I'm a Volcano

April 29. 2019

My moods have been like swinging monkeys the past few days. Or maybe they're always like this. Like the weather, even in Los Angeles. Today the sky is dark, brooding, but later the sun might come out and hit the last of the lemons on the tree in our little back yard.

Last night I listed the monkey moods + states I'd been swinging in:

calm, peaceful, sobbing on the green chair for five minutes, then walking the dog, inspired, missing people, out of sorts, enjoying the red geraniums, terrible self-doubt, listening to a meditation, grasping for certainty, making a delicious quiche, enjoying a conversation, thinking about a creative project, joy over my younger brother coming to work here for two weeks...

You get it.

My neighbor invited me to cut bouquets from her exploding white rose bushes so I got my kitchen scissors and had at it. While snipping, her three year old daughter ran up to me and said,

I'm a volcano and skipped away.

(You know after the last couple of posts I really just want to be three, five, six again.)

I listened to a podcast where an actor said, "I'm here to share my messes."

The monkeys stopped jumping and chattering for a full minute when I heard that.

I'm a volcano. And so are you. We're a lot of things, all the time, all day long.

I sob, walk the dog, chat with my neighbor, cook a quiche, smell the roses.

Sink. 
Swim. 
Float.

I went to a beloved therapist years ago because I was convinced I was going crazy. I had left a bat-shit marriage at the time and thought for sure it had to be my mind that was cracking. My therapist, who lovingly called me Blanche ( I don't know why but found it endearing) said,

Blanche, you're one of the sanest people I know. 🌀

Monkey-naming, mess-sharing - it's how I stay sane, relatively speaking.

So, get out a notebook.
Sit down with a friend.
Name your monkeys.
Share your messes.

Find your inner volcano, then skip skip skip to my Lou.

xo b

Wherever I Go 🌞

April 15. 2019

Last week a friend shared this snippet of a story about her six year old grandson.

It went like this:

Steven said, "There's one thing you don't know about me."
My friend said, "Oh, what's that?"
Steven said, " I have fun wherever I go."

Whoa! Play around with that this week.

xo b

Maybe That's What Happened 💡

April 8. 2019

Ollie drew this picture with a weird invisible marker.
I said, "What is it?"
Ollie said, "It's a bag with a light bulb inside."

Later that day, we drove by the lake near Ollie's house (and my beloved old home). The lake was covered with large clumps of bright green algae floating near the shore.

"Wow," I said, "I wonder what's going on with the lake."
Ollie said, "Maybe a swamp tornado. Maybe that's what happened."















xo b

DREAM something 🌀

April 1, 2019

“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way. I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe's couplets:

Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it!”

 W. H. Murray

I'm blissfully back east visiting family and friends. 




And still, it's Monday and one of my commitments is to show up on Mondays and offer thoughts, a nudge, an idea, a good quote, photographs, a little inspiration.

🌀The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. 

So, 
Read the beautiful quote, slowly. 
Dream something. It can be teeny tiny, people.
Commit (to) yourself.
Let Providence move.















xo b



Young Man With A Dream by Michael Collins

We All Know That

March 25, 2019

After attending a lovely wedding on Saturday, I know that dancing for three hours straight is better than any anti-depressant/anxiety medication I could pop.  I've popped a few. 

The sea levels in my body rose. 

Dancing + laughing + more than one trip to the photo booth = silly good. 

I can be so damn serious and overly concerned about everyone and everything. The part of me who watches and keeps track of details has her place. She's practical and gets things done. But she's kind of exhausting too. 

Why does she get more time in my day than Dance girl? 

Dance girl brings

joy

less worry

more joy   

The opening line to the classic book, The Road Less Traveled, is "Life is difficult." 

We all know that. 

But there's the other too. 

There's joy, ease, lightness of being. 

We may not shake it at weddings every weekend but can we do the things that need doing and lighten up? Be practical and smile till it hurts? I'm no party animal but for the record, I had 1.5 beers. It was delicious but definitely not the cause of my sea change. It was the dancing. 

So, why aren't we dancing more? 

xo b

Thanks to Kaila and Chris Thatcher for a beautiful day. Blessings! ☀️

Your Personal Roadrunner

March 18, 2019

This morning I'm remembering watching cartoons with my little brother, Peter. Sun streaming in the windows, leafy trees, the sound of Mom in the next room and Wile. E Coyote getting crushed (yet again) while Roadrunner zooms past through the canyons in a flurry of dust? 

It didn't dawn on me until a friend pointed it out that it was Wile E. Coyote himself, who set the traps that got him, again and again. Stars and moons swirling around his head. His obsessive attempts to catch the elusive Road Runner always kicked his ass. In every episode he ended up slamming himself with fast-moving trains, fat boulders 

+ an anchor falling from the sky into the cactus-filled desert?  

Wile E. believed if he got the Road Runner his appetite would be satisfied. Then he'd relax. But I don't think so. I'm thinking he'd still be his anxiety-riddled, contraption-building-self, sweating it out to catch something else. Because there's always something else.

Blow a kiss to whatever you're chasing, whatever you keep crushing yourself with.

Wish your personal Roadrunner well, beep beep. 

What do you really want/need today? 

Do that thing.

xo b

Start Climbing

March 11. 2019

So, how's your March Forth-ing going? Did you start off strong, but felt the energy waning as the week progressed? Or are you holding steady? Maybe a little of both? I get it.

I noticed that the answer is in the doing is more a letting go, rather than a powering through - Less gripping the ledge and worrying. More surrender and trusting - not my strong suit. 

Trust? Let go? 

This Trust thing reminds me of an unusual teacher in-service I participated in years ago. Most teacher in-services involve mind-numbing power points, reviewing rubrics, save me 😳.

But this one:

1. Took place outside.
2. Involved physical activity.
3. Was fun and challenging and meaningful.













The day's main event was a "ropes course" made up of various activities to build trust + confidence muscles by scaring yourself silly. First, I climbed a telephone pole thirty feet up and walked across a rickety rope bridge to the other side. Right before my ascent, I grabbed the arm of Dave, the very kind leader and said, "You don't understand. I have a lot of anxiety, sometimes panic attacks, I don't think," while Dave gently pointed to the ladder.

"You'll be fine," he said, "start climbing."

Next I stood on a platform above a group of eight people. Their arms were locked together creating a human net. Everyone was laughing and smiling and cheering me on. All I had to do was turn around, fall back into their arms, and they'd catch me. That's it? 

Dave gazed in my eyes and said, "I promise. No one is going to let you fall. Trust."

Maybe it was Dave. He was so believable. Maybe I was sick of my own fear dog always nipping at me. Something said, do it, so I closed my eyes and fell back into the net of arms. My human net (people I didn't even know) easily caught me and lowered my feet to the ground.  My humans clapped, hugged me. I cried. But mostly I was laughing. And I was fine. More than fine. 

I was Brilliantly, alive fine.

🌞 Such relief that I had loosened my grip enough to do it.

Climb the damn telephone pole, fall off a platform.

It's been over thirty years and I can still pull the sensations up in my mind and body.

I am safe. 
I can do this. 
I have support. 
People are here for me. 
This is fun. 
+
I did it.

But who among us can be in surrender and trust all the time? Our knees are going to buckle. We can't let go into the arms. We chuckle, make light of our fear, feel embarrassed that we can't fully trust the person, group, situation to catch us. We hold back.

We want assurances. 
We want certainty. 
We doubt ourselves. 

Of course we do that, want that.

We're human scaredy-cats wanting a more spacious life.

Practice trust.
Baby steps, lovelies.
Let's make the trip.
Start climbing.
It's already so much better than we think.

xo b

🌀Thank you, E.L. Doctorow, for this quote about writing, and everything else too.

Writing is like driving at night: you never see further than your headlights, 
but you can make the whole trip that way. -