sunday grace: tea + apathy

some days i struggle to stay engaged with the human race.

some days i only want to talk to my dog.

some days the world is too loud and too stupid.

some days the tired seeps into my bones and i just want to sleep for a week.

some days my hyper-awareness of the flaws of people overwhelms me.

some days i am overlooked, betrayed, fooled, manipulated.

some days i feel poor, even though i no longer am.


in these moments it's seductive to slide into apathy, to find ease and relief and comfort in not seeing, not knowing, not caring, not listening, not speaking, not acting, not connecting.  the balm of indifference.  the relaxed posture of passivity.

sometimes i indulge in little sips.  enough to remember that it's just not my cup of tea, that i will always choose to live with curiosity and courage and compassion.

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? 

sun reading

in one moment the story failed to hold her and the sun crept in to work her skin with skilled fingers. her armor dripped in quivering beads of mercury rendering a metallic chalk outline at the scene of the crime. she baked in the warm sweet softness of vulnerability. in the seduction her mind travelled to a purple wildflower of a girl, twirling and laughing, collapsing with dizziness into the hot sand at the edge of california. the girl is pure possibility, open and ripe with expectation. the judge, the warrior, the persuader are strangers, roles unknown and not yet chosen.

her eyes open to bright blindness. she reaches for the book to retrieve some semblance of composure and return to the safe confines of someone else's story.