Wanderlust

Life's Empty Spaces

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 03:27:00 +0000

Today was a good day, all in all. Most days now are good days. My daughter had a friend stay over last night, but she had to leave early this morning. It was Father's Day, after all, and the family had plans.

The kids seemed fine all day. They played with each other and the kittens, and were in good spirits. I kept opening up Facebook and then closing it down again, as it was an endless stream of tributes to fathers around the world.

This evening a friend posted a link to a series of photos of abandoned places. When I looked at the pictures, which were beautiful, I felt a wave of sadness come over me, and I realized it was the sadness I had kept at bay all day.

I thought I could keep it neatly tucked away. But life has a way of handing back to us, through metaphor, those things we try quietly to push under the rug.

So I decided instead to look at the photos and feel my sadness, and let it pass naturally.

Tonight I am thinking of all those who are fatherless, whether by accident or design. I'm thinking of my sister-in-law, who lost her father in August, and my dear friend, who long ago lost her father to suicide. I'm thinking of the many women who have written me with stories of childhood sexual violence or abandonment. I'm thinking of those who were disregarded, dismissed, unseen. I'm thinking of my own father, gone now eleven years (rest in peace, Papa). And of course, I'm thinking of my beautiful, resilient children, and wishing them so much love.

If you have felt sadness today, I am wishing you peace and healing.

Remember, life is a persistent force. It continues to flourish, even in those spaces abandoned by others.

Credit for photos

Talking with kids about difficult subjects

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Mon, 27 May 2013 20:27:00 +0000

I remember when my ex-husband and I were preparing to sit down and tell the kids we were getting a divorce. We put it off for a long time. I was a nervous wreck. I didn’t know the right words to use and I was so afraid of hurting them.

We finally did have the conversation and it was uncomfortable and awkward, but it was also okay. It gave them the information they needed to make sense of what they were already sensing and intuiting from the tense energy that had existed in the house for some time.

Since then, I have had to have many difficult conversations with my kids. The upside, I suppose, is that I’ve become more confident and fluent in having these discussions. I no longer dread sitting down to explain something uncomfortable, nor do I cringe when the kids ask difficult questions. Rather, I welcome the opportunity to dispel confusion and help them make sense of their world. I feel honored that they are comfortable enough to ask.

Along the way, I’ve talked to quite a few counselors to get their advice on how to talk to my kids about violence, safety, divorce, restraining orders and, of course, their father’s criminal conviction.

I’m a big believer in telling the truth. When my ex first discovered he was under criminal investigation, he became suicidal. Those around him expected him to take his own life before submitting to prison. I remember my attorney suggested to me that if he did take his life, I would at least be spared from having to tell the kids about the child pornography charges. That I could bear that secret alone, and they would never have to know.

I’m sure his comment was well-meaning, but it was also a bit ridiculous. It would mean telling my children a lie about one of the most significant and devastating events of their lives – the loss of their father.

There are so many levels on which children gather knowledge about a significant event. The spoken word is only one of them. They also feel what’s going on around them – they know when someone is tense or anxious or joyful. They are attuned to the emotional climate. They sense the energetic imprints in their environment. If we don’t provide a clear explanation of what’s happening, they will fill in the gaps themselves. They will create their own narrative to explain what’s going on, and they will generally assume some level of responsibility for whatever happened.

I believe we need to tell our kids the truth. We need to give them age-appropriate explanations for what is happening in their lives and then be available to answer their questions, honestly and non-judgmentally, as they come up.

My children are 8 and 10. They were 5 and 7 when their father first came under investigation and was essentially removed from their lives. At such a young age, they are limited in what they can (and should) understand about crimes of a sexual nature. They understand their father’s crime on a very basic level. As they get older and their understanding grows, they will need additional information (and love and support and reassurance).

When I sat the kids down recently to tell them their father pleaded guilty and was incarcerated, it was not a big surprise to them. They knew his trial was coming up. They knew it was likely he was going to jail for several years. I explained to them that because he chose to tell the truth about what he did, he would spend less time in prison. I told them that this had nothing at all to do with them, and that he still loved them.

I could see them struggling to make sense of it. My son asked, “That’s good, right? That he told the truth?”

“Yes, it is always good to tell the truth.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then: “Why would Daddy do that?”

I told him that when people are in a lot of pain – not physical pain, but when they hurt emotionally – they will do things to try to make that pain go away. They can make healthy choices, such as seeing a counselor or talking with someone they love and trust. Sometimes, however, people do things that harm themselves and/or other people. I gave the example of drinking too much alcohol as a way someone may harm themselves (because I’ve explained alcohol addiction to them in the past). I used the example of domestic violence as a way someone may harm others, as they also understood that concept.

People hurt other people because they are in pain. It was the most honest and fundamental explanation I knew to give, and really the only way I know to make sense of it myself.

My family’s experiences were fairly extreme. However, all of us experience loss or trauma at some point in our lives. We get divorced, we lose a family member, our children are bullied, or we watch the news and find ourselves having to explain what a terrorist attack is and why it happens.

All of us will have to broach difficult subjects with our children at some point.

I’ve learned a lot over the years about how to have those conversations with kids. I'm still learning. If I were to condense what I know, it would be this:

Don’t avoid the subject
Tell the truth
Make it age-appropriate
Don’t provide unnecessary details (the younger the child, the fewer the details)
Create an environment where open communication is welcome
Don't villify anyone, especially someone they love. Talk about good and bad actions. Communicate your values
Check in with kids periodically to see how they’re feeling
Listen to what they have to say
Don’t judge their responses
They may be angry, quiet, clingy, or they may act completely normal – and their response may change from day to day
Communicate with those around you who can provide support and understanding (counselors, school teachers, family members)
Be reassuring. Let your children know that you will keep them safe
Tell them they are not to blame – again and again
Tell them they are absolutely lovable and you love them – again and again
Prepare to be amazed by their beauty and resilience

It is an oft-repeated truism that every dark cloud has a silver lining (and perhaps I should add ‘avoid truisms’ to the list above). However unhelpful such platitudes are to someone who is in the midst of trauma, this is one in which I sincerely believe.

The tragedy of the past few years has brought with it several gifts. One of those gifts is a closer, stronger relationship with my children. I’m more likely today to consider the impact of my words, to ask them questions, to stop what I’m doing and listen to them – really listen to them. I am more connected to them today than I’ve ever been.

That connection was fostered, in large part, by lots and lots of honest and open communication.

Have you had to talk to your children about something difficult? Do you have any tips to add to the list above?

Foster Mama

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Mon, 20 May 2013 00:26:00 +0000

The other day I had to sit down with my significant other and explain to him that, as much as I love our family the way it is, I have been overcome by a yearning for more children. I'm a little old for babies, true, but tell that to my heart.

I'm not alone in this, I added. It happens to a lot of middle-aged single women with large literary collections.

He looked at me skeptically.

In fact, I told him. I had taken it upon myself, without consulting him, to add to our family. And oh by the way about that one door that remained closed no matter how long he sat in front of it?

Behold...

Yes. It's official. I am a foster mom.

Pretty exciting, huh?

I couldn't keep this to myself, so I called my middle-aged single friend Celeste and told her to put down that book and get over here!

She came.

Five kittens, five weeks old. Lance, Laura, Lou, Laney and Larry. Here with us until they are big and healthy enough for adoption.

I know. You wish you were me, right?

Slow Bloom

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Thu, 16 May 2013 01:53:00 +0000

The day after they put him in prison I walked by the front door and noticed it was unlocked. I hesitated a moment, telling myself I didn’t need to lock it. It was okay now. It was the middle of the day and the neighbors were outside.

But I locked it anyway. Old habits die hard.

It’s not just the locks, it’s everything. When I pull out of the garage, when I sit down to write, when I drive by the court house, when I hear the house settling at night, when I go out to the mailbox.

My mind knows that the threat is gone, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo. The anxiety is still there. The knee jerk lock-checking and rearview-mirror-watching. I walk around with my energy pulled in tight around me, like a winter coat. I have to remind myself, again and again. It’s okay. It’s okay. It really is okay.

I want so much to feel free. I thought it would be like flipping a switch. Once he was in prison, I would feel free, just like that. In retrospect, of course, that seems impossibly naïve.

Some days I feel myself expanding. I feel light and hopeful. I feel full of life. Other days, the fear is still there. I’m like a car that’s stuck in a rut, rocking back and forth, trying to ease myself out and back onto the road.

I’ve been fixing up the yard. On Mother’s Day I went out and bought a bunch of flowers and planted them. I bought new, bright cushions for the deck chairs.

For three years the yard sat neglected. My neighbor diligently mowed my lawn, because he is a saint, but I did little myself to keep it up. Why should I? I never went and sat on the back porch. Too exposed.

But the last couple of evenings I’ve sat out there, listening to the outdoor noises of spring and just taking it all in. The cats ate grass, barfed it back up, and then rolled around on the brick patio, blissed out. I sat out there and actually enjoyed it. I felt at peace.

So I’m here, slowly unfolding into this new life, easing myself back onto the road and beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, I can have something like an ordinary life.

Attack of the miniature people

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Mon, 13 May 2013 04:03:00 +0000

This morning, I was awakened by two children looking for a cuddle.

They came bearing gifts.

I apologize for the brevity of this post, but I died of cuteness before I could finish.

Happy Mother's Day to all the nurturing, maternal spirits of this world.

A guilty verdict

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Tue, 07 May 2013 21:51:00 +0000

Thirty three months after the investigation first opened, I can finally announce that yesterday, May 6^th, my ex-husband James Christmas pled guilty to possession of child pornography. He was immediately incarcerated and will remain imprisoned until his sentencing in August, 2013.

I was contacted late last week and told he would be pleading. This came as a complete surprise to me as he had previously chosen to take it to trial, which was set for the week of May 20^th. As a witness in the trial, I had been subpoenaed and was scheduled to meet with the prosecutor to prepare for the trial.

However, I think when he realized he was not going to win, he chose to plead early in exchange for a more lenient sentence.

I had planned to go to the hearing, because no one knew yet whether he would be released until sentencing or immediately incarcerated, but the night before I became extremely ill and was sick in bed for several days. It was probably just as well, as it would not have been an easy thing to watch. I think my body was letting me know it was okay to sit this one out.

I have waited so long for this day to come – almost three years. I had expected to feel immense relief, which I did, but what surprised me was the grief I also felt. I think perhaps that grief lay just beneath the surface of the fear and I was not able to feel it until the fear lifted. I don’t know. I just know that when it all came down, I was struck by the tragedy of it all. In addition to all the darkness, he had good in him too, and it made me sad to see the path he had chosen to go down, to take our whole family down. As a wise friend pointed out, choices, however limited they may seem, reside even in dark circumstances.

Another friend sent me a link to a story that one of the local news stations had run last night, and when I googled his name today, I saw that the story had been picked up by media all over Kansas and Missouri. I felt a little sick seeing that. One of the stations called for an interview, which I declined. I sat the children down last night and gave them the news, and then sent them off to school today praying that no one would say anything to them.

The stories are reporting that I found the child porn, which is not the case. I think one paper ran it and then the others picked up and repeated it. I found and handed over disks containing horror porn, and when the police looked through it they found they also contained child porn, and showed up with a search warrant the next day. I suppose the point is academic, as I did hand over the disks. I just had no idea what else was on them. I am just so grateful that I called the police at all. Horror porn is apparently not illegal, but I was concerned with it, in the wake of the assault, and wanted it out of the house.

I want to thank everyone who lent me their support during this difficult and rather unimaginable journey. I am blessed with such a strong and far-reaching web of support. It has made a world of difference.

I still can’t quite believe it’s over. I still am a little afraid to exhale. But it appears that finally, finally, it is indeed over.

Fallen fruit

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Sun, 14 Apr 2013 22:09:00 +0000

About ten months ago I wrote a post in response to an anonymous comment I received on my blog. I was worried about the woman who wrote it. For a while I wondered whether she ever came back and read my post. I wondered if she was okay.

But of course we put a lot of energy out into the world every day in the form of words/love/dreams/hope and are often left wondering whether or not they’ve met with their intended mark. Life can be a bit coy that way, playing hard to get with our desires.

More and more, I am okay with that. If I’m going to throw something out into the world, I now focus more on the delivery of the pitch, and not so much on whether, or even if, I hit my target. So much is beyond our control.

For most of my life I was not this way. I was a very goal-oriented person. I wrote a lot of lists. I was sure I knew what a successful life looked like, for me. Life was a smorgasbord in the form of a checklist and I went at it enthusiastically with my pen held high, poised to check off all the boxes.

Now I sit down to write out my goals and I question everything. Do I actually want to marry my soul mate? Or really, do I just want to give and receive love, to connect deeply with others, to heal and be healed? And can’t that happen in a million different ways? And look over there, something shiny…

The goals dissolve into obscurity before I get to the end of the sentence. Perhaps there is a grand feast to be had out there in the distance, but there is also the fallen fruit right here, at our feet. I never noticed it before with my eyes trained on the horizon.

Perhaps a successful life is simply a meaningful life, and meaning can be found anywhere. Even right here at our feet.

Because the Universe, although coy, does have a sense of humor, I received an email last month out of the blue asking me to contribute to an upcoming book on goals. I was asked to write a ‘bucket list’. What were the ten most important things I’d like to achieve yet in my life?

I stared at a blank piece of paper for a long time, then scrawled out ten rather amorphous goals and sent it off. When, and if, it gets published, I’ll let you know.

I also received another email last month, alerting me to an anonymous comment left on one of my posts. It took me a minute to realize that this was the same Anonymous. That she was coming back, nine months later, to share with me how her story had ended, or rather shifted directions. She had a new story to tell.

I read her comment and then smiled, and then laughed, and then high-fived the air overhead.

I think you should high-five her too.

Well that wasn't very short, Kristin

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 01:05:00 +0000

My last post announced that I was taking a short break from posting. That was 4 months ago. Sometimes, things don't go exactly as planned.

Here’s what's been happening in my world, by the numbers:

Days since I’ve blogged – 113

Holidays involving chocolate – 3

Trials held to date - 0

Number of continuances in criminal trial – 3

Days since investigation opened – 947

Cats before break – 3

Cats after break – 3

Attrition rate – 0

Kittens to be fostered this month – 3-10

Chances my blog will soon look like this – 75%

Inches of snow – 30

Sled rides down hill behind school - 4

Unexpected hospitalizations – 1

Related to sledding? - 0

Kidney stones surgically removed – 3

Days on bedrest – 7

Pages written while on bedrest – 0

Levels achieved on Cookie Dozer while on bedrest – 36

Rides through Walmart on motorized shopping cart – 1

Shoppers rear-ended – 0

Towering displays knocked over – 0

My scooter rating, on a scale of 1 to 10 - 10

Job offers from regional Domestic Violence agency – 1

Victims of domestic violence served by agency each year – 7,500

Leadership positions accepted – 1

Job satisfaction – 100%

Days I’ve missed blogging - 113

So, what about you? What have you been up to in the last 113 days?

Goodbye winter...

Short break

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Tue, 11 Dec 2012 20:10:00 +0000

Hey all, this is just a quick post to let you know I'm going to be taking a short break from posting. There's quite a bit going on in my world over the next eight weeks. When I return, I'll be able to report on a couple of new projects I've undertaken, as well as the results of the criminal trial, which is scheduled for early February.

So, deep breaths.

The next post you see here will mark the beginning of a new chapter in my life.

Wishing each of you peace and love and endless joy this holiday season.

I will leave you with this, which may be my favorite video ever.

Because we matter

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 22:36:00 +0000

Have you heard of the Violence Against Women Act?

It was originally passed here in the U.S. in 1994. It provides funding toward investigation and prosecution of violent crimes against women. It comes up for renewal roughly every six years. In 2000 and 2005, it was renewed.

In April, 2012 the Senate voted to renew VAWA, but conservative Republicans in the House have fought it and countered that they will only pass the bill if certain provisions are removed.

Which provisions? The ones that extend protections to gays, lesbians, American Indians and illegal immigrants.

And no, I'm not making that up.

Sit with that for a second.

Congress has not been able to reconcile their differences in the months since then, leaving the reauthorization in question. It has been 679 days since VAWA expired. It has been 183 since congress's last action on VAWA.

Meanwhile, every 2 minutes, someone in America is sexually assaulted.

Meanwhile, every day, 4 women in America die as a result of domestic violence.

The National Network to End Domestic Violence has made today a national day of action to pass VAWA 2012.

It only takes a few minutes to contact Congress and tell them how you feel about this important piece of legislation. Here are links to make it easy. The twitter tag is #PassVAWA2012. If you want to upload a picture of yourself with your message, you can do so on NNEDV's Facebook page.

Even if it's taken by your ten-year-old

daughter, in bad lighting, with a crappy camera.

Make your voice heard.

Speak out.

Unprecedented

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 01:01:00 +0000

Just when I want to pull my hair out over the ridiculous and enraging things that go down in this country, something else happens that makes me want to cheer and high-five my fellow countrymen.

On Tuesday, elections were held in the U.S. Three states, Maryland, Maine and Washington, voted to legalize same-sex marriage. In Wisconsin and Minnesota, proposed constitutional amendments banning gay marriage were defeated.

Same-sex marriage referendums, either for or against gay marriage, have come before the American people on 32 previous occasions. All 32 times, Americans voted to define marriage as between a man and a woman.

Until Tuesday, that is, when the exact opposite happened.

Cups hand over ear. What's that I hear? The winds of change?

But that's not all. Tammy Baldwin of Wisconsin became the first openly gay person elected to Senate.

Mazie Hirono of Hawaii became the first Buddhist representative. Tulsi Gabbard, also of Hawaii, became the first Hindu representative.

Ladda Tammy Duckworth became the first Asian American woman elected to congress and the first congresswoman born in Thailand. Also, she is disabled. She lost her legs while serving in the Iraq war.

And of course, Barack Obama, the first African American president of the United States, soundly defeated Romney to win a second term. A large percentage of key votes for Obama came from the 24 million voter-eligible Latinos in the country.

The reaction to the election was predictably strong. There was both joy and disappointment. On the cringe-worthy end of the spectrum, sharp messages of hate, including racial epiteths, were spewed on Twitter and other social media forums, many of which quickly went viral as they were roundly chastised by tens of thousands of readers (note to haters: you can delete in the morning, but screenshots are forever).

Actually, Donald, Obama won the popular vote too, by over

3 million votes. Perhaps you're thinking of Bush in 2000?

Many conservatives swore to leave socialist, gay-loving America behind and move to Canada, the UK or Australia, though if they follow through they may be disappointed to find that all of them are decidedly more socialist and/or gay-loving than the U.S. (to find a more socially conservative country, look to the Middle East).

Kristen Neel: prompting facepalms from

Australians, Americans, and Kristins everywhere.

Just hours after the election, conservative pundit Bill O'Reilly lamented that “It's not a traditional America anymore. The white establishment is now the minority.”

Yes and yes.

This election marks an historic shift in our country.

America is made up of a collection of minority groups. If a political party systematically ignores or insults a number of those minority groups, it can no longer win an election.

If you characterize minorities as welfare grabbers, make cavalier comments about rape or act as if your religion is the only religion that matters, the voters will reject you because you do not represent the majority.

If you take women, blacks, Hispanics and gays and put them together in a big pot (and hmmm, let's call that pot America), that's a huge consortium of voters. The only candidates that can truly represent America are the candidates which recognize and respect these groups.

I have always been a little put-off by the flag waving and 'God bless America' crowd. I consider myself a citizen of the world first, and an American second. I don't believe any one country is better than another. But let me tell you, on Tuesday, I was proud to be an American.

P.S. Though, to be perfectly honest, I'm a bit disappointed I didn't think to promise that I was moving to Australia if Obama won.

Opportunity. Lost.

Wading in chest-deep

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Mon, 05 Nov 2012 04:35:00 +0000

I think some of our most profound decisions in life are often made without a lot of forethought. At least, that's the conclusion I've come to now that I'm writing about my life. I'm a bit amazed at some of the decisions I made early on, often spontaneously, that changed the trajectory of my life. Mostly in a good way, though not always.

As you may know, I'm using the month of November to write the bulk of my memoir. It's been exhilarating, exhausting, grueling and satisfying. And we're only on Day 4.

Writing this book was another one of those things I entered into without much thought. I decided on the last day of October that, hey, what the hell, I'd go ahead and give this NaNoWriMo a go. I honestly didn't think I'd keep up with it. And yes, I know Day 4 is hardly the point at which to be claiming victory, but I'm fairly deep into the project now and hungry to continue.

In fact, if I keep writing at the pace I have been, I'll have 75,000 words at the end of the month (the NaNoWriMo goal is 50,000).

Last night I hit a rough patch. One of the reasons I've put off writing this memoir is that I knew that in order to write about events with immediacy and honesty, I would have to re-enter them emotionally. Not something I was looking forward to. Writing about the painful bits can be cathartic. It can bring clarity and healing. But still, there's just no way to make something like that fun.

Last night I was writing about something that happened over twenty years ago. It was an event that had a lot of emotional energy around it that I hadn't re-visited in a long, long time. I was surprised by the intensity of the emotion. I had to stop writing at one point. Then I had to force myself to go back and just finish that chapter, so I could get it over with and exhale.

When I was done my head hurt and I felt physically sick. I've spoken with a couple of other women also writing memoirs and they've had similar experiences.

Sometimes, you just have to immerse yourself in it, so you can get out of it. Baptism by writing.

I decided to try to re-ground myself in the present, so I took most of the day off from writing and just hung out with the kids. I made homemade bread and corn chowder. Dan and I colored a picture together. He wanted a beach scene with a cat and a volcano. Drawing always relaxes me. I keep a sketch book and colored pencils by my bed. I also love watching my kids draw because the creativity of children is just brilliant. They haven't yet learned to fence in their imagination.

Tonight I lit some candles and drew a hot bath. I sat in the tub and watched Buster circle the perimeter again and again and worried myself that he would fall in. And then he fell in.

Today the beautiful Sarah (who is also doing NaNoWriMo) is holding a linky over at her blog, That Space In Between, and the topic is "Remembering". You can link up a current or old post, either one, that deals with the topic. I linked up a post I wrote earlier this year, What I Remember, because I didn't think I had it in me to write a post today. And then I sat down and wrote this post (on remembering, no less).

So there you go. You just never know what you've got in you.

{insert witty baptism comment}

NaNoWriWTF?

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 20:18:00 +0000

The other night I was sitting around minding my own business when I saw a friend had invited me to join a NaNoWriMo group on Facebook. I hit 'accept' (because who in their right minds ever turns down an invitation on Facebook?), but honestly didn't think much of it. Mostly I thought, "Hey, a group I can join and watch other people accomplish things that I never will. I'm in."

Once upon a time I wrote short stories and toyed with the idea of a novel, but it's not something I can get excited over anymore. I like to read fiction. I don't really like to write it. Besides, while I'm intrigued by the idea of writing a book in a month, which is the premise of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), I just could never get past the name. It sounded like something a Pentacostal would chant while brandishing a snake over his head.

However, when I looked a bit deeper, I saw that this group was comprised of some awesome women who seriously know how to write. And not all of them were writing fiction.

**Insert image of light bulb flashing over my head**

I've been struggling to birth a memoir for about two years now. By struggling, I mean talking about it on Facebook and Twitter, imagining what the cover would look like, wondering how I would find an agent and picking out a pen for book signings.

I'm actually very good at accomplishing things as long as I have something measuring my success. Sad, but true. Are you grading me on my work? I'll get an A. Is my raise dependent on this? My project will be finished early. Friends coming for dinner? The house will be spotless (but please don't look under the couch).

Accountability. I need it.

It wasn't until last month that I hooked up with a blogging buddy, who is writing her own memoir, and we came up with a plan to get started and keep each other accountable. She went raring out of the gate producing whole chapters at a time and I, in an effort not to look like a complete ass, managed to churn out an introduction and a chapter outline.

And now, thanks to NaNoNiNu, I'm all fired up. I want do to this. Like, I REALLY want to do this.

I signed up on the website and saw that there were all kinds of tools, like forums and word count meters, to provide motivation and measure success. Things that measure other things? Yes!

Yesterday, November dawned on the other side of the world, and the Aussies went at it hard and fast. Before the day was out they were fist bumping each other and posting their word counts. Meanwhile, those of us on the waning side of the date line drummed our fingers and waited with mild disquiet.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I was too busy chaperoning a crazy cat lady and a dark lord through a well orchestrated candy orgy to think much about it. But I went to bed that night, determined to get my words in the following day.

So, despite the fact that I had a job interview first thing this morning, and despite the fact that I woke up with a chest infection, and despite the fact that I only got two hours of sleep (cat lady had a bad dream), I managed to sit down and churn out 1,800 words before noon today.

Boo. Ya.

My work here is done.

For today anyway. Only 29 more days to go.

So, who else is going to do this thing?

Do you have a book in you that wants out? You still have time to sign up. Go here. Open an account. Add me as your buddy if you'd like (wanderlustlust) and get writing.

One month from now you will have accomplished more than I did in the last two years. C'mon.

The world awaits your opus.

NaNoWriMo NaNoWriMo NaNo NaNo Write Baby Write!

"Asteroids do not concern me, Admiral. I want this lady written

up on multiple neighborhood code violations, no excuses!"

Tracy

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Sat, 27 Oct 2012 03:52:00 +0000

I'm writing tonight to ask for your prayers for Tracy, a friend to me and to many, many others in the Australian blogging community. She is very ill.

For all the hundreds of thousands of blogs out there, the blogging world can feel quite small and intimate at times. Connections are made, intimacies shared and friendships formed between people who may live half a world apart.

I 'met' Tracy not long after I started blogging, around three years ago. At the time, she had a blog called Ruddygood and we would often read and comment on each other's posts. We were about the same age, we had sons about the same age. She was a single mom and I was about to become one.

In August of 2010, in the days following my assault when I was still raw and in shock, I felt like I needed to express what I was going through. At the time, I was afraid to write about it here on my own site, so a friend allowed me to post on her blog. I was in a bad place: frightened, stunned, confused.

A lot of people left really beautiful comments on that post, and Tracy was one of them (she left more than one comment, actually). In the weeks and months that followed, when bad turned to worse and yet again worse, I would often go back to that post and read the comments, trying to ground myself in the beauty and concern expressed therein. And of all of them, it was in Tracy's words that I would find the most comfort. Even though I've never met her, she is so undeniably calm and wise and deeply compassionate. When I read her words, it was as if a bit of that energy wore off on me, and I would relax and ease back towards my center.

Tracy, you see, had been through a similar darkness and come out the other side. She stood there on that other side, like a beacon in the night, and she gave me hope.

The following year, Tracy met Mal. Her soulmate. Their's is a beautiful love story, but it's not mine to tell. I'll just say that her joy was palpable. They started a business together, and set up a life together.

Last month, Tracy announced that she had been diagnosed with an aggressive cancer called leiomyosarcoma. I think there was a collective intake of breath throughout the blogosphere. We were all a bit in shock. She underwent surgery, and also embarked on a holistic healing journey.

Last night, her partner shared that the tumor had returned and that she was back in hospital preparing to undergo radiation treatment. She is currently under palliative care. She is very, very sick.

Even if you don't know Tracy, I'm asking that tonight you take a moment to hold her in your thoughts and send her love.

If you do know Tracy, you can contribute to a project that Allison Tait from Life in a Pink Fibro is putting together. She is gathering together photos, quotes, anecdotes, or whatever you'd like to contribute and she will compile them into a little book for Tracy called, appropriately, Things They Didn't Tell You About Tracy. If you'd like to contribute, email Allison at taitallison7 (at) gmail (dot) com by noon on Monday (and I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that's Monday in Australia).

If you'd like to send a card directly to Tracy, you can do so at this address:

Tracy Rudd
Ward C8
Lismore Base Hospital
Uralba Street
Lismore
NSW 2480

And Tracy, if you should happen to see this, I want you to know that I'm wishing for you the best possible outcome. I'm grateful for your beauty and kind wisdom. I'm grateful for the hand you held out to me in the darkness. You are an amazing soul.

I Heart My Body 2012 -- Gamechanger

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Thu, 25 Oct 2012 03:26:00 +0000

Once upon a time, my world was beautiful on the outside, if you stood and looked at it from a distance. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't particularly satisfying, but what it lacked in satisfaction it made up for with its presentable, keeping-up-with-the-Jones' veneer. Marriage, children, an attractive home and a job with an impressive title. My respectable half-life.

All that changed overnight, of course. My world disintegrated, quite suddenly and quite dramatically. My life was now discussed in whispered voices, tinged with concern.

When the dust began to settle, I realized I'd entered a strange new terrain, a no-man's land where the old rules no longer applied. The future I'd previously envisioned was gone, and in its place a tabula rasa that was both terrifying and exhilarating. It was an opportunity to do things differently. An invitation to build a new and more authentic life.

I began a long, slow process of unraveling myself. Of poking around on the inside and finding all the tender bits – the doubts and fears and I'm-not-enough feelings, dredging them up one by and one and sitting with them quietly until they dissipated. Doing it again and again, if necessary.

I didn't enjoy it at all, but I persisted, because it was the only way I knew to get from where I was to where I wanted to be.

And then one day, something quite remarkable happened.

One morning, I woke up and I felt an overriding sense of peace. A quiet joy. I walked around the house, taking in my surroundings in a completely new way. Watching the leaves fall from the trees in the backyard, savoring the warmth of my coffee mug in my hands. Even just breathing in and out felt like an act of grace. I'd never felt so deeply at peace before, ever. It felt like a gift. I wanted to bottle the feeling. Even as I basked in it, I was afraid it would slip away.

That evening, the kids and I drove to a local drugstore on an errand. As we were leaving the store, I noticed a middle-aged man approaching. He looked so unhappy. He was overweight and carried his body like a burden, wincing with each step. As I passed him, I felt an almost visceral understanding of his pain. It was as if a window opened up and I could see inside him. I understood that all the physical challenges that this man bore were intrinsically connected to past emotional experiences. I literally saw this web of cause and effect, his emotional history projected out around him like some kind of holographic theater. It stopped me in my tracks.

In that moment, I felt a wave of absolute compassion for this man. I realized that this man, this fellow soul traveling through his own no-man's land, was each of us. He was me and you, and we were him. We are all both wounded and infinitely beautiful. We move through life carrying with us the echoes of our complicated histories, feeling our way towards a fuller, richer version of ourselves.

It was such a profound experience. I stood there, in the parking lot of a Walgreens on a fall evening in Kansas, moved to tears by an unexpected and pure sense of love for a complete stranger.

* * *

That feeling of bliss and peace, it didn't last. The next day I felt anxious and my mind cycled through it's usual list of concerns. But that didn't last long either. And if I step back and look at the trajectory of this past year, I can see that I have fewer anxious days and more and more peaceful days.

My life still lacks much external definition. I'm still building it, slowly. But my inner world is becoming a refuge. All the tight places are unwinding.

Today is I Heart My Body day, an annual campaign aimed at loving and accepting our bodies. Women across the web are participating by posting pictures of themselves and talking about body acceptance.

We live in a world that defines beauty in very narrow terms. At times, it can be a hard place to live.

One day, I was given the gift of seeing the most incredible beauty in a man whose body would never fit those definitions. I wish for each of us the ability to see ourselves through that same lens.

Life is beautiful. And each of us, as participants in life, is beautiful.

Some days, I know this as an abstract concept. Some days, I feel it in my soul.

You can read more posts about body acceptance here at We Heart Life:

This is why I will never be a fashion blogger

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Wed, 24 Oct 2012 00:19:00 +0000

My mom was a fabulously gorgeous and stylish woman. In the 60's she rocked the Jackie O look. When she was in her early 20's she met and married my father, an older, quite bookish engineer. He was...not so stylish. He rocked the pocket protector look.

Today I was reading a post on Woogsworld about prom dress disasters and she invited readers to dish about their own formal gowns. I immediately started telling her about the flowing, floor-length light blue gown I wore to my senior ball. My date had inquired about the color of my dress so he could be sure to match.

As I was typing, I recalled how when my date and I waltzed into the fancy hotel, a beguiling duo in light blue, we were immediately met by a sea of black. Everywhere. Everyone.

Black tuxes and short, strapless black gowns. He looked at me, mortified. "Why didn't you tell me to wear black?" he whispered.

"Well..." I stalled, "I didn't get the memo?"

Just in case you need visual proof, here it is. This is a scanned photo of the damaged original print, which (barely) survived the great basement flood of 1989.

Rob, I'm so sorry

The missing memo aside, I could have picked up any current fashion magazine, or perhaps walked into my local department store, and been apprised of the latest and greatest trends. But I hadn't. It was just something I never gave a thought to. The whole fashion thing.

You see, despite the stunning example set by my mother, I inherited my father's style genes.

Not much has changed to this day.

Need more proof?

Three years earlier (year 9), another senior ball.

I'm sorry, Craig. But do you like my hair?

Remember those sweaters made to look

like quilt blocks sewn together? Yep.

Early 80's (with dad, brother, aunt, mom and carnation lapel pin)

Middle school, perhaps. I call this look 'formal milkmaid'.

Why are you hiding, Rich? Suck it up. You're

going to be in pictures with me for years to come

Thanks for the writing gene Mom, but could

you maybe have thrown in a wee bit of style?

Nope. Clearly I belong to the guy with the pocket protector.

It's quite possible the only time I was stylish was when Nikki dressed me.

What about you? Should you be allowed to dress yourself?

A revolt (with cats)

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 23:32:00 +0000

Two weeks from tomorrow marks an important day here in the U.S. - November 6^th. You know what day that is, right? Of course you do. It's the day we can all stop hiding our friends on Facebook who relentlessly post about the election. High five!

My Countdown

I've been sucked into that vortex a time or two (it's so difficult to not sound off when the 'single mom' card gets played). My most sincere apologies.

However, I'm staging my own private revolt be posting cat pictures every day. It's my way of countering all the dagger-wielding and political posturing going on in the universe. Throwing a little kitty love into your Facebook stream. You're welcome.

Tomorrow marks another important day here in our local school district. It's the day our kids return to school after being home for five days (not holidays, mind you, 'professional days'). Coincidentally, I haven't posted here in just over five days.

Let's see why that is...

Ohhh... pumpkin farm, train rides, brownies made with applesauce (shhh), cat-shaped pancakes, Halloween costumes, a car made out of a coffee can, two batteries and a rubber band (failed) (thank you Mr. Beakman), homemade paper (moderately successful) (thank you again Mr. Beakman), “picnic” in the living room while watching Shaun the Sheep, shampooing the carpet after an unfortunate ravioli incident during picnic, pumpkin carving, roasted pumpkin seeds, shampooing the carpet after an unfortunate kitten incident, dump truck races down the driveway AND playing in the sandpit with a dump truck while Mom runs around the track.

So while that hasn't left a lot of time for writing (or, um, load-lightening for that matter) it was a nice diversion from the political media saturation.

And just in case you're not my Facebook friend, I've put together a little medley for you.

Totally unrelated to anything else, this is my 400th post. Are you thinking the same thing I am?

"What? It took you three years to write 400 posts? Step it up, girlfriend!"

Will do. Once the kids go back to school...

So. What's your favorite escape from politics?

How to talk about rape: a primer for politicians

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 22:18:00 +0000

“I would hope that when a woman goes into a physician with a rape issue, that physician will indeed ask her about perhaps her marriage, was this pregnancy caused by normal relations in a marriage or was it truly caused by a rape.” - Sen. Chuck Wilder

“If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.” Congressman Todd Akin

“Some girls rape easy” - Roger Rivard, Wisconsin state representative

“Because all of a sudden a young lady gets pregnant and the parents are madder than a wet hen and she's not going to say, 'Oh, yeah, I was part of the program.' All that she has to say or the parents have to say is it was rape because she's underage. And he just said, 'Remember, Roger, if you go down that road, some girls,' he said, 'they rape so easy.'" - Roger Rivard (clarification of above comment)

“I believe and I think the right approach is to accept this horribly created -- in the sense of rape -- but nevertheless a gift in a very broken way, the gift of human life,and accept what God has given to you.
As you know, we have to, in lots of different aspects of our life. We have horrible things happen. I can't think of anything more horrible. But, nevertheless, we have to make the best out of a bad situation.” - Rick Santorum, Republican presidential candidate, explaining why rape victims should be denied abortions

* * *

Whoa, Nelly...

Hold on there Mr. Politician. You can't say that!

Look, I understand rape is a difficult topic for anyone to discuss, even those who know what it is. And it can be so confusing, too, what with all those categories of rape.

But relax. Breathe....

I've put together a short infographic to help you understand rape so that you can discuss it in such a way that your media handler is not reduced to rocking quietly in a corner of the press room.

Make a copy. Carry it around in your wallet.

There you have it. See, it's really not that hard.

Things I found in my bra this week

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Fri, 12 Oct 2012 02:54:00 +0000

I am the world’s most prolific writer. In my head. It’s just that all those posts don’t always make it out of my head and onto paper because, well, you know. That requires more than daydreaming.

I was over at the beautiful Mojito Mother’s site the other day reading about how she’s implementing a new schedule for her blog and launching several new series. Awesome, thought I, me too! I have a number of new series I want to launch here on Wanderlust. In my head.

But Mojito’s blog mojo gave me the push I needed to sit down and actually flesh out all these thoughts. Since these posts will be part of a recurring series, I wanted to make sure that each of the projects reflected the same level of professionalism, candor and thoughtful inquiry you’re used to finding on Wanderlust.

Here is the first one I came up with:

Seriously. I am constantly sweeping bits of stuff out of my bra. It's become a part-time job. Cleavage is the perfect receptacle for all manner of dropped things.

Just this past week, I have found all of the following in my bra:

Toast crumbs
A popcorn kernel
Fried rice
An earring
A liquid eyeliner applicator
An email I apparently sent volunteering to be this year’s room parent
A kitten (missing since the previous night)
Mitt Romney’s tax returns

I may need to increase my cup size if this trend continues. I wonder if Victoria's Secret makes a bra with a trap door at the bottom?

I'm still formulating ideas for another new regular series I'll be launching in the coming weeks. Stay tuned.

What about you? What have you found in your bra this week?

P.S. Things I would like to find in my bra next week:

My missing cell phone charger
M&M’s
Colin Firth

Communion

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Tue, 09 Oct 2012 20:46:00 +0000

Do you remember when we ran across

the long playing fields in the rain

and laughed like children?

I sang us into being

and you reached up and placed the sun in the sky above us.

That was back before time.

Before I ran headlong into the fray

with only my dreams in my pocket.

I thought I could trust everyone the way I trusted you.

When I turned to come home

the path was gone.

I've leaned into the wind for years now, waiting.

Long ago, so very long ago, we traded keys.

Do you remember?

I've kept mine all this time.

It sits in a tiny box on the altar of my heart.

It opens a tiny box on the altar of your heart.

Did you know that when I look at you

I see only light?

You still carry the sun

and leave grace in your footfall.

I catch my breath, again and again.

For many years I kept myself in a box.

I sat there for so long

in my too small space,

curled up into myself

because I thought that's what I was supposed to do.

I've awakened now.

I stand among the remnants of those walls,

shaking the sleep from my limbs

and casting off the long years of disappointment.

From where I stand

I can see the sun you set into motion.

Soon I will follow its arc across the sky.

I will step over continents and lie down with you in a bed of mercy.

We will whisper our secrets in the darkness.

You will trace the lines of our communion

and I will cup your dreams in my hand,

and we will sleep the sleep of children once again.

When bullies cry bully, and other bullsh*t

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Mon, 08 Oct 2012 01:04:00 +0000

I'm beginning to seriously hate the word bully. It's currently going for the gold in the overused-words Olympics.

Nevertheless, it's an apt description for a lot of bad behavior.

But here's one thing I really love (and by love, I mean it makes me want to pull my hair out): bullies who whine about being 'bullied'. I've seen enough examples of this lately to render me nearly bald.

Let me give you a few examples.

I read an article today about about the 'bullying' of Australian shock jock Alan Jones. For those of you outside of Australia, Jones is a popular conservative talk show host (think Rush Limbaugh in an akubra) who regularly lands himself in hot water for his provocative comments. The latest brouhaha involves a comment he made about the Prime Minister, suggesting her recently deceased father had died from shame. There has been a tremendous public backlash and he has apologized.

Anyway, an article in the DailyTelegrah condemns the public for their 'bullying' crusade against advertisers on Jones' show. What is this crusade? Citizens have called for a boycott of advertisers on his morning show and are circulating petitions via Change.org,private Facebook pages, etc. Many people are calling and emailing the businesses directly. "What we are witnessing is 21st century cyber-bullying," Jones said.

Okay. Let me see if I have this straight.

Jones makes cruel and derisive comments about a public figure. When he does so, he's not being a bully, he's exercising his right of free speech. Citizens who don't like his comments call for a boycott of those businesses that are choosing to align themselves with his show by advertising on it. But that's not free speech, that's bullying.

***Leaves room momentarily to pull out more hair***

I understand that some of the backlash against Jones' and these businesses has been vitriolic and hateful. I don't like that. I think everyone should hold hands and sing Coca-Cola songs. But the reaction is not all that surprising. Vitriol breeds vitriol. Like attracts like.

stop advertising in the kitchen

Let me backtrack a bit so you have a better understanding of my perspective.

In the aftermath of the assault, when I was trying to make sense of abuse, I read a book called "Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men” by the quite brilliant Lundy Bancroft. Bancroft is one of the world's top experts on domestic abuse. He ran the nation's first counseling program for men who batter and has written several bestselling books on the topic. If you have ever been in an abusive relationship and are trying to make sense of it, I cannot recommend his work highly enough.

Anyway, according to Bancroft (and about a million other people who write on the topic), one of the hallmarks of the abusive personality is projection. It's not them, it's you. Always. Whatever they did, however heinous, they were justified. You on the other hand, are critical, angry, illogical and abusive. That's right, you are abusing them.

I will never forget when I showed up for the initial hearing following my ex-husband's arrest after the assault. I was required to be there, as the victim of the crime. I was terrified. I did not want to be anywhere near him (or in this case, his video image, broadcast from jail). I brought a couple of friends with me for moral support and a DV advocate from the court stood next to me as I testified.

I was prepared for him to be furious (and I'm sure he was). But what I didn't expect was what I actually witnessed. On the video screen, in his bright orange prison jumper, he looked lost and confused. When the judge asked him if he understood the charges, he just shook his head and, like a deer in the headlights, explained that he had no idea why he was there. He acted as if he had been sleeping peacefully in bed two nights before, dreaming of rainbows and bunicorns and alms for the poor, when he fell into a time/space warp and was delivered, quite accidentally, to the local jail.

When the judge asked him if he wanted to retain his own attorney or have one appointed by the court, he responded that he had no money, as his wife had taken it all (translation: he had recently been ordered to start paying child support). However, despite this injustice, he elected to retain his own high-powered attorney.

When my friends and I walked out of the courtroom, we were now the proverbial deer in the headlights. What had just happened? I wasn't sure. It was the most bizarre performance I had ever seen. (“Ah grasshopper, you have much yet to learn”, says current-day me to two-years-ago me).

In his mind, he was the one being unjustly treated. He was the victim.

Two days ago I noticed a number of hits to my blog coming from a forum I was not familiar with. Curious, I clicked through and noticed there was a discussion going on about a blog written by the wife of a man charged with possession of child pornography.

The blog in question was about all the turmoil and injustice this family faced as a result of the charges, how it had created great upheaval in their lives and it was all just so unfair. Anyway, someone had left a link to my blog as an example of a similar situation, different perspective (thank you).

What struck me about this blog was that it went on and on about the poor, publicly-maligned viewers-of-child-pornography. How they are branded and ostracized when, after all, they are not really child abusers – they were just looking at pictures for goodness sake – or something like that, I was too busy pulling my hair out to actually read much of it.

For the record, I don't believe for a minute the blog is written by the wife of the perpetrator, and I'm not leaving a link to his, er... I mean her blog or the forum discussion because the last thing that blog needs is more pageviews. Rather, it needs to remain in the land of obscurity and die a quiet death from neglect.

I am not trying to equate Jones' comment with domestic violence or child pornography. I know very little about Jones and I've never listened to his show. I'm pretty certain I never will. Life is too short and I'm running out of hair.

My point is that Jones' is simply employing a tactic successfully wielded by many serial abusers of power. He's blaming everyone but himself.

Here's the deal. If you choose to regularly make incendiary comments, people may not like you very much. If you choose to advertise on a show where incendiary comments are regularly made, people may not like your business very much. If you assault someone, you will likely go to jail. If you participate in the exploitation of children, you will likely go to jail and people will definitely not like you. If you are married to someone who gets caught exploiting children, your life will indeed go to hell in a handbasket.

Choices. Consequences.

Life is full of both.

P.S. If you feel I've misrepresented the Jones situation (based on the two articles I cursorily read on the topic), feel free to let me know. It won't be the first time I've mouthed off about something going on overseas that I know little about.

Through the darkness

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Thu, 04 Oct 2012 20:39:00 +0000

Source

Can we just get something out of the way?

I came back home in August.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you probably already know this. Because even though I didn’t explicitly say that, I’ve been painting walls and cleaning out the basement, and those generally aren’t things one does in a safehome.

I wasn’t sure how or even whether to address this on my blog. My decisions in regards to our safety the last couple of years have felt like something of a revolving door: leave, come back, leave, come back.

The truth is that I’m making decisions based on a lot of ever-changing factors: safety, finances, health, the kids’ school schedule, current legal activity (or inactivity) and, of course, my gut instincts. I put them all together in a pot and try to sift out the best course of action.

But really? I’m making decisions in the dark. Because the one factor that impinges most upon our safety is one I can neither anticipate nor control.

But I’m home now. It’s not a secret. There are those who think that’s not a good idea, but it’s the decision I’ve made based on all the various factors. It’s the decision that feels right to me.

I often have an internal debate about what I should and should not say on my blog. In the end, I generally end up just saying it. All hail transparency. It’s the easiest and most comfortable thing I know to do. To not tell the truth of what’s happening in my life takes effort. I’m tired of expending unnecessary effort.

There will always be things I choose not to write about because they impact someone else’s privacy. I have written very little about what my kids have gone through, what they still go through. I feel protective of their privacy.

I’ve been thinking today about all the women who live in the shadow of violence. Every day, they must make these decisions. To stay or to go. To confront or to appease. To talk or to stay quiet. How much simpler life would be if none of this was necessary.

We, as a society, have this sense that there are all these resources out there, ready to guide women who find themselves in situations of violence. There are DV shelters and advocacy groups, there are laws protecting our rights, and there is a justice system to enforce those laws. But still, essentially, these women are out there doing it on their own. These resources are not so much guides, as lights along what can be a very long and lonely path. They bring us some comfort and perhaps illuminate the way for a short time, but the journey is ours to take.

I have watched so many women – virtual friends and acquaintances who have found their way to my blog – walk this very path. I have watched their trajectory of healing. The shock, the fear, the confusion, the anger, the coming home to oneself, and finally, the peace.

October is DV Awareness month. Today, I raise my glass to all the women in the world who are making decisions in the dark.

If I told you that you were taking the Hero’s Journey, you would look at me skeptically. Because who has time for such abstract notions when your day to day decisions are primal and immediate? Your life is a mess. You feel like everything that was secure has dissolved. Like you have walked a hundred miles and somewhere along the way took a wrong turn (relax, little known fact: all roads lead home). In short, you feel like you are dying.

You’re not dying. You are in the belly of the whale. One day you will emerge. And when you do, you will find that no one will ever again be able to knock you so off balance. Because here’s a secret about the tyrants of the world. They will always give a wide berth to those who are standing in the center of their own power.

Keep walking.

Soon, the light will break through the trees.

Just keep walking.

I feel lighter already

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Thu, 04 Oct 2012 01:00:00 +0000

I'm off to a good start. Today, a truck from a local charity came to my house and picked up this:

Mostly clothing and kitchenware. It felt good to wave goodbye as it tooled off down the street. I celebrated by going into the basement and getting to work on my next purge.

A number of you said you wanted to join in the fun and lighten up along with me. Yay! Can't wait to see the pictures.

I don't know about you, but I'm feeling lighter already.

Yup.

Lighten your load -- a challenge

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Tue, 02 Oct 2012 21:54:00 +0000

I remember when I went off to college. I rented a one bedroom unit that was part of a larger, Victorian-era home that was split into several apartments. The floors were lopsided and my bedroom, being a converted porch, was drafty and cold in the wintertime. The summers were likewise sweltering – there was no air conditioning.

But I loved it. Loved it beyond reason because it was my own space. There is a lot of joy in having your own space.

For several months before I moved I gathered together stuff I would need for my new home. Some dishes, glasses, silverware. A set of four mugs sporting different post-impressionistic paintings (Gaugin, Van Gogh). Picture frames, candles.

Each purchase was carefully wrapped up and placed in a box to await my move to my very own place (insert giddily excited expression). It all amounted to just a few boxes. A couple of times I unpacked the boxes just to look at the things I had bought, then packed them all back up.

The objects held a larger than life meaning for me because of what they represented: independence, freedom, the excitement of a new place and new friends, access to all the knowledge I was so hungry for.

I made that apartment mine. I turned it into an expression of me. It was so much fun. Since then, I did the same thing with each new place that I lived, with the notable exception of my most recent home (but all that's changing now).

When I was a freshman in college, my mom died. I inherited a lot of her stuff. I had no idea what to do with it, but getting rid of it seemed sacrilegious. So I carted around with me each time I moved.

Since I graduated from university, I have spent most of my life accumulating. To the point where I now feel weighed down by stuff.

I was only recently that I realized that each time I bought something, I was still buying the experience I wanted it to bring me. When I was feeling overworked and overwhelmed, I bought books and candles and bath salts. But what I really wanted was the time and space to just relax and unwind. More often than not, the books and candles were tucked away somewhere and not used. Because even though I bought them, I still didn't have the time to enjoy them.

When I longed for my home to feel comfortable and safe, I bought quilting patterns and fabrics. Or baking pans or cookbooks.

I kept trying to purchase the experience of feeling at home. Of feeling relaxed and comfortable and in a place I belonged. I suppose what all this means is that I was an advertiser's dream because that is exactly what advertising does – tries to sell us a positive experience.

These past two years have been a time of finding my center, of coming home to myself again. Or maybe for the first time.

The more I unwind, the more I look around and wonder what I'm doing with all this stuff. Stuff and more stuff. I live under a pile of stuff!

Now, quite suddenly, I long for it to be gone. I long for a clean, simple space.

I've gotten rid of quite a bit of it the last several months. But there's still more. MORE.

So this is my plan. I'm going to take the month of October and see how much stuff I can get rid of. It's a challenge. If I don't need it, use it, absolutely love it, it's going.

I will be posting pictures on my Facebook wall of everything I get rid of. In fact, a truck is coming tomorrow to pick up a bunch of donated items for a local charity (goodbye, post-impressionistic mugs!).

Do you want to join me? If you want to lighten your load, too, feel free to post pictures on my Facebook wall of the bags/boxes/furniture/whatever you decided to unload. Even just one box of stuff out the door, one clean closet, will make you feel better.

I am convinced that life is metaphor. If you want to create something new in your life, you need to make room for it. I have a vision of the experiences and qualities I'd like to have more of in my life. Right now, I am clearing the deck to make room for them.

What about you? Do you want to bring something new into your life? Do you need to make space for it?

I wonder just how much stuff, collectively, we can remove from our paths.

Let's do this together, shall we? Care to join?

Death by adorable kitten pictures

noreply@blogger.com (Wanderlust) — Thu, 27 Sep 2012 03:18:00 +0000

It is said that if you truly want to take the measure of a man, you must observe him under times of high stress.

If the same is true of cats, then Sebastian, well, at least get points for his lack of aggression (an admirable quality, by the way).

He seems quite intimidated by the new addition to the family, which weighed in at the vet's today at a whopping 1.1 pounds, half of which apparently consisting of worms and ear mites.

Lulu, on the other hand, bravely sniffed the intruder, gave a few low growls just to ensure he understood who was boss, and walked calmly downstairs to hide the tuna.

Buster has settled in nicely. He slept in his little basket all night and then kept me company while I drank my morning coffee in bed.

Are you done yet? How about now?

He ran in uncoordinated but enthusiastic circles atop my bed for a while, stopped to explore the shower and poop on the bath rug, then settled in for our trip to the vet.

Here we go!

Don't worry. Wanderlust is not turning into a cat blog. I'm sure this uncontrollable tic that causes me to post adorable kitten pictures will pass. Eventually.

Until then you are going to be subjected to this....