Paint me one

One of my father's favorite questions is, "What's your vision?" Now maybe out of fear, or uncertainty, or dare I say, resentment, I've sat on the receiving end of an interrogation to which I never seem able to respond. Needless to say I've spent the better majority of my life hating it. I guess I simply don't understand how one can choose or even paint their "vision." As human beings, are we even wired to have such intelligent foresight? To know or perhaps predict what the grand course of our lives will look like? And can't we only presume some degree of imminent danger must ensue when fixating on some great mental image of our future selves? That's not to say that I haven't had my fair share of plans, ideas of what I might like to pursue or explore, and goals I've written down on pieces of paper to be filed away. But how are we supposed to choose? How are we supposed to paint the image: begin, cultivate, and then cease, until we're left with nothing but this one concrete vision?

The past year of my life I've attempted to live simply, honestly, and purely in the moment. The primary goal?

Joy. Wonder. Fulfillment. Complete satisfaction.

This is a conceivable way of life for me. My mind can grasp the needs, wants, and desires of my heart and spirit in a given moment. What indications or repercussions a mentality such as this may have on the future? Or 'the vision'? Well, I have no real idea. All I know is this: if you can listen to that inner voice, that voice in the back of your mind challenging you to live by impulse and intuition and even spontaneity, then you've got as good a chance as anyone of figuring this whole thing out.

But then I got to thinking, wasn't it this way when we were kids? Life was simpler then. We were literally free of responsibility, and thus we knew how to live in the moment. Our primary goal?

Joy. Wonder. Fulfillment. Complete satisfaction.

Granted this was all on more elementary terms: our days filled with play dates, school lessons, and the epic choice between Legos and Candyland, broccoli or green beans, Nancy Drew or.... well, Nancy Drew. As children we had no concept of 'the vision.' Aside from the notions of wanting to be firemen and teachers and painters when we grew up, we had no real idea of what it meant to think about, let alone for the future.

And now I'm here. I've clearly acquired a number of responsibilities to accompany my growing adulthood. I have this question hanging overhead daily. Yet all I know is this desire- this need to live in the moment, with purpose, and integrity, and appetite. It's not about looking so far ahead and drawing a picture within the unknown, but rather, allowing the obscure and mysterious to reveal themselves through a focus honed in 'the now.'

So, my vision? I can't really say I have one...at least not in the way my father means when he asks the question. I'd like to think that within this life I will learn what it is to love and be loved, I will travel, meet new people, share experiences, teach others while also learning from them, make a contribution to the world, find that which sets my heart on fire, and never lose the essential hunger. My vision? It would be easy to say Grad School, Peace Corps, move to a new city, start a family, etc. etc. etc. But it's more appropriate to say: cultivate a life which yields at least four necessary pieces:

Joy. Wonder. Fulfillment. Complete Satisfaction.

Buddha said, "we are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves." And I mean, come on, he knew what was up.

the art of observation

Ansel Adams said:

“When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.”

As of late, my discontent with words has sent me searching for other forms of inspiration. So this morning I stumbled upon some images which I find truly fulfilling in this realm.


Now that's what I call a library.


Mark Jenkins Art Installation: Tudela, Spain


Tallest Tree House in the World


Now that's Zen.

3 Words. First Word. Sounds like? Happy?

Are you happy and fulfilled in this moment?

Such was the question I once asked myself nearly every day.

Lately I've strayed away from the question, mainly because I fear the answer.

I fear I won't be satisfied with the reality.

So I stopped asking.

Further,

I fear I've lost the will to blog.

These past few weeks I've felt distracted, disconnected, and losing momentum. I've lost my momentum. Or maybe now is merely the recognition of loss. At any rate, I've simply lost my will to blog.

And the past weeks have been filled with delight: creating gingerbread houses with friends, a tradition my mother began early on in childhood, sharing laughter and late nights talking, drinking wine, decorating Christmas trees and wrapping gifts, walking in the snow at sundown, sipping cups of warm drinks, listening to the musical stylings of Joni Mitchell and the like... There has been delight here. I can see that.

Yet I've felt distracted, disconnected. I've lost my momentum.

And even further,

I don't remember creation being so hard. A process, yes. But not so painstakingly difficult. Though perhaps I've entered this phase of being far too fixated on product, on final destinations, on labels and clearly cut classifications of things. A dear friend recently reminded that I always cared more about the process anyway. It was never about some end or title or well determined place. For me, I've always gained greater insight, richer understanding, and brighter experience from the process itself... from all that leads up to wherever all of this finds itself...eventually.

Was I beginning to see happiness as a destination rather than a process? Or better yet, an experience? And why was I not allowing such delightful, simple pleasures to be fulfilling enough?

....I was working on this post yesterday morning. I'd come back to it over and over again for the past 2 weeks, allowing my backspace button to see more action than anything else. I was working on this post yesterday morning all before having one of the most lovely evenings I've had in a while.

Some good friends of mine have found their way home. Some for the holidays, some for a bit longer... I hope. They've been off traveling, studying in Law School, and publishing research in graduate programs. But they've found their way back. And yesterday I sat on this very couch, drinking wine, laughing til I cried, looking around the room at these dear friends who are back, dear friends with whom I have the awesome privilege to live, and some new friends who've started coming around more often. We played an epic game of charades, the game we've been playing since our youth.

Dee and Tom still have that amazing connection where the fewest of gestures leads to guessing clues you thought nearly impossible. Laura still puts in clues like Mary-Kate and Ashley's sing-along which makes you frustrated and want to die laughing all at once, and Drew and I can still work through Keri's clues like a dream team. It's all still there. And I sat here, playing this game, looking at the faces of these people whom I truly love, thinking, life is pretty wonderful. And in that moment, I was happy and fulfilled. Happiness was not a destination, it was an experience. It was all wrapped up in the process of letting go, of surrendering to life, and embracing the simplest of pleasures with the people who know me best.

And so perhaps it's become more difficult to blog these days.

Perhaps it's become more difficult to create and make work.

But spending quality time with the people who love you, remains just as effortless as one could hope.

daily reminders

90 percent of the time I have to remind myself to hit the power button after filling the coffee filter. Otherwise the coffee won't brew...obviously. I have to remind myself to move my laundry from the washer to the dryer, and then out of the dryer to fold. I almost always have to remind myself to put my name tag and box cutter back in my purse before heading to work. I remind myself to put the trash out on Monday night, to mail the Verizon bill each month, to not sweat the small stuff, and to eat more vegetables. But the list goes on. I have to remind myself to buy milk, to fill up the gas tank, bring the reusable grocery bags to Trader Joe's, drink more water, call certain friends, pay rent, unplug the Christmas tree lights before bed, return my library books on time (yes, I still check out library books)...

My days seem filled with reminders, though some I accomplish more successfully than others. And it feels like those reminders become more and more grand as I get older, as time passes, as life just gets filled up with stuff.

I remind myself that nothing in life is permanent. Not my job. Not my relationships. Not my passions. Not the way I feel when I wake up in the morning or go to sleep at night. Nothing is permanent.

I remind myself that life truly is too short... that I should take this time to be young, have adventures and experiences, meet new people, put myself out there, embrace the immensity...

I remind myself that I have skills. I have talents and abilities and two college degrees.

I again remind myself that nothing is permanent.

I remind myself to breathe. To take a time out to sip coffee in my pajamas, catch up on DVR, and re-read Pride and Prejudice
for the umpteenth time. I remind myself to smile and to laugh, and to not dwell too deeply on those things that I cannot change.

I remind. And remind. And remind.

Then in a conversation with a sweet friend the other day, who so kindly listened to and validated my feelings, she simply said:

"Just don't do too much reminding. Don't do too much reminding."

And that proved to be just what I needed to hear in that moment.

Perhaps I remind myself too much, rather than just... being. Or living. Or making decisions and taking the rest as it all comes.

So here's to less reminding and more doing.

Though tomorrow when I come to find my coffee isn't brewing, I will undoubtedly have to remind myself to press the ON button.

Hmmm. Maybe that's a metaphor for something.

Life Goal # 64

Two of my favorite things in life combined: Glee and Flash Mobs

through the window

This is a shot of my attic bedroom window. All I know is Fall is truly here and I've got the proof:



A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.
-Anais Nin

the heart always wins.

She met him at 17. He was 22. They lived in the same little town in Germany. They were madly, hopelessly in love.

For one reason or another they separated. He left Germany, as did she, choosing to study at a university in Illinois. She graduated college, married another man, had four children, later got divorced, and nearly three decades later found herself back in that little town in Germany. And there he was. She met him again. He too was three decades older. And they were still madly, hopelessly in love.

The two are now engaged, living on a yacht in Southern Italy, coming back to the states every few months to visit friends and children.

And so is the story she tells me while checking out at Trader Joe's one Tuesday afternoon. She is a short, cherub like woman with rosy cheeks and the kind of smile that can soothe even the faintest of hearts. She dives into the story of the love of her life when I comment on her German accent. She mentions her hometown in Germany but how she's currently in the states to see her kids who live in Chicago. But friends now live in Annapolis, "So we decided to come get some things for dinner."

"We?" I ask.

"Yes, me and my fiance," she replies.

"But you have four children?" I ask.

"My dear, it is a long story. Romantic, but long," she smiles.

"If you knew me, you'd know that I love a romantic story," I note.

"It's true," my co-worker chimes.

And so she tells the story of the man who held her heart for nearly thirty years.

"I moved away, married another man, had children... and yet I always loved him."

She's nearly teary eyed now. As am I.

She points to a man standing just beyond the window. He's got a sweet head of salt and pepper, thick black glasses, and a brown leather coat. He's gesturing to his wrist to let her know she's taking too much time. He then moves his fingers back and forth to meet his thumb- now she's talking too much. She and I both wave like complete saps lost in the fairytale she's shared. He laughs and shakes his head, then waves back.

A few weeks later the two come back into the store. She greets me with that great smile and an amazing hug. This is the kind of hug your mother gives, or your favorite aunt who spoils you yet doesn't see you nearly enough. He does just the same and I rave about how I've shared their story with all those dear to me. It shines as a glimmering reminder of what love and romance truly are.

He then says, "You are a sweet, sweet, girl."

I help them find some delicious cheeses to pair with the wine they've chosen and send them on their way.

Thirty years later they were still madly, hopelessly in love. And she always knew he was the one.

In a totally different dialogue with a friend today, she posed the question of whether or not it was actually possible for two people to still have those kinds of feelings for one another after such a long period of time. Was she crazy to think that was possible? All I know is what my sweet German friends have told me. And I think he put it best:

"My heart chose her at the very beginning. We lived our lives and spent time apart, but my heart had already chosen. And the heart always wins."

The heart always wins.