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how can i become more compassionate?

how can i become more resilient?

how can i use my gifts to serve in this world?

what can i build with and in community?

how can i love more? love more? love more?

what is life

worn sneakers stacked on top of the other, converse all-st– rubbed away

forgotten dirty socks spill out the top

a neatly manicured lawn, sharp lines green square, bushes cut into boxes

rain-soaked cigarette butts float in an amber glass ashtray

twirling my hair between my index and middle finger as i swing my feet underneath me

knocking my heels softly on the bars underneath the wooden bar chair i sit in

sun-dappled leaves move in unison to different sounds,

i notice them when i listen.

what else can i notice, if i stop the movie in my head –

that this world does not revolve around me!

metta for me

rain in the nights

walls keep me safe

may i have safety.

the world reigns chaos

and calm,

may i be liberated.

time, gravity, life pulls at

my bones, muscles and skin.

may i be healed.

searching for the quiet home

everywhere but in myself.

may i dwell in peace.

I used to be addicted to nostalgia, unable to let go of people, things, stories. Clinging. I lived in a paradox of running away from the past to different countries, cities, jobs, while simultaneously being consumed by it, obsessed with it, letting it sit at the helm of the direction of my life. I thought if I could literally leave the origin of my past, it wouldn’t be able to touch me. The saying, “Wherever you go, there you are,” is a truth that I have learned to touch.

There is something lost when you don’t take time to reflect on the past though, the changes of your life. It’s easy to miss the growth, miss the patterns, miss the triumph and victories, miss the grief and pain. Life passes quickly, even when you work hard to be present for it. There is a difference between reflection and and sitting in your past also, when you’re unwilling to move forward, or to let go of who you were, and what you had. I’m still learning the balance of bringing my past into my present lovingly, organically. Inner child love, play, dancing, embodiment work, loving relationships, intimacy work, meditation, swimming. I probably will always be learning that balance, and that’s okay.

In the spirit of healthy, intentional reflection, I picked a handful of snippets from my journal in the second half of last year, and leave them here below to share with you.

The world is reopening, it’s open. I put away my masks. I’m grateful.

Falling in love, ignoring red flags. 

A recognition that I want to do new things, and haven’t been in my relationship. Deep conversations and new realizations with family.

Begin again. Top of mind on my birthday. It has been such a hard year, and also the most transformative of my life. I am living and orienting from a completely different place. I’m so grateful. I’m so lucky. 

Listen more, be more curious. I am an adult, I am a child, I am women, I am old looking down, I am young looking up, I am knocked out by the sky and the people around me. I am trying. I am at the beginning. 

I am committed to loving-kindness. I’m committed to living a life that is present, grateful, joyful, helpful to the people I connect with. Why? It starts with me. I want to grow my knowledge and experience, learn to love better and share it with everyone I come into contact with. When I fundamentally shift how I move through the world, I change the world for the better. I leave the places I go better, and when I don’t, I own it and do better next time. Get love and give it back. I already have everything I need. 

June. July. August. Months of ignoring my intuition because of attachment. 

But at least in my bad dreams now, I’m fighting back. 

The work of sitting with the ambiguity continues. Is this the right job? The right person? The right life?

There’s a part of me that feels so lost without the crisis to guide me.

The good life is anywhere. 

Intense feelings of rejection/fear of being abandoned/insecurity. So much uncertainty. 

I think we were both enamored with the ideas of what we could be to each other, and neither of our ideas were based on reality. 

I spend too much time away and get to forgetting how I need these people who make my life wonderful in my life. 

Being out in lovely places in nature reminded me how happy I am in nature, in green. I love the woods, love trees…Place is important, people are important and I can be happy anywhere. 

It’s not what you do that counts, it’s the quality of your attention.

The only way to resolve all violence is to give up your story. We are not our stories.

When we focus on what is being observed, felt and needed rather than diagnosing and judging, we discover the depths of our own compassion. -Non-Violent Communication

Looking through backpacks from elementary school, a reminder that I was also a happy kid with a healthy self-esteem.

Suffering ends where gratitude begins.

“Now I’m always at the beginning. I have a reset button and I ride that button constantly.” -Jim Carrey

I’ve stumbled and fallen over the past handful of weeks and thought I know I’m strong enough to pull myself back up, I let myself fall into the arms of my family, chosen and biological. I could do it alone, but it’s so much harder. “We don’t have to do it alone. We were never meant to.” Brene Brown

There is a real danger in spending time with people who being relationship with make your world smaller.

Be strong. Be gracious. Nothing is unending. No feeling is final. Just keep going. I’m proud of my upbeat attitude. It is not an accident. 

Go into the world with courage and loving-kindness with an open heart and wide awareness and a humbling gratitude for this sacredness of being given this moment, this day. 

You were born good. We were made to help each other and be good to each other. We wouldn’t have survived otherwise. 

 He feels like a home, like opening the door to a place I’ve been looking for but didn’t realize until I walked through. I look in his eyes and I can stay in his eyes without discomfort. He feels like love, like a love I can trust, like a place I can come back to again and again. If I showed up at a strange time, the door would be unlocked, this is a truth I know without fear. 

I’m humbled by the passing of time. It goes without any human interference, stops for no one or nothing. 

“You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” -Marcus Aurelius

“Let up prepare our minds as if we’ve come to the very end of life. Let us postpone thinking. Let us balance life’s books each day…The one who puts the finishing touches on their life is never short on time.” -Seneca

I’m so stimulated, my creativity, my spirituality, awareness, attention, embodiment. It’s tiring at times, but then I have nights like tonight when I feel so plugged in, like I’ve gotten a glimpse behind the veil that’s been hanging over my eyes my entire life. Heady, sensitive, overwhelmed, HERE, gloriously here.

This kind of love that nourishes and excites, understands and pushes, that makes sense. 

Quiet the mind. Open the heart.

I am alone and I am happy. And I bring him along, and I am happy. I am with others without him, and I am happy. “Wherever I go you go, my dear.” Even in my most alone, I come back to you, full of secrets to be shared, truths to unfold for you unfurling from the palm of my hand, these bright jewels I carried for me, and you, and them too. For all of us, I love you. And suddenly, a truth. My love for you is the love for my brother is the love for my neighbor is the love for a stranger. My body yearns for you in a different way, But the love is both the same and always changing, you are a beautiful paradox, love and light and learning and beauty. You don’t complete me, but with you, I’m alive in a way I’ve never known before. With you, I can understand things in a way I didn’t before. You help me make the past anew.

“Life is long if you know how to use it.” -Seneca

Catching up on Daily Stoic, asking myself am I taking the time to ask: Who am I? What is important to me? What do I like? What do I need?

Today is the greatest day. Write that on my heart, every day.

GRATITUDE.

GRATITUDE.

GRATITUDE.

What if we could all believe our 8-year-old-self was, is, Precious. Wonderful. Magnificent. Friendly. Nice. Worthy.

What if we could all believe our current self is, Precious. Wonderful. Magnificent. Friendly. Nice. Worthy.

At least for today, I can believe that the reward for someone as lovely as the little girl on the poster is worth 5,000,000,8, and so much more.

What are two words that describe beautiful qualities you had, have, as a child? That you have in this moment? You could write them down, or look at yourself in the mirror and say it to yourself.

I am, I am, I am.

You are, you are, you are.

🙂

Have you ever known someone who found you?

Once upon a time, a littlest brother was born. He was blonde-haired blue-eyed wild. Memories are hazy, photos tell a story. I’ll keep you safe, you can hide behind me, I’m big enough for the both of us, I said. He was the kind of favorite you don’t mind too much because he’s yours too.

A lot of years passed. Stumbling lost at a sprint through a dark, dark wood kind of dog years, forever in a night, I thought this was finally the right turn so how did I end up here kind of years.

Once upon a time, a littlest brother said, I’ll help you, you can follow me, I’m healing myself for all of us.

The littlest brother didn’t need to hide anymore because he had found a way to the heart of the forest, where no one had to be big enough for the both, where you could be loved no matter what kind of years you had.

What will I need to wear to get there? Come just as you are.

What if the heart of the forest doesn’t like what it sees? Impossible.

How do you know? Trust me like I trusted you.

How will I know the way? Take my hand.

I think about forgiveness a lot.

I’ve done a lot of forgiving in the past two years, of myself and others. Big forgiveness, the kind that shakes you as it leaves you and is given to another.

The kind of forgiveness that hurts, because it undoes the anger, fear and shame intertwined with the insides of my chest tightening to hold on, because familiar pain is preferable to the unknown.

I think that’s one of the things I don’t hear as often about forgiveness. It actually does hurt, to forgive. It’s hard to let go of the harm someone has done to you. It was for me, and it is still. I lose part of my story when I let that go of harm. Most of my life, harm and trauma have been an integral part of my story, my identity, how I oriented to the world. Not just through my conscious narrative, but my unconscious as well, even my physiology. I was living a paradox, sleepwalking through my life extremely reactive, moving constantly and as quickly as I could through chaos so I never had to STOP.

Reacting keeps you from being able to understand.

Sleepwalking keeps you lost in your stories.

To forgive, you have to understand. You have to be able to see. To step back from the reaction and see what’s there, in that space Viktor Frankl wrote about, the one between stimulus and response. He says that’s where growth and freedom lie. That’s where forgiveness lives too, I’ve come to know.

Another thing I don’t hear too often about forgiveness is that it’s not only a process, deeper the deeper the harm, but it’s also something that doesn’t just end. Even if I forgive someone who has hurt me, truly, with my whole body and intellect and heart, I have to tend that forgiveness like a patch of garden.

I think part of this is because that as we change, our understanding changes and hopefully grows, and we realize there’s another layer to the forgiveness that we thought we had fully given. The depths of the forgiveness I have capacity to give grow the more compassion and loving-kindness I cultivate in myself.

It’s humbling to realize, over and over, that I am not nearly as kind or loving or compassionate as I need to be, and that I can be. I get overwhelmed sometimes, and frustrated, when I’ve told myself a story that I’ve reached the end of my negative energy with someone, only to find there are more weeds in my garden of forgiveness. But, then I remember, for me there is no Eden, there is only heaven on earth in the moment of this, and to experience the gift of being able to continue to learn how to forgive is paradise.

The last thing I want to share is something more practical, and the most helpful practice I’ve learned for cultivating love and compassion for someone who was incredibly harmful to me.

This is how I started, and what I go back to when I feel the weeds furl about the ankles of my understanding. I see him as a child. I don’t know what he actually looks like as child, but I see his true nature, his innocence and his desire to love, to be loved, to be in wonder. When I can see him like that, my chest becomes less tight. I can pull him close, hold his face in my hands and tell him I see him as he is, as he always has been. Forgiveness is not about absolving accountability. It’s a gift, for me, for him, and for the world.

Thich Nhat Hanh said, “Happiness is here. Help yourself to it.”

I’m not sure of the exact time, but it’s still dark and the dumb one who wears clothes and my feeder still sleep. It’s time for me to wake.

Sigh. This is the most difficult time for me, when I yearn most to run with the noises of the night, to feel the moonlight beckon with its intrigue. I long to feel the dirt between my toes, to roll amidst the scents of the outside, to slink in the shadows to pounce on my prey, to slither under fences with my belly brushing the ground.

Instead, I stand here on this washing machine, only able to stare out the window into the backyard of promise, the backyard of my dreams. It isn’t fair! It isn’t right! A cruel trick, to be locked in this prison! If only I had never known this taste of relying solely on myself for survival. I could be satisfied, like the one who barks with no brain, happy to follow whatever rules my feeder sets down.

I sit down and let my mind drift back to more wild days, picking the litter off the pads of my paws absentmindedly. It was a hard life, but it was a free one, before I was picked up off the streets of Beirut. First to a room with so many other “strays” like me, then to my feeder and the man. We lived in many places, and I escaped often. I had my ongoing feud with a rat larger than me to keep me sharp when we lived on a rooftop, my balconies I would leap from to keep my muscles taut when we lived on a second floor.

Of course, even then, there were darker days. The long journeys I endured in a crate, in a bag, forced to urinate on a pad. The day I was given a shot and woke up without crucial parts of my body. The instability of not having a home or a routine or a place to hide from the world and gather my thoughts.

My feeder was often anxious and sad then, relying on me for her sense of belonging and comfort. A tough job for me, unused to having to care for others than myself. The humans have this expectation of animals, it seems, to be drawn to them when they feel this way. I am a cat of the street! My learning curve is long with things of this nature, and my motivation to apply it is low. I did my best in those days, but I can’t be depended on. This is what the one who rolls in shit is for.

I hear a scurry outside the window to yank me from my nostalgia. I leap at the window with the full force of my two front paws to see, scan the perimeter. Nothing. Oh! If only I could make my way out there. I let out a yowl of pain. The unbearable heaviness of this life.

If I must be up and unable to rest, the others shouldn’t either. I jump down from the washing machine, and quickly make my way to the bedroom, and up onto the bookshelf. I usually start with the earrings and move on from there. Oh, but she left some glasses up here this night, and a roll of tape.

I love the way this tape rolls. Tap, tap, tap. I hear movement from the bed. “Fitz, stop it! Get down, right now.” I slap it with all my might, and watch it soar onto the ground and roll satisfyingly to a stop in front of my cardboard scratcher. I move onto the glasses. I tap them quick, once, twice, and then a slap. Crash. “FITZ!” She jumps out of bed, but I’m much too fast to be caught. This is the fun part though, to let her get close, before I take a jump, land on the bed and streak out of the room to the front of the house. She doesn’t follow. She must be very tired.

I chew on some low-hanging pine needles and knock a few things hanging from strings on the tree down. It’s not the outside, but the subtle smell of nature calms me. I realize despite my love of the night air on my fur, right now, I long for the nook next to my feeder’s legs. I wait long enough for all to be still again in the house.

I’m not sure of the exact time, but it gets lighter by the minute. It’s time for me to sleep.

I spent most of my 20s away from my family, friends, familiar places. My mother’s mother, my Nana, was one of many beautiful people in my life I missed deeply during that time. I sent her postcards over the years from the places I lived and traveled in, and today, those postcards were returned to me.

I read through the pile once and was moved by the hope, and the pain, of trying to find my way. In a few sentences, I would try to both excite my grandma and tell her how I was feeling, what I was seeing. A whole new world, just like Papa had taught us about when we were growing up. I was finally getting to see it with my own two eyes, walk those unfamiliar paths with my own two feet.

I left out most of the postcards, but I included the first, and the last. Together they all tell a story.

It’s a story of many moments in time. It’s a story to teach, to remember and remind and reflect on how far I’ve come. How far we’ve come. I remember my innocence, and I honor it. I am reminded that the uncertainty of what to do next, where to go, how to start, never goes away. And I reflect that the fact that we still are asking the questions, and inviting in the uncertainty, means a whole lot indeed. To me, that’s where we can find a truth. All of it is still in me.

I meant to end up in New Orleans once, as a journalist, after swearing I’d never teach again. I moved to the Middle East, and was sure I’d never move back to the States. And I moved to New Orleans years later, to work as an elementary school teacher.

“All of life is a coming home…how small you can feel and how far away home can be. Home. The dictionary defines it as both a place of origin and a goal or destination. And the storm? The storm was all in my mind. Or as the poet Dante put it: ‘In the middle of my journey, I found myself in a dark wood, for I had lost the right path. Eventually, I would find the right path, but in the most unlikely place.”

“Look with your heart and your head, he tells me, his own head bowed. It’s out there right in front of you. You’ll know it when you get there.” -Jacqueline Woodson, Brown Girl Dreaming

You just never know.

“Forgiveness is an act of generosity. It requires that we place releasing someone else from the prison of their guilt or anguish over our feelings of outrage or anger. By forgiving we clear a path on the way to love. It is a gesture of respect. True forgiveness requires that we understand the negative actions of another.” -bell hooks, all about love

Forgiveness, I’ve learned, is the most joyous gift of all. It’s freedom.

A shadow forms on the wall,

caught my eye with golden light.

What lies beyond the slanted door,

makes my heart grow tight.