examine the shift of power within myself.  this opened me up to the exploration of how much of my own power is dependent on others and do i really trust my personal brand of power?

i thought about this for a good long time.  (do you remember the last time you had a good long time?  if not, turn off your electricity:  instant good long time.)  i just kept coming up with anger and impatience and frustration and the incessant feeling that i was robbed.  i was robbed of a respectful ending to a job that i poured my soul into for nearly twenty years.  and then i was robbed of comfortable space and time to grieve it and experience closure because i was having to deal with this storm mess.  and then i was angry that everyone keeps asking "what's next?"  my internal response to this question is jesus, give a girl some room.  the question "what's next?" feels like pressure and fear and failure wrapped up in a little box with a bow.

and i'm not ready to open that gift yet.  i am afraid that i don't know what's next.  my biggest fear is that this will all be another one of my radical impulsive decisions (i'm famous for them) that ends up proving that i can't trust my intuition or the signs or my inner voice or my most valued friends or the universe or really anything or anyone in this world and that i am not special or talented enough to be anything but a bureaucrat for the rest of my life and who. do. i. think. i. am?

as you can imagine, this is all a bit overwhelming.  i had the thought that maybe i need to just be with the overwhelm instead of needing to "rest" from it.  so i made the choice to experience the overwhelm and the fear and the questions and the unknown. 

and then i put a positive spin on it.

what if "what's next" is so scary because it's something i could never imagine before?  something so brilliant and free and beautiful and powerful that it takes my breath away and i wake up each morning in awe of my own precious life?

what if i take the time and space to begin to imagine and define and formulate some answers and options and trust that they will arrive?

what if i actually consider those thoughts that keep popping up instead of immediately dismissing them as too big or too out-there?

what if i play with possibility and trust and risk and transformation?

and what does it mean that this guy followed me around all week? 

sunday grace

as the sun glows through the wee forest this morning, i light five sticks.  it is completely silent except for quiet birdsong and a faint rustling of leaves.

mother's day is a hard day for me.  my relationship with my mother is complicated.

my own role as a mother was not my best work.

sometimes i feel like an imposter because my profession involves assessing others' abilities and challenges as parents.

who am i to judge?

so i sit in silence and listen to my heart.  the heart that aches with regrets and missed opportunities and a thousand magical wishes for a do-over. 

one is lit for forgiveness:  for her and for myself.

one is lit for acceptance:   for lessons learned.

one is lit for gratitude:  there were really really good things too and i know that it could have been much worse.

one is lit for grace:  for its gentle comfort when history manifests in not-so-kind ways.

one is lit for truth:  that i can stand brave within it and authentically help others.

then my spirit lightens as the air is softly scented with champaca, anise, rose and pine.

and i can let go of the past and just be myself.  with my history, my wounds, my mistakes, my strength, my courage, my grace.

i can move forward, not from a place of judgment, but from this place of service and compassion.

no effin' rosehip

for the last few weeks, I've been floating through some sort of nebulous psychic journey trying desperately to read my heart and mind and body. I still haven't figured it all out (do we really ever?), but am now more comfortable and patient with the ride than when it began. I am lucky to have a dear friend who is a very gifted therapist (free therapy!). she suggested that maybe I need to consider this a purely hormonal change and recommended a book to me. I should have known better; this author is one of oprah's favorites and, like dr. phil and rachel ray, I was almost certain would annoy the hell out of me.

I did resent this book even though I was very interested in the chemical information and the focus on how women in their forties and beyond are kind of forced to deal with their emotional past or just give up and be miserable. (I truly enjoy a do-or-die ultimatum...by the way, I'm doing.) but the chapter on appearance really made my blood boil. first of all, the chapter title is "from rosebud to rosehip". I don't know about you, but I find this categorization demeaning for all women, "rosebuds" and "rosehips" alike. really, why not just compare "kittens" and "cougars"?

I feel a violent rejection of all movements that put me in a box. I've never considered myself a rosebud at any juncture of my life and I certainly am not happy with the label of rosehip that has been thrown on me. I understand the author is outlining all the possible physical outcomes of growing older but I no more fit the accepted definition of beauty now than when I was 24. and I am so happy about that. my look has more to do with characteristics such as a quirky smile, curious eyes and a wicked laugh. I am my own definition of female and I'm busy editing and rewriting that definition every single day.

why is it that experts have to make everyone of any particular stage, condition or development part of the same movement? when you reach a certain stage of life, you have to "do" that thing that those of that age do. you have to be and fit and jump on the bandwagon and follow the sheep in front of you. this is particularly frustrating for members of generation x, who have been forced to accept the archaic leftovers of the baby boomers their entire lives because that generation is so freakin' huge and powerful. I'm all about developmental psychology and even the use of archetypes to help us navigate our way, but can't individuals have truly authentic, unique and therefore beautiful lives (inside and out) and not be resigned to accepting inevitable changes as "less than..."? my instinct tells me that there is some generational unhappiness here and the mass market are those who prefer to suffer as part of a group (go team nearly-dead-flowers?!). the author is merely speaking to her audience, of which I am apparently not part.

I feel more beautiful now than when I was in my twenties. I'm certainly smarter, happier and more interesting. I resent being coaxed into a round hole. I will forever be a square peg. I refuse to shop at chicos for colorful, jaunty scarves to distract from my laugh lines. I earned every single one of those laugh lines and each represents loves, tears, friendships, questions, lessons and beliefs that make up my uniquely rosy life.

{real}

at the root of authenticity: tangible, genuine, unfiltered.

• these strawberries~from the field to my lips in under 24 hours.
• my monkey mind~throw it all out there to explore, sort, categorize, analyze, discard, embrace, reconsider, etc.
• apologies~for subjecting you to the ramblings of my monkey mind; I should know better than to blog when under the influence of insomnia and multiple doses of caffeine.
• sundays~an entire beautiful day before me. the air is clean from the rain, the sun is out, my camera is ready to take it all in.
• relief~the last day of may. I just might need to take a short blogging break after 31 days of posting for nablopomo. but probably not.

I believe in authenticity (I think)

so I've been awake since around 3:30am...thunderstorms booming, dogs acting like fools, me lying there thinking about authenticity and whether or not it's something in which I truly believe. forgive me if this post rambles because I can't seem to get my thoughts structured around this concept. (this confusion is minor compared to the weeks my crazy self has been trying to decide if I actually believe in anything wholeheartedly. the answer, it turns out, is no. except if you want to call believing that everything is relative a belief.)

there is a lot of buzz about authenticity in the wide circle of creative bloggers--mostly addressing the issue of originality and its range from innocent inspiration to outright plagiarism. my interest here is directed more toward the people we are, the roles we play, originality of being. do we actually live true original lives or are we just becoming and pretending day by day?

I am fascinated by who people are, what moves or freezes them, the lineage and history that shape them. actually, I think I may be obsessed with this concept. I've met truly authentic people and can recognize them instantly. but to me, the actual definition of the concept of authenticity may be a wee bit more elusive.

take myself for example. I value being authentic. I recognize when I'm being it, but that is only because I've lived chunks of my life inauthentically. or were those inauthentic bits just part of the history that make me authentically me? (see, we could go round and round here.) I think about the diverse roles I've played in my life, complete with dialect, costumes, supporting casts; who I am now is a composite of those things, the good and the bad, the true and the played.

{I think I need to stop here and take a break. I'm rambling and don't know if I'm making any sense. let's see what bono has to say on the subject.}

once again, I feel I've taken something that really is so simple and overthought it and complicated the hell out of it. clearly there is a need here for me to refine my thoughts. but that's me. give me any topic and I'll turn it over and around and inside out and make it ugly and then make it pretty and then render it useless right before it's determined to be essential for survival.

I may need more time to examine this issue in this space. (examination: there's something I believe in.) I'm interested in your thoughts. I am authentically stuck.