Missing Green

It is the last day of the year, and in my head are visions of couples, toasting the new year, dressed in fancy dress, surrounded by the energy of being together, not alone. Too often, I feel alone, alone in my thoughts, feelings, fears and even at times, alone in my happiness and contentment. 

When I was raising my daughters without their dad, and without a partner, I felt poignantly, the aloneness of not having someone to share their wonderful little lives with. Someone who would love them and delight in them the same way I did. Now that they are all adults, we can share our love and delight in and for each other. 

Still, this time of year, especially right at the end of the holidays, I am sad and lonely, and I think I realized this morning that the reason for this is that I am missing green. I know that I miss warmth, I miss early morning daylight, and I miss breezes, feeling them on my skin, and hearing the sound of wind through trees, windows, against curtains. But also, I miss green. I miss green trees, green grass, green flower stalks that burst forth with pinks, yellows, crimson. 

For a few more months, we will be like Dorothy in Kansas, not Oz. Brown, gray, cold, still, dark. I will hold on waiting for green. 

Christmastime is Here

The World has not Ended, Christmastime is Here, and Is it OK to be Happy? 

I woke up tired, it might be the hot flashes that are my new nightly experience, it might be that it’s been a long week, and a busy year, it also might be that kind of bone tired, when you realize that the worst really has not happened, there is tragedy in our news, but the world is still here, I saw the sliver of the moon lighting up the clouds last night when I got home about 9 pm, and felt the cold breeze through the window that I threw open around 2 am. It could also be relief, that the last of the Christmas presents that I ordered online just Sunday arrived yesterday, I love online shopping. So, in spite of being tired, I want to be able to enjoy the holidays this year. Really, to just relax and sink into being grateful, and happy. 

Can we be happy at this holiday time of year? I mean, really, is it OK? Can we be happy with what little or alot we have, can we be happy that the kids are either out of school, or home for the holidays, whether we like who they are dating or the fact that they might be out of work? Seriously, can we just be who we are, and celebrate that? I’m talking about letting go of the Martha Stewart family perfection that the media portrays this time of year. 

I’m lucky, I don’t have television, so I’m not subjected to the commercials that show families with perfect complexions, wearing brand new clothes, living in perfect homes any more, but I remember them from a long time ago when I watched television, and internalized the crazy idea that this might somehow be true. In case you’re still unconvinced, let me tell you, it’s not, and from what I know, those attempting to live this life of family perfection are miserable. There you have it, perfection is impossible, and the attempt of it leads to misery. 

What then? Love the ones you’re with, an old hippie phrase from Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, but apt. When you let go of the expectations of perfection, or actually, expectations of any kind, it lets real relationship blossom, and it will. Let go of who you think others should be, let go of what the holidays used to mean, or you think they should mean, use your imagination and let the holidays become for you what you want them to be, and then embrace it. This is your life, your time, you can celebrate that Jesus was born, you can celebrate that the lamps are still burning, you can celebrate that you have food to share, whatever brings meaning to your life, celebrate it. 

Years ago, I had a nativity set that I put out at this time of year, if I am honest, I will say that I put it out for my girls, so that they would know that this time of year was not really about Santa, (although I would take them downtown to sit on Santa’s lap), but about Jesus being born. When I was a child, I knew Christmas was about Jesus, and going to church, although I looked forward to getting a flannel nightie from my older sister, this I could count on, the gifts I got from Santa could be iffy, they may or may not be something I liked or wanted, and then I would not only feel disappointed, but also guilty, ungrateful and this combination of emotions was toxic. My oldest sister’s presence and her soft gift, consoled me. 

Now, this nativity set, a pretty set, from Italy, is in the trunk of my car. Baby Jesus’ hand is broken off, but you can hide that flaw in the straw around him. I was going to donate this set somewhere, that is why it’s in my trunk, but I don’t know of anyplace to bring it. So now, I contemplate bringing it in the house, setting it up, a reminder of what Christmas used to mean to me. What can I take with, bring into the future of this? Perhaps what it is, which I know my parents gave me when they shared their faith, is that this was a passing down of their best interpretation of how life works. I know that this was more than interpretation to my dad, especially, it was his hold on a tenuous life. My mom, too, holds onto her prayer life, telling me, often, that she is praying for all of us, holding out hope, holding out her best, holding her children in this tender, ephemeral web of love. Do we really need to keep trying to work out when the world will end? Do we really need to keep trying to work out how to live? Can we say we get it, yet? Can we be present, and grateful and happy?

snow day, slow tempo

The snow continues to fall, they’ve given the storm a name, which I think is silly twice, once, for naming the snowstorm, and twice for the silliness of the name “they” whomever, they are, have chosen. So, I am spending the day snowbound. Held by snow. The day becomes an exercise in slowness, as I read thoughtfully through the book by Carl Honore, In Praise of Slowness: Challenging the Cult of Speed.  

I am letting the idea of slow sink in, gently, like the snow falling. And now, as I write, I am listening to Beethoven, played slowly, by pianist Uwe Kliemt, who Honore interviews in the book. The listening takes me away, and I am writing, slow. I type, and then close my eyes to hear the notes, slowly, the music takes me in, in a way that the faster played piece never has. I am enchanted by the unknowing of the rate of the tempo that many classical pieces were written in, the metronome wasn't invented until the early 19th century. So, we have to ask then, how slow is adagio? 

My deliberate attempt to live more slowly started with my meditation practice, years ago now, and it continues, as I savor a cup of coffee, as I drive at times with no music on. As I tell myself to open my heart, as I'm listening to someone else, to stop the chatter in my head that takes me out of the moment and on to what I think is the next thing I have to do. I am finding in this book on slowness, that I am not alone in my quest for more quiet, for more slow, for less speed. It is snowing, it is beautiful, and slow. 

Holding Steady

On this journey of becoming a therapist, I go into the world, but I also continue to go deeper into myself, and continue to understand how we all hold together. I started a new supervision group for therapists, a place where we meet with a trusted, wiser therapist to share cases or struggles with the profession, and to share our joys, and insights also. Of the three women who were being supervised, we found something in common that we’d not been able to share before, the experience of being shamed for what we knew or know. I don’t know if this is a phenomena more likely to happen to women, or if it is universal, but when we were able to share about this, it was cathartic. 

Our supervisor, wise man that he is, was able to attune to this, and affirm that we are often wise as children, and have innate gifts as children that often aren’t recognized. That way that children have of seeing truth, just as it is, without judgment or, in the case of hypocrisy, which children often recognize, with right judgement. So, what happens to children when they continually hear, “How dare you know,” or “You did not see that,” or “Oh no, this didn’t happen, and don’t tell.” And I’m not just talking about blatant cases of abuse, but of that subtle knowing that children have that can scare and unnerve adults. So, the adults in their lives deny this, and let children know, this is not something to talk about.  

As we shared our stories of knowing and hiding what we knew and know, we grew to understand ourselves and each other better, to create a place where the gifts that we’ve carried and hidden for so long could come out into the light and be celebrated. The gifts of discernment, of knowing, of seeing, of clarity, of empathy, of compassion, the gifts that somehow brought us into the profession, that we could unwrap and wonder over, safely together. See, and be seen, hold and be held. 

I Will Be Shamed for What I Know No More 

no more she cried

as if to endure

any longer

the being small

the being afraid

would implode

into a million sparkling fragments

of knowing

what the stars held

that made up her being

that she continued to try

to conceal

with every breath

finally she knew

what she had known all along

no shame could contain her

or the vastness of her knowing

So she traveled on, 

To find a home 

a language that 

held enough words

to describe the many worlds

To talk freely of the places she had traveled

Magical things she had seen

The star dust that made up the lives 

of those she encountered

“I see the sparkles she cried,” 

but those around her had told her

“There are no sparkles, only the dust of flesh.”

“I am sure we are all holy,” she knew, but was 

admonished, “No, that cannot be, only some are holy.”

This is the lie that I call out. 

And so with this, it made me realize, that I have carried and protected my child knowing for all these years, a wise child who guides me, who holds me steady, fearless, still seeing the sparkles, still knowing that we are made up of the dust of stars, the rush of the ocean, the freshness of the wind on a spring day, and that we are all holy.