Waking Up for Life

I didn’t expect to have a baby so late in life. But in some ways, writing and publishing my memoir Light in Bandaged Places (published September 5, 2024)is the culmination of gestating a lifetime of struggle, learning, and growth. I mention both the writing and the publishing because these turn out to be two significantly different experiences.

Many people ask me if writing the book was cathartic. I always pause at this question because I think the expectation is that it was. But for me, it was more of a creative unfolding. Delightful, in that the creative process is joyful. If anything was cathartic, perhaps it was the post-publication speaking experience because giving a literal voice to my history is part of what heals. Attending to it, holding it with care and love is what heals—offering it so that anyone who might resonate with its themes and be seen and helped is what heals.

This week, I have the privilege of living in a small studio apartment overlooking the ocean. Only a small, windy road and a few feet of scrub brush and sand separate me from the ocean. This is along a stretch of the Sanibel-Captiva Road, where the sand and water seem to come right up to the road, and you can see the expanse of water and sky for miles. It’s open and spacious, and on a sunny day, it sparkles with white sand and sea foam. I’ve always wanted to stay here.

This apartment is on the third floor and has a balcony overlooking this display of natural and wild beauty. A tropical storm passed through this week, bringing high winds and pelting rain. Going outside was impossible …

Last year, I wrote about how my front lawn embarrassed me with all its weeds and disarray. I wanted to fix it and replace it with healthy grass. Many of you kindly educated me (I needed it!) about how harmful grass lawns are and how my dandelions and weeds were good for pollination. I considered hardscape alternatives, which boggled my mind, and my overwhelm led me nowhere. This spring, as I gaze upon my riot of dandelions and weeds, I have a very different feeling. No embarrassment. No shame. I am now fond of what I used to call a disaster and hope the birds and bees stop by and do their health-promoting business.

What really interests me about this change of mind is just that – how our beliefs and the stories we tell ourselves shape our actions and moods. What was once shame is now pride and delight. Nothing changed outside; the weeds are still there, just as they were last year. What did change was the story I now have in my mind about the value and goodness of those same weeds. I swapped one story for another, one I like much better. And still, the weeds are just the weeds.

Here’s another ordinary life example of the mind’s power to determine our well-being …

Sometimes, I want to crawl down so deep into my being to that place where everything stops, and it’s quiet and still. The swirl slows, and there is pure rest. I want to live in and from that place, which is the center of my being.

I also want to live in the swirl of joys and sorrows that is ordinary, miraculous, beautiful, fascinating everyday life. I love my life, every corner of it, and I live in an ocean of joy and gratitude every day.

How to hold this balance – stillness or swirl? …

I have to keep reminding myself that we humans travel between states of contraction and expansion all the time. In nature, we see Fall and Winter are times of contraction; Spring and Summer are times of expansion. Just because I find myself in prolonged contraction right now doesn’t have to mean something is wrong.

It might be that my body is asking for some attention to its health. Or maybe it's my mind or my heart asking for care —most likely all of them since they travel together.

My prolonged fatigue, difficulty finding my internal energy and focus, and body aches snuck up on me—seemingly out of the blue. But if I look closely, it’s not really out of the blue…

Today, I took a long walk along the beach. The walk became my meditation. Here’s how: the horizon of gentle blue sky meeting the darker blue water with softly rippling waves was my meditation anchor. The visual experience was both calming and accessible; when my mind wandered into past or future thinking, I just had to look up, and I was home again.…

What does devotion mean? The word carries charge for many; some people are drawn to the word and have a warm association with it, while others find it off-putting, maybe even frightening.

For a long time, I was in camp off-put. But things have changed.

I find myself wanting to demystify it and bring it into my life more fully; to embrace it…

It feels like forever since my last blog post; you may wonder if I’ve fallen off the edge of the earth. I am here!

I want to check in and let you know what I’ve been doing and learning…

Probably most of you know, I’ve been busy with the launch of my memoir. I hope you’re not tired of hearing about it – I wouldn’t blame you, except that this book is my baby, and I need to nurture it along, so I ask for your indulgence. :)

As is my wont, I’ve been asking myself what I’ve learned so far from birthing this new baby.

 First of all,…

This summer we had some unexpected guests. They moved in and over time took up more and more space. They watched our comings and goings every time we got in the car to go somewhere. We mostly ignored them and let them be who they were – until it got out of hand, and we knew an intervention was necessary…

My father was a kind man, a deep thinker. He would sit for hours in his home office gazing into space. He was a minister, and I imagine he was contemplating how to be present to his ill and suffering parishioners, what to say in next week’s sermon, and how to understand life and spirit.

I also imagine he was not contemplating how to raise his children, who they were, or how to really know them. Let me speak only for myself and not my siblings; I don’t imagine he was focused on me because I didn’t feel him present to me other than in a passing way. I don’t know much about how my four siblings experienced our father.

So, at the time he passed away, almost thirty years ago, I wasn’t sure what I felt. I was sad and worried about my mother but couldn’t feel deep loss because I never had a deep connection.

Yet, on the day of his funeral, ironically, I finally had moments of connection with him…