11/4...7...12...13...(now with photo)

Been meaning to post, but each time I sit down to write, life seems to get in the way. So much life, so little time to document it. Specific items from the ever-swelling list, get checked off, and are soon forgotten. Just what the heck have I been busy with these last few weeks and months?

It's a blur, really, a hazy memory. In the post-glance of speed, there is, really, no point of articulation, just motion, then not. And a crick in my neck from trying to stay focused while boulders and galaxies fly by: obligations to the ever-flailing school, this committee, that committee, communications to the administration, the professional development mentor, the booster club, the new "experimental" teacher, then there's the obligations to my family, my husband, his infirmed father, the needs and extreme nighttime neediness of my daughter, the kinder community, the toddler moms, the workout circle, the neighborhood co-op, the Westside parents needing school advice, the 16 projects I'm spread too thin on, and the immediate ones that require promoting, the ongoing what's for dinner, what are you bringing to the potluck, and the what day is it-who's doing the pickup?

To pick up where we left off, I can say this: The smoke has cleared, the air is clear, and we have a lot to be grateful for.

In the meantime, life goes on. We have our own set of paddles and with much effort are navigating our own set of currents, each of us. We are not struggling to save our home from wildfires, or bankruptcy, or dodging bombs, or anything so dramatic or newsworthy. Still, so much effort is expended. So much effort…and so little rest.

I am reminded of a few thoughts that bubbled up over the last year while doing my practice: What if this was the break? How do I learn to rest while in motion? And, be grateful for the soft, the hard, the picking through rough terrain, each with its own unique benefit and challenges. I've been through the picking through landmines months, where I was trying to deftly navigate a fragmented and intensely partisan terrain, and then these last weeks were just plain hard, challenging, and emotionally draining. I should feel so alive, purposeful, with something to push off against as I continue with forward motion, yet frankly I am ready for soft.

I took a vow a few days ago after delivering a fast and furious project, that I would take on no more commitments for a month. Except for what I had already committed to, I am clearing the decks folks. Erecting boundaries. Exhaling stress and obligation and worry, and taking in healing and nurturing, and joy. What a concept.

It feels like a major decision for me, like I might be able to remove the hard shell of tortoise-like responsibility, and what, discover a whole new soul underneath. That's the girl I want to find. She's the one who unencumbered, can really move: the softer, leaner, more effective, more decisive me.


I'm raising that blood orange martini to her.

(Somehow even the blood of the blood orange feels like the appropriate drink right now.


…They don't make chamomile martinis, do they?)



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