epitome? me?

I stayed up late last night (early this morning) preparing a DVD slideshow for the students I worked with in West Vancouver, my Living Inquiry students. I wanted to give them something lasting to remember this year's work so I burned a DVD for each student. Burning twenty-five DVDs might seem a tedious task, but it wasn't really that bad-- it was a chance to spend a bit more time with each wonderful child, thinking of the pleasure they'd take in watching the disk now or ten years from now. It was fun to wonder what would become of each one, imagining how Living Inquiry had influenced their view of the world. I did not expect that I'd come home today with twenty-five Living Inquiry mementos of my own...

It was the "wrap session" for the year, the last hour of school for the class, many of whom will move on to high school next fall. It was pretty emotional. We watched the slideshow together and congratulated eachother on our Living Inquiry work. Then everyone had a chance to talk about how they felt about the year coming to a close. Living Inquiry came up as a favourite for a lot of the kids. How rewarding! After the talking stick had made its way around the sharing circle, I was presented with a thank-you card (most of them handmade) from each student, and a Spa Utopia gift certificate. I'm sure I'll enjoy the spa, but the many positive comments the students made in their cards are, by far, the richer gift:

"Living Inquiry has been the best school experience so far this year. I don't think I did anything more meaningful, fun, or peaceful this year."

"When I met with you to look over my work, your questions and comments pushed my creativity level and made my work a lot more meaningful and original."

"Living Inquiry has probably been one of the things that made me realize my actions, and how dumb and unthoughtful they can be. I know you're not the main teacher, but you've proven that the most reflective thing can make a difference."

"You are a big inspiration to me and my peers. I admire your passion towards us (as students) and your thoughts and wonders about our world that we are living in each and every day. I really hope that I get to enjoy this course with you next year and be surrounded with your great energy once again."

"You have changed me. You have changed us. With your passion, your curiosity, your wisdom, you are the epitome of Living Inquiry. And I will always remember. Always."


For someone who's been feeling rather like the epitome of basket cases lately, this was all mighty encouraging.

Enough?

It was a tough day, but I managed to enjoy the promise and pride of a class of Grade Seven students on the occasion of their official promotion to high school at their graduation ceremony today. I also pulled it together enough to enjoy an outdoor prenatal photo session with a new client, in the lush greenery of the Baden-Powell Trail today. And I enjoyed another (perhaps the last?) round of hide-and-seek with my beloved R and E.

I'm not doing well at bashing through the Wall of Dread to let the memory of California sunshine flood into the stresses and griefs I found waiting for me upon my return. Still, I'll keep trying.

enough

Today was my last full day away. We (C, G, and I) drove down the coast to Carmel, spent a few hours at the beach in Los Lobos National Park, took a mini-hike in the same park, and then went to Monterey for dinner at an all-American diner complete with stars-and-stripes flag toothpicks. It was a great day, with loads of fresh air and sunshine, great company, and time to play. I was barefoot on the beach, walking in the surf, feeling the wind against my skin. Perfect.

I'm particularly proud of myself for beating back end-of-holiday dread this morning. This is the dread that often shortens my holidays by a full day or two. I woke up this morning feeling anxious about all that faces me when I get back, all that I've put on hold for the last week and a half, the to-do list I have to launch into. The analogy that comes to mind is the oft repeated scene in the old TV series, 'Get Smart', when Agent 99 and Agent 86 get caught in a room that, like a giant trash compactor, slowly but determinedly closes in on them. This morning I felt that wall coming closer and closer, threatening to crush the potential pleasure of my last day here under the weight of the work and obligations and responsibilities that wait for me. I decided it was time for a major effort to embrace the Sacrament of the Present Moment, and stay in California today rather than wander the dark, worry-rideen corridors of my mind and miss out on all the great scenery. Thanks be to God, I did it. Like I said, it was a great day.

On the drive home, having watched the sun set over the velvet hills of Northern California, feeling the effects of all that fresh air and sunshine, and enjoying a conversation with my friend of many years, we ended up talking about how I'm not really ready to go home and she's not really ready for me to go. We decided this was the best way for it to be-- certainly better than either of us feeling like I'd overstayed my welcome. Earlier in the drive, we'd talked a bit about Spark Guy and how, even if things never really develop for me in that relationship, it is somehow enough to know that there are guys out there that I can still connect with at that level. In the same way, even though I have to end this vacation far sooner than I'd like, even though I don't feel fully restored and ready to take on the world again, it's somehow enough to have had this fabulous interlude. My time here has been a reminder of what it feels like to not rush about, to savour a relaxed hour, to not be the one making all the decisions, to skip the endless "to do" lists for a little while. More would be good. More would be great. But knowing that I had this time, with this friend, in this place, is also enough to keep me going for a while.

I'm going to press back that wall of dread. I want to bash a sledgehammer through that wall and let some of this relaxation and delicious pause seep into my post-holiday life. I'm adding this to the goals of building a buffer zone, finding time for writing, and being round again. Who knows? I pushed the wall of dread back today. Maybe I can do it tomorrow, too. I really only have to push it back one moment at a time. That's enough.

the eyes of the heart

"Our whole business in this life," wrote Saint Augustine, "is to restore to health the eye of the heart whereby God may be seen."

That's all for tonight. It's enough, don't you think?

the valley of the heart's delight

Before Silicon Valley was known as Silicon Valley, it was known as the Valley of the Heart's Delight. It was a reference to the agricultural abundance of the area. The region bears the fruits of another kind of abundance now, but it still has heart. I've had the privilege of seeing some of its heart in the Charles Street Community Gardens lately-- neighbours helping neighbours, everyone coming together around the joys and challenges of organic gardening in the city. C and I spent most of the day today in the gardens, transforming an ordinary, grey garden shed into a testament to the area's past and the community garden's present. Using the label graphics of vintage produce crates as our guide, we're painting enourmous fruits and vegetables on all sides of the shed, top to bottom. It's a big task and we're both pretty excited about it. It's a small, personal contribution to the greening of the city, bringing a little more "heart's delight" to the Valley. I'm trusting some of the bright delight will rub off on me. At the very least, I came to the end of the day today tired, hungry, happy, and covered with daubs and splatters of every colour under the sun.

[I hope to post a photo of the finished product when we're done.]

map node

You know how there are good kinds of tired? Like when you've done a hard day of physical labour and you know you've given your all, for example. I was reminded today of another good kind of tired that doesn't involve physical labour at all. It's the kind of tired you get when you've been on a road trip... It's a hot day, so the windows are down and your hair blows around like crazy and you feel like putting your feet up on the dashboard, just because you can. You're with a good friend that you don't get to see much and it's just the two of you and you talk and talk and talk, over the sound of the wind whipping around in the car. And the dry, rugged hills of Northern California flash by as you adjust your visor to block the sun which seems to dance around you as the road twists and turns. And you play with the air vents to get the cooler air to your hot spots, just so. You pull over to take photos of the feeble little clusters of baby grapes that will one day be served up as wine in pretentious tasting rooms, and the whole things seems simultaneously simple and ludicrous. You stop for lunch at a fabulous little restaurant where you get to sit under enormous canvas umbrellas and feel the breeze come up the Napa Valley to cool your body, just right, like God's directing the air vents just for you. And you eat yummy food and drink Pinot Blanc and laugh when the wind whips the linen napkin off your lap, and smile when the handsome waiter brings another napkin almost before the first one hits the ground. And you're full of good things, like memories and dreams and friendship and grilled asparagus and prociutto. And your friend is also relaxed and full and tired-- which is a feeling more intoxicating than the single glass of Pinot Blanc consumed with lunch-- so relaxed that her tongue trips a bit and the 'm' and the 'n' change places so that she declares she's in map node, not nap mode and you both laugh like it's the funniest thing you've ever heard. Yup. That's a good kind of tired.

glimmers

I did not have to rush today. Sure there were things to do, and even trains to catch, but there was lots of time. I think that was the most beautiful thing about today: Not only was there enough time, but I was aware that there was enough time. I strolled. Walking determinedly (my usual M.O.) gets me places, but strolling is a far more luxuriant way to go.

If that were not lovely enough, I also met a fine man today, a good man, a lovely man. My friend, C, recommended I meet with her friend, Scott, to converse about our mutual dating experience. The goal was to spark anew my writing fervour, to get back on track with the novel that's been sitting on the back burner for almost a year now. Mission accomplished. My fingers are fairly itching to get back to it. This is as much because Scott shared helpful male insight and some great material as because we also talked frankly and passionately about following dreams and pursuing our passions. He helped me remember that I loved writing and love writing still and I feel motivated to make sure that becomes part of my working routines. Like building the buffer zone and carving off the edges, I'm not entirely sure how I'll add writing time, but it's still a worthy goal. It would be most honest to add that I left the meeting with Scott enthusiastic about getting back to my writing, and also a little sad that Scott is not currently single. He really is lovely.

I also finished reading the Italy section of Eat, Pray, Love. Elizabeth Gilbert gained twenty-three pounds enjoying Italy, so you can guess there was a lot of food prose to enjoy. This is part of her concluding comments on the Italian portion of the tale:

"It was in a bathtub back in New York, reading Italian words aloud from a dictionary, that I first started mending my soul. My life had gone to bits and I was so unrecognizable to myself that I probably couldn't have picked me out of a police lineup. But I felt a glimmer of happiness when I started studying Italian, and when you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times you must grab onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face-first out of the dirt-- this is not selfishness, but obligation. You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight."

Seek truth. Seek beauty.

of Italy and feeling round

I started a book today, at the recommendation of the friend I'm visiting. It's "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. I'd picked it up a couple of months ago at Book Warehouse, but put it back on the shelf in favour of something else which appealed more at the time. But now Eat, Pray, Love is in my hands again and I'm getting into it.

First of all, spending part of a lazy Sunday afternoon, on holidays, taking time to read for pleasure feels great. It's just icing on the cake if the book is also enjoyable, which this is proving to be, so far. The first clue that I'd like the writer and her writing comes in the Introduction where she writes, "Looking for Truth is not some kind of spazzy free-for-all, not even during this, the great age of the spazzy free-for-all." Excellent point, not high-brow, but casually eloquent all the same. The next clue that this is right up my alley lies in the fact that the first third of the book takes place largely in Italy. Elizabeth Gilbert writes about her experience of living there for four months, which she does because she's "drawn to the idea of living for a while in a culture where pleasure and beauty are revered." It's taking me and my imagination back to my time in Italy in 2004. That was a truly delicious time in so many ways. I came back from that holiday feeling "round"-- I felt like my crazy edges had fallen off, I felt full, ripe, lovely. Could the memory of a fabulous holiday, mediated by the writing of a kindred spirit also seeking Truth, have the same effect on my weary soul? It can't hurt.

I'll get back to my reading now, but will leave you with this little tidbit. It's the concluding sentence in a short chapter on God: "In the end, what I have come to believe about God is simple. It's like this-- I used to have this really great dog. She came from the pound. She was a mixture of about ten different breeds, but seemed to have inherited the finest features of them all. She was brown. When people asked me 'What kind of dog is that?' I would always give the same answer: 'She's a brown dog.' Similarly, when the question is raised, 'What kind of God do you believe in?' my answer is easy: 'I believe in a magnificent God.'"

lighten up

I don't feel any closer to figuring out how to build in an appropriate buffer zone between me and the edge of sanity, but I was reminded today of a lesson I learned long ago. In the intense and soul-wrenching search for a meaningful path of peace through the chaos of life, it's very important to not take oneself too seriously. The motto, Seek Truth got me much of the way through the throes of depression, but I wouldn't have made it all the way out of the pit in any meaningful way without adding a second motto: Lighten up.

I've had the privilege of hanging out quite a bit with a delightful almost-six year old over the last couple of days. The delightfulness of this small human being is shattered from time to time with what is usually referred to as "melt-downs"-- moments when she rails against the world as only a child can, with a gusto that seems to summon the angst (and volume) of a thousand wronged opera stars in the throes of badly-acted death scenes. It's big, dramatic, heartfelt, and hard to watch. It's particularly hard to watch because all you really want to say is, "Chill, kid. This is really not that big a deal." But to the child in the maelstrom of a bona fide melt-down,it IS that big a deal. Never mind that it's all about a banana served in pieces instead of served whole, or the difference between brushing teeth with the Dora toothbrush instead of the Shrek toothbrush. Clearly, taking things too seriously can really take a toll-- on yourself and on others.

So, I'm going to try to embrace "lighten up" more diligently in the coming days. I think it might be important for The Greening.

P.S. In the interest of lightening up, please take a moment to visit www.wierdconverter.com, if only to discover just how much Jennifer Aniston weighs in spider monkeys instead of pounds. I know that's more about not taking Jennifer Aniston seriously than it is about not taking yourself too seriously, but do it anyway.

the greening

Everyone needs to take a step back once in a while-- to gain a fresh perspective, to pull one's rubber boots out of the sucking mud and walk for a while on solid ground. It's important to be able to do this on a regular basis, amidst the quotidian demands we all have to deal with, by taking a walk, carving out an hour to journal, meeting a trusted friend to debrief. But I've found that when things are particularly mucky, it's useful (maybe even necessary) to involve ferries or planes in the "stepping back" process. By God's good grace I planned a trip to California long before I guessed I'd need that kind of a step back. Having been more than a little neglectful in posting daily of late, I will make an effort to do this again, to keep myself focused on what I hope will be a greening process or sorts.

Entry One:

On the morning of the day I flew to California, I took the time to walk the tidal flats with a wise friend. It was a particularly low tide (lowest at 11:11) and it's something we do together when we can. Over the course of our mud flats conversation, I had a revelation: It's not enough to cope, you have to build in a buffer. Let me try to explain.

In the early spring, I was coasting along with a demanding work schedule, but still felt reasonably confident about adding the demands of dating to the mix. I felt good about it for the most part, and was congratulating myself on being able to cope with the mental, physical and emotional demands of it all. I was swimming along, treading water at times, keeping my head above water in the swimming pool of my own choices. Hah! I was unknowingly suffering under the illusion of control. I had fabricated a swimming pool reality for myself, forgetting that I live in a great big ocean, where I control neither the tides nor the winds nor the waves. So, when the circumstances of grief and loss rose up around me unexpectedly, it wasn't enough that I was capable of keeping my head above water in the swimming pool of my delusion, telling my self, "I'm an excellent swimmer." I'm like Dustin Hoffman's Rainman, having never driven beyond the confines of his own driveway, telling his brother, "I'm an excellent driver." Tragedy makes the best comedy. Alas.

Only the fool (that's me!) believes that life is fair. While I don't think we should live in a constant state of paranoia, it's hardly appropriate to foster the illusion that life won't propel us into the pull of a random rip tide from time to time. It's what you don't expect that will kill you. The child's cry of "It's not fair!" doesn't hold any weight in the adult world. "Right, it's not fair. Deal with it." This is where the buffer comes in.

I'm going to leave behind the swimming/ocean analogy. Stand with me on the cliff overlooking the sea. The view is spectacular. The wind is coming up strong from the sea and it holds you up so that you can lean into it and feel supported and strong. It's invigorating, standing so close to the edge. Suddenly the there's a random gust of wind from the other direction. It's unexpected, except for the fact that it's the very thing that happens in that sort of setting. Get it? You'd better not be standing too close to the edge or you'd be tumbling into the rocks below. Better to be slammed down on the cliff top, belly down but with solid ground beneath you, where you can still take in the view and live to tell about that nasty gust of wind.

So. On to the question of what that buffer looks like in the real world. I've spent a lot of time living at the edge. It's practically comfortable. It's certainly familiar. I like being able to congratulate myself for living at the edge and not tumbling off into the abyss. I feel somewhat heroic about that at times. What does someone like me have to do to build in a buffer?

grief

You may have noticed that I've not been doing very well at posting every day for the last couple of weeks. This is because I have not been doing very well for the last couple of weeks. I believe that setting my focus on a moment of truth and beauty as a daily discipline is worthwhile, helpful, inspiring. But I also believe there are times when life is so hard, and my heart is so heavy, that even though I know not all is bad and even though I know there is beauty in the middle of all the tough stuff, sometimes my fingers are made of lead and my heart is just a bucket of rusted nails and nothing can make me sit down at the computer to write something lovely. Sometimes the unlovely stuff wins. I hate that.

I don't like that I've spent most of my life walking close to the edge, teetering on the tipping point between feeling good and feeling lost and sad and overwhelmed, but mostly I'm pretty proud of how good I've gotten at beating the black dogs of depression from the door. I've discovered lately, though, that depression has a cousin named grief and she's a nasty piece of work. I have tools for the battle depression, but no real strategy for grief. Depression is a lot about perspective, fixing your focus, keeping your mind from doing the Dance Macabre at every turn. But grief strikes when circumstances beyond your control shift your world, and it doesn't much matter from what angle you view the situation, it looks the same-- something is gone, something that gave you joy now gives you pain, what was is no longer, full stop.

Time, they tell me, I need time. The way I see it, with all these layers of loss weighing me down, I need to build muscle, first to carry the loss and then to cast it off. Does time build muscle? Do I just keep thowing at grief the things I throw at depression and hope for the best? Is grief the hysterical toddler of the emotional life and I just have to let her scream it out until she falls, exhausted, into sleep? Sigh. Probably.

zomig

I haven't had a migraine for several months, but have been doing battle for two days with the latest most evil manifestation of head pain. I suppose the first point is that I am currently thankful for the migraine-free period I didn't fully appreciate until now. The second point is that yesterday I got some relief from my favourite selective 5-hydroxytryptamine 1 (5-HT 1B/1D) receptor agonist, zolmitriptan. It's nickname is Zomig and we're friends. I just took another one and hope it affords me some relief and a good night's sleep. Zomig does a little dance with my intracranial blood vessels (including the arterio-venous anastamoses) and the sensory nerves of the trigeminal system. Basically, it fights against the cranial vessel constriction and inhibits pro-inflammatory neuropeptide release. Inflammatory neoropeptide release is a real pain, but kind of fun to say out loud. Here's hoping sweet Zomig is getting to work even now.

brief and belated

I've been working hard to keep my head above water for the last few days. Even though the discipline of making a truth-and-beauty blog entry is part of my sanity strategy, even that was too much for me. With extreme work hours, devastating news from a few directions, high expectations, hormonal fluxuations and threatening migraines, I'm maxed. I've been feeling like I'm at the end of my rope, running out of steam, burning out, falling apart-- all at the same time. Interestingly enough, I'm not depressed. Though I'm not sure how 'interesting' it is for me to discover that I can experience the same kind of sickness symptoms-- in mind, body and soul-- for completely different reasons. I conclude that it's not very interesting at all.

Here are my brief and belated truth-and-beauty notes for the last few days:

Sunday, June 3: An unexpected visit from my sweet R, complete with enormous hug and extended cuddle.

Monday, June 4: A friend called me because she was sure I'd understand what she's going through right now. I did. And she understood me and what I'm going through. It's good to be understood. If you're treadiing water in the middle of the ocean and are afraid of drowning, it's good to have someone to talk to, to hold out hope with you.

Tuesday, June 5: The Living Inquiry exhibit was a huge success. The kids were thrilled, their parents were pleased and proud, guests were amazed and impressed, and I made some great connections to further that part of my work.

dreams

A quick note on a select moment of truth and beauty, after a very, very long day. I shot a wedding today-- hard work, long hours, harsh light, but with lovely people. Covering a wedding means constantly being in tune with the people involved, with the choices they make in putting together a special day. It means putting myself in the shoes of the couple and their family, to tell their unique story. Apart from making sure I'm hydrated and my blood sugar doesn't dip too low-- and even that is about being of good service to others-- my thoughts are not on me much at all. But I have to say, I got choked up during the reception when the groom said his toast: "I'm so happy. The day has been better than I could have imagined. I have married the woman of my dreams and I look forward to spending the rest of my life with her." He was so deeply sincere. There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. Tears rose in my own eyes, and a crazy mix of awe and desire rose in my heart. It feels like a miracle for a person to feel that way about another person. It was good to see evidence of that kind of love.

sherry

I got a sherry education from a sommelier friend this evening. I've never been a sherry fan, but that's just because I never knew that to make it work you need the right combination of flavours surrounding the experience of the sip. It's not unlike the interplay of salt, lemon, and tequila, and yet... well... let's just say it's a little more sophisticated than the tequila shooter experience.

It starts with a beautiful green olive. Pull the flesh from the pit and savour the saltiness. Then bite into a roasted, blanched, salted almond or two. Savour the texture, the smooth, rich flavour and, again, the saltiness. Then and only then, put to your lips a glass of Gonzalez Byass Apostoles Muy Viejo Palo Cortado Sherry. (Yes, it's quite a mouthful in more ways than one!) Never have you tasted the like.

Other delightful pairings I had the privilege of sampling this evening: Yorkshire Stilton on baguette drizzled with fireweed honey (ecstacy!), duck rillettes served with dried pear compote, terrine of lamb, pistachio and olive served with celeriac remoulade. If you're interested in the recipes, you'll need to buy this book:



All this magnificent fare tasted better yet in the company of the chef, the winemaker, a lovely friend, a cute server, and a flight of Joie wines (Riesling, Noble Blend, Rosé). It was a great finale to a hard, hard week.