November | 2016 | Open Space Practice, (AKA: A Thousand Shades of Gray)

Ginko nuts, which are pretty but smell terrible and contain the same chemical that causes poison oak to give you a rash

Ginkgo nuts, which are pretty but smell terrible and contain the same chemical that poison oak does and will give you a nasty rash.

1. Lingering fall. The color, the weather, and even a few more strawberries.

lingeringfall

bulbsandberries

2. I planted bulbs!!! This is very exciting. It’s probably been five years I’ve wanted to and every year I forget until it’s too late. The lingering warm weather and a lovely surprise from a friend in the mail helped this year. Even so, I still waited long enough that the bulbs I bought were on clearance and hidden in a corner of a garden center already full of Christmas stuff.

riverbendpondsfall

3. Walking with Eric and the dogs at Riverbend Ponds. I hadn’t been there in a long time, (we used to go a lot when Obi and Dexter were little), although lately Eric’s been walking the dogs there a lot in the afternoon. We went this weekend, early enough in the morning that the sun was just coming up, and I got so many good pictures.

Colorado, you so pretty.

4. My new favorite shirt. Last year, Amy McCracken, the Executive Director of Richmond Animal League (RAL), Burg’s roommate, and one of my favorite writers and humans, sent me a RAL sweatshirt (covered in Burg hair). It’s one of my favorite things. This year, RAL has some new schwag, and there was a black thermal I really really wanted, but you can only get it AT the shelter. I emailed Amy about it, and she was able to get me one. Today is the first day I wore it, but I can already tell it’s going to be one of my favorites.

Me: “Hey Sam, take a selfie with me in my new favorite shirt to send to Amy.” Sam: *snore*

5. My tiny family. Eric, Sam, and Ringo keep me going, even on the dark days when giving up seems very tempting.

falldogs

Bonus joy: leftover Halloween candy, working from home on Fridays, John Jay & Rich in the morning on the radio, sleeping in with Sam, training with Ringo, morning walks with the dogs (they are being so good — although, it’s so dark we hardly see anybody else out so there’s not many distractions, but I’m grateful for that too), seeing the stars on our early morning walks, having something to offer, being able to listen and make space for someone else’s discovery, good tv, good books (so many good books — how am I going to EVER read them ALL?!), lunch plans with friends, texting with my brother, voicemail from my mom even though I didn’t actually get to talk to her, doing good work, a cold glass of clean water, being “90% corrected” (according to my physical therapist — big news considering we are working with a 30 year old situation), good car insurance, good health insurance, a warm shower, a washer and dryer in my house because I can still remember the scramble for quarters and having to lug baskets of dirty laundry to a second location and all the waiting involved, heat, electricity, my new car, the money to pay for all those things because I have a job and so does Eric and we have very little debt, privilege (I’d rather this were more equally distributed, but that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for what I’ve got), practice.

geese

1. Truth: What Jamie Greenwood said, that we can “Embrace the seasonal pull to slow down.” She posted this on Twitter the other day, a daily mantra, and it was just what I’d been thinking. This week or next the last of the trees here will turn color and then drop their leaves. It’s been a long, warm fall, but the mornings are dark so late it’s clear the long dark cold season is coming. I look at the trees and think about how easy it is for them to let go, to surrender to the shift. Even though they’ve just made one of the most beautiful things they create all year (other than flower and fruit), their gorgeous leaves of so many amazing colors, they are able to just let them go, fall to the ground and rot. They trust in the transition, don’t question it. My garden and flowerbeds go to sleep, the birds migrate to a warmer climate. Everything pulls its energy close, calls its power back, and enters a season of rest and restoration, necessary quiet and stillness that allows for the season of creation that will follow. Every year I say I’ll do the same, embody this wisdom, and every year I somehow get caught up in the speed of the season. Maybe this year will be different.

2. Truth: What Andrea Scher said, or rather what one of her guides told her, “Your only job is to breathe and not resist.” What a wonderful approach, to everything. Place your attention on breath, just like in meditation, and allow whatever might arise. Rather than burning up all your energy, applying all your effort to rejecting whatever comes, surrender. Trust in your own sanity, your inherent wisdom and compassion, your basic goodness, and know that you can meet it, whatever it might be.

3. Truth: What Janelle Hanchett said, in a post to Facebook about trying, that “there’s a part of us that dies when we say ‘Fuck it I’d rather fail than stay like this,’ and it’s the part that believes we cannot do a thing.” I spent so much time believing that hysterical voice that said “I can’t,” that thought keeping me quiet and numb meant keeping me safe, that thought being invisible was better than being seen. And yes, there are hard things, stuff is shifting and changing all the time, and we have to adapt and adjust. It’s painful, and yet…”fuck it, I’d rather fail than stay like this.” What’s the worst thing that could happen, right?

One wish: May we “embrace the seasonal pull to slow down,” and simply “breathe and not resist.” May we let go of our fear of failure and try anyway. And when we aren’t actively trying, doing, acting, making, may we know it’s still enough, as poet David Whyte wrote,

Enough. These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.

This opening to the life
we have refused
again and again
until now.
Until now