See You Soon.

We buried my Uncle Gene last Friday.  His life was long.  His final years did not suit him.  His body failed to cooperate with his mind.  We celebrated his life and said goodbye for now.

As I stood behind the pall bearers, strong men with broad shoulders, my cousins, I was forced to accept that so much time has passed.  We, who for a time, felt forever young, are young no longer.

So many of our relatives, those who were solid landmarks in a chaotic world, are gone.  Those of us that remain are much older now.  Our hair is dusted with gray.  Our faces etched with lines.    We ask each other, "Where has the time gone?"  When did WE get so OLD?" Our age sobers us.  We, who walked in the shadow of our elders, now cast shadows of our own.

For a few trying minutes, I felt the passage of time, the loss of what was, the loss of those who mattered.  I stood behind a wall of somber strength and fought back tears.  I was glad that my uncle was free from the limits of his failing body but I mourned the loss of time.

The pain of this hit hard.  Giving in to the personal grief could not be allowed.  Focusing on the flickering candles, the feel of the early summer air, the smell of incense, wax and wood, I realized that the best use of time is found in moments in which feeling intersects with life.  This painful grief is an integral part of what makes other moments sweet.  Without the contrast, life becomes a meaningless blur.

Much of my life has been a blur.  Some thing, some one, seemed to have their foot on the accelerator and I have raced through the years riding in the back seat.  The years that remain don't stretch before me like an endless highway of what-might-be.  Time is at a premium.  Soon, I will be back to bury another and another.  All too soon, that other, will be me,

Silently, I pray to those who have gone before me.
"I need help.  I feel lost.  Nothing is turning out like I planned.  What do I do?"
In my mind, they look on me with a quiet, benevolent silence.  There is no need for words.  They, who fought the good fight, who have run the race, wait at the finish line.    Their trials, their fears and failures were part of the journey as mine are to my own.

In the end, life is less about what you have done and more about who you have become.

My uncle's life was a simple one.  He made a living by the work of his hands.  The land was the floor below him, the sky his cathedral.  In his presence, I felt a reverence I never understood.  Our relationship didn't have words to define it.  They weren't necessary.  Words aren't what really defines a life or shapes a destiny.   Those monumental events occur in between the crevices of the minutes, days and years.  They are found in action and choices, in moments of intense feeling both pain and joy.  The blood and bone of life is in the doing and the being.  It's in the showing up.

Thanks, Gene, Dad, Grandmas, uncles, aunts. . .Your lives have shown me the way.  Please save me a spot at the table.  We have some catching up to do.  See you soon.

Why Not?

Recently, Elizabeth Gilbert recommended the blog, Momastery.  Of course, I checked it out.  Loving it, I envied how well Glennon Doyle Melton writes.  For 3 days, it provided me an excuse not to write.  I gave up because I wasn't someone else.
Crazy?  Yes.  Not all my excuses are so illogical, however, I am an amazing author of excuses.  Maybe, it's time to look for reasons instead.  So, I did.

Carol's reasons to write:

In order to write, I have to write.  It's just like breathing.  It's what one does to stay alive, if you're so inclined  Holding my breath is not breathing.  All that effort to avoid the inevitable is futile.

I am not Glennon Doyle Melton or any other author I admire.   My life is uniquely mine.  Instead of finding reasons why I'm not good enough, I need to remember that the ONLY person I need to be better than is myself or the me I was 30 seconds ago.

I am interesting.  I honestly believe I'm one of the most interesting people I know.  In fact, I'm overly attached to my ideas and stories and I never tire of sharing them.

It's important to make time to do something I love.  Considering how much time I spend doing the things I have to do and don't enjoy,  if I can't make time for a little fun and enjoy what I'm doing, it's time to pack it all in.

I won't know what I can write if I don't give it a try.  Not every word or post is going to be good. It doesn't really matter.  Once in a while, I hit the mark.  The more I practice, the more I learn and the better I get.

Why not?  No, really.  why not?

Fragile

"Stop thinking you are fragile," a wise friend said.

Guilty.  And, yet I know, I am not fragile.

My life is full of challenges.  Some may say it's a mess.  Some do say, "you're a mess!"
I am a glass-half-full gal.  I come from a long line of pessimists who are trying to find a glass.  A glass-half-full is an accomplishment.

I have good reasons to wake up at 3 a.m. and cry.  Occasionally, I have "sack-and-ash cloth" days when I feel sorry for myself.  There are days when I'm angry and impatient.   I remain human.  In time, I get a grip and begin again.  That's the joy of being human. You can reinvent yourself when the old self just doesn't cut it.

This mess, that is my life, has become a tremendous opportunity for growth.
This mess, that is my life, has opened my eyes to what is most precious and who among my friends and family provide bright spots in our lives.
This mess, that is my life, has witnessed a generosity and kindness that often leaves me speechless and teary-eyed with gratitude.
This mess, that is my life, has drawn us closer.
This mess, that is my life, has forced me to be brutally honest with myself and to begin to take greater responsibility for how I contribute to where I am in the moment. . . any moment.
This mess, that is my life, has taught me that blame, guilt and pity stand in my way and prevent me from the important work of beginning again.
This mess, that is my life, has deepened my faith in a loving God.  In a world turned upside down by disappointment and financial challenges, God is the only constant that makes sense.

No matter how discouraged I may feel in my darkest moments, my life remains an amazing gift.  I can not waste it.

I'm not fragile because I've discovered what I'm made of.  I am strongest in my broken places.

My wise friend, ended the evening with a direct statement to me.  "You are going to get through this. We're going to get through this."   She is right.  We are not fragile.

Blocked

Blocked.  That was the message I received when I tried to post on my web site.  Blocked seems to be the theme lately.

Heading back over to "In Just 10" I rediscover what "In Just 10" was about.  I'm ashamed to admit that I had completely forgotten.  Total blank.  It's time to get back to what I value and to take action to protect it and to increase the joy I am certain will follow by being more attentive to those things that truly matter to me.  It requires effort.  I wonder if I have the energy.

I'm off course.  The wrong things are capturing my attention.  Ideas for op/ed pieces roar through my head like hungry lions.

As I try to shake off the mantle of negative energy, I realize that underneath my frustration and anger lies a deep and profound loneliness.  No one is more surprised than I to discover it there.

I am desperate to feel useful, essential, connected.  Instead I feel a profound disconnect at the deepest level.  Maybe this is the nature of grief.  Maybe, it is an essential component of change.  What ever it's purpose, cause or function,  I walk with it now.

My life is rapidly reduced to its basic elements so that I may rebuild again but the process is exquisitely painful and isolating.  Reality does have teeth and they are sharp.

I grieve under a great burden, the brokenness and the confusion follows me like a love sick puppy. Insight comes and goes with a brutal randomness.  Is this how others live?  Do other people worry about these things, the things that rip me from a sound sleep at 3 a.m. and form shadows on the wall that the light of day can not erase?

Polite conversation is no place for such things.   A curtain drops between me and the rest of the world.   It tries to hide the danger.  If it isn't spoken aloud, it doesn't exist.  But,  it does.  I carry it around with me like a hungry cancer.

Transition

My new web site is here!   I am not going to deactivate In Just 10.    Eventually, I hope to link the entries here to my new web site.

As of today, October 11, 2011, I am now writing and posting at CarolSturgeon.com.

Thanks to the creative talents of my brother, Len.  I'm shifting my focus and starting a new direction.  I'm expanding my scope, increasing my reader base and making it easier for those lovely little search engines to find me.

It will take some time for me to learn Wordpress so check in often to see future developments.

I want to thank my readers.  Your support, friendship and interest is encouraging and inspiring.  I have been very blessed  by the amazing people that I have in my life.   Words fail to capture how much you all mean to me. 

Following Your Heart

I walk a tightrope over the valley of tears.  Some times, I look down and feel panic.  Other times I look up and see a beautiful blue sky and I remember why I am on this journey.  After spending a wonderful, stimulating weekend, I found that I was searching for a way to process all I had learned, a way to understand what my true purpose is.

I waited for inspiration.  No bill board lit up my mind with a simple summary sentence of wisdom.  No words played across the inner screen telling me what my life was all about.  I was disappointed.  What happened to all that inspiration, my desire to discern my direction, my attempts to be open to what the universe/God had to teach me?

Disappointed, I turned to a familiar distraction and logged on to my computer to check my random e-mails.  There buried in all the recipes and daily updates was a simple posting in a blog (Kind Over Matter).  It was a clip of Steve Jobs giving a commencement speech at Stanford.



Had he not recently died, I may not have been as impressed as I was with his words.  I had to write some of them down as if the writing of them would some how make them more real, more easily grasped.

"Remembering I'll be dead soon is the most important tool, I ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life because almost everything, all external expectation, all pride, all fear of embarrassment and failure, all these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.  Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose.  You are already naked.  There is no reason not to follow your heart."  Steve Jobs


Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place.  I could see clearly the lesson that the weekend held for me.  In a single moment, I saw the point of my life.  I didn't have to work hard to figure it out.  I simply had to get out of my own way long enough to acknowledge what I have always known.

As for what I discovered about my purpose. . . well, some things are best kept to one's self.   Tomorrow, I may have a new purpose.  Just for today, I am at peace.  Peace is a beautiful thing.

It will pass but the memory will remain.  We all live life one moment at a time.  We string the moments together and look back at what we've created.  We often fail to realize that we've lost so many moments by not living in them.    This is something I know well.  I needed Steve Jobs, a house full of women, a son having a meltdown, conversations with  new friends and a hug from my daughter, to help me realize how precious each moment is.  I am already naked.  There is no reason not to follow my heart.

In Between the Words

(Somehow this song feels like it fits today.  I don't have words to explain why.  It just does.  It's not the words.  It is what falls in between them.)


Words have limits.  They create little boxes into which we drop bits and pieces of our lives.   So much of our living takes place in between the words.  Inside our heads we play the endless commentary of our lives and yet never fully capture who we are.  So many things are left unsaid.  So many things fall outside the neat boxes that words create.

At home, snug in my well-worn recliner, I look at my husband in the chair beside me.  The things I want to say can't be captured in words.    We sit in mutual silence.  The TV drones on mindlessly.  So many words pour from the screen.   They say so little.  I'm not even remotely entertained.  Something is missing.  What's missing are all the words left unsaid.  They press down on the inside of my lips.  They ripple across my tongue.  I open my mouth to let them out.  They flutter away in silence. 

Feelings, raw and primitive course through my body like electric current.  They snap and crackle.  My nerves stand at attention, waiting.  They wait for words to capture them but the words can not.

This break down of language leaves me broken and mute.  I want to cry, to mourn the loss.  I'm in way over my head and I can't find a way to tell anyone.  And, then again, maybe I just did.