Vivid Living

So I’m finally reading Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.

I’ve been meaning to read the book for a few years but have resisted largely because of its grim plot.  Typically, I have no interest in books built around violence and destruction.

And yet this book is different. For those of you who haven’t read it (and I hope you do), I won’t give away the apocalyptic story line.  For me, I’m moved on a few levels. The writing is sparse and powerful.  “There were times when he sat watching the boy sleep that he would begin to sob uncontrollably but it wasn’t about death. He wasn’t sure what it was about but he thought it was about beauty or about goodness.”

Beyond the pitch perfect writing, the story is so raw and primal that it has deeply unnerved me. I’m dreaming in vivid colors – black rage, red fear, purple anxiety. Last night I dreamt that I got arrested for stepping off the curb with the wrong foot. The previous night I had lost my way and was running, en route to my children, who were lost and waiting for me. My first husband was in the dream and also my stepson.  I can’t quite make it all out but I woke to my own cry of “No.” Steve jumped.

For someone who usually can’t remember any aspect of her dreams, I find all of this fascinating.

I suppose I really shouldn’t read dark subjects before bed. Yet what lingers for me is that light and hope persist in the darkest of times.  That is what moves me deepest.

Because I know, and I understand.

A few weeks ago while visiting relatives in California a friend having a zero birthday and a midlife crisis called.  In reality — by which I mean the “big picture“ snapshot — everything in her world was alright; it’s just that she couldn’t see, well, er…the  ”big picture.”

My cousin, Josetta, who knows the friend and overheard my conversation, had one word to say: “Next?”  I looked at her, trying to read her mind.  “Next?” she repeated, this time with the added drama of cocking her head sideways.

But of course!

Next? means MOVE ON!  As in…make that phone call, clear that debt, shrug off confrontation, reset your thinking, pursue your passions, risk, and focus on all that is possible and positive.

I love this clean, direct wisdom because its relevance can be tested across small disappointments like a traffic ticket and larger ones, like job turmoil or, yes, even mourning.  How you proceed is up to you, as is the timing (let’s face it –  five days for one person might mean five months for another) but at some point, I think, intuition leads you to the next place.

There aren’t many certainties in this world. But choosing when to ask and execute Next? is within our reach — always. In spite of the thorns in life, if we’re not moving forward, I wonder, just where are we going?

I recently finished Elizabeth Gilbert’s new memoir, Committed.  As you probably know, she authored Eat, Pray, Love.

In Committed, I particularly like how Gilbert wrestles with the idea of love:  What if love never finds you?  What if you never find love?  Can you marry your own life?

It’s this last question that really leaps out at me.

Gilbert explores this scenario through the eyes of her 40-year-old friend, Christine, a single woman who decides to forgo loneliness for life.  She sets a small wooden boat adorned with rose petals and rice on fire. Then, she let it go – “releasing along with it her most tenacious fantasies of marriage as an act of personal salvation…She had finally married her own life, and not a moment too soon.”

I love this image of Christine transcending her perceived tyranny, and moreover, the notion of her “marrying her life.” To me, this concept means many things: stepping out; facing fears; plunging forward; accepting what is; celebrating the everyday; and having faith.

I have many single, fabulous women friends, some of whom marry their lives without ever realizing so.  They plan trips, take classes, make dinner plans, and run marathons. Yes, they bemoan not having a life partner, but this sense of loss doesn’t prevent them from living.

I lost my first life partner, and now I have another.  And yet I, too, am married to life. It’s the commitment I cherish most. My experience has taught me that when I nurture all that I am and all that I aspire to be, I am the best woman, wife, mother, daughter, friend and colleague that I can be.  This is a vow I’ll be glad to make daily.

It’s rather serendipitous that my husband, Steve, bought me a card today with this perfect quote from Thoreau: “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined.”

Yes!

Like everyone, I have been deeply moved by the catastrophic earthquake in Haiti.  The images are searing, especially of the children, torn from their parents, many in physical pain, hungry, homeless, without their toys and possessions of comfort, too traumatized now to even think about a future.

The tragedy has hit me hard.

Back in 1994, I traveled to Haiti while working at UNICEF U.S.A. as Director of Public Relations. I spent ample time visiting the slums of Port-au-Prince and even met with Former Haitian President Jean-Bertrand Aristide at the National Palace, now lying in rubble. The squalid conditions were horrific to me then, now it’s unimaginable.

Part of me wants to adopt a Haitian baby, to which my daughter, Rebecca, says, “Mom, I think we have enough kids in our house now.”  She’s right, of course, and, in spite of my incredible longing to help, we are not equipped to parent more children. Part of me wants to go volunteer in Haiti for two months, to which my conscience asks, “but how can you leave your family?” The answer is I can’t.  I simply can’t.

What is it then that I can offer in the wake of this giant tragedy? What is it that anyone can offer?

Money? Time? Hands? Faith? There are no easy answers.

All week I’ve been a grump. Blame it on a full plate and empty fuel tank.  You know how it goes…squeezing work and then writing time on my off days, hauling my kids all over town yet still catching slack for not buying the Halloween costumes in time for their school parties (hey I’ve still got six days!), catching still more slack for not wanting to spend  $39.99 on the puffy suma wrestler get-up my son yearns for, squinting my eyes at the two loads of laundry waiting to be folded as I climb the stairs each night (by now there’s three more loads crying to be washed so why bother with the first two?), watching the leaves make a dense collage on our lawn. And so it goes.

Perhaps, I’m also grumpy from my trip back East.  For the first time since my husband, Brett, passed away, I visited the hospitals and hospice where he fought and ended his long battle with cancer. I did this for writerly reasons, as research for my memoir. More on this visit at a later post, but yes, the trip left some residual clotting.  How could it not?

And then.  In the midst of feeling scattered and overwhelmed, I received an e-mail this morning from a stranger who read my recent column about leaps of faith and the courage to change in the new Colorado View Magazine.  She wrote: “The past six years, I have felt stuck in Colorado…afraid to make a move because of money, support system, job, etc., etc.  If I move will I be able to find a job at my age?  Can I sell my house? My heart is on the East Coast, warm sunny beaches.  I’ve been researching the coast of South Carolina and Florida, and want so much to just say, “Do it…you can do it.”  After reading your story, I realized that I CAN….thank you for giving me that courage to at least begin my journey home.”

My words may have helped this reader cast her life forward, but she, too, taught me a lesson about service and gratitude.    This is why I share my experience so freely: to give hope to others that in spite of the shits of life – big or small – hope and possibility exist.   Always.

In the footprint of helping others, I also freed myself.  My mood has lifted.  I’m still staring at the laundry and the leaves but there’s always tomorrow.

 So, here goes.  My first foray into the blogosphere.  

This morning I was painting a desk for my daughter that was handed down from a friend.  We chose a deep, burgundy-pink offset by white.   That first coat..wow..it was surprisingly hard.   No matter how much paint I gobbed on the brush it looked streaky and badly in need of, yes, more paint.  Which delayed things quite a bit because I  had to wait for everything to dry.   Some 30 minutes later, I applied the second coat.  It was a little tacky (no way to avoid the summer heat) but the fresh layer easily covered the streaks and took less time than the first round.  Still, the darn desk needed a third coat.  This time I had to wait an hour, which irritated me because I was now caked in paint and didn’t really want to wash and change clothes only to return to the task again moments later.  Finally, I picked up my brush and with great satisfaction quickly and rather artfully glided over the desk, the finished product like a creamy popsicle, smooth and shimmering. That’s when it struck me: Aren’t we all in need of a fresh coat of paint once in awhile?    

This is what Vivid Living is about: possibility and hope and renewal, from the smallest of matters like painting a desk to giant, ongoing (or maybe first-time) events like dating, relationships, careers, parenting and loss.  No doubt about it: life can be hard, and the best, most precise intentions do not always work according to plan.  Life happens.  It just does.  See my About Vivid Living page to read more about my story and why I wanted to start this blog.  

Today is a great day for me to begin Vivid Living.  My  8-year-old twins are back in school and their full schedule provides me with much needed work and think time.   Other than painting the desk, I’m using the day to reflect on all the transitions in my life: I’m about to dive into a part-time project that will require me to work away from my home office 25 hours each week; I’m coping with my very smart husband being unemployed and his process of recasting himself; I’m worrying, like so many of you, about the economy and long-term financial security; and, I’m preparing to help usher my oldest stepson to college in a few weeks.  My twins, too, are in a new school, which means that all us must build community.  All this as well as the little things in life that both press and rejuvenate us like cooking, laundry, exercise, and keeping up with family and friends.  As I said, life happens, everyday…

I’m so looking forward to exploring life in full bloom with you, thorns and all. 

P.S. Bear with me as I get this blogging thing down…