The Quanta of Letting Go

I was visited again recently with dreams of the dead. Once a rare thing, it's becoming more common for me. A result of getting older and facing my own mortality perhaps. Or maybe just a result of getting older and knowing more people who are dead, my own small army of ghost friends and family.

I always imagined Letting Go was one big moment when you were finally done with 'it' (whatever 'it' might be). You let go of the plate, the glass, the vase, and it falls to the floor to shatter. You let go of the horse's reins, and the horse gets to decide what to do, where to go. You let go of a love, a relationship, and it's still hovering about like it needs something else from you, like it hasn't already taken all that you have.

You Let Go, and you Let Go, you and Let Go in a never ending series of small movements toward the future, forever drifting outward but still somehow always within reach. Like Grief, it's never something that's complete, finished, over with. The intensity just fades into the background of the pressing needs of your current life.

Until it decides to punch you in the gut long after you thought it no longer had that kind of power.

Oof!

Some Link Love

Some of these are a little old by Internet standards (cuz I am constitutionally unable to be less than a week behind which is about a decade in Internet years), but that doesn't mean they aren't still totally awesome.

Creative badass, Justine Musk, shares Lessons from Chernobyl (Dear Justine, I think the people who thought you were crazy for wanting to take the trip are crazy - I've wanted to visit Chernobyl for years!).

I just discovered popperfont, which seems like a major oversight on my part. If you only read one thing on the site, make it An Introduction to the Scientific Method, by way of Chewbacca. Brilliant, funny science - just as it should be.

Check out How to Be an A-List Blogger: One Simple Step over at Unbridled Existence. Yes, even if you're not a blogger. It's a good reminder for everyone to make sure you know what success means for you.

Oops! I Did It Again...

Forgot that I was writing for this blog, that is. Not the first time.

Probably not the last.

In a neat little twist of Fate (oh, I claimed to be paying attention to those recently, didn't I?), I stumbled across the post Things I'm Afraid to Tell You, written last week by Ez at Creature Comforts. Her words touched such a sensitive nerve on the Internet, a veritable army of bloggers took up the theme and wrote their own confessionals in response (you should read through some of these when you have time - they're really good). And just when I was deciding what to write after my mini-hiatus...

I've been battling a strange little bout of depression. Strange in that it left me unable to write. Usually my depressive moods bring on a flood of (often terrible and always deeply self-pitying) words and an almost compulsive need to write. Because I forgot to take my meds on Wednesday, I woke up Thursday morning remembering four different and very complicated dreams along with a feverish need to write them all down. Putting pen to paper to record those visions was like castor oil for the soul. Because constipation jokes are awesome.

Things I'm Afraid to Tell You

When I first contemplated what I could possibly tell you that you didn't already know, it seemed I had nothing to share. I've told stories about my depression, forgetting my baby in the car, and strange growths on my girly parts. Frankly, I think I probably share things you'd rather not know.

I am comfortable sharing my embarrassments and failures. It's funny! It helps all of us embrace our own humanity! It effectively distracts the audience from seeing my deep insecurities about my own abilities!

Crap.

I am afraid to tell you about my desires and ambitions because I doubt my ability to reach any of the goals I want to set for myself. I learned a long time ago that failure doesn't hurt as much when you can pretend you never wanted to succeed in the first place.

You may remember I recently titled myself the Queen of Deep Resolve and Crappy Follow Through. In case you're curious, that project has stalled too. Of course.

Telling You What I Need To Hear

Stop being mean to yourself.

The Death of Spontaneity

I am not a keeper of schedules, nor do I follow many routines. I know, you're shocked.

This was not a problem with small children. Oh, my babies had schedules all right. Schedules they created. And schedules they changed. Randomly. With no warning. I rolled with it.

Where "rolled with it" was often synonymous with "sobbed in despair about yet another night with no sleep".

Whatever.

This parenting style has its advantages. Quite used to disruptions in their days, my boys adapt happily to traveling or sleeping in unfamiliar places. Or snacking on a granola bar when dinner is late because Mommy forgot to go grocery shopping. Again.

Whatever.

I fear my carefree, spontaneous days may be coming to an end.

Preschool, after school activities, and more challenging academics for Quake are threatening to upset my bouncy little apple cart. It is with severe trepidation that I approach such chilling things as chore charts.

Any tips for surviving this?

Fashion Friday - Anthropologie Edition

I love Anthropologie. True, none of their clothes fit me, but I can't afford them anyway!

But neither of those things has to interfere with using the Anthropologie aesthetic to inspire myself. Recently I found myself frustrated with the outfits I was creating - they felt a bit safe and stale. So I started giving myself challenges. The first one was to create outfits using lots of Anthropologie's pieces, especially in ways that expanded my use of color. I'll let you decide if I was successful...

 

In other fashion news (but not only fashion), I just discovered Gala Darling. How is it possible that I didn't know about her earlier? Now my breakin'-out-of-the-box outfits have got a whole new level of inspiration. Of course my other soul-sister-but-she-doesn't-know-it-in-a-totally-not-stalkerish-way Susannah Conway "introduced" us.

New Project 8,027

Because there are truly few things I like more than starting another project I will probably never finish!

While moving a bookcase a few weeks ago, I was once again confronted with a pile of books that I usually keep stacked separately from the others - my personal self-help/get creative/figure out what it all means shelf. Oh, the sweet sweet guilt.

I always buy these titles with the deepest resolve to do the work, make the change. But just like everywhere else in my life, I get distracted. I read a chapter or two, do the exercises, maybe even pick up a new habit. And while I'm practising this new habit for a few weeks, I manage to forget to keep reading. Oops!

I am the Queen of Deep Resolve and Crappy Follow Through.

Every time I've noticed these books in the last few years* I've told myself that one day - one day! - I'm going to work my way through all of them just for kicks. And possibly in the hope of reaching enlightenment. But mostly for kicks.

That one day is here.

I'm starting with Barbara Sher's Refuse to Choose (something practical), Deepak Chopra's The Book of Secrets (something spiritual), and Liz Lamoreux's Inner Excavation (something more arty, plus I just got it for Christmas). Why are you looking at me like that? You mean you don't read 3 books at a time? 

I don't either. I'm actually reading 6 books right now. The other 3 don't have anything to do with my journey through the 7 levels of self-help though. Unless of course that bitch, Serendipity, decides to show up. As usual.

Only 18 more after these**!

It's OK, you can roll your eyes. I do it all the time...

*Yes, that's right, I said 'years'.

**These original 21 titles do not include the subset of writing books I've collected. I decided if I could get through the others, I might torture myself with those. One impossible mountain at a time, people!