{peace.love.free}

I’m not nearly as strong as you.  I can’t leave.

Oh darling.  My sweet, wonderful, intensely brave darling.  Sit down with me here, cross legged, face to face. Take a deep breath.  I want to lift your chin and look deep into your eyes and tell you some things.

It is not the leaving that makes you strong.  Endings do not mark you as brave.  Courage does not only lie in being the one who initiates destruction.

Yes, all of those things require strength.   And oh, if you have ever been the one to leave, or end or destruct, I want to cradle you in my arms and tell you I know your pain.  But the other choices- when the only thing to mark the difference between before and after is your own quiet resolve – those also require strength beyond comprehension.

We are all on a path.   Day by day we decide if we’ll follow that path, or forage a new one.  Sometimes the choices are not clear, and everything seems twisted and painful.  But moment by moment we choose, because we have to.  That’s how life goes.  The big bold stuff gets the attention.  The tearing down, the crashing and banging and wailing and starting anew.  And we all say ‘Isn’t she brave?  Isn’t she strong?  Isn’t she courageous?’

And she is.  Of course she is.  But you are too.

Oh how strong and brave and courageous you are.

Sometimes stillness takes far more strength than movement.  There are times when choosing to stay requires a level of fierce tenacity you wouldn’t need if you decided to leave.  Boldness does not always declare itself to the world and demand attention, but rather lives steady and small in the spaces we choose to continue inhabiting, even though we are called elsewhere.

There is no shame, no lack of strength inherent in your decision.  To rebuild instead of tearing down.  To recognize that perfection is not always found in novelty, and that all the answers lie within, not without.  To know that what you have is precious, and to not be willing to risk it.  To look it all in the eye and say “I choose this.  Not what might be, but what I have now”.   This is nothing to ever be ashamed of.  It is not the lesser choice.

It is not weak.  It is not cowardly.  It is not less authentic.  No less worthy of respect and admiration than my choice, or her choice or their choices.    We often measure our choices with words like good and bad, right and wrong, strong and weak.  And they are all of those things, and none of those things.  They just are.

No matter which road we choose, it will always require a profound and audacious level of guts.  It will be a testament to our spirit and our faith, and it will push us to our edges and pull us to our center.  It will be the embodiment of love and heart and soul and inspiring commitment.   And it will be brave, and strong and true.

Because living is courageous.  Every single moment of it.

{on my desk sits a black fabric journal.  it is a plain, ordinary, nondescript book. from the outside, it looks as if it could not possibly hold anything important.  only I know that it holds the most valuable thing I possess. my story.}

5.22.09

I’m in birthday party hell.

I’m standing in the middle of Dave and Busters (which, for those who are not familiar, is like Chuck E Cheese on steroids).  The bright flashing lights and the incessant beeping and buzzing have brought me to a level of overstimulation that mimics a really trippy high.  All around me I see glass-eyed parents and kids, feeding tokens into games, fixated on collecting long snakes of tickets to trade in for any number of crappy plastic toys or candy.  It’s like the very worst of Vegas, ripe for a membership drive for a future meeting of gamblers anonymous.

And in the midst of one of those spectacularly surreal ‘this is my life?’ moments, when Julie is deliberating between multiple versions of Hannah Montana flashlight key chains and Bella tries to stretch her points as far as they can possibly stretch (consumer culture microcosm anyone?) my cell phone buzzes in my pocket. And then buzzes again, and again, and again.

I pull it out and I see four texts from Mani.  My first thoughts it that something is wrong, but then I open my phone and all the flashing and buzzing and chaos fades away as I read:

I had the sudden urge to tell you I love you
no matter what and for always
and to take you on a boat,
sailing toward the horizon
until we couldn’t see the shore
and have you look around
at the endless expanse of sparking sea,
and realize that it belonged to you.
every last drop.
and I wanted to let you in on my secret,
because I know we can breathe underwater.
because it is time you realized
that you will never drown.
we don’t drown. we adapt.
we don’t get swept away.
we drift, we ride current, we grow gills, we grow wings.

And in the moment that I absorbed those words I let that exquisite act of kindness wash over me. I let her love and compassion and wisdom soak into me in waves of bliss and I had an experience of momentary but utterly perfect serenity.

It is not just that she wrote those words (for I know her to be a woman who experiences her existence in poem), nor the fact that she would hold flawed, messed up little me with such utter tenderness (for even can occasionally accept that I am worthy of such emotion).  No – it was none of those things that evoked such reverence.  What matters is that she took those thoughts, those feelings, those words, the cadence of that poem and she sent it spinning out into the universe directly to me and placed it in my heart like the most precious treasure.

And I can’t help but wonder – what if every time I thought of someone with tenderness and compassion or gratitude, I took the next step and gifted them with that in the purest form possible?  What if we sent our love spinning out into the universe more often?  Once every day.  Ten times.  Twenty.  One hundred.  What if we did it and shared it and then others followed suit?

What if we gave it just one day, and every time we thought of someone with love – even if it’s not someone with whom we normally interact – we took the time to let them know? If every time we were inspired by a line on a blog we took a moment to make a few extra mouse clicks and leave a comment?  If every time someone opened the door for us we looked them right in the eye, connected ourselves to them through our shared humanity and not only said thank you, but meant it and felt it with every part of our being.

Mani could have had those thoughts tonight in the midst of caring for her girls or studying for her midwifery exam or a million other things that fill her life to overflowing and pushed them away as nothing more than thoughts.  But she didn’t, she held on to them and gave them shape and sent them to me on a crazy night in the middle of a crazy week filled with guilt and blame and self-recrimination and bitchy, snappy base level parenting and stress in a ball that pounds in my chest.  She gave them to me, and she didn’t just change things for me, she changed things for everyone I will come in contact with tomorrow.  And the next day.  And the next.

Because if she can hold me in such tenderness and I can allow myself to be held, I feel certain that I can extend that outward in all directions.

And really, that’s all that needs to happen to change the world. `

Haiti.

Most of us were blessedly untouched by the earthquake, at least physically. In every real way, our lives continue on as usual. But in the days and weeks following this disaster, we’ve all been shaken by the images and stories and heartache that have traveled back to us. We sat in horror trying to take in the magnitude of the damage, we cried for the loss, we texted the Red Cross with our donations. At some point during it all we felt totally, utterly and completely helpless.

In the face of such devastation, we are reminded of just how small we are. We feel inadequate to the task at hand. How could we possibly make any sort of real difference when the reality of today is unfathomable, and the road ahead holds challenges beyond our comprehension? What small gifts could we offer that would make any real difference?

We forget in those moments, that real difference is made moment by moment, dollar by dollar, person by person. We don’t need a zillion dollars in the bank account. It’s okay that we can’t hop down there to rebuild the country brick by brick. All we need is our hearts, and our talents, and people with vision to bring it all together.

To Haiti with Love is an online auction of art, photography, papercrafts, clothing, and creative goods. All proceeds will go direct to the St. Joseph’s Family of homes for children in Haiti. This weeklong fundraising event is curated and managed by visual artist René Joshi Sims of fruityfantastica and author Kate Inglis of sweet | salty.

Go and see what magic these two have pulled together; beautiful artwork, and books and gifts from profoundly talented individuals. Remember to look beyond the items themselves, and know that every single one of those postings is really just about love, about heart, and about a belief that we all have it within us to make a difference. The magic of what Kate and Rene have really created is the way they have nurtured this reality for all of us. Our contributions matter. Our offerings change the world.

My donation, ‘being exquisite’ -an 11×14 print from my series of desert images – is both small and humbly offered. It, on its own, won’t bring in a million dollars, rebuild a school, or change the course of Haiti’s future. But I am mistaken if I believe it is inadequate or meaningless.

All things done in the spirit of hope are bursting with meaning and potential.

{So go, peruse the offerings and bid on something that catches your fancy. Change the world today, the way only you can.}