It delivered.

I was chatting online with a friend I have not seen for 12 years. We chatted for several hours, catching each other up on the happenings in our lives.

She asked me to fill her in on the details of my love life. So I tried to encapsulate 10+ years of  dating drama. I concluded my synopsis by saying “I’m not sure what the deal is with dating unavailable/inaccessible men”.

Her reply was instant: “You date unavailable men because you’re a commitment phobe darling”.

I was stunned. I felt as if the entire landscape of my life had just shifted.

I had never seen it that way.

As my brain scrambled to process this notion – a sinking feeling came over me. She was absolutely right.

The next day I called my best friend to ask her opinion.  I shared the conversation with her. There was silence on the phone then she said, “WOW!  WOW!.”

“Am I really a commitmentphobe?”  I asked desperately, holding onto a tiny kernel of hope that she might completely discount the idea. Instead she said, “Yes. I think its true. You don’t want to commit”.

I know I said I wanted to see things differently but holy cow!

So all these years that I’ve been blaming the guys I dated it was ME all along. Oh the horror.

The more I thought about it, the more it became clear to me that I knew the truth along. I knew better than to place blame outside of myself. I’ve known better for a long time, but I was hanging onto to this story I’d chosen to tell myself about it. That, in my dating life, I was the long-suffering victim of what Bridget Jones called “commitmentphobics” and emotional “f***wits”.

The more I think about it the more sense it makes and I realize how obvious it has been all along  and just how tightly I was clutching onto being right instead of seeing what in my heart and head I knew to be true.

I know that nothing in our lives is ever about other people. The relationships in our lives are but mirrors which reflect back to us all our own beliefs about ourselves and about the world.

They mirror back to us what we believe we do or don’t deserve and what we expect.

Even if we’re saying we want something different with our mouths -it doesn’t matter. The mirror will always show what we BELIEVE we deserve.

I’ve been saying I want all kinds of thing but truth be told I’ve been believing something totally different.

If we’re willing to admit it we’ll see that the mirror shows us the stark reality of all our fears. All our wounds.

The good news is that when we change our true beliefs, the mirror can reflect back abundant  joy, peace, love, and all that is good!

We just have to give up our stories. Delve beneath the surface for the beliefs that no longer serve our good and let them go!

It all starts with being willing to see things differently…

“Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.”~Kahlil Gibran

This morning I am filled with gratitude for what is.

I open my eyes to a benediction of  sunshine after several days of rain here on the East Coast.

The sun reaches its way into my apartment and I am reminded again of how grateful I am for my perch atop this lovely old house for there is no place where the light does not reach.

Through the window of my bedroom all I see are tree tops, backed by cloud-tinted sky. I am grateful for their presence and I am even more grateful that even in this urban suburb I live in, I can hear birdsong, backed by a soundtrack of chirping insects. The symphony is made no less sweeter by being periodically muffled by the hum of an approaching and then receding vehicle.

After I wake, I walk down the block for coffee. Eager to fill my mug  with a fragrant brew pressed from Colombian beans.

As I walk, I think that no Sunday morning could be more beautiful.  There is little traffic and I walk with the sun – arms around each other like new lovers.

In front of the store, I cross paths with a man.  He has a well-lived face wreathed in wrinkles. His eyes are of a soft and faded blue, like that of an often washed shirt.

We walk towards each other . I – empty, expectant coffee mug in hand; he – hands in the pockets of the baggy khaki pants his slight body barely seems to inhabit.

We look each other in the eye as we approach. We smile. He blesses me with a greeting ” Good morning darling.” which issues forth in the most delightful Irish brogue!

“Good morning. ” I reply with a grin.  “It’s a beautiful day.”  he says.   I agree.

The exchange is brief and during its course, we each continue our progress. We both turn as we walk, so we can hold each others gaze. It’s as if we both sense the magic of this moment. This brief touching of souls on a  sunny Sunday morning. We don’t want it to end.

I turn back the way I have come to look at him fully. “Enjoy the sunshine.” I say.

He laughs and answers “At the age of 80 my darling, I have no choice but to enjoy the sunshine.”

He turns and walks away, whistling softly under his breath, leaving his parting words lodged firmly in my heart.

I say a brief prayer of gratitude for him.

I pray that I don’t have to wait until I am 80 to wear the mantle of perfect gratitude which is draped around his shoulders.

I pray that gratitude is never a choice for me, but a given.

I pray that in every moment of my life I carry with me gratitude for all that is. For the simple. For the sublime. For the joy. The pain. For the sweet, aching joy of being alive.

This is how I’ve been feeling lately. I can’t believe I’m still talking about certain issues in my life.

Just when I think I’ve grown in a certain area, I seem to come circling back to it. In fact often it feels like I come back to it in an even worse way then I did the last time. It’s like putting on the weight you lost, plus a little extra.

It’s certainly happened to me with my weight, but there are a number of hot topics for me. For example I can’t believe I’m still talking about the same issues around relationships. I can’t believe that I am still experiencing insecurity and neediness in this regard. Shouldn’t this have stopped in my 20’s? How can it still be such hot topic?   How can a tiny little thing like seeing a picture of an ex-boyfriend with his new girlfriend send me spiraling into a frenzy of comparison which leads me to conclude that our relationship didn’t work because I am not as beautiful/interesting /sexy/brilliant as she is. No wonder he broke up with. Who could blame the guy?  I get to feeling so bad about myself that I have to call for help – being talked down from the precipice yet again by my lovely friends. They remind me of  how wonderful I am, administering the kind of emergency care that only girlfriends can give.  A good bottle of wine, a decadent meal, lots of laughter, lots of love and praise. After a while I am able to step back from the precipice. The bottom line though is I can’t believe I’m still talking about this!

There are other places in my life where this happens. Lately its started to make me feel really disheartened. When does it ever end?  Why doesn’t it ever end? Why doesn’t it get better? Why am I back here again?

Last night, after listening to me talk about an issue yet again, a friend asked me “Are you ready to be wrong?” I couldn’t answer immediately.

As I thought about it, it occurred to me that maybe all the things I’m still talking about are those which I haven’t yet been ready to be wrong about. YET.

So many of us hold on to things – whether its feeling bad ourselves or having anger and resentment towards people in our lives because we are so committed to being “right”.  If there is a place where we can’t heal, can’t forgive, can’t forget, can’t move on – its a sure bet that we are clinging  tightly to the way we’ve always seen the situation and we are not yet willing to be open to the possibility that we are wrong about it. Even if its painful we cling on. Even when on some level we KNOW better – know that we need to let something go because its hurting us – we continue to hang on. “Why am I still hanging on to this when I know better?”, I asked my friend.  “Because it doesn’t hurt enough yet” she replied. Ouch.

It hurts enough. In fact it hurts more than enough.

I’m ready and willing to be wrong about a this.  I’m willing to see it differently.

There is a washing machine in the basement of the house I live in. It sits directly beneath a window which is a favorite spot for my landlord’s cats Persephone and Zoe. They jump on to the washer en route to the window ledge which affords them a grand view of the driveway.  They are not little cats and their repeated jumping onto the washer has shifted the sensor mechanism in the lid.  When you use the washer, it stops as soon as it fills with water.  Getting it to continue requires a delicate operation of nudging the lid to the left – while it’s closed – until the sensor engages and the machine starts running.

I was getting ready to go on a trip and ran down to the basement to do a load of laundry. It had been a while, so I’d forgotten what the trick was. Feeling a little silly, I called my landlord who explained to me again that I just needed to nudge the lid to the back left corner.  It sounded simple enough, but after 15 minutes I just couldn’t get the damn thing to turn on. Luckily my neighbor came home then. SHE knows the trick and she demonstrated it for me.  Her version of the trick turned out to be a little more involved.

First she opened the lid – which was dented inwards because of the weight of the cats. She gave it a quick punch which popped it back out.  Then she closed it and pushed down on it several times.  Finally she nudged it to the left, pushed firmly down on it again – and it started right up. I felt relieved, thinking that my landlord had only given me half of the trick. No wonder it hadn’t worked

The next day I went to do another load of laundry. Having watched my neighbor closely, I was confident that I could get it to work. I waited while it filled with water. Then it stopped.  I carefully started to recreate the steps. Open the lid. A quick punch with my fist. The indent in the lid popped right out. Then, close it and push down on it really hard. Ok. Good. Now, slip my fingers into the right front corner of the lid and nudge it to the left. Finally, one last firm push and … NOTHING.

I must have done something wrong I tell myself. So I repeat. Open, punch, close, push, nudge, push. Still nothing. Maybe I got the order wrong I think, so I try again. This time, open, punch, close, nudge, push, push.  No joy.  Nudge, push, open punch, close, push doesn’t work either.  I start to get slightly hysterical as I repeatedly try various combinations. Pretty soon the push becomes violent pounding on the lid.  Finally I try a trick of my own, pound, pound, kick, kick, pound. At this point I am almost crying in disbelief and frustration. My neighbor is not home so I can’t ask her to come rescue me again. After 25 minutes of this, I give the machine one final, vicious kick and declare defeat.

I leave a snippy little note for my landlord expressing my frustration and displeasure at being inconvenienced in this way. Is it too much to expect that the equipment in the house work?  This kind of snippiness is unlike me and later I feel ashamed of myself. When he comes home several hours later he apologizes profusely and promises to fix it. Of course HE is able to turn on the washer with no problem. $*#$(#$&)$*#$*^$* machine!

I have always felt about life the way I feel about that washer – that there is a trick to making it work which I can’t seem to master.

I used to watch people seemingly make their lives work and wonder how come they knew the trick and I didn’t. I was convinced that the trick had been withheld from me because I was somehow unworthy of it. Even when people shared their version of the trick with me, I would repeat the exact same steps with no success. Just like with the washer, I’d try different combinations but never be able to get them to work, and I would end up frustrated and angry, constantly pounding and kicking at life until I was forced to throw my hands up in defeat.  I judged myself very harshly for not being able to master my life and lately had almost given up hope.

A few weeks ago on what some might consider to be a whim, I became a student of the Inner Visions Institute for Spiritual Development which was founded by Iyanla Vanzant and her late daughter.  Iyanla still leads the institute, teaching some of the classes. The program I joined – to quote from their website – “is a two-year course of study which covers the basic principles and practices required in developing a spiritually grounded life and lifestyle.” There is also a third year of study leading to a certification as a spiritual life coach and a fourth year leading to ministerial ordination.

So starting in October, I’ll be heading to Silver Spring, Maryland one weekend a month for classes. Some of the classes I’ll be taking include: Practical Metaphysics; Healthy Mind/Healthy Body; Meditation Practices & Principles; Prayer Practices & Principles; Effective Communication; Fundamentals of Spiritual Life Development; Fundamentals of Relationships and Introduction to A Course in Miracles. Awesome stuff!

The program began with a week long retreat,  known as the Summer Intensive which was held at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck NY. I’ve always wanted to go to Omega and it was everything I thought it would be and more. A beautiful, peaceful campus, delicious (vegetarian) food and like-minded people from all over the world.  I just love the idea of a community completely committed to learning.

The week was wonderful. I really enjoyed meeting my 40 classmates, who are my new family. There are people from all over the US – Georgia, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Illinois, North Carolina, and Missouri to name a few.  There are even two international students. One from Canada and one from Germany!

Having read all of Iyanla’s books, I am beyond thrilled to be studying with her. She is amazing! Her spirit and presence are BIG and beautiful. At one point she said something that really resonated with me, that great teachers are not those who put stuff in, but who draw stuff out of people. She is indeed a great teacher.

After the retreat, for the first time in my life, I’m OK with not knowing the trick.  I feel clear that it  is has not been withheld from me. Maybe I wasn’t ever supposed to know it. I am now open to the possibility that the journey of life is really about discovering the trick and that its OK to ask for help. It had never occurred to me that I could just ask God to make my life work.  That in fact it was his job to know the trick – not mine.  I’d always been convinced that I SHOULD know it, and that I had to do it all by myself. What blessed relief to admit that I don’t know how. I can finally stop the pounding and kicking. Even more comforting is the realization that while I’d been sure that EVERYONE except me was in the know, this is just not true. I was using this lie to beat up on myself and convince myself that I was unworthy.

My neighbor has lived in our house for 2 years, and it took her a while to learn how to make the washer work. And like me she had to ask for help until she was able to do it on her own.  Pretty soon I’ll learn to make the washer work too – and when the next new tenant moves into the building maybe they’ll turn to me to learn how to make it work.

I am grateful for Inner Visions because Iyanla and her amazing staff have been on the path of learning how to make their own lives work for a long time, and I can learn from them, until I can do it myself. But best of all, is the fact that the real trick lies in a presence bigger than all of us. This is where the where the truth of the making life work resides. Call it God, call it Spirit, call it Universal Energy -call it whatever works for you – but know that it’s something we can all tap into to and which is always available to us!

“No mirror ever became iron again;

No ripened grape ever became sour fruit;

Mature yourself and be secure from a change for the worse.

Become the light.”

~ Rumi from Rumi: Daylight

The Sublime Passage recently got a makeover! If you read the blog by e-mail or through the RSS feed click here to visit the site and take a quick look-see.

The Rumi quote in the header came to me in an e-mail from Philospher’s Notes. It struck a cord with me because it seems  to speak to what life  is about.

It’s about growth and evolution. Or at least it should be.  It’s about maturing ourselves and in our own unique ways becoming the light.

I also love the reminder that even though it often feels like it to us, growth is a one way trip.You can’t ever go back to being the person you were!

Overall I wanted the site to be cleaner,  simpler, better organized AND pretty. I think I achieved that end.

What do y’all think?

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?
Marianne Williamson
A Return to Love

For months I’ve been working on launching the website for my consulting work. It is still semi-completed.

I originally planned to have it done before I started consulting in January,  but in all the hectic chaos of finishing up the last few months at my job it was impossible to find time.

Then I went away for a month to spend time with my family. My intentions to have it up in the first few weeks after my return had to be temporarily shelved when I returned from vacation to a flooded house and being temporarily homeless.

Another month was dedicated to finding a new place to live and salvaging my stuff.

Then I was moving in and organizing myself.

Then I started working. I was suddenly inundated by new clients and projects and I didn’t have time to work on it.

The past few weeks I’ve worked on it quite a bit, but I’ve been vacillating over design themes and colors and layouts and wording.

Yesterday one of my clients asked me for resume.  I haven’t updated it since the last time I interviewed for a job several years ago.

My heart sank as I pulled up the last version I could find and began to revise it.

It was agonizingly painful.  What to say about myself?

I was frustrated that I didn’t have more interesting things to say. Kept thinking I haven’t done enough. I don’t know enough. I’m not clever enough. Not talented enough.

Wait a minute! I stopped myself and thought about it. Really thought about it.

It’s not true. I know this. Really I do.

It occurred to me that this is what the hold up with completing the site has really been about. My being afraid to own my fabulosity and put it out there for all the world to see.

Why are we so afraid to shine?

In my heart I  know that I know a lot. I know that I am passionate and believe in what I’m doing. I know that I am learning and growing everyday and I know that I put my heart into doing the work I care about and believe in.

Above all, I know that as we all are, I am blessed with many talents and gifts.

I need to claim these gifts and talents, because until I do I can’t give them in service to the world.

That’s what they’re for after all. That’s why I am here. To give my gifts in service to the world.

Another reminder from the universe duly noted.

Let yourselves shine people. You are fabulous and gorgeous and talented. Own it and share it with the world. That’s what you’re here to do!

This song is a personal favorite of mine. I don’t consider it a guilty pleasure. I ain’t ashamed of my love for eighties music.

I’m reminded of the impromput 80’s dance party we had at my brother’s house in South Africa this New Year’s. This song was on the play list and all of us jumped around unashamedly to this tune, just like we did in the old days. Granted we were a little more out of breath at the end of the song than we might have been in the eighties, but it was just as much fun.

Seems like a good song for a rainy friday (in New Jersey).

Check out the rest of  the list here.  It includes some other personal favorites like Karma Chamelon and that legendary MC Hammers U Can’t Touch This!

If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware off, no shortcut.
– Stephen King, On Writing

Stephen King is right. I can no longer deny the harsh reality that if I want to write then I have to…. well….write.

I’ve got the reading thing down. I think my commitment to reading is sufficiently compulsive and obsessive.

I had dinner with a good friend a few nights ago and we spent a lot of time talking about my consulting work.  At the end of a long discussion about some of my projects she asked me how I was going to make time for writing now that I was clearly so busy with the challenge of running my own business. She’s one of those friends who isn’t afraid to ask you questions that will make you uncomfortable because they force you to deal with something you’ve been avoiding. You know the type.  The ones who remember all the good intentions you set for yourself and are not afraid to remind you about them when said intentions become lost – buried by the other stuff of life. Sometimes you wish they didn’t have such good memories, but really you’re incredibly grateful that they do.

One of the reasons I stopped working full-time was so that I could finally make time to explore my writing.  To really sit with this newly discovered passion.  Finally I’d be able to give in to the irresistible pull I feel to put myself down on paper.

It hasn’t happened the way I imagined.  The past few months have been consumed by finding a place to live,settling into the new place and starting a new business.

My technology consulting work has taken on a life of its own, and projects are coming at me fast and furious. I’ve been  spending all my time trying to figure out how to efficiently run a business, and my days are already filled with meetings, preparing proposals and estimates, invoicing and more.  I feel as pressed for time as I did when I had a regular job!

I’m realizing that it may have been naive to think that just because I was self-employed, by default I would have lots of free time for writing .

If it wasn’t for my monthly writing group, my writing would be limited to the occasional day when I manage to write morning pages. Once in a while they end up on paper, but more often than not, they are written in my head. Sometimes in the early hours, I am awakened by passages being written in my head. Am I becoming a vessel for the writing? I often hear writers and painters describe their creative process this way. If so, great.  I’ve written some good stuff. Pity its not written any place where I can read it.  I can only comfort myself with the thought that if it came to me once perhaps it will come again at a moment when I can write it down.

I wonder if  Stephen King counts writing in your head as writing? My guess would be no…but then again, who knows.

I know what I need to do to be a writer.  Write.

So this is my challenge – to make the time and space to write.

Clearly it will require a concerted effort and probably a great deal of sacrifice.

I’ll have to become as compulsive and obsessive about the writing as I am about the reading.

I know it can be done.  Take this post for example. I’m writing at it at 2am. Earlier this evening, I fell asleep on the couch watching TV.  I woke up around 1:30am, and began to make the half-awakened stumble towards to my bed. As I did so however, I glanced at my computer. Something told me to sit down and write about what’s been on my mind for the past few days. So here I am.

I have an 8:30am meeting with a new client, and conventional wisdom tells me that being up writing at 2am is probably not wise. By the time I lay my head down, my mind will probably be too stimulated for me to fall asleep immediately. I’ll probably end up reading in an attempt to lull myself to sleep – which most likely won’t work, and I’ll read for another couple of hours.  My guess is that I’ll end up snatching only a few hours of sleep.

I did say something about sacrifice didn’t I?

What’s funny is that this  doesn’t feel like a sacrifice. Sitting at my desk in the spacious stillness of early, early morning when it feels like I am the only person in the world who is awake. It’s blissfully quiet except for the gentle tap of my fingers on the keyboard, the hiss and splutter of the heat forcing its way out of the radiator and the occasional hum of a car passing on the street.

This feels like a gift.

It is a BEAUTIFUL day on the East Coast day with temperatures in the low 60’s. You know its warm because I just went outside in only two, very thin layers. Come on spring! I am always amazed however, by how little warm weather it takes for people to start springing out tank tops and shorts. It ain’t that warm yet people!

At any rate I had to go outside for fresh air even though I’ve been intently preparing for meeting with one of my new clients tomorrow!  I’m very excited but a tad bit nervous.

As y’all know I am now self-employed as a technology strategist/social media evangelist.  Hmm, still working on exactly how to describe what I do, but those two titles come close.  I get to help non-profits and progressive businesses – people who want to make the world better – use technology to make that happen.  I love PEOPLE, and I get to spend time talking to them, helping them figure things out. Its a little like being a counselor At any rate I’m thrilled because tons of AMAZING projects with some really great organizations are coming my way.

I’m in a really steep learning curve at the moment, trying to figure out all the systems aspects of my practice. Writing proposals, invoicing… all that good stuff. It’s taking me a long time now to do things that I’m sure pretty soon will become quick and easy, but I get to use lots of great technology to do this. Almost all of my work is done using cool/efficient online tools. Yes, I practice what I preach (at least technologically speaking).

A few reflections and lessons learned during my first few months as a freelancer/self-employed/ job-free person:

• I have to force myself to take a shower first thing in the morning. It’s very tempting to think “I’ll just check email” then take a shower”. Next thing you know its 4pm and you’re still in your pj’s at which point you think – “I might as well wait till tomorrow”.  NOT GOOD. Particularly when someone calls you at 5pm inviting you out for coffee or dinner and you’re still unwashed. What I’ve learned: I must take a shower and get dressed in real clothes first thing every morning without fail.
• When you work at home its really easy for the lines to blur.  I’m having to develop a lot of discipline about when I work and when I don’t. For example, if I’m heavily involved in a project, I cannot stop to watch Oprah – no matter how intriguing the topic. By the same token, I must not check work email during non-work hours because then I end up working for hours in the middle of the night. What I’ve learned: In order to prevent both procrastination and burnout I must give myself a workday structure – and stick to it!
  
• Since I now live in an apartment, my office is a corner of my living room. (Yes, that’s it in the picture). I know some people were worried about my not having a separate office since I spend a good deal of my time at home now. What I’ve learned: When I’m really engaged my location “disappears”. I could be sitting in the middle of the street for all I know.  What I’ve learned: You don’t need a corner office with a big desk to do good work!
• I’m astounded how quickly the time flies and I already have that feeling of there not being enough hours in a day. Granted some of this is because of the learning mode I’m in. Everything is new so it takes longer. What I’ve learned: Its true what they say. – when you’re doing something you love, time flies! Hooray.  I must be doing something I love!
  

While I’m still a little nervous about my ability to “making a living”, I don’t regret my decision one bit. There’s something so freeing about being the mistress of my own destiny. Some days, if I don’t have anything major going on I take an afternoon nap. Granted, I usually end up feeling guilty but I’m starting to get over that. It reminds me of when I left home for the first time and I would go out at all hours of the  night. I’d keep having this feeling that I was doing something really bad and any minute my mother would be calling to tell me to get my butt back home.  I’m (almost) over that feeling so I’m sure I’ll get over this

So there you have it news from the land of the job-free!  Now I should get back to work before the boss catches me on the internet…

My new apartment itself  is the third floor of a beautiful Victorian house. It is a light, bright, airy space with gorgeous vaulted ceilings in the kitchen and bathroom. It was the first place I looked at post-flood, and I loved it instantly.

It is a MUCH smaller space than my 3 -bedroom house in the country, but this is a good thing.  As I worked on salvaging my stuff from the house, I realized a) just how much stuff I had, and b) how little of the space in the house I was actively using  (most of it was just glorified storage space for the aforementioned stuff),  and c) what a tiny percentage of the stuff I truly cared about.

At the end of the day the things I really valued were untouched and were  but a tiny fraction of  my belongings. My books, my computer, my cat, photographs of my family and artwork . Even my beloved shoes, while still beloved don’t seem quite as important post-flood.

There was so much that was behind closed doors in the spare room or shoved in closets. Much of it rarely ever saw the light of day, except perhaps each time I moved.

The most striking realization I had however was the fact that I was holding on to a lot of things because  they defined me in ways I was apparently not ready to release.

I think most of us have no idea how defined we are by our stuff. This experience was so eye-opening for me because it revealed the comfort I felt in hanging onto things that were familiar and allowed me to hold on to certain stories about myself.

For example, there was the me I used to be – as defined by the dress I wore to my leavers dance (prom)  over 15 years ago. I miss this me and – hindsight being what it is – I now recognize how simple my life was back then. I was young and skinny and innocent and my heart had yet to be broken in the many ways that come with adulthood.

Then there is the me I think the world expects me to be  – as defined by the gorgeous, white, velvet Italian designer pants which I’ve never worn and which – even when I bought them  -were in a size I couldn’t fit .  As a woman I’ve had my fair share of brainwashing about how much I should weigh, the way I should dress and how I should behave.  For me these pants represent an attempt to live up to to that expectation of myself which is not of my own making, but which I took on as my own.

Then there’s the me I yearn to be – as defined by the mini-trampoline, workout DVDs and other unused exercise paraphernalia.  This is the me I am working on becoming. The one who manages to release all of the lifetime habits and  patterns which no longer serve her. The one who does all the things she knows are healthful and nurturing, rather than self-destructive and self-violating. The me who remembers that she feels best when she eats a certain way, exercises, meditates, prays, journals and take good care of herself.

Truth be told the things that define me in these all too familiar ways, evoke a lot of emotions in me. What I was startled to see is that none of them made me feel good.

There was sadness and loss looking at a past I can never be relived. Insecurity at not being able to live up to an unrealistic standard and the frustration of  beating myself up for not doing what I know is good for me.

Instead I want to keep around me the things that allow me to focus on the strength and wisdom that are the gifts of heartbreak, disappointment and challenge; the true sense of self  which allows me to know that I am strong enough, wise enough and ME enough to define myself; and the ability to celebrate my successes rather than focusing on my failures.

I want to surround myself with things that allow me to live in the moment. It’s hard to live in the moment when you’re stuck on the used-to-be, should-be, could-be things.  These things I was holding onto didn’t allow me to enjoy exactly where I am today. Right now. In this very moment.

So as I move into my new home I’m doing so with supreme intentionality. I only want to bring into it those things which I love and which are useful and nurturing. The things that keep me in the now and help move me forward instead of stuck in the past.

When I first found the new apartment I would describe it to friends with terms like “downgrading” “down-sizing” , “less space” – but I quickly  realized that is far from the truth. This is in fact a massive upgrade.  I am upsizing baby. Yes my space may be physically smaller, but emotionally and spiritiually I’m living in a mansion.

I know many of you (I won’t mention any names)  are trying to purge/organize/have less stuff.  Why not take a look around you and see how much of  what you think you can’t live without is really about definitions of yourself that you’re afraid to let go off because they are oh so comfortable. 

What are you holding on to that no longer serves or that’s holding you back from moving forward in your life and more importantly living in the moment?