An Anniversary

In August 2022, after years of declining health and mobility and increasing pain, I made a decision to change my life. This is a photo of me in September 2022.

And this is me today, 70 pounds lighter.

First I made the decision to get stronger, so I started strength training twice a week for 20 minutes at a time at a local specialty gym called The Exercise Coach. Then I added cardio to my habits; my favorite gym machine is the elliptical, and I'm a big fan of walking. After a couple of months, I was ready to reduce my intake of calories gradually and track what I ate. I figured there was no timeline except the rest of my life, so progress could be incremental. The practice of losing weight a few ounces per week is what kept me going, because I decided that all foods were acceptable to eat as long as I was honest and tracked it, that starvation would lead to exhaustion and rebellion, and the key to all this is feeling good in my body while shedding weight. 

After the first 25 pounds shed, I saw an endocrinologist who suggested I try a GLP-1 medication. She said it would likely help, as I had "hacked my own psychology" by doing healthy things. I would not be using the shot and expecting it to do all the work. So I tried it, and I am among the percentage of people who were not disabled by side effects and for whom it worked. It was very odd to experience the shift. "Food noise" is real. The medication quieted that. It also dampened my feeling of appetite for many other good things. But I've figured out a way to adapt. I imagine I will take this medication for the rest of my life, as part of the chronic condition of obesity.

I'm now at a weight I was in my thirties, and I was functional and strong. I can remember well-intended suggestions by men that if I just lost some weight, I'd be really pretty. But honestly? I feel and look good.

So yes, I could lose more weight. I'm technically in the "overweight" BMI for my height. However, I have figured out a way to live and enjoy my life, even with the limitations of exhaustion (from aging, from battling cancer, and surgery). So for the time being, I'll keep on as I have been. 

A Sunday Walk

Yesterday my husband and I headed off to Calero County Park to hike. It's mostly exposed grassland, with steep rolling hills that eventually lead into California Oak woodland. Along the way spots of chaparral appear, and near water, even small creeks, it becomes riparian. It was a total of four miles and the day was sunny, mid-70s, with an occasional gentle breeze. Now and then we would pause to rest and observe. I'm always amazed by the oak trees.

For example, this is a branch. Oak trees grow crooked and gnarled. They are massive. I've wondered why. Brief research tells me there are four main reasons:

• Phototropism: they chase sunlight, meaning they even bend sideways to find light and space if they are threatened by tree canopy.
• Wind resistance: spiraled trunks and branches help the trees withstand wind so they are resilient and don't break.
• Gravity and soil movement: on steep hillsides, soil can shift minutely, causing young roots to also move. To compensate and resume upward growth, the tree employs specialized cells to grow "tension wood". This is what makes them curved.
• Loss of main leaders: sometimes the central tip of a young tree breaks off. This allows other branches to compensate and creates a gnarled and wide crown.

Eventually we reached the bluff above the reservoir.

There is no trail access down to the water. Another entrance allows for boats to be launched. As far as I can tell, this is not a swimming lake, as it's a water source for the community.

My stamina being a bit limited, we decided to turn around at this point. We traversed two steep hills (both going up and down) and reached the top of the last one. In the distance I could see the parking lot and our car. So tempting to think about cutting across the fields and heading directly to it! (I circled it in purple.)

But no, being environmentally sensitive hikers, we followed the trail. There was quite an array of scat all along our hike. I saw rabbit pellets, and scat with fur in it which I assume was from mountain lion, bobcat, coyote and fox. This is also a horse trail so there were piles of horse apples every so often. 

This is a busy park where the residents have priority. We saw wild turkeys under a large oak close to the lake. On the way back I picked up a turkey feather for my altar. It reminded me of the feather on the cover of my current read, Theo of Golden.

It was a perfect way to spend several hours, and I'm glad we did it then, because we're headed into a hot spell of upper 90s to 100s. 

A Favorite Time In My Life

Time is such a notion, isn't it? We humans use a system to organize our experience into past, present, and future, which is useful psychologically and for conducting life's business. When I am creating, however, time disappears for me. So I suppose that a favorite time in my life is whenever I am not experiencing time consciously. That's kind of trippy to me. Whenever I'm writing, such as this post, or making art, or reading, or even hiking or sitting in the woods, that is my favorite time of my life. When I have an engaging conversation with a friend over a meal and my heart feels connected and expansive, that is a favorite time of my life.

I do have gauzy memories of other experiences in the past that felt like this. Camping trips with my family as a little girl, where I played endless imagination games or swam for hours at a lake. And yes, I have memories that are not favorite, that involve pain and suffering, and for me those are always more vivid, and they demand center stage. Over the years I've developed a practice to turn my attention away from them and to deliberately focus on the good. I don't judge or block the negative, yet I try to give what is positive equal attention.

This applies to future, too. I'm very adept at doom thinking and worries, and I've rarely been a dreamer about future plans and aspirations -- it's as if I'm afraid if I dare dream of something I want, "something" will call it arrogance and teach me a lesson by not manifesting that. I know this is rooted in several things: my personality, which is inherently attuned more to negatives; an authoritarian father who wielded power destructively in childhood (and adulthood, to be honest); and a religious upbringing focused on sin, humans being inherently broken, guilt, and fear of punishment. So I have spent my life navigating and learning how to live in a way that allows me more "favorite" times. At 63, I'm getting better at it. 

How I Read

 

I read a lot. My mind requires it, just as much as my body needs to breathe, and I need sleep, and to eat. 

I saw the image above on social media the other day, and it captured the essence of my reading style. I left a comment: "Yes! I think of reading as a kind of transubstantiation (if you're Catholic you'll grok the term). Something wonderfully mysterious happens in reading that changes me as a reader, and I don't completely have to understand or remember details for the experience to have a benefit."

I'm in the process of reading several novels, and as of the end of June I'll have read 28 books. My goal is 52, but I'll see how it goes. 

The three fiction standouts so far are Loved and Missed, James, and Orbital.

I read all of Andrea Gibson's poetry, and love Lord of the Butterflies the most.

My inner nerd thoroughly devoured The Devil's Teeth: a True Story of Obsession and Survival Among America's Great White Sharks. No open water swimming in the Pacific Ocean for me! 

And I read a book for a reading club that really aligned with an inner shift, and helped me to clarify goals. That book is Life in Five Senses: How Exploring the Senses Got Me Out of My Head and Into the World. With the ICE invasions and murders in Minnesota in January, I realized that my well-being relies on getting off social media and news sites. I became so aware that I don't want to be on my death bed regretting that I had not made more art. The book (which I listened to) alerted me to many small practices I can employ to actually live my life. Not long after this shift and reading the book, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Ok, universe, my dear AmoreVita, message received and action engaged.

Resurrection

Resurrection

Healing began when her eyes beheld herself,
her heart quickening at the recognition
that she wanted to live again.
Restoring soul to body is a process of reconciliation.

The journey began with a decision to be touched.

There is a vital difference in the quality
of being touched and receiving touch.
Tender as a mother, sensuous as a lover,
transcending into power and wholeness.

When the hour is done, she knows she is a
beloved daughter, a beautiful woman,
having given her entire self,
body and soul, into the hands of Love.

-Kathryn Harper

“Massage” by Jean-Louis GANDON, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

This Year's Intentions

I took this photo at Maker Faire last fall. It's difficult to explain what this was, but people were invited to enter into this space of whirling light. It depicts how time feels to me. Soon enough we'll say good-bye to 2026. Here is what I aim for in my life practice.

Daily

• I will continue to meditate daily for five minutes; it's the holy pause, and even brief episodes have a positive impact.
• Each day I walk, at a minimum, 2,000 steps; given my sedentary job and life, it stuns me how few steps I could take if I don't make the effort. Last year my average was 4,835 steps (2.28 miles per day).
• Read a book -- it requires deep attention.

Weekly

• Make art. It can be small, quick, and simple. Or it can be elaborate.
• Seek and invite spending time with my child, who is leaving in eight months.
• Date night with Hub; this has vastly improved our connection in the past several years.
• See clients -- my work, which I really enjoy.
• Exercise four to five times a week, including strength training.
• Write one blog entry.

Monthly

• See friends!
• Go on side quests with Hub.
• Attend Open Studio with friends.

Yearly

• Improve overall physical fitness, including shedding more weight.
• Read at least 30 books.
• Travel with Hub on a couple of trips.
• Get my child moved to college.
• Explore and create new community.
• Attend a few Ecstatic Dances.

Throughout the year I will check in with myself to ensure I'm attending to these small projects that help me to live richly. 

Whetting My Appetite

Having received the gift of books as I usually do at Christmas, I decided to assemble my to-read pile. The four bottom books were gifts from the most recent Christmas. The other books I "shopped" from my library, because of course I have a collection of unread treasures. These are all non-fiction. I usually rely on serendipity and recommendations for my fiction choices. 

The top three books have been in the queue for several years. Many clients have mentioned the two Ruiz books as being helpful, and I'm curious to know more. The other book, Having Everything Right, contains essays on place, particularly the Pacific Northwest. Usually I remember purchasing a book or that it was a gift (and from whom), but this one is a mystery. The Pacific Northwest beckons me as a possible place to live in retirement, whenever that happens. Thus it caught my eye.

The next five books are poetry, three of which were written by the too-soon departed Andrea Gibson, and the last book by Maggie Smith, who is unknown to me, except for the poem "Good Bones". 

Women Who Run With the Wolves has been on my shelf for the past decade. I started it when I bought it, but it didn't hold my attention. Ten years ago my mental energy was devoted to mothering an eight-year-old, and it wasn't the right moment. This year my child is graduating high school and headed to college; it's time to explore the Wild Woman and give her more room to live. I found this critique fascinating and have offered a gift link: The Wild Woman Awakens.

The other tome in the stack is a memoir (one of my favored genres): A Walk in the Park: The True Story of A Spectacular Misadventure in the Grand Canyon. This book also offers another feature of books I enjoy reading: misadventures, particularly ones related to nature and national parks. Thankfully no one dies in this story, as far as I can tell.

Lastly, I was given three books for art exploration. Last year I began playing with watercolor paint. When paint is of good quality, it is delicious to use. I'm looking forward to exploring and learning its ways.

Do you have a stack of books you look forward to reading this year? Leave a comment if you'd like to share. 

Emotional Education

Music Meditation

These are links to songs that, listened to in sequence, are a form of meditation. I'm providing Youtube links because I don't know if you use Spotify, Tidal, Apple Music, etc. Youtube inserts ads in the middle of songs (unless you pay), so I recommend using your favorite service that won't impede listening. 

They have been on rotation on my song list this year.

Inspiration Drive: https://youtu.be/qq_V4NY9K24 

Gajumaru: https://youtu.be/qTse2hkPxYU 

Stillness is Waiting: https://youtu.be/KsiQmZWq2j0 

Total time: 12 minutes 24 seconds

Go Outside and Play

Inside Outside

I'm in a pretty flat emotional state and have been for awhile. Kind of "meh." Still functioning and engaged, but underlying that is a subtle detachment and fatigue. Allowing my body to rest -- i.e., not working out much since December, since my body responded to darkness by slowing down and I decided not to push -- has gradually morphed into a sluggish state. Low calorie intake for weight loss probably contributes too, so I decided yesterday to increase my intake to a maintenance level for awhile, so I'll have more energy to move. Once active, that will perpetuate itself. I'm 12 pounds from my goal, so I can return to losing later. So that's part of the flatness.

But the other part of this flatness? It's psychic exhaustion. From parenting DD, from seeing clients, and from being an "awakened" person in this world. I know how that last part sounds. Very bougie. I observe people immersed in their lives -- actions, reactions, drama, avoidance, suffering -- and from where I exist, I just see people chasing shadows. Telling stories to themselves. Our stories are important, and yet they are not the entirety of existence. 

And sometimes I feel so apart from humanity I wonder, "Do I really love anyone?" The detachment leads to feeling bland. Is this depression? Enlightenment? I do feel affection for people, animals, things, life. But it's overlaid by the experience of being emotionally bubble wrapped. 

Let me tell you how relieved I am my father is dead. I am so relieved. I was so tired of his existence, his suffering, and the ripples his suffering created, which caused me distress. He was tired of it all too. I don't miss my parents. Not in the way of wanting to pick up the phone to call and realizing, again and with grief, that they are gone. It's just done. They had their life, their turn, and they are not suffering any longer, which I to me means they are at peace and in a safe place. 

So. I've been going to Ecstatic Dance since Halloween. I've enjoyed it so much. I'm slowly getting acquainted with the regulars and people who run it. They ask for volunteers to help set up and take down the hall, so I signed up and have helped twice. The "bonus" for volunteering is not having to pay $25 to dance. The first time was taking down and putting away gear, and that was fine. Last Friday night I was able to help set up, so I arrived shortly after 7:00. 

The main person, D, had just arrived. His greeting was offhanded and slightly surprised. I said I had signed up to help out, and he seemed a little surprised and indifferent. There was no warmth from him, no welcome. It felt ungracious. I'd interacted with him while dancing and just being around and things have been fine. I didn't take his aloofness personally or feel mad, yet I felt separate and tentative. 

Shortly other people showed up, and they were friendlier. I'd signed up to set up the "chill space" and altar and another woman, R, helped me. She introduced herself, and we collaborated, though I chose and placed the items on the altar. Then another main volunteer, B, arrived. She was welcoming and inclusive. Another woman brought altar flowers; it's her "thing" that she does. So we complete it, and I move on. Then a few moments later I happened to look over and see B, the flower lady, and R rearranging what I had done. I went to the restroom and came back, and the three of them had moved to another part of the room and were chatting. It felt cliquish. I decided to sit in the chill space and people watch. What did I make of their rearrangement of my setup? Again, I didn't feel it was personal -- a critique, a rejection, or an attack -- but it felt unwelcoming to me. I realized as I sat, that while the idea of expanding my community appealed, it would require an investment of effort that I don't want to give. I imagine these are lovely people to know, but I don't want to have to work hard. (I'd been observing and assessing my feelings during closing circle each time, and whenever I felt I might want to share, something in me compelled me to wait.) So I realized as I sat that 1) I want to dance, and that's primary; 2) I can afford to pay; and 3) not volunteering keeps the activity cleaner for me. Dancing is a date with my own self.

Soon the DJ began the music, and the volume was at an ear-bleeding level. It hurt! And the music he chose felt like being hammered. I tried dancing for about 15 minutes, but wasn't feeling it. No joy. It was assaultive. I went back to the chill space and put in my earbuds just to muffle the volume a bit. I waited and watched people dance. Still no joy. The music didn't tickle me, or entice movement. So I said to myself that this is just an "off" night, and decided to leave. I was disappointed because I'd been looking forward to dancing. And now without this activity, I felt uninspired to think of another activity. So I went to Rite-Aid and bought Chunky Monkey ice cream and went home, and thoroughly enjoyed the ice cream. (Friday nights DH plays video games with a friend in Texas, and DD does their own thing.)

Changing the subject slightly... this feeling "outside" was present when I visited my friend K in Denver. She, A, and I had a lovely time. At the same time, the volume and pitch of their voices was so soft and low that I had trouble hearing. I had to expend a lot of energy. I asked for them to be a bit louder, and they tried, but would fall soft again. I was also very drained by the lower oxygen level and slept a lot. I felt good that I had made an audiology appointment in May, because I think I do have hearing loss, which is impacting me. 

Confession

I have a confession. I was not enthusiastic about going camping. We began doing it when G was four, and I've loved it. I grew up camping, and many of my favorite memories are of those trips. Once we arrive and settle in, it's lovely. But there is a lot of prep beforehand, especially with food. H likes to seal food well so it stays sanitary in the cooler, and we try to bring all that we need from the beginning. This year, H and I have new dietary considerations which required us to reconfigure the menu. I felt so much resistance to doing all this. And yet it was going to be camping with friends, one of the first times in years, something H has longed for. And camping is H's relaxation. It's where he rests and becomes refreshed. It's really critical for his health. G loves going. But when G came down sick, a part of me was relieved. I don't feel very friendly toward myself about that. 

This begs the perennial question: why do I resist and avoid actions that support my well-being? I feel better when I walk daily, eat healthy, go camping, talk with friends, make art -- but I do not do them! About the only thing I consistently do that I know is good for me is read books. Sometimes I even use reading as a form of escape or hiding. I did that for years. Reading is as vital to me as breathing.

Returning to work in the profession I abandoned 18 years ago has been rejuvenating. I love doing it. And I don't resist it. Is it because I am paid for it? In part, yes. There is something gratifying about providing service that others value and recognize. But it's also because it makes me happy to do this work. It uses my gifts. It allows me to engage intimately with people. Even more so, I love doing this work because I know I am good at it, and I am equipped to do it. What I didn't grok 18 years ago at the start of the career is something I understand now in my being: I am enough. Knowing this gives confidence, clarity, an affirmation of what is called appropriate entitlement. And finally, I am able to do to consistently because I know other people depend on me to show up.

Doing this work with others brings me to a place or state similar to when I make art: wholly engaged, vibrant, in flow, aligned with the universe. I also engage this state when writing, though somewhat less so, because writing requires fumbling around a bit more. Reading brings me to this state as well, but not with the same presence. Reading is a form of consumption and creation, but the work is entirely internal. Hmm. I feel I am on the verge of understanding something for myself, but need to percolate a bit more.