Puppy Love

It was a clear-cut case of love at first sight. And it couldn't have happened at a more opportune time. 

My brother had just passed away unexpectedly. He had been doing so well, and then, he wasn't. Just like that. And I never got a chance to say goodbye. And it was so sudden, so wrenching, so ... raw. 

I'd been initially planning to get a puppy at the end of 2020. But here it was, end of February, and I was scrolling through the 'puppies for adoption' page at a site I frequent. And there it was. Someone not 30 minutes' drive from me was selling puppies, of the breed I was looking for. I clicked on the ad. The mother dog had given birth to five puppies and they pretty much all looked alike - except one. I clicked on his picture. And he was standing there so pretty, so proud, so sure of himself, and showing so much personality and yet gentleness that my heart almost skipped a beat. 

After talking it over with my family, and given the current restrictions of Covid-19, I decided to send the breeder a note and see if I could set up a time to visit the litter (this was before the isolation rules started.) She said sure, and before long I and my daughter were knee deep in little dogs. All of them Pomeranians!! Some looked like the standard image I had in my mind: orange with big floofs around the face and a plume-like tail. But these were different. They were white with brown and black markings. Only this little guy was white with black markings, and just a touch of brown. 

I left holding him to the last... wanting to give the others a chance. But it was no use. He had stolen my heart from the first click. And when I picked him up, and saw how curious, interested, and confident he was, even though he did let me roll him over on his back - when I saw him not once ask to get back in the pen with his siblings - he sealed the deal for me. And I was absolutely, 100 per cent smitten. 

I reserved him with the breeder and waited for him to be old enough to come home with me. That would not be until another few weeks, after we had completed our 14-day self-imposed isolation. 

Bullet - born Feb 7, 2020, age 9.4 weeks

We picked him up last Friday. And it seems now like he has always been here. What a ray of sunshine in otherwise dark times! What a reminder that there is still some sweetness, light, and humour in this crazy climate of rules and distancing and fear! He's melted the hearts of all who have seen his pictures or met him in person (like the vet, earlier today). I've filled an album already on Facebook with photos and videos of him. 

He loves his harness. He loves his kibble. He loves his pen and his crate. He loves pleasing us and learning new things (like going potty outside). 

He loves his bully sticks. He loves his Miss Kitty, a soft plush kitty with a heart-beat inserted into her (which we can control off and on through a button on the unit). He loves me and my husband and my daughter. Plain and simple, it's a terminal case of puppy love, which is whole-hearted, unreserved, unadulterated, super-intense and highly focused, unconditional positive regard, for which there is no cure. He loves the way I want to love. With the passionate love of a puppy for everything and everyone in his world. 

And at this point in my life, I needed a daily, constant reminder of that kind of love. Perhaps it is no coincidence that d-o-g is G-o-d spelled backward. I'd like to think so. Because if any being on this earth can show the kind of love God does, it's a little, 2.2-pound ball of fluff who is right now chewing on his bully stick at my feet. He's happy to be with me, happy to be doing what he loves, and confident in my love for him. 

What a lesson. What a beautiful, soft, gentle, fun-loving, joy-bringing lesson to my heart. Live in the moment, love with all your heart, and keep doing that. What a gift! I am so very blessed.



 

FEEL what you feel

2016.  Wow. 

As the year dawns, I've been reflecting on what I could do to improve myself, to improve my life, resolutions to make.  Since I am in a process of continual growth, I am sure some things will come to me.  However, the one thing I keep coming back to - because I am reminded of it over and over - is the importance of feeling what I feel. 

It sounds ludicrous when you say it like that, doesn't it?  But I am serious!  

I saw this poster someone put on a social media site recently.  It talked about how worry hurts the stomach, fear hurts the kidneys, and so forth.  Let me be clear on this: emotions are a gift - even the "bad" ones!!

The only time that emotions are bad for us is when we hold them back, or hold onto them for a long time.  The act of keeping that grip on them is harmful, yes.  But they are not the culprit.  We are.

The brain has several parts, and people talk about their frontal lobes and occipital lobes and so forth, they talk about their IQ, and may even boast about it.  But few people think about how at the very base of the brain, under all those cognitive processes (like memory, decision-making, logic, reasoning, and so on) are a whole network of what look like nodules - this is what neuroscientists call 'the limbic system' and it is responsible for the emotions that we feel.  

Now, I figure if those things are there and protected by the skull, so deep down that even skull penetration with a foreign object is not likely to strike it, they must be pretty important.  

The limbic system (connected chemically to the brain stem at the base of our skull) is where we get such important chemicals as adrenaline - which helps in fight-or-flight situations!  Our emotions do have a purpose, and it is best to deal with our emotions the way the designer intended.  

I look at it this way.  Our feelings are the nervous system of the soul.  We need nerves in our body to tell us what is hot, cold, pleasurable, painful, and tasty (or not).  When we touch something hot, our nerves carry that message to the brain and in fractions of a second, the brain reacts and tells our body part to get out of there! Pain - and pleasure - show us what is safe and what is not.  Just so with our feelings.  Listening to them will tell us what is safe and what (or who) is not.  Experiencing them can bring us great reward, and suppressing them for a long time not only cuts off the painful emotions, but prevents us from feeling the pleasurable ones too.  

Photo "Silhouette Of A Man On The Rocks At Sunset" 
courtesy of satit_srihin at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I would rather experience some pain than not have the capacity to feel it at all, and eventually end up hurting myself (and those who love me) by not being able to have compassion.  And I would rather be sad or angry or afraid (even though those emotions are not pleasant!) than not be able to feel them when it would be right to do so.  What kind of person would I be (for example) not to feel angry, even enraged, when someone (and that someone also might include me just as well as it could another person) is being treated unfairly?  

A healthy person experiences the whole gamut of emotions (not usually all at once!), listens to them and expresses them in safe ways, and does whatever is necessary to deal with the causes of those feelings - whether it's looking after the self, or comforting another, or even fighting passionately for what's right.

Once feelings have served their purpose in making us aware of something, and once we have expressed them and acted on them in appropriate ways, it is okay to let them go ... they will come again when they are needed.  It's how we are built.  It's what we do.  And it's how we can really live. 

Huh. I guess that's it, isn't it!  If I had to choose a theme for this year (for myself), I guess I would choose the line to a Bon Jovi song:  "... I just wanna live while I'm alive."  (It's My Life, 2000, emphasis mine).

Born to stand out

Chameleons can change color to blend into their surroundings. It's a protective mechanism. It keeps them from being targets, so they don't get devoured. 

I know I've called myself a chameleon before, in the past tense, you know: before and after recovery and all that. But lately there have been some changes happening in my life, some of which feel good, and others that don't. I'm being transformed even more. And mostly I like what I'm becoming, because mostly, that is happy.

Still, there is a part of me that tries to blend in, to fit in to what's expected. That tendency is so insidious ... wanting to be liked, validated, affirmed. It puts me in a position where I end up not being true to who I really am, sacrificing myself to the siren song of people-pleasing. Especially to pleasing people that won't - or are incapable of - approving of me or my accomplishments in any way. I've already written about that in previous posts, so I won't go there right now. Suffice to say that not everyone in my life is supportive of the decisions I've made. Yet I still try to win their approval. I still try to fit in. I still try to change who I am to be accepted, even now that I know who that person is.

That fact confronted me one evening recently. I was watching a movie, and the leading man turned the his girlfriend and said, "Why are you trying so hard to fit in, when you were born to stand out?"

It kind of took me off guard. But it also gave me pause.

The pull of wanting to fit in drips constantly like water wearing away a rock. One drip isn't that much, right? but one drip leads to the next, and the next, and before too long it just wears away and crumbles the rock; it kills the soul by millimeters, diminishes the very things that make the individual unique. 

I know these things, but still I find myself trying to conform, to disappear, to hide. Make all the right noises. Lie about how I feel. Put on that hypocritical mask - or any mask for that matter. Pretend to like certain activities because that's what I'm supposed to like in this situation or that one. 

I am afraid that if I were to stand out, I would stand a better chance of being abandoned. I hear it inside as if it's my own voice: "Show-off." "Brazen." I was always taught that it's wrong to call attention to yourself. That it's somehow sinful, or selfish (which I guess is the same thing.) 

But slowly, ever so slowly, I am learning not to 'hide my light under a bushel' ... and I'm encountering more and more people who are so glad when I take that bushel-basket off and let my light shine. 

And someday, I might even stand out.

Putting me on

"You're putting me on."

No, I'm putting me on.

Some time ago, I heard someone make a required phone call to another person.  The tone was friendly, open, sincere, and would have put the other person completely at ease.  The caller obtained the required information easily, effortlessly.  I would have thought that they were old friends.  

What the other person didn't hear, though, was the tone of voice and the choice of words that came out of the caller's mouth as soon as the call ended and both parties hung up.  It conveyed disgust and contempt for the person who'd been at the other end.

Here's where I got this photo

I can't say anything in judgment.  I've done it - lots of times.  Sometimes we have to talk to people whose company we don't particularly care for - and we have to be civil to these people, for the sake of politeness or social norms.  Especially in situations like a businessman talking to a potential client, or a sales clerk talking to a customer. There's a mask of civility that we wear when we need to. We put it on - and when we're done, we take it off as soon as possible and confirm to ourselves that we didn't enjoy the experience.  I'm not so sure that it's wrong.  But I am sure that it's human.  

But when the other person is consistently crossing a boundary, belittling us or using us, it's time to take off that mask of geniality and let the other person know that he or she has crossed the line.  

For me, that's the time when, instead of putting a mask on, it's time to put ME on.  The real me. 

I've discovered something as I do this.  The more I put me on, the less I want to put on the mask.  I like the me that I'm becoming - and I don't want to be the doormat, the pushover I used to be, the one who strove for the least amount of splash upon entry, the one who hated making waves, the one who just wanted to disappear.  Putting on the mask becomes a distasteful task.  

Sometimes putting on that facade is necessary.  Sometimes.  But a repeated pattern of that kind of behavior can make me practiced in hypocrisy - I can so easily 'put it on' and 'take it off.'  It kind of scares - and almost sickens - me.  That's one reason I hesitate to engage in it.  I'd far rather be totally honest.  

When it bothers me the most is when I am in a situation where I believe that I am in a safe place - and all of a sudden I realize that I'm not - and that I need to put 'em on - let 'em think I'm behaving the way "they" want me to - so I can get away unscathed, unjudged.  Whoever "they" are.  Someone who calls himself my friend, for example.  Or perhaps at church.  Maybe even when visiting family.  Or at work.  

What a joy to realize when I really AM in a safe place, with trustworthy people, people who accept me for who I am and who don't judge.  There are a few such people in my life.  I appreciate their friendship - and their company - SO much!  

When I first started this new way of living and came across the expression, "rigorous honesty"... I thought that it meant with others.  It does - to a point.  But what I've come to understand is that it refers primarily to relationship with God, and with myself.  If I can't be truthful with myself, and with my Maker, I am SUNK.  The fact that I sometimes don't share EVERY little thing with someone else tells me that I'm learning who is trustworthy and who is not.  I can trust those that are trustworthy.  It's okay NOT to trust those that aren't, and learning who isn't trustworthy can only be done by trial and error. 

LOTS of error.

Of course, I try my best not to lie, even to those that I don't necessarily trust with my feelings.  I will answer truthfully, but ... briefly.  I've learned not to elaborate and give people ammunition to use against me later, even if they think that it's 'helping' by sharing something I've said in confidence.  

And I SO look forward to the times when I spend time with people I trust, so that I can put ME on.

Last of his kind

He considers himself the last of his line. His offspring includes only girls.  And he's grateful for that.  

He thinks that it's unfair to perpetuate the kind of heartache that has been so much a part of his family for generations, passed down from father to son.  

In his determination to do everything the opposite of the way things were done to him, he has instead become the first of his kind  -  the first to be kind, the first to actually leave a legacy worth remembering, fond memories to look back on.  He may feel unworthy ... but so often, great men do feel that way.  

He was the first in his bloodline of the last hundred years or so, who actually chose his children over his career.  He dropped things he wanted to do - things that would wait until he got to them - so that he could sit down on the floor and play games with them, listen to their concerns (no matter how small), care about them, or thank them for their help, no matter how great or small their contribution.  His subconscious motto was (and is) "People before things."  To this day, his children know they can go to him with their problems, trust him with their feelings, and he'll listen to them without judging.  He listens because he was never listened to by his own dad and he knows how important it is for kids to feel loved and accepted, to have a safe place to land.  

He personally considers Father's Day a useless holiday.  Yet if anyone deserves to be honoured on Father's Day and every other day of the year, he does.  He raised himself and his younger siblings.  He had no model to go by, nobody to look up to, but he's been a rock, even more so the last three years or so.  And his wife and children look up to him and would go to the mat for him... any day of the week.  He's a wonderful life partner ... and a fantastic dad.  

I just wanted him to know that.  Happy Father's Day, honey.

Cornered

She knew she had only seconds to escape.

She'd seen that enraged look before.  She'd followed the quick glance that the woman, twice her height and over twice her weight, aimed toward the hook on the wall where they both knew there was a man's belt hanging for just such a time as this.  Her body suddenly felt flushed, tingling with inner electricity.  

She darted like a frightened deer through the opening between the woman's elbow and her waist.  She didn't think; she reacted.  She could hear heavy footsteps behind her, trying to keep up.  

She ran - no - clambered on all fours up the stairs like a spider monkey running from a jaguar, panic rising in her throat.  The steps followed. She dove into the nearest room - where to hide? - the deepest closet in the house!  She pushed her way past the dresses, trousers and coats inside, her breaths coming in small gasps, her pulse beating loudly in her own ears.  She didn't know it, but she was cornered. 

The footfalls stopped.  The woman's hand snaked inside, fished around relentlessly and grasped her by the arm, wrenching her from her safe refuge.  She could not stop herself from being surprised by the woman's face; it was at close range and contorted with rage, just like it was every time.  Yet she convinced herself she did not recognize it.  Her only recourse was to appease - in the split second before the first blow fell, she filled her lungs with air and screamed at the top of her lungs, "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry...." over and over, even though she didn't know what she had done wrong to deserve this level of reaction. But she must have done something horrible.

Screams melded with sobbing as she, to no avail, continued to apologize.  Was it for existing? Was it for making the woman angry?  She didn't think of these things - she was only trying to get away - every twist of her body to escape the blows only opened a new angle of attack, fresh skin on which a welt would soon form. 

She didn't know how many times the arm raised and fell - how many stripes the cracked strip of leather would leave. It never crossed her mind to count them, to show them to someone.  She felt too guilty for the bruises the woman would show her on her own hand later - bruises left on the parent by gripping the belt to strike the child.  Eventually - seconds or minutes later - the hitting stopped. The strong hand released the girl's arm and the heavy footsteps receded, leaving the child to continue her sobbing in a heap on the floor, totally broken - irreparably damaged where no one could see: deep inside. Not by welts that would heal, but by the knowledge that she was of no worth.  

She was only eight years old - already a discarded old woman in her heart - her childhood, her personhood ripped from her again and again.

It is forty years later.  Now the woman, the former aggressor, seems so much smaller physically than her daughter - who herself has children of her own.  

Yet in the former daughter's soul, she is still very much afraid: afraid of being attacked, cornered like prey - and devoured.  The scars on her spirit have marked her throughout her life, left her perpetually sobbing inside, calling out soundlessly to everyone who will listen that she is sorry, she is responsible, it's her fault - whatever the problem is or who might be to blame. Her fear, her woundedness, her determination with never being out of control ever again, of controlling and manipulating those she loves in order to protect them, has driven her own husband and children away from being able to connect with her, and likewise alienated people who would have offered their friendship.  

She is unhappy and alone, even though on the outside, all seems to be perfectly fine.  Her external facade has held, perhaps with a few cracks.  But she bears within the burden of all the shame of all those terrible rages, the feeling of being cornered, of that all-too-common breathless, unspeakable terror.

She snaps out of her reverie, and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror.  She looks into her own face in the glass, and sees the little girl's heart behind those eyes, the one who is hurting, who is abandoned, who is lonely. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, slowly. This is going to take some time. 

She glances down at the trembling page in her hands and reads the words on it, for the first time of many, many times, reads to the frightened little girl inside:

"What happened to you was not your fault.  It was wrong.  And it was her problem, it was never yours."  
"You ARE worth something; you are worth a great deal."  
"You can be yourself - you don't have to change into anyone or anything else." 
"You are precious, you are treasured, you are loved."  "
"Your opinion matters."  
"What you feel is normal for what you have been through."  
"People can like you exactly as you are."  
"You can feel what you feel.  It's okay.  You can cry, you can laugh."  
"You can like yourself.  You can love yourself."
"You CAN heal."

Showing it

About a month ago, while I was going through a very difficult time emotionally (to the point where I was losing sleep and having physical symptoms) I remember being in a store with my husband when we saw a friend of ours.  He stopped to talk to us and expressed his concern for me.  He'd noticed that I had lost the colour in my cheeks, was dragging myself around, and seemed very tired and/or sick. He said that he'd been praying for me, and that my husband and I were very special to him. As we parted, he looked me straight in the eye and said, "Look after yourself...and feel better SOON."

The whole encounter took about five minutes.  But it felt so great to know that someone cared, someone noticed, someone wanted me to be happy, and that he took the time to SHOW that.  I hung onto that expression of loving concern for days and days.  It really meant a lot to me.  It fed my heart, so to speak.

Today, I saw him again.  He remarked how much better I was looking these days - more relaxed, more colour in my cheeks, more bounce in my step.  He said it was encouraging to see that.  Again I was reminded that I was loved, that my feelings mattered.  What a tremendous gift.  

From "The Importance of Hugging"

This fellow had learned somewhere along the line, that it's not enough to just care.  Care must be SHOWN to make a difference to someone.  It doesn't take long - five minutes during a random meeting, a few words or a smile and a wave, an encouraging text message, a short email, even a phone call.  But it can make the difference between someone feeling as though nobody cares, and borrowing a little hope to make it through another day until the sun starts to shine through. 

I really hope that the next time I am tempted to tell someone I care, I will remember to show it too ... just so the person knows I mean what I say and that it's not just empty words.  

Food for thought.

Get a good grip

You probably would not guess by looking at me, but I love to golf.  I'm not very good at it, but I love to do it.  (I haven't been able to lately for two reasons: my health and my finances). 

One of the first things you learn to do is how to hold the golf club so that the ball will fly straight and long.  It's a delicate balance - you want to hold it tight enough so it doesn't slip, but loose enough so that you don't throw off your whole swing (and sacrifice both distance and accuracy) by tightening up your muscles.  Once the club is pointed in the right direction, a perfectly great golf swing can be ruined by a poor grip.  Too tight and you hook or slice the ball... or you lean back and try to give'er - as the saying goes - and end up "topping" it so it only dribbles off the tee and bouncing about thirty feet ahead.  Not good.  Too loose, and the ball might go a long way, but the club will turn at the point of impact and send the ball in the wrong direction!

I will never forget what the person who taught me said about this. "Balance. Relax your core and keep your shoulders square, your feet lined up to where you want the ball to go.  Your stance should be natural, not contrived. Keep your eye on the ball at all times through the swing.  And remember above all things: it's golf, not baseball. It's not going to go farther if you lean back and put yourself out of balance. Finesse is more important than power."  

Here's the link for this photo!

Great life lessons!  

So is this one - courtesy of my husband.  "Don't compare yourself to the other player(s).  Golf is a contest but not with them ... it's with yourself. If you flub a shot, learn from it, let it go, and move on.  You're here to have fun, not to beat up on yourself."

But of all the things that I had to learn, the grip - I believe - was by far the most important, because it would complement or throw off everything else about my game.  Knowing how to handle that club was key for me to not lose my ball in the rough or miss hitting it altogether.  The reward for a good grip was that satisfying "sssnICK!" as the club face hit that ball right on the sweet spot... and my gaze would follow that ball straight down the fairway. Usually with my mouth open in amazement.

And at first - it felt so incredibly unnatural.  Grip it tight with these fingers but let those fingers flex with the shot.  Hook this finger around that one. No, not like that, like this.  (It was easy to tense up by this point).  Keep your wrists cocked until you get to the bottom of the swing and then straighten them out for impact and let them go again as you follow through.  Confusing?  OH yeah!

It was that way in my own journey of inner healing too.  I had to learn new skills I never had before.  Yes, keep holding on to this but let go of that.  Put this priority over that one, keep it there, no, now it's too far - tighten up this a little, loosen that, adjust your sights, now practice a bit.  See how that feels... (it felt ruddy awkward!!) Ah, you see? that's a good grip! (Really? how do people live like this?)

Eventually though, after a few successful swings at life - seeing the far-reaching results of even my own feeble efforts to live life without trying to beat it (or me) to death, I got a bit more used to the new normal.  And my life-game started to improve.

By no means have I broken a hundred yet.  But at least I'm getting a good grip.  I just need more practice.

Ring of Power

I've been struggling the past while with control issues... mostly attempts of others to control me - but also the feeling of powerlessness, frustration, and anger that results within me when others try to manipulate or control me or someone I care about.  

Most frustrating is the knowledge that as much as I want it to happen, the growth and the freedom that has happened within me (as limited as it might be) is not something I can impart or impose on anyone else.  Each person has to come to his or her own personal "bottom" and really WANT to be free, before that kind of change can occur.  

Source (via Google Images):
http://shirleytwofeathers.blogspot.com/2011/12/its-not-my-fault.html

I find great symbolism in the story of Frodo and the One Ring.  It was forged by Sauron - whose name, in one of the fictitious Middle Earth languages, means "terrible."  He  created it so as to control all other domains of influence. Some refer to it as "the Ring of Power." 

It's the Self.


It's all about control.

The quest to control others, to control outcomes, to use any means necessary to bend people and circumstances to our will ... this is its seductive grip.  Some people live their whole lives enslaved by it.  Frodo, in LOTR (Lord of the Rings) falls into possession of the Ring and is given the quest to take it to a specific spot and destroy it, to break Sauron's evil power.  He is warned that the Ring is seductive, that it will try to gain control over him and get him to wear it, so that he will be compelled to take it back to its evil and ruthless creator.  During the entire trilogy, Frodo battles with his own insides as this powerful call becomes stronger and stronger, the closer he gets to the fires of Orodruin - its forging-place and therefore the only place it can be destroyed. The Ring has already driven poor Smeagol (a.k.a. Gollum) insane: his only desire is to touch his "precious", to own its power once again.  

The call is that strong. Some - like Gollum - never escape it.  Even Frodo - with his fellowship helping him through the entire journey - comes to the brink of yielding to its pull on his soul at the end of his quest.  

Tolkien's classic tale is what one of my favorite authors, John Eldredge, would call "mythic" - in that it tells the age-old story of humankind and teaches three lessons:  
(1) We are born into a war, an epic struggle between good and evil which rages, unseen, all around us, 
(2) Things are not what they appear, and 
(3) Each of us has a key role to play - whether for good or for evil.  

The path of freedom may take us through many dangers, some of our own making, and some ... not.  

Which brings me to my struggle of late.  The relentless whisper of Self calls to me and tries to seduce me into seizing control by any means necessary.  If not overt in nature, it will use the attempts of others who have believed its lies and who have become enslaved to it, in order to distract me from my quest to be free of its bondage in my life. These others see nothing wrong with their pursuit of power, of control.  Even lies (which include lies of omission) are justified.  The deception is fierce and the stakes are high.  The Self will try to delude me into thinking I am helping these other people by playing along with them, by associating with them and coming alongside of them in their own poison prison. What that does is that it infects me with their malaise.  It does not help them; it hinders me.  The Self (that Ring of Power) will try to convince me - failing the compromise route - that it is my job to confront and expose the error of their choices.  All this does is embroil me in the same slavish soup in which they themselves are cooking. They must travel their own road.  I cannot travel it for them.

The only way for me is to heed the Quest.  To pay attention to my own journey, not to theirs.  To accept that their path is their path, and mine is mine.  I cannot add the call of their Self to the call of my Self.  It would be too much for me and I would fail.  

I can only put one foot in front of the other, and remember why I am here.

i-Life

Anyone who owns a MacIntosh computer - and a good percentage of those who don't - knows that Apple calls all of its products "i-Something."

There's iPod, iPhone, iPhoto, even iMovie.  In fact, the last two are part of a suite of programs called iLife.  And that kind of gets me to thinking.  

I wonder if very many people HAVE an i-Life.  I know lots of people, including me, who have a u-life.  (in other words, a "you-life") - where the focus is always and ever upon everybody else except ourselves.  We give and give and give to others, never anything but the dregs left for ourselves ... and then we wonder why we're so burnt out, stressed, and exhausted all the time.

Perhaps if each of us had a little more of an i-Life (that is, a me-life, a relationship with ourselves, also called self-care) then there would be more energy left over for the u-Life we all believe we should be leading.  Or perhaps that we were taught that we should be leading this u-Life, and if we weren't leading it to the exclusion of ourselves, then we were selfish, spoiled brats.  Hm. 

An i-Life can start in many ways.  

It can begin with taking some time to look after ourselves in a very minor way.  Like a habit which we know is good for us, but which we can never find time to do.  Or like taking 30 minutes as soon as we get home from work / school / wherever and listening to some uplifting music... whatever touches that aching part inside of us that needs affirmation.  

It doesn't have to be complicated - or expensive.  When my kids were elementary school-aged, we didn't have much money to go around.  So our "outing" was to go to the Humane Society shelter and visit the animals for an hour a week, sometimes even more often than that.  We love animals and we took great pleasure in brightening some of the kennel-bound animals' moments while they were awaiting adoption.  

Another thing we used to do in the summer was drive to a local city park which is by the harbor, park the car and watch the sailboats go by and the waves come into the shore.  We'd go for a walk in the park, stop by the playground, wade in the wading area - and once in a while we'd stop for ice cream...not every time, of course.  The whole trip might cost us about seven bucks max.  Yet we would return home energized.  

One of the first things I started doing when God brought me to my own personal "rock bottom" nearly 3 years ago, was to spend a little extra time in the day brushing my teeth.  It sounds odd, but that one five-minute habit gave me the message that I was worth spending time on... and I so needed that message. It was the beginning of my i-Life.

Am I touching anyone's i-Life today?

The Wreck - a parable

Georgette and Bob went for a ride in her car one evening.  Georgette was behind the wheel.  She didn't tell Bob that she had night blindness and that she shouldn't be driving; she just figured it would be fine.  

It had been raining so the streets were wet, but it had stopped raining.  However, in the dark, with slippery roads and the lights of an oncoming car in her eyes, and only Bob's "Look OUT!" to warn her, Georgette lost control of the car and it crashed into a barricade, flipping the car and landing it in the ditch.  Georgette was pinned behind the wheel and couldn't get out of the car.  Bob was thrown clear. Neither was wearing a seat belt.

Both miraculously survived.  

Source: via Google Images:
http://www.deathbycar.info/2010/03/crash-deaths-2009/

In the dark, as people stopped to render assistance, Georgette screamed in pain - her leg was broken and the bone was protruding a little from it. She yelled for Bob to come to her aid.  Bob was lying quietly on his side several feet away, breathing slowly in, out, in, out.  Nothing appeared to be broken.  But he didn't get up.  

As the crowd gathered, the cries from Georgette grew more and more angry.  Why wasn't Bob coming over? couldn't he see she was in pain? The cries took on a pleading tone; Georgette was screaming and sobbing. The people around the accident site all crouched beside her and tried to comfort her, since she was the one who was obviously the worse off.  Someone called 911 and everyone waited for the police and ambulance to come ... and the paramedics to tend to her.  

One or two people went to see Bob.  He didn't look to be hurt, and he wasn't saying anything at all, so they turned their attention to Georgette.  She was moaning in pain, writhing... and the sirens came within earshot.  Neither she nor anyone could figure out why Bob wasn't helping.  He just stayed where he was, with a bleeding lip, breathing in, out. In, out.  They figured he was just an ingrate, that he was lazy, that he was angry at her - several theories came to the fore - and finally the paramedics came to the scene with their emergency kits.

A couple of the paramedics went to Georgette to check her out as the other two went to attend to Bob.  They had only been with him for a few moments when they called to their companions and said, "Get a backboard.  This one goes first."

"What?!!" screamed Georgette.  I'm hurt here!  Don't you people know anything?" Several in the crowd agreed.

But the paramedics knew differently.  Those close enough to hear them working with Bob, heard them radio the hospital.  "From what we can tell, this man has at least four fractured ribs, at least one of which has punctured a lung.  There's internal bleeding, possibly a ruptured spleen - we suspect a compression fracture of the upper lumbar spine.  We've started an I.V. and are getting him on a backboard.  Get the O.R. ready and have a surgeon waiting."  

There was a garble of words at the other end.  "Oh, the other one?  She's pinned in the car screaming her head off.  Just a broken leg."  More garbled words.  "Okay, we'll give her a shot.  Send another ambulance for her with the jaws of life, we're taking this one in.  Right now.  ETA, fifteen."

Current Events

I was reading a fellow-blogger's article yesterday at One Crafty Mother. (Yes, that's a link.)

She describes a concept she calls "downstream."  It was just what I needed.  

Lots of things are changing in my life lately - there is much about which I know little, and over which I have absolutely no control.  As a recovering control freak and rescuer, I have a difficult time with not being in control even though I know it's good for me.  

She talks about letting go as lifting your feet off the bottom of a river and letting the current carry you.  The metaphor of swimming is more than a little uncomfortable for me.  But that's because I'm a non-swimmer and don't like the water.  My feet must always be able to touch bottom.  Always. Otherwise I panic.  

Photo via Google Images at:
http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-photo/vandall/zardoz-
2003/1087766820/dscf0030.jpg/tpod.html

That said, the analogy is still quite powerful - in life, in my journey of healing, I'm learning how to let go of the need to supervise, control, fix, or otherwise have an influence over the situations or people involved in a particular desired outcome.  I remember sitting in someone's office recently, and seeing a little card attached to the person's computer monitor - identical to the one I have in various places at home - which gives a slightly different version of the Serenity Prayer.  The original goes, "God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference."  This one says, "God, grant me the Serenity to accept the people I cannot change, Courage to change the person I can, and Wisdom to know it's me."  

It's hard to let go of the compulsion to know what's happening every single minute.  There's a certain comfort that comes from that kind of control.  But letting go and allowing events to unfold, without having (or wanting to have) any control or influence over what happens or any fretting over whether it does or doesn't - that is a skill that I had to learn, and I have succeeded a few times.  Which is more than before (which was zero.)  My fellow-blogger calls this picking up your feet in the current and allowing it to take you "downstream" - wherever it will naturally take you.  

Going against the current is occasionally necessary to stand up for what's right when the people or events are going toward an unhealthy place. 

But doing it all the time is exhausting: I speak from experience! And most of the time, it is more healthy for me to "go with the flow" - to go where God is leading and not to fret about where it might take me.  The events that happen to me in such a current often lead to the most amazing opportunities to help someone or experience something awesome in my relationship with God.  Or to discover something I needed to know about myself.  These 'current events' - more often than not - lead me to myriad 'God-moments' that I would never have experienced otherwise: where God is in complete control and brings things and people into my path that I never would have dreamed.  

The unpredictability of it all both unnerves and exhilarates me.  Sometimes I gasp for breath and clutch out wildly for some point of reference.  Other times, I can actually see some of what He is doing and I'm in awe.  

One thing I will say.  It is never boring.

Ready for Christmas

Well, there are less than two weeks until Christmas morning.  How time flies!

Every year it gets harder and harder for me to find that special Christmas spirit I had when I was young and full of boundless energy.  Perhaps it's because as I get older I see more that jades me.  Perhaps. 

It could be that I am overwhelmed by the social expectations and the pressing crowds of people, both of which push me WAY outside my comfort zone.  Not to mention that a favorite gift that people tend to give to each other happens to be perfume, which they try out - in the store - before they buy. [Different post, different problem.]  ;)

Or perhaps I've allowed other things to creep in and rob me of the simple pleasures I used to enjoy a lot more often when I was younger: watching the lights sparkle off the tinsel, listening to the music the season has to offer, wrapping (or making) presents for those whom I love while imagining how much they'll appreciate them, planning a Christmas menu, making my famous deep-dish pumpkin pie (well, famous in my family anyway.) 

I do miss very much the old-fashioned Christmas Eve service, the kind with candles and singing those hard-to-play and almost as hard-to-sing carols, the kind of service that takes us back to the baby in the manger and doesn't focus on the gloom and doom that is all around us every day - I think we're aware enough to know there are people at war all over the world, and I want to hear about the peace inside - and the reason for it.  I miss that kind of Christmas message.  I miss it a lot.  

I would love to be more ready for Christmas ... and by ready I don't mean for me to have a whole lot of presents under the tree (although it would be nice to have the ones I ordered come in before the big day so that I can have them wrapped).  No, by "ready" I mean that I wish that my heart would be ready.  Sometimes I feel like there's such a hard crust on it, that it's so calloused by having to pay the bills and make a living that it's forgotten how to live.  I think that I might be more "ready" for Christmas year after year (starting with this year) if I were to make it a point to look after that calloused heart, to soften it with some soul-soothing music, to nurture it in reading uplifting words of hope and life, to rest it by taking more quality time to spend with its creator instead of running around half-crazed.  

It's really about time I got ready.

Strength in Numbers (SiN)

There's something I've noticed in society that has insidiously crept its way into the culture of faith.  It's even touted as honourable and desirable. People buy into it and play follow the leader, no matter how dangerous it is. 

It's a fallacy.  It's based on a complete lie. An age-old lie. 

Found this photo via
Google Images at:
http://www.picturethisgallery.com
/Artists/Terry_Gilecki.asp

It's the idea that human beings can change God's mind, can make Him do this or that or the other thing, just by joining forces, banding together, and overwhelming Him with requests by as many people as possible to do (or not allow) a certain thing.

It's based on the lie that we have been told since the very beginning: that we know better than He does and that we have a say in what happens to us and/or to our friends and family. 

We don't.  

You know, some folks think that's what prayer is about: getting God to do what you want Him to do.  Which spawns that other fallacy that more people getting on His case is going to get a faster and more acceptable answer.

But it isn't.  It isn't in either case.  

Prayer is about friendship with God.  It has nothing to do with getting Him to do something we want done.  Much as we might want it.  If He could be swayed by the number of people who ask for a particular thing, He would be no more than a glorified politician.  How unutterably disappointing that would be!  No, it's more about allowing Him inside of those lonely, parched places in our lives and letting Him take over and trusting His decisions.  It's not about us, it's about Him.  

Strength In Numbers (acronym: SIN - that tells me something right there) in what we call "prayer" is about making ourselves bigger, making God look smaller.  It's lobbying.  It's manipulating.  It's coercing.  It's imposing our will on His.  

It's ludicrous.  

It stems from a basic lack of belief that one person can matter to Him - that He would listen to one person and care about what matters to him or her.  It comes from a firm faith in the ogre-ness of God: that He's a killjoy, that He is a tyrant and needs to be appeased, placated, flattered, convinced to be good.  

Nothing could be further from the truth.  
He invites each of us into His heart .... and we break it by trying to twist His arm.

Practice makes perfect - sort of

When I was twelve, I got the rare opportunity to take some piano lessons.  I took about a year and a half of weekly lessons before my teacher became interested in me as a girl and not as a student.  

So... that was the end of the piano lessons.  :(

I did learn enough about the piano to make me able to enjoy playing it, even though I wasn't very good at it. But one of the things that taking music / piano lessons taught me was that everyone sucks at something the first time around and that it is important to practice any new skill, any new application of that skill. Practice makes perfect.  

Found this neat photo through Google Images
at http://www.pianolessons.net/lessons/
how-to-practice-piano.html

Well.  Sort of.  Mistakes can still happen but they usually aren't those glaring mistakes made by rank beginners.  

In the last three years, I have been learning a new skill - how to live life one day at a time and let people (including myself) be who they are.  

At first I made a lot of mistakes.  Just like when practicing the piano.  It sure didn't sound like it should have - there were a lot of sour notes. Sometimes I made the same mistake over and over again until I got it right.  When I learned to do the most difficult things first, even if I had to do them in slow motion to get them right, I started making fewer errors.  And the strangest thing about practicing (whether piano, guitar, flute or voice) is this: I can get something polished up so I know it and perform flawlessly; I am confident with it.  But if it's been a while since I have practiced even something I know well - the next time it can be full of hesitations, I forget what chord to use, I hit a wrong note, or I get the timing off.  It's the same thing with living one day at a time and letting go of the need to control and fix everyone.  I forget and slip back into those same errors.  Or I hesitate - and a moment is lost.  

But it's not the end of the world. I've learned to admit my foul-ups, cut myself a break, accept the forgiveness God offers, and move on.  

The secret is to practice and KEEP practicing.  And my goal isn't perfection anymore, even though sometimes (when God's in charge and not me) it happens - and I am in awe whenever it does.  One of the sayings I have come to take as one motto of many in the last three year is: 'progress, not perfection.'  I believe there's a lot of wisdom in that.  It sure reduces my stress and makes things easier for everyone else in my life too.  

And there are endless opportunities presented to me to practice what I've learned.  I think I hear another one calling me even now.

:D 

Learning to trust

For some reason at this time of year, I start thinking about simple trust... how it's learned... how it's unlearned... how it grows... how quickly it can be broken.  

Maybe it's all the focus on little children at this time of year : starry-eyed children hyped up on their unfettered belief in a magical elf who will make all their dreams come true - but only if they're good.  It almost makes that rotund, red-suited gnome sound like an adult's most effective tool of manipulation and control of the little people's behavior.  Something to make parents' lives easier, give them a bit of rest and relief from the inexhaustible need represented by their children, compounded by the shortened daylight hours and the ever-increasing cold weather which keeps them indoors for more hours per day.

Source (via Google Images) :
http://atrustingchild.blogspot.com/2011/01/
some-quotes-for-best-fathers.html

The question of Santa aside - for that is only one question among many trust or faith-based questions - when do we first learn to trust?  Some psychologists tell us that this happens before age two. To a certain extent, I would agree.  The foundation of trust (or mistrust!) is built then.  

After that, all the events that happen are erected on the foundation that was laid in the first two years, and they pass through the pre-set filter of whether the child trusts his parents, his siblings, his relatives ... and his world ... or not.  

Betrayed trust is the most devastating and difficult to restore.  Some never can learn to trust again once they have been lied to.  I've seen this happen over and over again.  

One lie.  That's all it takes.  

One lie perpetuated, nurtured, covered by other lies to protect its 'validity' - and then discovered (for it WILL be discovered eventually) - can destroy decades of trust built up.  Worst, it can cause the one so deceived, to mistrust everything that the liar says from that point onward - and backward in time.  In other words, lie to me and I not only don't trust anything you say from now on, I won't trust anything you have ever told me.  

Now multiply that sentiment by a factor of at least five - for a child who has been lied to.  Double it for every decade as that child grows up - mistrust multiplied by mistrust until everything that anyone says is suspect.

So what if you're that child?  How many times have you been lied to?  Is it possible to trust again?  

Learning to trust again is a slow process, but it is possible.  Whether a person can learn to trust the one who has lied ... depends in large part on whether the one who lied is willing to change.  If he or she isn't, it's time to walk away.  But learning to trust in general is possible with one basic element at the core.

Truth.  

Speaking truth to the inner person, refusing to believe the lies of the past that drummed their way into the psyche, replacing those false statements with true statements, this is the way - albeit slow and potentially torturous at times - to healing and faith.  No sugar-coating.  "Yes, this was wrong." (Not, "He/ she meant well.")  And so forth.  Acknowledging the wrongness gives us permission to be outraged, to admit the hurt.  

And it helps us - strange as it may seem - to gradually move on to a place of real forgiveness and compassion.

The White Knight Syndrome

A dear friend was offended by something I did the other day and let me know.  Without going into a whole lot of detail, I crossed a boundary - one I should have known better than to cross - and it hurt my friend.  Within a short time all was forgiven, but I started thinking how easily it is for me to slip back into old patterns of behavior without knowing it, sometimes in the guise of "helping."  

As I thought about an image, a mental picture, that might help me remember to do this less and less, I wondered what would best describe it.  

Google Images are great! I found this at:
http://www.picturesofknights.net/Knight-on-Horse.html

And then a white knight rode across my mind, his horse snorting, his sword drawn to do battle.  

That was it.  It fit perfectly! 

The white knight syndrome.  I've had it for years - and although in recovery from it, sometimes it still does manage to sneak into my psyche.  A syndrome is a set of symptoms that go together and which can't actually be called a disease, yet the symptoms cause distress to the person (and to others), sometimes without the person realizing it's even there.  And the white knight is pretty self-explanatory... 

This is the "Oh my goodness, someone's in distress!  I must SAVE that person!" mentality.  The one that will ignore boundaries and focus solely on the "mission" at hand.  

There are a few things about being a white knight that aren't all that great.  First, you become fixated.  It's hard to see anything except what's directly in front of you and there tends to be only one viewpoint.  Second, your ability to hear well is impaired by the helmet and visor.  So even when your real commander (whom you've likely left in your own dust to rush on ahead) gives you direction or cautions you, you can't hear that still small voice.  Third, while the armour provides protection, it also prevents loved ones from getting close.  There is an "I'm right and everyone else is wrong" that drives people you love in the opposite direction.  Believe me - I know from experience - you end up abandoned and misunderstood by the very people you try to help ... and judged by those observing.  Fourth, it is exhausting, wearing all that armour.  It's an extra weight and extra energy is required to maintain it, to polish it, and to move while wearing it. (Yet the white knight refuses to take it off. It becomes his identity.) The crazy thing about it is that none of it is necessary, which brings me to my final reason.  Lastly, and probably most important, it's not your job to save the world.  It's not your job to rescue the damsels in distress, or the family member or close friend who's throwing his life away.  That is a matter between that person and his or her own conscience - and God.  

Wow.  With the picture of that white knight in my mind ... perhaps I can put away my armour - one day at a time. 

Serenity - Courage - Wisdom ... part three

"God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference." 

I was reading in a daily devotional book this morning; the topic was on watching where you go - something about paying attention to your path.  But it was a verse shortly before that which caught my attention most.  It also happens to be one of my favorite ones in this healing process I call 'recovery' - which is simply another word for 'restored sanity'.  It said, "Above all, guard your heart, for out of it flow the well-springs of life." (Proverbs 4:23)   

(I think I've said before that) I used to think this meant that my heart had to be watched like a hawk, because it couldn't be trusted as far as I could throw a Mack truck.  But it doesn't mean that at all.  It means that my most important relationships are the ones I have with God and with myself (both out of which flow my relationships with others).  It means that only in right relationship with God and with myself (and it is essential to have a nurturing relationship with oneself) can those daily paths be attended to, the ones Solomon told his son to pay attention to.  

"The Creation of Man" detail (God's hand is on the right, man's
on the left) - Michelangelo, Sistine Chapel ceiling 
Source of the image above:
http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/rayortlund/2011/03/28/
depending-solely-on-god/

It boils right down to this.  Wisdom to know the difference between the things I can't change and the things I can ... has only come for me with a dedicated focus on my relationship with God, and a commitment to know myself as I truly am, not as others have painted me.  

It's in daily dependence on God.  I believe that this is the only "dependency relationship" that is healthy because it is the only one humans were created for.  The more time I spend with Him, the more grateful I am for His presence. The more I value His opinion and am aware of how much He loves me, the more I want to honour Him in all things. The more I depend on Him, the better I'm able to see what's true, right, and honest, and when I'm just deceiving myself.

He lets me know He is there.  Sometimes in the smallest of ways.  But when I am living in a "God-conscious" state of mind, nearly everything reminds me of His presence, His power to transform, His love.  He even reminds me to take care of myself when I need to do that (and of course, part of that self-care involves keeping my contact with Him close).  When I don't, there's a nameless feeling of uneasiness that creeps in, and sometimes it takes several hours, days, even weeks to pinpoint.  

Sometimes I even have had to be told by caring and loving friends that I am not "myself" lately.  (That's still a new experience for me, because up until a couple of years ago I didn't even know who "myself" was!!)  At such times I look first to that vertical plumb-line and see, yes, it's been shifted off centre and I need to be still and let Him come to the middle - my middle - the centre of who I am.  The less I do (in the sense of frantically trying to please Him with what I do) and the more I allow myself to be (that is, resting in His love, His grace, His power) the more 'opportunities' open up for me to share what He has done in me, and communicate that (or even a part of that) to someone who asks. 

Which reminds me.  I've discovered, in my Christian faith, that if I am not BEing, I might as well not DO anything because it will backfire. Every time. When I am living in daily and intimate relationship with God, it shows in my attitudes toward work, family, friends, leisure, ... everything.  He fills me up with an awareness of Him being with me - and in me.  Out of that automatically flows opportunities to be there, to be a friend, to be a conduit of healing and mercy to the most unexpected (and unexpecting!) of recipients - and for that I can't take one bit of credit.  Nor would I try.

God sets it up, He orchestrates the whole thing, and I'm simply left in awe of how He does it...  I'm just glad to occasionally be there when He does.

Counter it

I got a call on my cell phone last night at a time when I was with my whole family. Since they're the only ones who know my number, I was suspicious but I answered anyway.  I was told by an operator that there was an important message for me and to please hold while they put the party through.  Then I heard a sound I had heard before:  the "shoving off" horn of an ocean liner.  

I hung up.  It was an unwanted message trying to sell me a cruise.  First, I don't do business over the phone where I would have to give my credit card number over the phone lines, and second, water is for washing and drinking, and that is all.  Asking me to go on a cruise is kind of like asking someone with a fear of heights to go skydiving.  Hello....

I get other unwanted messages too sometimes.  Those voices, sometimes in a whisper, sometimes full-throated and nearly deafening, still nag away at me from the inside, based on messages I got and believed when I was a child.  You're not welcome here.  Get out of my face.  What you do isn't good enough.  Why can't you be more like ___?  You're weird.  You'll never amount to anything.  Nobody will ever want to spend time with you.  Those messages - some of which I never even heard verbally but picked up on through non-verbal cues - sometimes won't stop.  They were so much a part of my psyche that I thought that I was thinking those thoughts.  Then when I identified the real voices behind them, I realized that not only were they not mine, they weren't true either.  Yet I'd believed them for such a long time that I didn't know quite how to get rid of them.

Until I was told to counter the messages with other ones that were true.  You are special.  You do have something to offer.  The abuse was NOT your fault.  People can like you just the way you are.  You don't have to bend over backward just so people will spend time with you.  You can be free.  You have unique gifts and talents.  You are already important to so many people.  You do not have to accept criticism or belittlement from anyone.  You don't have to assume responsibility for the bad decisions of other people.  You can let go of the shame.  

These messages, and more, were things I had to tell myself at least once, and more like 4 or 5 times, per DAY at first.  The self I was telling these things to was not my present self but the child-self that still peeked out of the closet wondering if the angry person that was just in there beating her was still angry or if it was safe to come out.  The one who convinced herself that it was safe, only to be criticized, belittled, and mocked over and over again by people who were themselves criticized, belittled and mocked by their parents.  I was so tired of that cycle and I was very motivated to be the generation where it started stopping: to not perpetuate onto future generations the horror and the pain of never knowing what words would set off an emotional land mine.  

When I look back at the way things were before, and compare them to now, I do see a marked difference inside. Yet the condemning voice still comes to me. Frequently.  It creeps in unawares sometimes.  I still need to watch for it, to counter it with truthful affirmations, and I still need to back that up with actions that tell me that I am worth spending time on, that I do have value even if nobody sees it at the moment, that I can be free of the slough of despair, and that I can rise to beauty and victory through truth in the innermost part.

Staying Grounded

Recently I spent the evening in the company of some amazing people, some of whom are at the beginning of their journey of healing.  

We were very honest with each other about where we were in our journeys.  As each one spoke, I found myself remembering those first few months of my own journey.  I remember how confused I was, how utterly afraid of being rejected, how guilty I felt for looking after me.  How it felt so awkward not to jump in and offer advice to people I loved who were obviously struggling.  And there were times I failed to refrain from doing it.  But the new lifestyle eventually started to become more real to me than the frantic "gotta-fix-it" mentality to which I had once clung.

Being around people just starting to figure things out in their own process helps me remember myself at that stage and allows me to not only be grateful for the progress since that time, but to give hope - to those who are struggling - that it does get better, that there is freedom, peace, happiness, confidence, and love.

It keeps me grounded.  Like the biblical tree planted by rivers of water, my new growth keeps people engaged and interested in what I have to contribute, and my shade gives solace to weary travellers and knowledge that it's okay to rest when they are tired, and gives them strength - if they so choose - on which to lean.  Others were that tree for me in my own journey, and although I'm not far enough along to build a tire swing on, I've learned and grown enough to be able to let people know that it's never too late, that even though the road is hard and the weather harsh, it's going to be okay because nobody has to go it alone.  

Remembering where I was at that time also helps me to be gentle with those who are truly confused, and to let them grow and mature at their own pace.  If they ask for guidance, I try to only say what worked for me, because they might have a different location where their seed is planted - and what worked for me might not work for them.  And I learn from all of them - no matter where they are on their path - honesty and vulnerability are key.  My contact with them helps me stay grounded, keeps me thinking of myself the way I need to, and not any more (or less) highly than that.  

Nope.  I would not abandon this new lifestyle and go back to the old one.  It's just not what I want anymore.  I like this life.  I like the feeling of being grounded and being able to help others send forth roots of their own.