Hey 2013! You kinda sucked…..

Dear 2013:

I’m glad you’re nearly done.

I wrote a glowing review of 2012, 364 days ago. I was sitting in my kitchen in Colorado, reflecting on a year that brought a sea-change to my life.  That sea-change was internal; I put my life and my beliefs into a salad spinner and formed a new way of seeing things.  I called 2012 “my year of living honestly”.

You were supposed to be my year of “walkin’ the walk”.  The year that I took what I learned about myself in the previous year and instituted the new life.  It went from being internal and spiritual to physical, geographical and real.

You’ve been a bitch, 2013.  And I take partial responsibility.  The strategies that got me to the tipping point of changing my life went out the window once the changes really started physically and emotionally happening.  Meditation fell by the wayside, exercise was put on the back burner, I allowed my control freak tendencies to creep back in and settle into a spare bedroom in my brain.

One step forward, two steps back…or is that two steps forward, one step back.  Maybe I’ll have a clearer picture of that concept as 2014 unfolds.

I’m an optimist.  Really.  I think that things will work out just fine in the end.  I’m also a pragmatist and a planner.  Once I commit to something, I’m pretty much all-in and often that means that I can power through problems and snags and barricades like a tank.  But, that takes a toll.

The last 6 months contained a fair number of hurdles.  Selling a house, moving 1500 miles, realizing that a 10 acre farm requires a lot of maintenance, constant nickel and dime problems with the new house, working remotely and feeling cut off from friends and co-workers, the sudden illness and death of one of our dogs, being the new folks in a small, rural community and finally, living close enough to my parents to witness their age-related decline.

These were not in my plan and it felt like being caught in an avalanche or a monster wave.  I told my husband after the death of our dog, which felt like the final straw, that I had lost my mojo.

That little internal spark that I’d always had that kept me going through challenges; the core belief that everything works out.  That my internal, anti-skid control will right my course very soon.  All of that was gone and I ended up in a deep ditch, spinning my wheels.

It seems that you were my year of cold, hard reality.  Of loss and grief.  But, that’s my glass-half-empty view and I’m a glass-half-full kind of gal.  Right now, I’d look at the glass and say “there’s enough liquid in there to wash down an Advil”.  I’ll take what I can get.

So, 2013, you gave me a beat down, but we all know that growth comes after destruction.  I’m feeling a few little stirrings of my mojo returning.  It’s walking up the driveway, through the snow and will eventually ring the bell and want to come in.

I can speed that mojo up by getting back into my meditation practice, cleaning up my diet, and firing up a more regular exercise routine.  I can embrace the changes that I put in motion, including those that were not included in my master plan.

So, goodbye 2013; I’m grateful for your lessons and your time, but you’ll stick in my craw for a long time.

Now get out.

Jane

More on letting go…

It’s nearly Christmas and for the first time in probably 15 years, I’ll be spending it with my family.  More specifically, with my 93 year-old parents.

While I’m looking forward to it, part of me dreads it.  My mom is getting foggier and my dad is finally starting to slow down.  The way to face your own mortality is to witness your parents’ aging process.

Spending time with them makes me grateful and uncomfortable; it’s a jumble of emotions.  Tenderness, irritation, impatience, grace, humor, clarity, guilt, love, regret.  Merry Christmas, eh?

I think that most of us are conflicted about our families, particularly if you left home and hometown, when you were young.  When we return to the nest, we return and revert to our family ‘roles’.  But, as our parents age, that doesn’t work any longer.  We take on new roles as caretakers, helpers and decision makers.  And that’s hard.

My parents still live on their own, in their house on 5 acres.  In the past couple of years, we’ve bought them a generator to get through the various storms that plague the Midwest.  We’ve encouraged them to think about downsizing into a retirement/assisted living facility.  This means that every time we visit, we’re sent home with a lot of ‘stuff’; some of it ours, much of it theirs that they can’t bear to throw away.

We all collect so much over the years; not just physical, but emotional, including a lot of scar tissue.  There comes a time to let it go.  To wish it well and send it on its way.  The last year has taught me much about letting go.

We moved and I said goodbye to a home and a place that I loved.  We’re in a whole new environment a couple of time zones away from the old life.  New people, new climate, new lifestyle, new city, new values, new problems.

We said goodbye to my beautiful and very much loved dog, Chili.  One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.  I’m still aching over that loss.

So, I have empathy for my elderly parents.  They are letting go of 93 years of memories, things, comfort, security.  Very hard for them and for us as their children.

Sometimes things are ripped from us, when we least expect it and sometimes it’s a long, painful, introspective process.  Either way, we eventually lose everything that we love and hold close.  The human condition.  Our biggest fear and our constant companion.  It is truth.

And so, I look forward to Christmas with the family and will remain in close contact with my sense of humor in dealing with this phase of life.  That’s something my parents, particularly my mom, instilled in me; in all of us.

I’ll also dig deep into my limited well of patience and understanding.  I’m somewhat deficient in those qualities and the past 6 months has unfortunately drained me even more.

But, I’m grateful. To be back in my home state, close to my parents, with a new life and home and puppy, while retaining some of the former life that has been so hard to release.

Be well.  Remember to be kind.  Surround yourselves with who and what you love during this holiday season.

What dogs are for….

My husband and I have been having a discussion about whether or not to get another dog.  Okay, it’s a disagreement.  He says no, while I say yes.  We have been having this argument for about 24 years now, through various dogs.

So, last week, he said to me, “Explain to me why you want another dog.”  I hemmed and hawed and threw out some inarticulate dribble about ‘feelings’ and ‘joy’ and ‘can’t really explain’.  Not an effective answer.  Very unsatisfying for both of us.  So, the next day, I sat at my computer and composed this note to him.

You asked me why I want another dog.  That is a valid question that prompted me to put into words, what our past, present and future dogs mean to me.

I love them for their unique personalities, quirks and qualities.  Like people, they each bring something to my life.  They force us to realize that all creatures have a perspective and have needs and desires.  I love that.

Skelo was loyal and responsible and completely committed to you.  He was the grown-up dog, who kept the other dogs in line.  He tolerated very little nonsense from the others.

Kodiak was a clown, with a sensitive side.  He loved people and beer and crashing the neighbors’ poker parties.  He accepted the younger, more obnoxious dogs with a sense of humor and tolerance.

Feta was a rock star; she had to be the center of attention and had to win every competition.  She could be hard-assed and aggressive, but was nurturing and sweet if you were sick or helpless.  I still miss her smart-assiness every day.

Samson was…Samson.  Dopey and distracted but very loving and sweet.

Chili was complex and smart as a whip; she was moody and beautiful.  She was my soulmate, who gazed into my eyes and trusted me implicitly.  She had a dry, but well-developed sense of humor and she liked to watch dog shows with me on TV.  I looked forward to waking up and seeing her sweet face, every single day of her life.

Junior is sweet and forgiving, with the soul of a poet.  You can see in his eyes that he just wants to be loved and praised.  He is a lover, not a fighter and he loves you the most.  And he can run in the tightest, fastest circles that I’ve ever seen.

All of them have brought such joy and love and humor into our lives.  Just like people.  Their spirits are as important to me as the human spirits in my life. Maybe more so.

They love us fully and boundlessly.   They don’t expect perfection or make me feel guilty or judge me for my screw ups or lack of grace.  They don’t care if my radio ratings are good or bad and they don’t hold grudges.  They are far nobler than many humans I’ve known.

They eat with gusto and allow me to put coats and life vests on them.  They sing along with your saxophone and dig big holes in the yard. They charm our visitors and share our love of beets, sweet potatoes,  popcorn and sports.  They accept our quirks.

We are a family and since neither one of us have a huge tribe of human friends in our lives, I feel like our dogs are my tribe.  I need them in order to survive and to thrive.  I realize that you may not see it the way that I do, but a life without dogs is just too hard for me and I’m grateful that you allow them into our lives.

Our new puppy is another spirit that will touch us in her way.  Sweetness, light, humor and playfulness emanate from her.  She will fit in nicely and maybe even kill a mouse or two. She will bring love to our little family…and she will come when we call her.  I guarantee it….

So, there it is.  Thank you for your patience with me.  You too, are full of light, humor and forgiveness; those qualities are of the highest value in our tribe.

J

What is ‘thankful’?

Thankful.  What does that mean exactly?

I think that thankfulness comes in various degrees and layers;  thankful for really great things, like new babies or new jobs or a clean bill of health.  And then there is the secondary thankfulness where we’re glad that things aren’t worse or that we’re making progress in a difficult situation.

I think that maybe that’s what separates people who are happy from those who can’t quite settle into their lives.  Most of the people I know who have as their mantra “it could be worse”, mean it.  But, some of us  get stuck; we dwell on the inevitable and universal imperfections, allowing it to corrode our lives and rust away the girders of the bridge to peace and happiness.

We all want things to work out perfectly; for our lives to be well-oiled machines featuring lots of rainbows and unicorns.  Unfortunately, we sometimes don’t recognize the rainbows and unicorns when we have them.  We think “it could always be better; this isn’t my perfect vision”.

Which is where thankfulness comes in.  Every day.  Find something, even in the midst of irritation, tragedy and yes, even unbearable pain, that you can say your gratefuls for.  I think it will make us happier.  I know it will make us happier and at the very least, it will make us less prickly.

My husband and I have both been mourning the loss of our dog, Chili.  This past weekend, we saw my brother’s dog, who is 14 and starting to lose her quality of life.  Bladder issues, she doesn’t see well, no appetite.  I told my husband  “I’m grateful that Chili won’t have to go through this kind of long-term deterioration”.

It doesn’t make it hurt less, but it’s truth.  She will be spared that kind of suffering.  Do I wish she were still alive?  Every single minute of every day. But, if we dig, we can always find some little nugget and say a thank you to the universe.  Baby steps.  Silver linings.

Some people are born with this ability; the clear-eyed view that life is never perfect, but it will toss us little crumbs of light if we’re open and clear.  Some have to remind themselves to look under or beyond the dark cloud that can obscure the light.  Some just choose to live in the dark.

Life is hard and disappointing and challenging and painful, so have another piece of apple pie ala mode and remember that it could be worse.

The last piece of pie could be mincemeat.  That would truly be a tragedy.