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

1. Ringo Blue. That he’s here with us, healthy and happy and safe.

2. The morning walk. Fall is the best season for walks. This week we saw lots of deer and a heron fishing for breakfast. One morning I was lamenting that we’d left too late to see the sun rise over the river, only to reach it and see a rainbow instead.

3. Fall. The color, the cool, the slowing down.

4. Good neighbors. We’ve been in our house for 20 years and have seen lots of people come and go, but it’s sad when the good ones leave and you don’t know the new ones yet.

5. My tiny family, tiny home, tiny life. I was thinking this morning about this post from Jeff Foster, in particular these lines: “Impermanence has already rendered everything and everyone around you so deeply holy and significant and worthy of your heartbreaking gratitude. Loss has already transfigured your life into an altar.”

Eric dressed as a hobgoblin for a D&D event

Bonus joy: steroid shots for my wrists and the resulting easing of my pain, stretching, that corner of the couch, sunshine, blue sky, clean water and air, staying home in my pajamas all day, a blank notebook and a good pen, stickers, good TV and movies, listening to podcasts, comedy, kindness, Wild Writing with Laurie and my writing sangha (and the surprise of seeing Lee in class on Friday), texting Chloe’ a picture of a banana or a potato or a cookie and her knowing exactly what I mean, cancelled plans and the dear friends who get it, other people’s dogs, green tea from Japan, weighted blankets and brown noise, down pillows and blankets, hoodies, kittens, cows, being able to reach the river walking less than 15 minutes from our front door, flowers, bees, hummingbird hawk moths, trees, the hydromassage chair, leftovers, naps, reading in bed while Eric and Ringo sleep.

1. Truth: I’m still working on “The Book.” One complication is that as I write, I am aware there are at least four books, waiting and wanting to be written, (working titles: Sublimity, The Lost Years, Walking Meditation, and Stay). This makes the process a bit confusing, as I sit down to write what I think is for one book but the deeper I go it becomes clear it belongs to another, or worse yet has a place in multiple stories but must be approached with a different viewpoint each time. It can leave me feeling that I have NO IDEA what I’m doing, (um, because I don’t). I just keep showing up, making the effort, hoping it will work out. As I’m writing, I’m also finally reading the books on the craft of memoir that I’ve collected over the years, hoping that study can help support what I’m doing.

2. Truth: I miss writing to you more directly, kind and gentle reader. Even though everything I’m writing is intended to eventually be FOR YOU, not sharing it directly and immediately is so hard. I want to tell you everything, make sense of it in real time and in community, tell you as I go in case it might help you where you are, right now. And yet, there’s something about creating an offering that is larger, more expansive and in depth, something you can hold in your hands and will last beyond me.

3. Truth: This takes so much time and effort, is so complex. I’m not just writing a book(s) about my experience(s), I’m living it, and some of my story is happening in real time, in the real and very chaotic world. My WHOLE life, I’ve tried to prove my worth, to EARN the right to be here, only to discover in my 50s that much of what I was taught to value and do to get that love, safety, and belonging is fundamentally unworkable and untrue. It’s a lot to process, so much to unpack and unlearn. In moments of despair it makes it seem like I’ve wasted my life and I don’t have enough time left to turn things around. In other more gentle, kind moments I can see that I had to live this in order to make sense of it and share it in a way that might help make someone else’s time a little bit easier.

One wish: May we allow ourselves the time that it takes, rest when we need to rest, ask for help when we need it, trust ourselves and continue to show up, even when it’s hard.