More

 The siren call of procrastination is strong. There are so many things I want to do; so many things that call out in distraction. I just got rid of social media in the hopes that my screen time in mindless scrolling would be replaced by screen time writing... but it's so much more than screen time that distracts me.

It's puttering around the house, doing laundry when I should be writing. It's calling a friend when I don't want to tackle my to-do list. It's curling up with a second cup of coffee when I could be going out for a run. It's signing up for a dating app instead of heading to the beach to read.

But...

I'm making progress.

My whole life I've told myself that I am doing it wrong, but the reality must be different because if everything was so wrong, and if my procrastination was truly so awful, I wouldn't have accomplished as much as I have. I have to remind myself of this all the time: I'm not so bad! But the flip side of it is that right now I'm filled with the longing for more. I want more.

Since my divorce, I've reinvented myself several times, and many of those inventions were for the sake of survival: if a lion is chasing you, you reinvent yourself as a runner. With every reinvention, I got closer to who I want to be. The divorce itself was a commitment to stop putting myself last in life, to demand more for myself. My first job, in business development for a jeweler, was a reminder that I was capable of supporting myself and Tessa, and that I had something to offer an employer. (I doubled that business, and remain proud of it.) My next job was to remind myself that I wanted to give back to the world, and a food bank was a great place for that. The next job was to prove that I was a leader. In both of those positions in non-profit, I proved myself, hit donation numbers they'd never seen, improved systems and processes, and I was proud. But it wasn't enough. I wanted more. In teaching I find myself in a whole new way, and the bliss of using my degrees for their intended purposes is a luxury and an astonishment. I feel sure that I've been doing what I'm supposed to do.

And there's Tessa.

I have truly and honestly done my best with mothering her. I have fallen short, absolutely, more times than I can count, but I also have faith that between us there is something good and true, and that she has received what she needed from me. We're still growing and learning together, and I am so proud of the two of us. She found her fire to head to a four year college, and I found a way to make it happen. When she goes out in the world, she will take me with her: she will never doubt, not for one second, that she is loved, worthy, supported. She will never question my desire to do right by her. She will forgive me, not because I am worthy of forgiveness or because she is saintly, but because she is generous and because I know how to admit it when I'm wrong and to change my behavior.

Tessa and I are well.

So, with work going well, and with Tessa and I in a good place as she launches the nest... I want more. I want to change our relationship into one between two women, not a woman and a girl, even as we both acknowledge that no matter her age, we are mother and daughter. I want to celebrate her as she grows, and I want to help her, and I want to let her soar on her own, and instead of reaching some new ending, I simply want more. More experiences with her, more depth, and more levels to our relationship. More. (Let it be said here, clearly and for the record: more does not mean more time. Letting her become the person she needs to be is important to me, and she needs space. I intend to give her that space.)

I'm thinking about what more means to me, beyond the two biggest things in my life (Tessa and work, in that order).

Writing.

Finances.

Love.

Fitness.

Playfulness.

In summer, it's so much easier for me to ponder the questions and to start putting them into action.

This blog is a warmup, but my real work is to write my book. Now that I've straightened out the narrator issue, I need to fight the fear and just write and write and write, and then edit and edit and edit. I just feel so sure of this book. It's my personal legend, and what I'm supposed to do. I want more. I have more to say, more to explore, and I am more than I have been and I know that writing is how I get bigger, and fully develop into myself.

I'm refinancing the house, I'm getting a raise, and I am ready to hit a new stride financially. The stay at home cancer years followed by the divorce years have been painful - but the best is yet to be. My pride at being able to help Tessa get through college is immense. It won't be easy, but it will happen. I want more out of my financial life, and I am willing to sacrifice, but I also want more: more savings, more vacation, more security. More.

I have some work to do on myself to be ready for love. I'm still processing my relationship to my family, and the messages that I internalized about myself through my family and my marriage, and I'm undoing them. I am trying to remind myself that I do not need to be rich, beautiful, have a flat stomach, or be perfect in order to be worthy of mind-boggling love and true partnership. I am committed to trying though, and I signed up on a dating app (Hinge - is it good? I don't know yet) to see. But I have more to offer in a relationship than I did a decade ago or a year ago, and I want a relationship that is so much more than I've ever experienced. I want security and adventure, companionship and challenge, laughter and tears. I want to explore, and to be at home. I want to be fearless in my love, and to be loved fiercely and fearlessly in return. It is so much more than I've allowed myself so far, but I'm ready for more.

In my life, it keeps coming back to my body: my control over it, my health, the way I feel in my skin. This summer I committed to daily exercise and I've done a great job of it, and it just feels so much better to be in my skin than it did a month ago. I'm nowhere near in shape, but I can feel my body changing (the run isn't nearly so hard as it was a month ago) as my skin's gold tones deepen in the sunshine. What is best, though, isn't that my muscles feel stronger - it's that my head feels clearer. The more often I get outside, and the more often I get my heartrate up, and the more often that I stretch my limbs to push myself, the more sure of myself I become in all ways, and I love it, and I want to experience it more. My promise to myself is to keep it going when school starts - that I will come home and switch clothes right away to take Chance out. Standing by the shore at Lincoln, Lowman, Alki, or Mee Kwa Mooks is good for my soul. I need more of what's good for my soul.

And all of this leads to a kind of playfulness. Whether that's swimming in alpine lakes, trying a new restaurant, game night, kitchen dancing, Paint & Sip, singing in the car, Shakespeare in the Park - I want to play. I want to laugh, and to feel the fulness of living. I am tired of being scrappy, or making do, or accepting my lot in life. I want more. I want to be generous, to live in an abundance of joy, hope, and laughter. I don't need to be rich, but I am done worrying about every penny, even when I need to watch my pennies. I am choosing playfulness as a new mantra. My big goofy dog leads the way - he's a good companion for me.

I want more.

I'm getting more.

I deserve more.

More is on the way.

 

And so we begin

 Today feels like the first real day of summer. 

This makes no sense, of course, except that it makes perfect sense to me. (The story of my life, in one crazy sentence!) I've been off school two weeks as of today. We've completed college orientation. The 4th - and all of the crazy illegal fireworks that terrify my dog - are done.

And now I'm ready to really dive in.

I just did a morning yoga practice (Yoga With Adriene is amazing; if you don't follow her, you should. All her videos are free on YouTube.) Of course I intended to do it at 6am when I got up. but there was the siren call of coffee, and then Susan and I had a nice long chat, and - much to my chagrin - there was some endless scrolling on social media. (I'm working on it.) But most importantly: I put my mat on the floor, lit some candles, and hit play. I did the whole thing minus a couple rounds of boat pose (I tried, really I did, but my abs said, "not yet!" and I collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles).

The practice today was about "yoga kiss" and in some of the poses Adriene said, "turn your head as if someone is kissing you on the neck" and my body woke up and the face of my crush popped into my vision and it was delightful. My mind, soul, and body are waking up. I don't know if the crush and I will ever amount to anything, but for that little moment of yoga practice I could see his smile and imagine his lips and I thought, "ohhhh maybe I really am ready for this!" Only time will tell, but whether it's him or someone else, today I knew I was closer.

I'm writing. I've committed to come here, mostly as my warm up, and my commitment to myself to put myself out there, but also my book. Sometime this spring I got really stuck on the book: it stopped making sense, and I thought I'd absolutely lost my way, but then I realized that one of my main characters was male - the voice of the past - and it didn't work, that character needs to be female to have symmetry with the voice of the present. Eureka! I'm ready to keep going now, and suddenly it feels better.

The morning air is cool and wet with the marine layer - a fine mist is in the air, even at 10am. It's supposed to burn off later today so I have plans to go paddle boarding with a friend in the sunshine, but right now it's perfect to be inside, to think about my plans, and to put some of them into action. A morning of productivity and an afternoon of fun is the best during my summer break. Chance will be pleased to know that a long walk is in his future (and for me, a long podcast). Hopefully my favorite seal will make an appearance; perhaps I'll see old man heron moving slowly along the water's edge. I've put off making appointments, but I'm ready to dive in: the annual trip to the doctor, a meeting with a refinance person. My energy is returning.

So, summer is two weeks in, but I'm just getting started. I'm ready to tackle my to-do list, and to be the person I want to be. I feel rested enough to make this happen... so here I go! I'll see you tomorrow and let you know how I'm doing, but for now, it's time for me to get moving.

Intuition

 I just hit "publish" on another post, but I have to write this, too.

I guess it's about personal journeys, and I guess it's about reinvention, so it's related. But most of all, it's about intuition.

I have developed my sense of intuition in ways that continue to surprise me. My intuition is uncanny, accurate, and it still amazes me. I don't know exactly how it came into being, or how to control it, but I do know that it feels good, and true, and right, and that it's a gift that I do not intend to squander.

I've felt it a few times in my life, but lately it comes up with greater and greater frequency.

A couple of years back, when looking for dogs on Petfinder, I saw a picture of Chance. Hundreds of dogs were on the site, but I knew he was our dog. I was so sure, as a matter of fact, that when I got the notice after applying to adopt him that said "sorry, he's already been adopted" I was quite upset: partially because I really wanted to be the one to adopt him, but even more because I had been so sure, deep in my bones, that he was my dog, and I was perplexed as to why my intuition that he was destined for our family could be wrong. Tessa's intuition is strong, too, and she was as confused as I was. "Mom," she said, "I'm going to wonder about him for the rest of my life, because I was so sure he was our dog."

A week later, we got the email saying that his new adoptive owners were returning him to rehome him, because they had toddlers and he kept knocking them over and making them cry. He WAS our dog. My intuition didn't tell me how he'd come to us, or the timeline, but I was right all along. He's on his bed, next to my desk, as I write this.

There are many examples, including the day I knew (just KNEW) that I was going to return to the classroom, the day I knew I needed to get divorced, the day I knew that my baby would be a girl... many  more.

But the most recent one was about Tessa going to college.

On the day that she told me, tearfully, that going to community college didn't feel right at all, we were at the breakfast table in our kitchen. We talked, and I heard the truth of her words. We decided to look at some colleges with rolling admissions, and the first one was Central. My friend Jeanette went there, and had been telling me for a year that it was a good fit for Tessa, but we hadn't really paid much heed. Well, on this morning we decided to watch their little intro video; we'd seen a dozen of these videos for other schools, and found them mildly interesting and informative. So there we were, in our pajamas, drinking coffee and tea, and I Googled the Central online tour, and propped my phone up on the candle as we hit play.

Within a minute of the video starting, I started crying. My whole body reacted: my skin felt a not-unpleasant prickly sensation, and my whole being just knew. Tessa looked at me with slight alarm and said, "Why are you crying?" as her own eyes filled with tears. "This is where you're going to college," I said. She said, "But you don't know that! I haven't applied or anything!"

Wiping my tears away, I said, "You can do what you think is best. I am not telling you what to do, or giving you my opinion. I'm telling you that I just know, somehow, that you are going to go to CWU, that you're going to apply and that you're going to get in, and that you are meant to be there."

Tessa had real tears now, too, and she said, "I think you're right."

Within two weeks she had applied and been accepted, and now she's registered for classes, has an assigned dorm room and roommate and meal plan and the rest. At orientation, she made new friends, and they're talking about going mountain biking and other plans.

It wasn't a slam dunk, and I had no reason to "know" but I knew.

I have so many examples of being able to read other people, of just "knowing" what they were thinking or needing; at school, it's not unusual for me to spot students' needs several times a day, and when I say, "I know this might sound a little crazy, but my intuition is telling me that you are in pain/need to talk to someone/etc." the students often burst into tears and say, "How did you know that?!" and tell me something profound or serious. I have given up asking myself why I can do this, or what it means.

What I am asking now is how to use it.

My intuition tells me that I have a book - or several - brewing in me, and that I'm meant to be a writer, and that my stories will bring hope and love to a world in need of healing. My intuition tells me that people will respond to my stories, and that my books will sell, and that my name will be known.

My intuition is bigger than my fear (even when my fear is huge).

It just is.

The only thing I need to do is to follow my intuition.

The day that we watched the CWU video was a Sunday, mid-morning. By the middle of the day we were in a car headed to Central to self-tour. By the end of the tour, Tessa had decided to apply. Within a week, her application was submitted. We could have just sat on our feelings, or dismissed them, or dithered, but once we both knew, we both took action..

My writing has been a long time in developing, but it's time foe me to take action, to create a plan, and to make it happen. Just as my beloved daughter will have to now find her academic strength, her resilience against loneliness or imposter syndrome, in order to find the success that it is her destiny, I will need to fight my own imposter syndrome, insecurities, and the thousands of distractions that prevent my from doing what I know I'm meant to do.

Intuition is a gift, but it isn't a magical cure for all things: it is magical, but it's not a wand that I can wave to make an outcome happen. I think that the intuition is a sign of what is possible, and my belief in it is the thing that can give me strength to keep going.

Had I applied for other dogs instead of taking a pause because I was sure Chance was our dog... then Chance wouldn't be our dog.

Had we thought "CWU might be great but here are the reasons to stay at CC" then Tessa wouldn't be on this path.

And I can believe in my strength and destiny as a writer, but if I don't write, then my intuition will never be realized.

It's time. It's time for me to reinvent myself, and to follow through on my certainty, and to make it happen, even when I'm afraid. Especially when I'm afraid.

The mother of invention

 The world is passing by in a blur, and I finally have time to sit and just observe it.

Tessa graduated high school, and got to end the horrible COVID year with a lovely round of proms, graduation ceremony and parties, a healthy new relationship with a boy who seems to appreciate her as much as she appreciates him. Much to both of our surprise, in late May she decided that community college wasn't her path after all, and she applied to and was admitted to CWU.

My head is still spinning, but it's a good spin.

There is so much I want to say here, and perhaps I'll come back to it, but the sum of it is this: she is reinventing herself, and I am reinventing myself, and I see with such clarity that we are at some new tipping point where nothing will ever be the same (this is old news) but that we both get to shape ourselves with intentionality and joy; we both get to decide who we will be.

I'm giddy, fearful, contemplative, confused, and certain.

Mostly, certain.

When I completed the most heinous parts of cancer treatment, shortly after the big rounds of surgery, chemo, and radiation were finished, I was assigned a new doctor (Dr. Zucker at Swedish) whose job it was to oversee my return to wellness. He wasn't there to help me cure cancer; he was there to help my body and mind to overcome the treatment and find a new way to health. I was so on fire with being alive - was it possible that I had truly made it through? - that I was filled with energy, hope, and intentionality for my life. Dr. Zucker noticed this, and gave me some of the best advice I've ever received. He told me that my energy could inspire me to do great things, but that over time, that energy would fade as life resumed some new normal and the day to day took over again. He told me that the most important thing I could do was to, with great intention, create new habits that would last long after the surge of good intentions and energy had passed.

I know that I'm in another place like that again. Tessa has crossed the line from childhood into young adulthood, and I have crossed from centering my day to day life around her needs into...

What? Something new, somethin unknown, something exciting and terrifying in equal measure.

It's time to reinvent myself. I have no choice in this, really: whether I am intentional and make new choices about my life that please me and give me new purpose or not, there is no way my life can stay the same. I will no longer come home to a daughter needing a ride somewhere, or making messes in the kitchen, or sitting on the other end of the sofa to laugh at a movie with me. My house will not be filled with a handful of hungry teenagers excited for my snacks. Game nights will no longer be teens versus adults. Dinner will not be a negotiation. It is not my job to coach her to do her homework, or to stay awake until she gets home, or to insist that she put away her laundry so I can get the baskets back.

What is passed is in the past, and if I were to long for it to stay I would have no hope of forcing it... but I don't want to go backwards at all. I want to find the joy and excitement and energy of this moment, for her as well as for myself.

I have no role models for this. My parents did not show me this path: they fought my leaving tooth and nail, going so far as to say "so you think you're too good for us?" when I went to college, and again when I moved out. They demanded that I call them every day for extended conversations, and that I visit multiple times a week. They told me that if I moved far away I'd be unhappy and unsuccessful; they kept the tether short, and when I chewed on it, desperate to release myself, they found new ways to tether me. Until, of course, they couldn't tether me anymore at all, and I broke free with a vengeance, vowing to never be tethered to them again. No, that's not what I want in my parenting, not at all, and so I can't look to my past to determine how to behave in my future.

***

I re-read The Alchemist by Paolo Coehlo yesterday. I'm on my personal journey, and I am so, so sure that I must do what I must do. I am equally sure that Tessa is on her personal journey, and that the fates are conspiring to help us.

I've been moving my body more (as a matter of fact, today it's sore from moving so much!), bonding with Chance and feeling at peace in my skin as I regain my strength and clarity.

I've been reading.

I've been outdoors, on beaches and lakes and paddle boards and trails.

I've been doing projects around the house.

I've been cooking (and eaten more vegetables in a couple of weeks than I did in the last six months).

And now, it's time to write.

My personal journey is to write, to tell the stories that have been welling up inside me and long to splash over the edges like a joyful waterfall. I was put on this planet to write, and I've been writing my whole life, and now is the time.

My personal journey is also to find the love I've been missing, and to heal the old wounds. I need to do the work... but even more than that, I need to believe that I am worthy, and that the Universe wants this for me.

It's that simple. It's time to live the life I've imagined, and to hold nothing back.

***

My daughter is learning to fly, and now that I am focused more on myself as she is out of my reach at college this fall, it's time for me to soar, too.

***

I think it's called the mother of invention because it is, indeed, a mother's necessity to reinvent herself, over and over. Our bodies reinvent first; then our lives are upended with our tiny babies; then we grow into our roles as they shift through different phases of our children's growth; and then, perhaps the biggest change of all, our children launch and we get to reinvent ourselves again. 

Not everyone does this well - some live in the past; some chase their children into the future. I love my daughter with my whole being, so I can understand these responses. But what I want for her is to be free to soar, knowing that no amount of time or space can separate us, and that I am always her soft place to land. What I want for myself is to live the life that is meant for me. And what I want for both of us is for me to model to her a true, authentic life so that she doesn't have to find her way on her own. I want to offer her a magical combination of support and freedom; I want to show her what I am made of so that she will know that she is made of that stuff, too.

What a time to be alive. Never, ever do I forget that I nearly lost it all, and that 16 years ago when I got that cancer diagnosis I had many reasons to believe that I'd never get the chance to experience a daughter going to college. Never, ever do I forget how hopeless and lost and uncertain of my future I felt when I got divorced, and how uncertain of my financial future and my ability to support myself I was.

But here I am. Alive. Independent. Filled with hope.

To reinvent myself again is a gift and a joy, despite my frequent anxiety, and somehow I know that this is a part of my personal journey, and that the best is right around the corner, if I will only do what my heart tells me to do.