When I opened up my Google docs to start writing this post, I noticed that the top two rows are all filled with work documents, which makes sense, as work consumed an abnormally large – even for me – part of my life in January.
But that still doesn’t explain where I was for the nine months before that… I’m not entirely sure where to start. I guess that the most obvious and important explanation is:
Meet Daniel.
Daniel and I started dating in April of 2019. We met through mutual friends who were dating at the time. They stopped dating, but we are still very much enjoying each other’s company. I could gush about how special this dude is, and what a great partner he is, and how compatible the two of us are for pages and pages. Suffice to say, he makes literally everything better. And the two of us have been spending quite a bit of time together since we met. In fact, he’s sitting right next to me, as I write this, on his own laptop, working on a novel that he’s writing. 🤓😍
We realized fairly quickly that this relationship was different than any other relationship that either of us had been in, and so, we started meeting all of each other’s peoples. Daniel and I both had pretty large social networks – filled with pretty incredible humans – coming into our relationship and now they’re combined, which is both amazingly fun and occasionally overwhelming. I made us a shared Google calendar a few months in, with which we both have a love-hate relationship.
We also traveled to New Jersey in December, so that he could meet my parents, Brother and Sister and their fam, and Rooms and her fam. That was SUCH a sweet and fun trip. There were multiple moments when I teared up with gratitude. I didn’t think that being Auntie Em could get any better; then, I got to share it with this guy. Again: He makes literally everything better.
Oregon Coast by Day.
And by Night.
Oregon Coast by Day.
And by Night.
We’ve also had a few dozen other adventures over the past ten months: We road-tripped around Northern California and Oregon at the end of July. We camped on and floated down the Russian River a few times. We camped in Big Sur. We went to Refuge in Monterey. We flew to Michigan together for one of my bestie’s weddings. [Which…Had I been writing regularly back then, I would’ve told you about how incredibly beautiful that weekend was in a great deal of detail. Daniel and I stayed in a giant house on Lake Michigan with a dozen of the best women in the world, and it was just a giant LoveFest all weekend long. That wedding made me want to have a wedding. Or, at least, made me better understand why one would want to.] We stopped in Detroit and hung with my cousins on our way back. We saw Queen + Adam Lambert, Book of Mormon, and Hamilton. We have been all over the Bay Area visiting friends and family. I was chosen for an Executive Development Program at work, so we’ve spent a couple of weeks in Berkeley together when I attended.
Cheesemaking.
Gardening.
Strawberry roses.
Water balloon fights.
Gardening.
Cheesemaking.
Water balloon fights.
Strawberry roses.
And, let’s be clear: my / our life at home in Santa Cruz remains pretty freaking charmed. We spent two weekends in a row helping friends move in December, and then attended both of their housewarming parties this weekend, both of which were a BLAST. We play Nerf Wars with friends about once a month. We are attending the Clam Chowder Festival this weekend, and puppy-sitting for a friend’s one year-old white lab. We’re seeing George Clinton on Wednesday for a friend’s birthday, and spending tomorrow night having drinks overlooking the ocean and playing mini-golf on the boardwalk with other friends. Some of his parents and siblings live over the hill, so we get to go to family holidays and events, and his family is really, really lovely. We started going to a very radical Christian church on Sundays, and I still work a pretty solid Al-Anon program. When we aren’t hanging out with our communities here, we hike, we cook (well, he cooks; I sous chef and clean), we dance, we go to yoga, we soak in hot tubs, we read, we write, we talk a lot. It’s pretty similar to my single life, except that now I get to do all those things with my buddy. I’ve been overwhelmed with gratitude – even more than usual – this past year; I just think that I am the luckiest girl ever that I get to be in this relationship with this man. 🥰
Okay. As much as I love talking about how great Daniel and our relationship and our adventures together are to pretty much anyone that will listen, I also have a bunch of other things that I want to talk about. In the first week of January, Daniel and I had a date specifically to set Goals and Intentions for 2020. (He prefers the word ‘Goals.’ I prefer ‘Intentions.”) We started by talking about the values that we want to live into (like, community, family, health) and the principles that we want to practice (like, courage, discipline, faith) and that support our values. Then we made a list of goals related to each of the values (like, re-establish a yoga practice) and action steps to achieve each goal (like, join a yoga studio, or go to yoga class once a week). We finished it tonight because we are super punctual like that. (To be fair, both of us had already started chipping away at some of the goals. I just hadn’t made a pretty, organized list yet, so it didn’t feel official.)
Of course, one of my intentions is to produce one blog post a month. When is that not one of my intentions? I’ve been writing stuff for work, and writing out step work, but I haven’t been writing for “fun,” for myself, for processing, for sharing. When Daniel and I started dating, I had a whole trip about re-organizing my life to fit in a relationship. (This was super uncomfortable for me at first, for reasons that we’ll talk about another time.) The thing that I learned was that, in order to make space for an important new relationship, I had to literally make space in my life, which means that I needed to take time and energy that I was previously giving to one thing and give it to building a relationship instead. That, plus the new relationship energy (which, we still have) created a major swing in where my time and energy were spent, and writing was simply not a priority. Now, I’m settling into the relationship a bit, finding some balance, and realizing that I really miss writing. And so, here we are. I’m going to start writing to y’all again. Wheeeeeeeee!
I did a thing today. An exceedingly ordinary thing that barely warrants a blog post.
I’m posting about it anyway.
This is how it happened: I woke up this morning with a headache. This is, perhaps, the fifth day in a row that I have woken up with a headache. This is very unusual for me, and I have chalked it up to the sickness / cold that I’ve had for roughly 3 weeks. Not that I’m counting. [Or complaining. (Incessantly.)] So anyway, I did not get enough sleep – because I went to bed “late” (for me) and am almost incapable of sleeping in – and I woke up with this headache, and so I decided to blow off the daylong meditation retreat I was going to go to at Insight Santa Cruz. I wanted to go, but it just sounded like more mental energy that I had the capacity for. I’ve had sort of a weird week – therapy stirred up some ish on Monday that has not quite settled back down – and the past several weeks at work were a bit fraught, and have I mentioned that I’m still sick?
And that is how I ended up with 6.5 blissful hours of unstructured free time.
I started my Emma day by getting a little bit stoned – which I have not done in awhile, and which, mercifully, cured my headache; CBD might actually be a thing – and listened to music and cried. Which…I kind of needed. And then I wrote, which I also kind of needed. And then I went for a solo hike because it is finally not raining for the first time in a few weeks. (I know, winter in Santa Cruz is so hard.) And then I went downtown to get a birthday card and gift for a friend, and this is when I did the thing.
My first stop was at Lulu’s to get a latte with macadamia nut milk. My girlfriend and I accidentally discovered that Lulu’s makes lattes with macadamia nut milk – which is, incidentally, delightful – back in November, and my devotion to Lulu’s has since been absolute. I ordered my latte to go, and sat down at a table outside to wait. I silently told myself not to look at my phone, that I could wait for my latte without checking my phone. This is a game that I regularly play with myself. Some might call it a “practice.” When they called my name, I discovered that my latte was in a mug, not a to-go cup. I briefly thought about asking them to change it, then remembered that I had nowhere to be, and accepted the universe’s invitation to sit and enjoy my espresso.
And that is how I ended up sitting quietly, alone, no phone, no book, outside of Lulu’s downtown, drinking a latte, really, really slowly.
And that was it. That was the thing that I did. I sipped coffee and sat quietly, alone. That was all that I did for about half an hour.
I love coffee and espresso, in many forms. I’ve practically trained everyone that works with me to ask me if I’d like anything any time that they are going to be at a place that serves coffee during the workday. Coffee is one of my few remaining vices, and it’s a super socially acceptable one. Coffee is also some of my last remaining armor. There is no better way to tell the world that I am a very important person, constantly sleep-deprived from my very busy schedule, than to walk around quickly with a large, to-go latte. I say that I love coffee, but what I actually love are the protections that being a “coffee lover” gives me: a “thing” that people find amusing / endearing / relatable; the ability to not need to prioritize sleep or slowing down; a feeling of belonging, of being connected to other busy, sleep-deprived coffee lovers; a treat to celebrate; a pick-me-up when I’m bummed. I say that I love coffee, but I am almost always “too busy” to actually enjoy it, or even really taste it. (To be abundantly clear, though: I do love coffee. Not everything is about my psycho-emotional ish.)
I have been reading Thich Nhat Hanh’s Anger. Like all of his books, it is very calming, and also like all of his books, the basics of mindfulness are woven throughout and around the alleged subject. And so, there is a section in which he is talking about mindful eating, and recommends chewing each bite of food 50 times before swallowing (as opposed to, you know, gulping down barely chewed food to make room for the next shovel-full coming into your mouth). (There are multiple reasons for this that I won’t go into here. Ask me if you want to know.) This sounds crazy, and is surprisingly hard to do. I know because I’ve tried several times since reading the recommendation. Which is more times that I used to chew mindfully before, so: progress. I was thinking about Thay’s recommendation as I sipped my latte today, making a point to enjoy each sip, to not slurp it down too quickly.
I realized as I was sitting there that there have been times when I’ve wanted to be “the kind of person” that will sit and enjoy a cup of coffee alone; no phones, no books, unarmored. I’m not sure what I imagined it took to be that “kind of person,” what was stopping me from being them. As it turns out, if you want to be the kind of person that sits and quietly enjoys her latte, all that you need to do is sit down and quietly enjoy your latte. Imagine that.
While I enjoyed my latte – and afterwards, as I walked very slowly around downtown, shopping for my friend’s birthday – I thought about the following things:
Income disparity, and how damaging it is, to everyone. Every single time that I walk by a house-less person, I feel a tug in my heart. I think that we all do. Because we all recognize that that is another human, whose suffering is so great and so palpable. I think that even people who get angry and rail against the homeless and “the way They behave” feel the tug. They feel the tug and they want it to go away, and they think that the way to make the tug go away is to distance themselves from Them, separate themselves from Them, not have to see Them. I think this topic is a blog post on its own.
I am making two lists of qualities that I would want in a future partner. One list is “Musts.” One is “Ideals.” Which list does “loves music” go on? This is a serious question. I have pondered it for days. (“Loves dancing” can go on the Ideals list. But “loves music?” I don’t know…)
In Buddhism, we learn that all experiences have a feeling tone: pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. I have known – anyone who reads this blogs knows – that I struggle (hard) with the unpleasant. I am very much not a fan of being uncomfortable. (Is anyone?) But the thing that I’ve noticed lately is that I’m not much of a fan of neutral either. I can’t tolerate neutral for very long without wanting to change it in to pleasant…the craving for which, ironically, often ends up turning neutral into unpleasant instead. The good news: They’re all impermanent. Unpleasant, pleasant, and even neutral; this too shall pass.
What I am going to say in my “chair” tomorrow night. “Chairing” in 12-step programs is when one person shares for 15-20 minutes in the beginning of the meeting, sometimes on an open topic, sometimes on a specific topic. Afterwards, other members can share about what came up for them during the “chair.” My specific topic for tomorrow night is Step 2: Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. At this point, I am fairly comfortable chairing without much preparation and will sometimes do it “on the fly” if someone asks me as I walk into a meeting. But, when I know that I’m going to chair ahead of time, especially if it’s on a topic, I like to give it a little bit of pre-thought. I’ll probably write a blog post about my chair.
The practice of mindfulness: what it means to “practice,” why we do it / how it works.
How much I love and need unstructured free time. Today was SO good for my soul.
How much time and energy I spend keeping my emotional / mental health stable, and how I am currently in a place of acceptance – and actually, even embracing – this reality. Frankly, I think that most people would benefit from spending a bit more time and energy on their own emotional / mental health and self-reflection, but I am also acutely aware that not everyone needs to do so the way that I do. And I might actually be one of the lucky ones? It’s hard to say.
That I told my roommate this morning that my plan for the day was to go for a hike and then “try to move really slowly.” Which was more of an intention than a plan at the time that I said it. But then I went and did exactly that. And it was glorious.
This blog post.
There were probably other things, but I can no longer remember them. Because I didn’t write any notes on my phone because that was part of the point.
In short, today was an exceedingly lovely, completely ordinary day.
[I wrote all of the above earlier today, and then I went to dinner with three of my girlfriends and laughed a lot. I am so exceedingly grateful.]
Everyone who knows me knows about my love of the ocean. Fewer people know about my deep, abiding love for the desert.
I sometimes think that I am romanticizing my memories of Joshua Tree, that it’s not actually as magical as I remember it to be, that I don’t actually love it as much as I think.
I am not, and it is, and I do.
The desert is not an effortless, flawless conventional beauty; it is a unique, rugged, hard-earned beauty. The desert reminds me of recovery: It’s a harsh environment. Life has to struggle to survive. And yet, it does. It perseveres. And out of the dry sand grow strong, interesting, resilient plants. They remind me of myself. They give me hope.
[The desert also gives me hope because if Life can survive there, Life will survive. If humans continue to wage war against nature, we will likely self-destruct, and nature will win. As it should. And regardless, Life will continue, even if it’s not human life. And this seems to be important, as evidenced by evolution and biology and all of that jazz.]
For those who haven’t been there, Joshua Tree looks like imagery from a Dr. Seuss book. The first time that I went there, I made that comparison, and later Googled it and discovered that this was not a novel thought, that he did spend time there. Joshua Tree sort of looks like what I imagine the bottom of the ocean looks like, but without water and with starker colors. The park of Joshua Tree is also filled with these enormous boulders, and all around the park, there are mountains and hills of, essentially, piles of rocks.
I didn’t have time to actually go into the park; the retreat center was located just outside of it, and I was filled with nostalgia while I was there this weekend. The retreat center is right near the farm that I lived on when I was there, and so the backyard of the retreat was my backyard. I was looking at the same rocky hills that I climbed each morning when I was living there. I was looking at the same snow-capped mountains that caused my eyes to well with tears of gratitude that I get to be here, in the desert and in this Life.
And the skies. I almost skipped one of the morning sits just to finish watching the sunrise. And the sunsets – magic hour in the desert is absolutely spectacular. And most importantly: the night sky. Because there is so little light pollution out there, you can actually see all of the stars. The sky is covered in them.
And the quiet. The desert is so quiet. The desert is so peaceful, and so calming. The desert is not in a rush. The desert is not concerned with image or busy-ness or what you think. The desert is a quieter, simpler life. The stillness centers me unlike anywhere else.
I cried when I left. I have so much gratitude that this place exists, that I get to have a relationship with it, and that I get to live this life. We are so lucky.
🎵…When the calls and conversations
Accidents and accusations
Messages and misperceptions
Paralyze my mind
Buses, cars, and airplanes leaving
Burning fumes of gasoline
And everyone is running
And I come to find a refuge in the
Easy silence that you make for me
It’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me
And the peaceful quiet you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay
Monkeys on the barricades
Are warning us to back away
They form commissions trying to find
The next one they can crucify
And anger plays on every station
Answers only make more questions
I need something to believe in
Breathe in sanctuary in the
Easy silence that you make for me
It’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me
And the peaceful quiet you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay
Children lose their youth too soon
Watching war made us immune
And I’ve got all the world to lose
But I just want to hold on to the
The easy silence that you make for me
It’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me
And the peaceful quiet you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me
The easy silence that you make for me
It’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me
And the peaceful quiet you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay…🎶
-Dixie Chicks (from one of the more perfect albums ever created)
One day last week, I was curious how long I’ve been writing in this here blog, and went back to look. Turns out, I’ve been writing this blog for about 4.5 years, starting in June 2014, during the first summer that I lived in Santa Cruz (before we left again, and moved back in 2015). I started reading all of my old posts, which was surprisingly entertaining for me. Particularly because I had forgotten that I was already searching for Truth and Wisdom before I started in 12-step groups or Buddhism or daily meditation. I was especially amused when I read this post, which is about how every decision in life is a trade-off, an idea that I’ve, apparently, been fond of for quite awhile. I recently heard in a meeting, “There often is no right or wrong decision, only the decision that you can live with.” I thought that this was brilliant, and have told several friends about this “new” wisdom that I acquired…that I apparently already knew 4.5 years ago. This just reinforces another basic truth that was put into words perfectly by Lucy Grealy, in Autobiography of a Face:
I also realized when I was re-reading that I used to keep things really light on the blog. Not that they are particularly dark now, but I do tend to be a bit more…serious? Intense? Whenever I describe myself as “intense,” some of my friends look at me like I have five heads. Which I get. Most of the time, I’m pretty easygoing, light-hearted, and filled with gratitude, optimism, and love. (Someone at work actually referred to me as “Love and Hugs Emma,” which both delighted and amused me.) Not everyone sees the contemplative, existential-questioning, deep-diving, Wisdom-gathering, eternal Truth-seeking part of me. Not everyone sees my struggle to understand myself and make sense of this Life. Is one side a more true version of myself? No. It’s a both/and situation. I live in the light, and I never stop exploring the darkness. Another idea that I’ve been fond of for awhile: People are not all one thing. We are not our best moments, and we are not our worst. Our human experiences are as varied and complex as Life itself.
Davenport. My girlfriends and I were driving up the coast, and stopped here for a little ocean-side meditation session.
This morning, I’m feeling exceptionally grateful. My weekend was filled with “I can’t believe this is my life” moments, and I am just feeling pretty freaking lucky to be living this particular life with these particular people. Right now, it’s like this. ♥️ I’ve had a full and beautiful past few months – even beyond my tattoo, the silentretreat, and Thanksgiving – and wanted to share some of the extra love with y’all. Here are some more highlights from Fall 2018:
Santa Cruz sunset.
One of my good friends came to visit in early October. Her and her partner moved to Maine earlier this year, but her mom still lives in Fresno, so she has to come back to visit. We spent a chunk of the weekend in Fresno, and also spent a day in Santa Cruz, doing all of the Santa Cruz things, including watching the above sunset from Seabright Beach. Several people commented that it was odd that I spent the weekend with her at her mother’s house, to which she replied, “Well, I wanted to see you and I wanted to see my mom, so…” Totally worked for us, and I was so happy to spend the weekend with her. I really, really adore that woman. ☺️
Later that week, I flew to New Jersey for my annual Baby Tour on the east coast. I arrived on my mom’s birthday, and spent the week hanging with my parents, holding all the babies, and spending time in deep conversation with some of my favorite people in this world. My New Jersey trips always leave me feeling loved, loving, and inspired. There’s something particularly refreshing about spending time with people who knew me when I was young.
Newest niece. ❤
Nephew. ❤
The little that changed me into Auntie Em, my favorite role to date. ❤
As much as I loved all of the adult conversations, perhaps my favorite moment of this trip was when Brother asked my oldest niece, “You like it when Auntie Em is here, huh?” to which she smiled really big and replied, “Yeah. It’s like you’re part of the family.” Which was both the sweetest and funniest thing that she could have said, and led to a conversation in which we explained that, in fact, Auntie Em is part of the family.
Rooms’ girls are pretty freaking precious rascals. Her oldest’s birthday is on Wednesday, and I can scarcely believe that it has been three years since my bestie became a mom. I remember when her and I left the after-party on her wedding day to sit in her brother’s hotel room with her baby nephew, when she said that she was sure that she was meant to be a mom. I couldn’t agree more, and getting to watch her parent over the last three years still makes my heart fill to almost bursting.
My oldest friends – who are also sisters – have all boys, and two of the boys were born one day apart. And Allie spends her days hanging with all three of them, which is nothing short of heroic. She is another one of my friends that makes parenting look like the most natural and fulfilling job in the universe. She is so overflowing with love for these boys, it it contagious. (Plus, they are insanely cute.)
One of my friends from here suggested that I take some pictures of my adult friends, which was an excellent suggestion that I did not take. I returned from NJ with 100+ pictures of babies and not a single one of the babies’ parents or of any of my other adult friends. I like to think that this is because I was too present and engaged in deep conversation with the adults to remember to take pictures.
From Mama D’s Library.
From Powell’s.
From Ram Dass.
Me, in Powell’s in Portland, giddy.
This was the season in which I stopped trying to restrict my acquisition of books. The above are some – not all – of the books that I added to my library in the last few months. (And some of them are only on loan from my mom.) I declared in October that I would buy no books that month…and then, in the first week of October, after the Kavanaugh hearings, decided that I needed to buy Martin Luther King Jr.’s autobiography and some of his selected teachings, so that I could learn how he kept his heart from becoming hateful. And then it just sort of spiraled from there. By the end of the month, I decided that I was just going to accept that I have a slight compulsion in this area, and make my peace with it. So I cleared out some more space on my bookshelves to make room. 🤓
We now have “flex days” at work! Our workers have had them forever and the supervisors never have, but now we do. This means that we work a 9/80 schedule, nine-hour days for nine days in a row, and we get the tenth day off. It is glorious. I used one of my flex days last month to take a day trip to Big Sur and do some hiking there. I have driven along that coast several times, back when D and I were traveling, but have not spent time there since settling in Santa Cruz, and this was my first time hiking in those parks. The hiking was pretty gorgeous, though, I was mildly underwhelmed; Santa Cruz county has some pretty gorgeous hiking in its own right. When I shared this sentiment with some friends, they suggested that perhaps I need to explore some other trails – as there are allegedly some extra epic ones – so I’ll have to go back. Regardless, I enjoyed myself, and I felt that slight pride that I get any time that I go on any type of adventure alone. (I even still get that feeling when I fly alone, despite having done so for so many years. Like, look at me! I booked plane tickets, packed, got myself to the airport in a timely fashion, and can even deal just fine when flights get delayed or canceled – adulting!) For most of my life, I have had a buddy to do stuff with, so I wasn’t figuring it out alone. This phase of Life feels like a new form of growing up.
I was my friend’s plus one to her company’s holiday party, and we had a blast!! First of all, let me tell you: I have never been to a holiday party like this before (because I have always worked for non-profits and the government, which is…very different). There were hundreds of people there, an open bar, a catered meal, casino games (not for real money, which was a shame because I was killing it at poker), passed hors d’oeuvres, a live band, a DJ, and an after party. It was so fancy. AND, I was probably one of the fifteen oldest people there, as my friend’s company skews quite young. At one point, one of the girls – I think that she was about 22 – asked what I did. I told her I was a social worker, and she replied, “Oh… What’s a social worker?” Suffice to say, this was not exactly my crowd, AND I had a phenomenal time anyway. My girl friend is so precious and so much fun, and any event in which dancing is included is my kind of event.
Right after I left NJ, my dad road-tripped to Wisconsin to pick up the goods that we had all claimed from The Farm. (<– I still can’t talk about that without getting a little bit emotional. So I’m not going to right now.) I had completely forgotten that I had requested this cookie jar until my mom reminded me. She sent it last week, and it is not in our kitchen, and makes me happy every time I see it. Can we all take a moment to admire those toes? And the giant spot in the middle of the forehead? Good lord, I love this thing.
This past weekend, my girlfriends and I were planning to go backpacking. It would’ve been my first backpacking trip, and I suspect that I will love backpacking, as I love both hiking and camping. Friday night, the three of us had dinner, with the intention of grocery shopping and packing afterwards. Then, about midway through dinner, all of us were discussing how exhausted we were, and it became clear that – perhaps – backpacking was not the speed that we needed to be moving at this weekend. Plus, literally everyone that I had told about our trip had commented on how freaking cold we were going to be. “It’s winter!” they kept saying. And they were right; I’m cold in my bed, in my house, at night right now. So, we made a new plan.
Instead, we traveled a short distance up the coast to the Pigeon Point Lighthouse Hostel, where we watched the sunset from a hot tub overlooking the ocean.
And watched a pretty epic sunrise over the ocean the next morning. We also had a little group meditation session, ocean-side, after the sunrise.
We also drank about fifteen lattes; listened to so much good music; went into San Francisco for dinner at Shabu House; walked around the Castro; took some BEAUTIFUL drives through the mountains, along the coast, and through Pescadero; saw a bunch of piglets and their momma in the country, and dreamed about our own co-op farm; drank coffee Sunday morning in a quirky coffee shop with a mini movie theater, so that we could watch silent classic movies while drinking our lattes; and had so much good conversation, punctuated with exclamations of how grateful we are for this life.
Pescadero countryside.
In the past, I have made the comment, “I can’t believe this is my life,” under vastly different circumstances, and the contrast makes me even more grateful for the life that I am living today. My life is not free of pain and suffering, it is not always easy, but it IS filled with so much joy and love and gratitude and light. I ran into a friend last night while I was taking a sunset walk on West Cliff – she’s an older friend, in her seventies – and we chatted for a bit. She shared with me that she believes that our souls wrote our Life stories into existence before coming into this world, that we chose our own struggles and joys because our souls knew what we needed to learn. I found this to be both beautiful and comforting. My soul did good. Really good. 🙏🏼
Also. Every time that I travel, I remember that it definitely does not suck to come home to this beautiful place.
I drank tea with this view after breakfast each morning. My mind definitely thought that I should live on this island.
I’m back with Part 2 on the silent retreat experience. Part 1 is here, if you’re interested in learning what a silent retreat is and why we do it. I thought that post might be kind of boring, but my parents assured me that it wasn’t. (And, you know, they’re completely unbiased, so…) Luckily, as you’ll read below, one of the things that I learned on retreat is that I don’t need anyone else to tell me that my experience is true or beautiful. I loved silent retreat, even though putting the why of that love into words is elusive.
As I mentioned in Part 1, silent retreat is designed to be an intensive internal experience. Being without external stimuli or validation, alone with your mind, practicing training your mind, for days, is a shit-ton of emotional, spiritual, mental, and even physical work. When my friends asked, “Did you have fun?” I responded with something like, “Ummm… Fun isn’t exactly the word that I’d use… It was an experience.” [After my first silent retreat, I remember likening it to taking psychedelics. Intense, sometimes uncomfortable, not something that I would necessarily recommend to everyone, but – for the right person – illuminating.] The work can be exhausting, AND is totally worth it. A lot of healing happens on silent retreat. Here’s some stuff I learned:
On Validation
Historically, I have cared quite a bit about what other people think. I spent the first few decades of my life as a people pleaser, constantly shaping myself to be whomever or whatever I thought others wanted me to be. In large part, that is how I ended up in recovery. Even now, after having made some progress on these behaviors, I still generally take my cues on how to act in any given situation from those around me, and I look to feedback from others to tell me that I am “okay.” To an extent, this is normal human behavior . We all want to feel like we belong, and we all want to be accepted by the people around us.
On the side of one of the buildings.
Silent retreat is the wild west of social norms. When I went on my first one in February, I knew that not getting any external validation would be hard for me. How would I know that I was okay if I wasn’t receiving feedback about how I was doing in the world? On this retreat, I was more prepared for that aspect, but I still missed being able to “process” my experience. (“Process” being a fancy word for sharing one’s experience and getting other people’s opinions on it.) I realized on retreat that “processing” is another form of validation seeking. Is my experience real? Is it valid? I want other people to tell me that they see things the same way that I do, that my feelings are justified, that my actions are reasonable and proportionate to the situation. (Or, at the most extreme, I want them to tell me how I “should” see or feel about a situation.) I may not be actively shifting myself to conform anymore, but I am still seeking validation from people outside of me.
On the last morning, when we were no longer in noble silence, I walked around with my phone, trying to capture the natural beauty of the island. It was challenging.
And why, exactly? Why do I think that the answers to these questions are outside of myself? Why do I need other people’s validation? As it turns out, I don’t. This isn’t to say that there isn’t room for getting “outside help” (a phrase from 12-step programs). When I know that I am stuck on a story in my head that isn’t serving me, talking to a trusted confidante or mentor or sponsor (or paid licensed professional) can help me examine the story, and perhaps find a better, truer story that causes less harm.* But outside of those situations, one of the most powerful things that I learn on retreat is that I am okay. I can feel my feelings, I can have my experience, and I don’t have to share it with anyone; in fact, there is a part of me that enjoys that this is just for me. (Although, I realize the irony that I am currently writing all of this for other people to read.) My feelings can be real, and my experience can be true and beautiful, without anyone else’s agreement or permission. My feelings and my experience aremine, and I don’t actually need to share them with anyone to appreciate and examine them. (And perhaps, there is even space for some discernment about what I share, with whom, and being aware of why I am sharing it. Is it because I’m uncomfortable and want to fill silence? Or because I want to sound wise or interesting? Or is it because it’s true, necessary, helpful, and timely to share? Right speech is a constant practice.)
*[An example of what I mean by “finding a better, truer story”: if someone I know got a promotion that I wanted, I could tell myself, “It’s not fair that she got the promotion over me. They only gave it to her because she’s been at this job longer, and seniority trumps all.” That story might be true, but it makes me feel like shit; resentful, angry, victimized. A better, truer story might be, “She’s worked really hard for a long time, and she will be good at her new job. I’m disappointed that I didn’t get it, and I also know that there will be other jobs in the future, that might be an even better fit for me.”]
On Fantasies
I have a pretty rich fantasy life. I suspect that other people do too, but we don’t talk about them that much, and I want to change that because I think that where our minds go to escape from present discomfort is probably important information. Let me give you an example: Several years ago, after I had broken up with a long-term partner, I remember telling Rooms that, two years prior to the break-up, I had started having fantasies about what my life would be like if he died. I quickly clarified to her that it wasn’t that I wanted him to die and that I didn’t fantasize about him actually dying; I fantasized about what my life would be like without him in it. I just couldn’t foresee a time when I would be brave enough to break up with him, and so his untimely death was the only option to get myself free. Her response was something like, “Maybe in the future you should pay more attention to what those fantasies are telling you.” Right.
Of course, we don’t want to spend our lives lost in fantasy; our lives are happening now. But noticing the themes of our fantasies can provide us with some information about the missing experiences in our present life. At one point on retreat, I was having a hard time, and was really, really sad. Rather than stay with the sadness, my mind wandered to a fantasy in which people were coming to give me hugs and take me out of the room to comfort me. As I noticed where my mind had gone, I realized that I have fantasies like that – fantasies about me being in pain and other people coming to comfort or care for me – all the time and have for a long time. I shared about this in a small group with our teachers, and that I suspect it’s because I have always been so afraid to feel my pain that I want people to save me from it, because I don’t think that I’m strong enough to survive it alone. I reflected that one of the “benefits” of retreat is that there is no escape from our own shit. There is no Netflix or ice cream or phones or other people to distract me. All that I have to escape is the fantasy – fantasies can feel like a welcome distraction from the emotional and physical pain of sitting still – and the whole point of meditation is that we’re training our minds to not escape into fantasy, planning, or memory. And the beauty of that training, of having to just live through the feelings, is that I learned that I can. I don’t actually need to be rescued because I am strong enough to survive pain. And you know what else? It passes. Impermanence is true. We never feel the way that we feel forever, bad or good.
[As a side note: I brought these fantasies back to therapy with me too, and we looked at it from another angle. Yes, I need to learn that I can survive pain, AND letting people show up for you – instead of always being the one to show up for others – is a practice too. It’s much more comfortable for me – for most people – to be the helper; being on the receiving end of help is hard. There’s a vulnerability in letting other people care for and comfort you. And I don’t practice this often because that would require telling people that I don’t have it all together all the time, that I’m not actually “fiiiiiiiiine,” and I am still learning how to do that. I’m still learning that my feelings matter just as much as anyone else’s. SO, I think that there might be a both/and lesson here: I need to know that I can survive my pain – because, no matter how good I get at letting other people in, I will still be alone with myself in the stillness – and I also need to be willing to let people in enough to sit with me in it sometimes, because that’s what true intimacy and connection are all about. (In case it’s not clear, I’m still sorting this one out. Always learning.)]
On Forgiveness
This particular silent retreat was a Refuge Recovery retreat, which is a Buddhism-based recovery program. Refuge Recovery is largely comprised of alcoholics and addicts, but – because it is a Buddhism-based program – one of the premises is that we are all attached to pleasure and adverse to pain, which means that pretty much everyone – except maybe the Buddha himself – qualifies for membership. I am a fan of this more encompassing style of recovery program because I generally believe that we are all in recovery from, you know, life.
…I forget which mountain this is. But we could see it from the ferry when we left the island. We also saw a whale!
ANYway, a major component of Refuge Recovery is forgiveness meditation, which is exactly what it sounds like: a meditation in which we focus on forgiveness. There are three components to the forgiveness meditation: The first is that we bring to mind all the people that we have harmed, and we ask for their forgiveness. “Please forgive me for having caused you harm. I now understand that I was unskillful and that my actions hurt you, and I ask for your forgiveness.” We repeat the phrases over and over, almost like a prayer. I love the phrasing, “I was unskillful” because it is simple and clear and true, without any value or judgment attached to the person. In the second part, we bring to mind all of the people for whom we hold resentments, and we offer them forgiveness. “I forgive you for all the ways that you have caused me harm. I know you are responsible for your actions, and I offer you forgiveness.” And the final part is forgiving ourselves, which – for many of us – is the person that we have likely harmed the most. “I forgive you (or ‘I forgive myself’). I know that you are responsible for your actions, and I offer you forgiveness.” I normally add people’s names to all of the sentences, including my own in the third part. “I forgive you, Emma.” When one of our teachers led us through the first forgiveness meditation as a group, at least half of the room broke open during the meditation. (This is the meditation that I was talking about above that was hard for me.) A few of my friends and I talked later about needing a hug break from noble silence after that one. [But we didn’t get a hug break. We just all had to sit and feel our pain and let it move through us, alone. We are freaking warriors.]
Our group of warriors. (Or Rebel Saints…)
During this meditation, I spent some time focusing on forgiving myself for the unskillful action of having extremely poor boundaries in the past, which has created a lot of harm for myself and some for people around me. As I’ve been working through my fourth step inventory in Al-Anon – the step where we essentially make a list of all of our assets and our “defects”/defaults – I have realized that a lot of my “defaults” are actually assets with no boundaries. For example, it’s an asset that I am so good at making space for other people’s feelings and experiences; it makes me a good social worker and a good friend and is a service in the world. But, without boundaries, I make so much space for other people that there is no space left for me, and I become a martyr and harbor resentments – “defect.” That is one of many, many examples; suffice to say, this is a huge place of healing for me. I have spent a solid amount of time shaming and blaming myself, believing that something was “wrong” with me that caused me to behave this way, and being angry at myself for “not knowing better.” The self-talk is something like, ‘I’m a smart girl, I know conceptually what healthy boundaries are; what is wrong with me that I can’t create them?’ And during this meditation, as I repeated, “I forgive myself” over and over, I was able to find a huge amount of compassion for myself, for not learning healthy boundaries, for not seeing them modeled by other women in the world, for believing that I needed to be what other people wanted so that I could “earn” their love. I was scared, of not being loved, of not belonging, and I was doing the best that I could with what I had.
The island, from the ferry.
Another piece about forgiveness that I really loved came from a story that one of our teachers told that was, I’m sure, extremely relatable to everyone in the room (and the world). She talked about being on a retreat several years ago, not knowing anyone, and feeling super awkward; not knowing where to sit at one of the meals, feeling like she were saying the wrong things, just not feeling comfortable in her skin. Afterwards, her mind starting to criticize her for not being tougher, for saying the wrong things, for being awkward. And then, because she had been practicing forgiveness meditations regularly, she was able to interrupt her mind’s criticism, and tell herself, “I forgive you for not knowing where to sit.” I was extremely moved by the story, and also felt something shift inside of me. This is why we practice meditation, for all of those little moments in each day when our minds start to do what they are programmed to do, and we need a pause button. We pause our minds natural tendency to meet pain with shame and blame, and we can train our minds to meet pain with compassion instead. (I don’t think that these words are properly conveying just how revolutionary this is.) Meditation slows us down enough to give us a choice, to let us respond wisely instead of react impulsively. We cannot control most of what happens in this Life, but we can be intentional about how we respond.
On Pain Versus Suffering
At one point, I asked Noah for a simple explanation of the difference between pain and suffering. “Is pain in your body and suffering is in your mind?” Noah said, “Sort of. Pain plus resistance is suffering.” I liked this, a lot, and I am also still confused by these concepts (which is why I am so grateful to have teachers and a sangha to help me learn), but we will try to muddle through. I understand that pain is inevitable in this Life. I think that perhaps pain is associated with an experience, whereas suffering is associated with the thoughts and stories that we tell ourselves about the experience. Pain is rejection, death, estrangement, break-ups, betrayal. These are painful experiences. [I think that perhaps, all pain is from loss of connection – and, perhaps, all suffering is from loss of what was – but I haven’t fully flushed out that idea yet.] Regardless of my inability to define pain at this time, I know that the experience of pain – like love – is a Truth about Life. We will hurt, for sure.
But we are so afraid of that Truth. Our culture is not one that encourages us to feel pain; in fact, nearly every piece of advertising in this country offers us a way to escape it. Our fear of pain is so big, and our fear causes us to resist the pain with the tools of shame, blame, anger, denial, delusion. “She’s in a better place.” “It’s for the best.” “Let’s talk about something else.” “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” “I didn’t want that job anyway.” “Who do they think they are?” We are afraid to feel our pain, and so we do everything that we can to avoid it. And that avoidance? That is the suffering. That is what takes us down. The suffering is what takes us out of the game. The Truth is that we are strong enough to survive our pain; we are made for it. But all of the things that we do to try to avoid it are what make us so discontent, so unfulfilled, so lost, so numb.
Courtesy of Buddha Doodles. ❤ I love this SO much.
What I learned on this retreat – though, most “learning” of wisdom feels more like remembering, like a “duh” – is that we don’t have to be afraid. We don’t have to resist. Instead, we can learn to meet pain with compassion over and over and over and over again. This is what the Buddha taught us, that we don’t have to suffer. And THIS is why we must practice tolerating discomfort. THIS is why we must continue to train our minds to meet pain with compassion. So that we can live in a world where we all don’t have to be angry and ashamed and afraid all of the time. We can be free from suffering. We can be free. (Woot woot!)
Despite being all zen’d out and mindful and, you know, not afraid to feel my sadness about leaving… I impulsively bought this bag from Powell’s in PDX on my way home. I’m definitely not a Buddha.
Aaaaaaaaaand, that’s enough for now. That’s a lot. I’ll be spending the next several months unpacking all of this. Except probably I won’t, because part of this recovery life is that I find new things to unpack, like, every week. Every day sometimes. Thank you for reading. I love yous a lot. ❤
Last weekend, I traveled to Vashon Island in Washington – via Portland, which is the coolest little city – to spend the weekend on a retreat from the world, in silence. This was the second time that I’ve “sat silent retreat,” the first being in February, and both experiences were profound. [Qualifying statement for those in the know: Both of my retreats and my practice are in the vipassana – or “insight” – tradition, and is the perspective I’ll be writing from.]
Portland. Where they have seasons.
Silent retreats are one of the “weirder” things that I do; it’s probably tied with floating for the number of quizzical looks that I get when I share my plans. Most people’s responses are either disbelief – “I could never be silent for days” – or inquiring – “But… why?” I have a pat response that I give to those questions, about it being a lesson in tolerating discomfort. Being able to be uncomfortable keeps me from reacting constantly to things that are unpleasant in my day-to-day life, and allows me enough pause to respond wisely, if a response is even necessary. I also sometimes say something like, “It’s also a place where you simply cannot escape from your own shit.” These answers are true and they satisfy people’s curiosity, and I want to explain a bit fuller what silent retreat is all about for me.
Vashon Island, from the ferry.
The General Gist
Let’s start with what a silent retreat actually is, what that entails and what we are actually doing each day. When we arrive, we are not immediately in silence. We start by getting settled in whatever our living and sleeping arrangements are, and there is usually a meal where people can chat, usually about their levels of experience with silent retreats and curiosity about what to expect. After the meal, there’s a meeting in which we meet the teachers, and they give us the basic layout for the retreat, and explain what noble silence looks like. “Noble silence” means “silence of body, speech and mind,” and includes: not speaking; not writing; not reading; keeping eyes cast downwards to avoid eye contact; not engaging in nonverbal communication (like, even holding the door for other people); no cell phones (obviously). In case it’s not clear, silent retreats are designed to foster intense internal experiences. Noble silence normally begins after that meeting and lasts for most of the retreat. There is usually a couple of hours at the end of the retreat in which the silence is broken, and people are together in a group to talk about the experience.
After settling into our cabin, my girlfriends and I went for a hike before the retreat started, partly to work out some of my giddiness.
So, what can we do? Not much. The general schedule for silent retreats is that you spend the day alternating between sitting and walking meditations for 30-45 minutes at a time. Bells are sounded throughout the day to indicate when to come back to sitting. There are breaks from meditation for meals, which are eaten in noble silence, and during which we are encouraged to “eat mindfully,” i.e. put your utensil down between each bite; notice when you are chewing, tasting, swallowing; take your time. There is also a break in the evening when the teachers give a dharma talk (dharma = the teachings of the Buddha), and sometimes they will answer questions that retreat participants can leave on a cork board. The teachers will also occasionally offer some guidance during sitting meditations. And that’s it. That’s a day.
We found this guy on the beach. He was not for this world.
About Walking Meditation
On my first silent retreat in February, I was pumped about walking meditation because I thought that it meant that I would be able to take a mental break and go for a stroll, get some exercise in, some blood pumping. When I learned what walking meditation actually is, I remember thinking, “Oh, what fresh hell is this??” Walking meditation is still a meditation in which we walk exceedingly slowly back and forth about 10-15 paces, over and over and over again. It’s grown on me. Walking meditation is a welcome break from the physical discomfort of sitting meditation, and it’s sometimes an option to go outside, so there is some reprieve in that. But… it’s still meditation. You are still trying to focus your mind, and your mind will sometimes tell you that you are freaking bored from walking the same fifteen steps back and forth for eternity. It’s a practice.
This picture does not do justice to how big this leaf was. Also: I love Fall.
The “Vacation” Part
Silent retreat is not a “vacation,” in the conventional sense of the word. As anyone who has sat silent retreat knows, it’s work. Intense mental, emotional, spiritual, even physical work. AND, the “retreat” part of the experience is also real. On silent retreat, you have no responsibilities other than doing that internal work. You don’t have to cook or clean or make your bed or do laundry or run errands or respond to emails. (On the retreat that I went on in February, we actually did have “work meditations” that helped keep the retreat center running and free, but they were very simple, short periods of work that were still done in noble silence and that did not require much brain space.) You also have no contact with the outside world, so you don’t know to be worried that all of California is on fire, or that the refugee crisis is growing, or that someone else you know was diagnosed with cancer. You retreat from your worldly responsibilities and obligations and concerns. You don’t have to be productive, you don’t have to be busy, you don’t have to plan what to do with your time. Literally, all that you need to do is be present for the retreat, which is an enormous privilege.
Why We Meditate
There are two things that I often hear people say about meditation: “It doesn’t work for me,” and, “I’m not good at it.” I think that these statements stem from misconceptions about what meditation looks like and why we are doing it. The first misconception is that, when we meditate, we are able to immediately and completely empty our minds of any thoughts and that, if we can’t do that, we aren’t good at it. Now, there are moments, sometimes even minutes, in which I am able to concentrate only on my breath, but those are the minority of my meditation experience. Most of my meditation is me realizing that my mind has wandered from my breath, noting where it has wandered, and gently guiding my focus back to my breath (“in,” “out”). Rinse and repeat.
The second misconception is that meditation is supposed to lead us to this eternal feeling of bliss and calm. This is also not my experience (and, I feel confident in saying that this is not most people’s experience, even those that have been meditating for years, even those that teach us). Sometimes, I am uncomfortable and bored and “over it” through most – or even all – of my meditation. And almost never do I float through an entire day in a state of complete euphoria, no matter how much I have meditated. There are definite benefits to daily meditation – which I will get into – but they are not immediate and concrete and permanent. The absence of perfect joy and permanent zen does not mean that the meditation isn’t working.
Our fearless leaders.
On this retreat, Noah, one of our teachers, likened Buddha to a psychologist, and simplified his teachings to two sentences: “This is how your mind works; train it. These are the causes of suffering; cut that shit out.” Silent retreat – all mediation – is an opportunity to practice training our minds. Because, untrained, our minds are wild, wandering animals. One thing that I realize – that everyone realizes – since I’ve been practicing meditating for awhile is that our minds are almost always planning, fantasizing, or remembering. I notice that the island is beautiful, and my mind says, “Maybe I should live on this island. What would that be like? Where would I work?” Fantasy, planning. And when my mind is present, it can be very judgy. “The guy next to me is fidgeting a lot. My practice is so much better than his.” “Something smells good. Like vanilla. Oh, that reminds me of…” and then we are back in remembering. Our minds are like little machines, programs on a computer. They are constantly receiving data – sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings, thoughts – and reacting to those stimuli. Meditation is an opportunity to watch and learn how our mind works. Because once we know how it works, we have a shot at interrupting the program and not reacting to everything like an autopilot or an animal. We get to actually use our consciousness and respond wisely and skillfully to life and other people. (I could go on for awhile about the gift of consciousness, but I’ll spare everyone for now and save it for another essay.)
Sitting with Discomfort
As I’ve mentioned two or three (hundred) times, silent retreat is uncomfortable. Sitting for that many hours a day is physically painful – your knees hurt, your ankles hurt, your hips hurt, your ass hurts, your back hurts. Meditating for that many hours a day is mentally uncomfortable – you get bored, you get tired, you are “over it.” Being alone with your thoughts – with no distractions – for that many hours a day is emotionally uncomfortable. There is no escape from painful memories, ugly thoughts, your regrets, your resentments, your demons. You are stuck there, in your own mind (hence, why it’s preferable to train your mind to focus on your breath), in your own shit, in your own supreme discomfort.
Why do this? Why voluntarily pay for something that causes us to be so uncomfortable? Well, for those of us in recovery, as Noah says, “If you don’t learn to tolerate discomfort, you will relapse.” For those of us not in recovery, if you don’t learn to tolerate discomfort, you will continue to react unwisely and unskillfully to other people and life, you will continue to numb out and distract yourself with food or your phone or Netflix or sex or shopping or gaming or other people’s drama, you will continue to be mildly discontent and have no idea why. Pain is an unavoidable part of this life (as is joy, so yay), and trying to avoid it is what creates all of our suffering. Learning to sit with pain is the only path to freedom, to living without fear. Because once you know that you can survive pain, there’s no longer any reason to be afraid.
Alright, this is getting pretty long. I think that we’ll pause here and call this Part 1 of the Silent Retreat explanation. In Part 2, I’ll tell you what I learned about myself and about life on this retreat. (Or, some of it; despite how it may seem, there are still boundaries to what I will share on the Internet.) Stay tuned…
New shirt from Baba Ram Dass, that I got right before the retreat.
I remember the Friday night in October of 2016 that I consider to be my “rock bottom.” I was sitting on my bedroom floor with my back against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest, and looking around at my apartment, which I considered to be an apt representation of my life. I will spare us all the details of what I saw; suffice to say, it was – at best – bleak. My then-boyfriend was sitting on the floor across from me, battling his own demons, his eyes and words pleading with me to help him, to not give up on him. I had been crying for hours – for years, actually – and I had gotten exceedingly stoned in an attempt to blunt the pain that was making it so very difficult to breathe. I was so tired.
At some point, while I was sitting there, a voice rose inside of me. Not from my mind – which is where I am accustomed to hearing chatter – but from somewhere deeper in my body. “You have to save yourself.” In my journal from that day – my handwriting is messy, frantic, hard to read, the way it gets when I’m desperately writing out my pain – I wrote “I have to save myself” four different times (and “I can’t save him” three). I also wrote, “I need to aggressively pursue my own recovery,” a mantra that I used for months after that day, every time I needed to remind myself of what my job now was.
In my journal the following day, I wrote a list of “Recovery services,” which included Al-Anon meetings, individual therapy, getting a sponsor, and yoga, and a list of “What Does Healthy/Recovery Look Like in Mind, Body, Spirit?” with things like “floating,” “going to the doctor when I’m supposed to,” “swimming,” “connecting with family and friends,” “writing a blog,” “meditation practice,” and “gratitude practice.” I also wrote a list of “What I want more than I want to be numb” that included, “to heal,” “to be wise,” “to feel,” “to have a farm,” “to have a simple, quiet, minimalistic life,” “to be kind + brave + generous,” “to have a spiritual life,” “to learn,” and “to find some peace.” Looking at these lists now, almost two years later, brings me to my knees, both from a deep sadness at the memory of how distant and difficult these simple things seemed to me then, and from astonishment that I actually followed my own instructions in so many ways. I knew what I needed to do, I just had no idea how I was ever, ever going to do it.
The stencil of the wildflowers.
I’m reflecting on this day because I got a new tattoo – my first in about a decade and a half, and my first “grown-up tattoo” – and the journey to this tattoo started on that day, when I was so sick and so tired that I realized that – if I was going to have any hope of really living – I must change my life (to semi-quote the last line from the beautiful Rilke poem, “Archaic Torso of Apollo”). What followed after that day was an excruciatingly slow, painful, yet persistent crawl out of a hole of hell that I had accidentally fallen into and then stayed in far too long, convinced that it was my job to get everyone else up first.
“Recovery” is challenging to explain to people whose lives have not become unmanageable, and even more so when what I am recovering from is not an addiction to a substance. Normally, when we are working on something daily – physical labor, or a project – we not only have something tangible or material to show what we have accomplished, but the work itself is also easily seen. We are going on daily runs to train for a marathon; spending time under the hood of the car fixing…something; we are weeding and planting seeds for a garden. Emotional and spiritual labor is not like this. Much of the labor is done alone, in the quiet – reading and writing and meditating and praying and solo hiking in nature – and sometimes done in conversation with trusted confidantes, or with licensed professionals in a therapy room where no one can see you. And the products of this labor are not easily pointed to or quantified. They are subtle, nuanced. A different choice than we might have made in the past; the pause before reacting to a situation; the ability to sit with our sadness and discomfort for a few more minutes without reaching for ice cream or our phones or another person to distract us.
There’s a beautiful chapter in the Refuge Recovery book that likens the process of emotional and spiritual work – of recovery – to an archaeological dig, in which we are slowly removing layers of sediment and debris to uncover our heart, our true nature. I spent the first few decades of my life performing for other people, covering my true nature with whatever role or label I thought they wanted of me, in an attempt to earn their approval, to earn my worth in this world, to earn love. I spent so much time trying to figure out what other people wanted from me that I completely lost sight of what I wanted for myself and for this Life. For me, recovery is rooted in self-discovery and self-love, in figuring out who I really am when I am alone in the stillness and what it looks like to show up in the world as myself, and learning how to treat my self with care and respect, and understanding why that actually matters so damn much.
The first round of outlining.
The people who are closest to me – and anyone who reads what I write, actually – have heard me say that this work is sometimes too hard or too much or too uncomfortable, that it is fucking relentless. I have sat in countless meetings talking about my resistance to doing the work; my resistance to asking for help; my resistance to feeling my feelings; my resistance to letting go of my attachments to outcomes, to relationships, to what I want; my resistance to living life on life’s terms. Recovery sometimes feels like it requires too much of me: too much courage, too much vulnerability, too much patience. Recovery asks that I sit inside the extreme discomfort of my own pain – a place that many of us spend our whole lives avoiding – to receive whatever gifts and lessons are (allegedly) there. Some days, I rage against the work, I rage against myself and all of my imperfect human-ness, I rage against the great injustices of this Life – that we don’t get to know anything for certain, save for our own mortality in this world; that nobody gets promised an easy life; that the most basic truths are so very hard to retain.
And still. I keep showing up.
The Matrix is one of my favorite movies. I watched it for the first time a little over a year ago, after I explained to my then-boyfriend that I had never seen it because, when it came out, I was thirteen, and people said that it was really hard to follow and so I assumed that I wouldn’t understand it. He then pointed out that I am now in my thirties and, you know, kind of bright, so I could probably handle it. The crux of the movie is an ongoing debate between whether knowing reality, the truth about the world and ourselves – even though it can be brutal – is better or worse than not knowing, being ignorant, being asleep. Is ignorance really bliss? We all get that choice, every day: Do we want to know and live Truth, or do we want to stay asleep, stay zoned out, stay distracted, stay numb?
I keep showing up because I want Truth in this Life more than I want anything else in this world. Even more than I want to avoid pain. I have come to believe [and I don’t use the phrase “come to believe” lightly; our beliefs are one of the few things that we do get to choose in this Life, and we better reckon hardover those that we adopt] that this is the most important work that I will do in this Life, this work of knowing and loving myself, of being intentional about how I show up and love people and the world. When I’m not raging against the process, I can often be heard saying that we are the lucky ones, those of us whose lives got so unmanageable that we sought help, those of us who get to be awake and go through the world with intention, those of us who get to recover. I love my recovery work more than any other work that I do.
So, back to my new tattoo, which is really a recovery tattoo. I decided several months ago that I wanted to tattoo the words “Let Go” on my body, somewhere that I could see them, that would serve as a constant reminder. Letting go is a consistent thread in Buddhism, in most religions, in my recovery work, in probably all spiritual practices. Letting go speaks to the Truth that we are not in control, that no matter how good we are or how hard we try, things will not always go the way that we want them to. Letting go encourages us to let things unfold as they will, to not be attached to a specific outcome or relationship or idea because attachment is a set-up for disappointment, for resentment, for fear, for closing our minds and our hearts. Letting go asks us to remember that we don’t have all of the answers. One of the most profound lessons that I have learned in recovery is that much of my suffering is contained in my attachment – to people, to being right, to getting my way, to pleasure – and all of my freedom lies in letting go.
I wanted a symbol to go with the words, but didn’t like any of the symbols that I found when I googled, “Let go” and clicked on images. (Except the Banksy work of the little girl with the red balloon, which I love, but wasn’t going to put on my body.) I decided that I would simply get something beautiful, some pretty flowers, to go with the words. I emailed a tattoo artist that had been recommended to me in February to book an appointment. Her books didn’t open until July 1st, so I put a reminder on my phone for July 1st and waited. During the waiting period, I was out walking, and the song “Wildflowers” by Tom Petty was playing in my head, and suddenly, it occurred to me that those should be the flowers that I put on my tattoo. Flowers that are wild and free. Flowers that have to be strong to survive, that are kind of rugged, and yet, still beautiful. Wildflowers share these characteristics with my recovery, and I wanted ones that were native to northern California, because this is where so much of my healing has happened and it is such a beautiful, perfect place to heal.
Originally, I wanted to put the tattoo on my forearm. But when I started emailing with the artist in July, she sent me a picture of a woman with a tattoo on her upper arm that I absolutely loved. One of my friends suggested that I put my tattoo there, and I hesitated, even though I love tattoos there – especially on women – because I didn’t think I was tough enough. It seemed like a bold place to put a tattoo. I shared this theory with another friend, that I was too cute – “my face is all round” – to be that tough, and he told me that I could probably be both tough and cute. And you know what? I am tough and cute. The path to my recovery was a bitch, and recovery itself is hard as fuck, what with all of the showing up everyday to face all the parts of myself and this world without any pretending or hiding. Most days, I still have no idea what I’m doing, but there are a few in which I feel like a goddamn warrior, and this tattoo is for that part of me that is a warrior.
I then told that same friend that if I had a tattoo on my arm, people might stop telling me that I’m “not as innocent as [I] look,” a comment that I had always taken as a high compliment. Which, as I write this, I realize is because I have always believed that hiding myself so well that nobody could see who I really am meant that I was winning at life. My friend suggested that perhaps people would start seeing me as I am, and it occurred to me that maybe I am ready for that, maybe I am ready to stop hiding. And maybe I am ready to let go of this ridiculous attachment to “looking innocent” – because, let’s be real: I am, in no way, innocent, and have no actual desire to be – and to being innocuous and passive and palatable to fucking everyone. And maybe having a tattoo on this “bold place” on my arm – and getting dreads (if I ever finish sorting out the cultural appropriation aspect for myself), and a hoop ring for my nose – might actually help me weed out people who are not my people. Maybe I’m ready to let go of the ludicrous notion that everyone has to like me. Maybe I don’t care anymore if other people like me because maybe I like me.
Poem by the incomparable Nayyirah Waheed
That. That is what I care about right now: That I know myself, and love myself, and can be my freaking self in this one beautiful, precious Life that I get. That’s it. That’s what matters, and that is what this tattoo means.
And so, last week, I had my first of two sessions that would make my arm look the way that it was always supposed to look. I feel such immense gratitude for every part of the journey that brought me to knowing myself well enough to choose artwork to wear on my body, and to loving myself enough to let go of fear and let people see who I really am.
Happy September! I can’t believe that we are already one week in. I’ve been very much enjoying our bonus month of warm temps after all of the tourists have gone back to school.
Here’s what I was up to in August:
The first Friday, I picked up my one year Al-Anon chip. I actually started going to Al-Anon in May 2016, but I dipped out for a couple of months here and there, thinking that I had all the answers and no longer needed any additional help or wisdom. I count my time in Al-Anon from when I started working with a sponsor, and actually working the program. (Obviously, time in Al-Anon is different than time in AA or NA because we don’t have a “clean date,” and because our issues exist in our thinking and in our relationships, so a relapse or recovery is harder to quantify.)
One year Al-Anon chip.
I started a side job as an airport shuttle driver. Okay, not really. But I did take several of my friends to and from the airport in August – and earned myself some souvenirs, dinners, and lots of quality time with my friends along the way.
This is what my nightstand looks like at any given moment. I used to think the idea of reading more than one book at a time was ludicrous, but now I understand. Particularly when it comes to non-fiction books, which all of these are.
I floated. (And just realized while looking at my BuJo that that was over a month ago, which explains why I have been itching to get in the tank.) In the beginning of August, I was talking about some stuff in therapy that was bringing up some intense anxiety and some sadness, and when I was in the tank – alone, in the dark, for 90 minutes, with no way to escape or distract myself – I just had to be there and feel all of my feelings. Which was extremely uncomfortable and so I, of course, hated it while it was happening. But afterwards, I felt so calm and centered.
Glennon has said that she likes “having parented,” that in the midst of it, during the day, it’s overwhelming and hard, but at the end of the day, after the kids are in bed, she enjoys “having parented.” This is how I feel about crying and feeling most feelings. While it’s happening, it’s uncomfortable and hard and overwhelming and scary, and I think that it’ll never end. But afterwards, I like “having cried” or “having felt my feelings.” It’s cathartic. And actually, I think that feeling our feelings is the only way for them to move through us, and for us to get free, instead of wallowing or carrying them around or repressing them or acting them out. I find this all to be extremely inconvenient.
There are a handful of us that go on walks in the middle of the workday around the neighborhood. One of the houses that we pass on our walks has this incredibly beautiful and huge dahlia garden. It’s spectacular. And in August, we discovered that they sometimes give away the dahlias! How freaking amazing is that? It’s like giving out free joy.
This is the bouquet that I brought home.
I started swimming in the ocean! Open water swimming, we call it. One of my friends convinced me to try it after I started swimming in the pool again, and I said yes, mostly because I wanted to find out if I really could handle it. We don’t wear wetsuits and so your body goes into shock when you first get in. It’s super intense, and a real practice of calming your mind while your body is freaking out. After a couple of minutes, your body adjusts, and then you get a pretty decent workout. We swim for 20-30 minutes, without any real breaks because even when we aren’t swimming, we are treading water because it’s deep. And then we get out and go immediately to the gym to get in the hot tub, where I experienced being cold in a hot tub for the first time ever. The part that I was not expecting is that, after we got out of the water, on the way to the gym, my whole body started shivering. I asked my friend if I was dying or going into hypothermia, and they explained that no, this is just part of the process.
I had a staring contest with a coyote a few weeks ago.
Also! I joined the gym. While hiking remains my favorite activity for mind-body-spirit, I wanted access to weights, to a pool, and to the hot tub for after the open water swims. As some of you may remember, I was a bit of a gym rat in my mid-twenties, and I’m really enjoying lifting again, particularly in the Body Pump class that I used to love and that they have at the gym. Wins all around.
My friend is the FREAKING CUTEST and so talented. See my name on the board? I’m special. 🙂
Probably my favorite part of August is that I went to Maine to visit two of my girlfriends who moved there from Santa Cruz, and had the BEST long weekend with the two of them!
Again, my friend is the CUTEST. This is the welcome basket that she put in my room. ❤
I flew in on Thursday morning, on a red eye, and then slept for a few hours. On Friday, my friend had to work, so her partner and I went to Acadia National Park – a little less than an hour away from their house – to do a somewhat strenuous hike. It wasn’t long, but we were climbing straight up a rock for a chunk of it.
As I always do when I leave California, I exclaimed quite a bit over how GREEN everything is. I sort of forget that California isn’t that green – because the redwoods can be tricky – but then, when I leave California and go somewhere that it actually rains, I remember what green actually looks like.
The Atlantic!Iron rungs to help us scale the rock.
View from the summit was breathtaking.Selfie with a view!
They bought a house in Maine, and my friend has decorated it absolutely beautifully. She has an eye for aesthetics. I took about 400 pictures of their house to show our friends back here. Their house is right across the river from the city of Bangor, and I spent some time talking about my nostalgic of all things northeastern – the brick, the charm, the old architecture. We walked to and from Bangor a few times, to do some shopping, and to visit the folk festival that was happening that weekend, which was such a good time!
Moon RiverReunited with their dog, Chewy, whom I pet sat for a few times when they lived here.
The three of us went back to Acadia on Sunday to do some kayaking on a lake, in their inflatable kayaks! The lake was so pretty, and I felt super outdoorsy kayaking around. We grabbed lunch in Bar Harbor afterwards (and then went home to watch The Matrix (!!!!)), and it was the perfect way to spend a Sunday. I feel so very lucky to have such intelligent, fun, generous, kind women as my friends. I am already looking forward to my next visit with them. 🙂
Spending time with my friend who is now a professor – she got her ph.d. when they were living here from UCSC – made me really want to get a ph.d Like, the most seriously that I’ve ever thought about it. The idea that my job could be reading, writing, teaching, and discussing ideas is pretty freaking appealing to me.
After ten years of wondering what I would like to study, it seemed pretty obvious when I thought about it: addiction. Pretty much my favorite topic in both my work and personal lives. I googled “phd addiction” – the way that I’m sure all ph.d. candidates choose their focus – and discovered the field of “prevention science.” These programs are normally housed within schools of social work, but involve classes in public health and sociology, with the focus being to understand which factors contribute to addiction (and violence and mental health, etc), and where and how to intervene to prevent these struggles. And now I know my focus!
I spent my last night there – in between paying attention to The Matrix – researching schools where these programs exist. Berkeley has a center for prevention science, and both the University of Oregon in Eugene and the University of Washington have prevention science programs. And there are a few schools on the east coast, as well. I also ordered a GRE book – which is intimidatingly thick – and looked at the process for signing up for a stats class in the spring at our local community college.
So… We’ll see. I have at least two more years at my current job until I am fully vested, which is good, because I’d need at least the next year to get prepared enough to even apply for the Fall 2020 semester. And… It’s a huge decision. Huge commitment. Not to be made lightly. And who knows what else could pop up in my life in the next two years? And, to be honest, the whole thing intimidates the fuck out of me. All of my smartest friends have told me that I’m smart enough to do it – and my therapist told me that getting a ph.d. is actually only about 40% intelligence and 60% perseverance and self-discipline – but I still don’t know. It’s still scary.
I do, however, love that I am making this decision all on my own, without having to factor in anyone else. It’s entirely up to me what I do next, and there is a freedom in being single and childless that I particularly appreciate sometimes…and this is one of those times.
My mom sent me this because she knows me.
I read this entire book on the plane ride home. It’s only about 100 pages, so that’s less impressive than it sounds, and it’s a memoir, which makes it a less dense read. And it was also so good. There is nothing that I enjoy more than books written by people who have gone straight into their pain, pulled all of the lessons out, and share the wisdom that they found with the rest of us.
I also ordered this multicolor set of my favorite pens along with the GRE book, which made my day when I got home. It’s the little luxuries.
Oh! I also had this moment walking through the Chicago airport, carrying my latte, on my trip home in which I looked around and felt completely overwhelmed and irate and nauseous about America’s – and my own – rampant, selfish, egotistical consumerism, and decided, at 8:30AM, in my sleep-deprived state, that – along with getting a ph.d. – I was going to get infinitely more radical in my life in the next five years.
And those are the August highlights! Which is pretty much the same as usual: reading, writing, recovery work, hiking, friends. It’s a pretty lovely and privileged life. ❤
More sunflowers. ♥️[[[[Last night, my roommate, a guy that she’s dating, and I had a delicious dinner, sitting in the garden. Both the setting and the conversation were lovely. Then, we came inside to make some popcorn and watch Much Ado About Nothing. We also made some tea – because, we almost always make tea – and I opened my cupboard to get some sugar to put in my tea. When I opened the door, I saw something move quickly back to the other side. As anyone who knows me well knows, I responded SUPER MATURELY and RATIONALLY to this sighting.
Or not. What actually happened is that I yelped. And then, much like the mouse, I moved away very quickly, running into the living room and standing on the couch while Stef and Gabe handled the situation. Which… I mean, there wasn’t really anything to do. They found the mouse cowering in the cupboard – after having tried to eat some of my Larabar – and then the mouse, darted out of the cupboard and behind the stove, and we haven’t been able to find it since. We even brought in the cats to the kitchen, but no luck.
I don’t actually mind having mice as housemates. I know that they need somewhere to live too. And up until last night, they hadn’t touched my food. I just really, really don’t want to see them. Spiders, bugs, snakes – none of them bother me. But I become an irrationally scared mess around rodents. And the memories of those glue traps in Manhattan do not help. Argh. Lucky for me, Gabe and Stef are super understanding and helped me come up with a safety plan for if this were to happen while I was home alone. Which is, essentially, for me to exit the home and call someone in my safety network for help. 😬
In less traumatic news, July has been a pretty lovely month here in Santa Cruz. While the rest of the country – and much of this state – is scorching hot (or… on fire), Santa Cruz has remained pretty freaking beautiful. I hiked, a lot.
I hung out with my girlfriends. A bunch of times. We walked, we chatted, we got coffees, we got massages, we got drinks, we ate dinners. I freaking love my girlfriends so much. ♥️
Latte art really is quite beautiful.But not as beautiful as this birthday girl. 😍🤩
I went into Bookshop to find a gift for my friend. I left without a gift, but with two new books. Buddhist ones. I may be a teensy bit addicted to buying books.
I got more heart-shaped sunglasses. Apparently, this is my thing now.
I started swimming again! And OMG IT’S THE BEST. Why did I ever stop swimming?? It feels soooooooo good to be in the water. I’m so slow and my stroke gets sloppy wayyyyy too quickly, but I wanna keep doing it.
I went to hot yoga. One of my friends / co-supervisors and I have been getting to Village Yoga for a hot flow yoga class once a week during our lunch breaks. Some of you may remember when I was very into Bikram in my mid-20s. And then I read his book and was completely disillusioned. But I still like doing yoga in a hot studio. The sweating feels really detoxifying, and the heat makes me more flexible.
Doesn’t it almost look like autumn? NJ: I’m coming for you in the Fall. ❤️🧡💛
I got this adorable note from one of the social workers. It totally made my week.
I’ve kept my plant alive! And it’s growing. I think that I’m going to reward myself with a second plant in August. I also adulted in various other ways, like getting my oil changed, finally putting my registration sticker on my license plate, cleaning my car, eating a bunch of veggies, and all the other things that one does to live a decent life in America. Adulting is relentless. [Full disclosure: I’m not sure that putting the reg sticker on should count as adulting, as I only did it because I got a “fix-it ticket” for it… which still needs to be signed off on by an officer.]
I also impulsively booked a 4-day silent retreat in Washington in November with Noah Levine (who led the retreat that I was at Breitenbush in April). I’m going to fly to Eugene beforehand to meet a friend that I also met on retreat at Breitenbush, and we are going to drive up together. I am SO EXCITED. 🤗🤗🤗 I’ll get to see the Northwest again, I’ll get to see my friend, I’ll get to see Eugene, and I’ll get to sit at the inaugural Refuge Recovery silent retreat. Yessssssssss! 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼
I read most of all about love by bell hooks. That woman is learned. And she makes learning really accessible and enjoyable. I also started doing morning pages again, and also wrote a bunch. And listened to a BUNCH of good music. 😊
I went to float, which is about my favorite thing that I do every month. I was laughing as I came out of the tank at how uncomfortable it used to be in there, and now, I could stay in there for hours. Practice. 🙏🏼
Aaaaaaaaand, I kept getting myself to do my work all month. Tonight, I shared at my meeting that I really didn’t want to come to the meeting, that I wanted to be in bed, eating white cheddar corn puffs and watching Netflix. And in the past, I would’ve done that. But now, something in me pulls me to keep showing up (for myself, for my recovery, for my Life) even when I don’t want to. Because – much like a kid wanting to eat cookies for every meal – what we want is not always what is best for us. When I was describing this “pulling” to do healthy things, even when it’s hard, to my friend, he said, “You created a habit.” Ohhhhhhhh. That’s true! I made myself do this enough times that now, it’s a healthy habit. In other words, I changed my behavior. Which is kind of amazing to me, as I find behavior change to be quite challenging. When I feel crappy, instead of doing something stupid to make myself feel better – like eat junk food, or get stoned, or watch TV – I just keep doing stuff that is healthy and makes me feel good…and it makes me feel better. (Or, at least, it doesn’t make me feel worse or stay stuck. Which is still a clear improvement over wallowing.) Go figure.
My roommate-friend just found out that her Grandpa died, and my heart hurts a bit for her. We hugged and cried and sat on the couch for a bit while she told me stories about her Grandpa, and it was lovely. And then she said something very wise, about how death reminds us how much we care about our people, and that we don’t make time for or let ourselves feel that enough. I adore her. ♥️
Aaaaaaaaand, that is the extent of heavy stuff that we are doing here today. Because – despite all of the talk about hiding and hard stuff – my day-to-day life remains pretty freaking privileged and joyful, and I popped in today to share some of that beauty with y’all.
After my last post about what’s happening in my life, I went to the Redwood Mountain Faire with my friend and her family, and had a blast! The weather was beautiful, (some of) the music was great, and we got henna tattoos. I feel very grateful that I get invited along to hang with my friends and their families, and other people’s children are just the best! 😉
The following weekend, with the same friend and her family, I was invited to go camping in Big Basin. They were staying for several days, and I came up for one night, and then took the following Monday off of work, which was glorious. The camping up there was stunningly beautiful. Our site was right near a creek, and we were surrounded by enormous redwoods.
There were actually four adults there, and two kids, which was an excellent ratio of adults to children. We rode bikes, we had a campfire with potatoes and chili, we listened to music, and we didn’t have cell service. It was pretty spectacular.
Pig, being exceptionally cute and living her best life.
The next day, I took a friend with my to Equilibrium for his first float. When we got there, I commented that they now have cryotherapy and I was curious about trying it, to which he responded, “Why don’t we?” “But…this was supposed to be about you having a new experience.” Ten minutes later, I was standing naked in a shoulder-height cylinder, experiencing what felt like frostbite all over my body. I don’t totally get it – and, honestly, I preferred when the cryotherapy room was the float-recovery-transition room – but I’m glad I tried it. Now I (sort of) know what all the fuss was about. After the cryo, I got into the float tank and promptly fell asleep for about 80 of the 90 minutes that I was in there. I was really tired from the camping and the wine the previous night.
Still practicing calligraphy. And still “taking what I like and leaving the rest” from all of the faith traditions. The concept of “grace” is a keeper.
I also spend chunks of time with unmarried, childless people. 🙂 Some highlights from the past few weeks include a birthday dinner and karaoke night with some of the most affirming and confident women that I’ve ever known; dinner and deep conversation with another woman I admire; a night of dancing to a funk band with the girls at Moe’s Alley (my first time there); regular dinners with some of my Al-Anon sisters; and a first friend-date with a friend of a friend that is transitioning into just a friend. And, tonight, I’m going to see Ani DiFranco with another one of my girlfriends, and am so stoked! One of the first things that her and I bonded over was the Ani shirt that I was wearing, and now we get to see her together. 😍🤩😍🤩
We threw a super successful baby shower for one of our coworkers, and I fell in love with these dahlias while we were picking up flowers for the shower. Apparently the woman who grows them wins awards.
I’ve actually been a little bit too busy for my sanity in the past couple of weeks. One of the things that I’ve discovered about myself since being in recovery is that I require moderate amounts of unstructured free time in order to not start feeling frantic and overwhelmed and resentful, and I haven’t been getting quite enough of that lately. So this weekend, I’ve created some “spaciousness” for myself that I am planning to continue into next week. Today, that looked like going for a hike in the morning with a friend, and then deciding to hop downtown for the Families Belong Together march, where I met a few friends and hung out for a bit.
After the march, I had some “unstructured free time” downtown and went to Bookshop. Because I always go to Bookshop. But today, I actually had a goal, which was to find a Buddhist daily reader (I have two Al-Anon daily readers and really wanted a Buddhist perspective each morning) and to find the book salt., as I have recently fallen in love with Nayyirah Waheed’s poetry, which is, apparently, quite popular on instagram. (<—a sentence I never thought I’d type)
An example of her poetry.
I did not find the book of poetry because, evidently, she self-published it on amazon, which makes it difficult for bookstores to get. So instead, I ordered two copies, one for myself, and one that I sent to a friend. (Love you, Friend. 💞) AND, then I bought three other books, one of which was, actually, what I went in there for:
I am super stoked (look at me, using the Cali lingo) that the daily reader that I found is from thich nhat hanh, a Buddhist teacher that I already love.
I seriously think that I get a little bit high from buying books. I then walked around downtown, looking for more heart-shaped sunglasses because the ones that I have were loaned to me and I do need to return them at some point, and also because I now love wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. People get happier seeing them! And they make me happier too! I really enjoy being my favorite meme ever.
When I got home, I made some brunch and settled into the garden to read my new bell hooks book, which is pretty much Emma’s best life.
She totally had me hooked at the preface, and then this quote for the intro. Already in love.
And then I spent the afternoon acting like a spiritual gangster and doing my Step 4 step work. The below gives an idea of why people do this, even though it’s hard and uncomfortable.
Aaaaaaaaand, that’s pretty much it. That’s my life lately. Plus a few more hikes, a bunch of coffee, and an addiction to Westworld. This life is so crazy. 😜
Sending so much love to all of my people, and especially my loveys that are having a particularly difficult week. I am so inspired by all of you warriors, who keep showing up even when it’s messy and complicated and hard. ♥️
She Won't Stop Talking 