Living Happiness ...

I don't know if it's a theme or what but after my reading of Glamour (or was it Redbook?) in the gym yesterday, I came across almost the same article in Redbook (or was it Glamour?) today. I know, I know … stop reading fashion magazines. Well, I can't help myself. Okay, maybe I can help myself, but there they are, and they definitely make my minutes on the elliptical trainer go a lot faster … and they keep me on there, too. I don't fool with the timer on the machine as much as I just hop on and figure, "By the time I get to the end of this magazine, I'll have been on here at least 30 minutes, maybe 45 or so." I feel lucky if the magazine has good enough articles that I actually read and am on there for an hour.

Anywho, none of this is neither here nor there, because I'm sure you don't care about my make-time-pass cardio routine, and what I'm really trying to get to (very s l o w l y) is the article that was duplicated. Okay ... maybe not duplicated word for word, but the topic was the same:

What tickled me, though, were reading some of these "naughty" things people were doing. I mean, come on, if the height of your naughtiness is not using a beverage coaster on a hot summer day with your iced mint tea, then I am a total and complete hellion by comparison. But I knew this already anyway …


I like to break rules. Seriously. I do. It's a strange glitch in my character which is otherwise very smitten with rules and order. In fact one of my little quirks is "lining things up," in no way that I can really explain to people, but I happen to know it when it happens. Yet despite this affinity for all things linear there's a funny little offshoot of my personality that says, "Screw order."

And it is this offshoot of my personality that lovingly decorates the perfect Christmas tree -- filling it with 500+ twinkle lights, working the ornaments from the top down and from the inside out, spacing everything just so -- only to turn around and top off this work of art with a $7 gold tinsel star from K-Mart that flashes so many multicolor lights it might as well be a No-Tell motel on Sunset Strip.

This personality quirk lets me eat healthy, organic, preservative-free, hormone-free food religiously only to abandon my principles entirely when confronted with a meal of Lexington BBQ, hush puppies, crinkle fries, slaw, and a styrofoam cup of Cheerwine® to wash it all down with.

It's behind my voracious appetite for romantic suspense, mass-market paperback thrillers despite my avowed book snobbery (I have a love-hate relationship with the New York Times Best-Seller lists).

And it's the rationale behind why I would totally forsake any church wedding I could dream up (and believe me, I have) to just fly to Vegas and have the cheesiest, tackiest wedding ever with as many Elvises as possible singing Love Me Tender. (I have tried, with no success, by the way, to convince G of the merits of this plan, but he is not to be taken in. I think he doesn't realize how romantic a half-dozen singing Elvises can be.)

Anyways, why do I go into all of this today? Mainly to argue against this notion that breaking the ties that bind us is something "bad" or "naughty." There is nothing bad or naughty in being true to yourself, in giving yourself permission and freedom to do the things you love, to embrace the contradictions of your nature. (Within bounds, of course. You shouldn't be harming other people. Not that you would ... .)

I've heard that this phenomenon, this ability to accept and live with contradictions, is a bit more common in the East because unlike many Western ideologies, a lot of Eastern philosophies are non-linear in their application and scope. Perhaps this is so. I don't know.

What I do know is that I like this side of myself that likes to break out, the side of myself that says, "Lose the map. We're just going for a drive. Let's see where we end up." Maybe I wouldn't want to live this way every day, but this part of me is a welcome respite and relief from my daily grind. She keeps me from getting bored (and getting boring). She makes me laugh, and I like her.

So I ask you today:



Lots of joy and freedom to you today,

I spent my time at the gym today reading fashion magazines to make the minutes on the treadmill pass by a little faster. In addition to the usual doses of how to improve my skin, boost my sex life, close my pores, lose pounds in minutes, and reorganize the clutter of my life, I was pleased to note that there were at least two or three articles about slowing down, stopping and focusing on the "haves" in our lives, instead of what we "have not." This is such a change from what these magazines were spouting 10 years ago that I was pleased to see it. But I couldn't help but close the magazine and think, "Why can't most of the magazine be about inner beauty instead of outer beauty?" Well … I guess because then it wouldn't be a fashion/beauty magazine!

Pick one up, and you're asking for it: the down and dirty on how your life doesn't measure up, replete with "deals" for the budget-conscious that still leave me wondering, "Where the heck do these people shop?" But that's not the point; the point is this:

I am writing today to tell you, my lovely readers, that you're beautiful. I have no idea what most of your outsides look like. For most of you, I've only seen a head shot (at best) of who you are. I don't know your height, your weight, how much you can bench press, or what your waist measurement is, but I do know the words of your hearts that I read everyday -- in your blogs, in your comments -- and they are beautiful.

Each one of you has your own gift that you share with the world: maybe it's your imagination, maybe it's your passion, maybe it's your spirituality … or your humor … your optimism … your ability to take great pictures … or your ability to tell a great tale. These make you beautiful - especially because you are sharing this with the world. You're sharing it with me!

Most of us go through life comparing ourselves to others and to various standards of beauty -- all outside ourselves. As a result, most of us feel that we never measure up. In fact, this reminds me of one of my favorite demotivational posters:
I occasionally wonder this very thing about my own life, "Is this me? Am I someone's cautionary tale?" Well ... if I am, I've still done some good, I guess. Perhaps not in the way I had hoped but …

I just wanted to take the time today to honor all of you who are defining beauty from within. To me, all of you are beautiful. You have filled my world with richness, warmth and joy simply by your presence and encouragement every day. What beauty!

To all of you who have encouraged me and supported me--some of you from the very beginning, most of you in the last few weeks of this major transition (and mild depression) in my life--I thank you.

You're beautiful!

Peace be with all of you,

Dear readers,

When I began this blog two months ago, it was my intention to just share my life as it is lived ... which meant to me that despite the happy title of my blog, my posts would run the gamut of the emotions and experiences we feel in life, not denying the one for the other but accepting all of them for what they are. This is how I've learned to live my happiest life over the years: not by allowing only the "good" emotions to show through but also being with and experiencing the "bad" ones, as well ... and learning how to not put labels of "good" and "bad" on these emotions.

So I am writing today to tell you that I am sad ... and have been for about three weeks now. I have tried to think positive, to keep order and routine in my world, to take quiet, veg-out days, and to do social things, too. I have struggled with all of them.

It is difficult for me to articulate to you this sadness and the source(s) of it, but perhaps it's not that important that I do. Maybe the confessing of it and acknowledging of it is enough. We all go through these times in our lives. I happen to be going through one of them, now.

If you have noticed a tone of sadness in my blog posts or an infrequency in the number of times I actually do post, this is why. I love writing. But lately I have wanted less to write than to just live. To be. Maybe you can understand why.

I am not writing today to put an end to my blog. No, I am writing simply to be honest with you who have been such faithful readers and supporters of me.

I take great comfort lately in the words from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes: "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven." I know that this too shall pass ... in its time.

Peace to all of you,


photo credit: flickr photo by eyeofeinstein

Last week I began to share with you the story of how, once upon a time, I came to change my life and change it so drastically. How does one up and leave a comfy life in the States for a not-so-comfy life in an unknown country? How does one decide to leave that which is sure to go toward that which is unsure?

My leap of faith began (as you now know) not as a sudden decision or some big show of daring and bravado, but as a morning's walk in darkness. And it was on the heels of those footsteps in the dark that others began: baby steps to be sure, but solid and sure, that would just as slowly and surely lead me down the path to my new life.

The thoughts that had come to me in those morning hours at the Abbey had not struck me as incredibly profound at the time. I had gone to the Abbey, like most people, hoping that God would put up a big sign in the sky that said, "Hey, Chania Girl, this is what you are supposed to do with your life: Fill In Gap Here." So this revelation--that I just had to trust the path I was on--was comforting but didn't hold my imagination the way seeing my destiny written in fireworks in the sky might have.

That Monday morning at the end of my retreat, I got into my car and slowly rolled along the drive back out to the highway. I headed back to my "normal" life without dreading it the way I had four days before.

Here's how the path continued to reveal itself to me, as I tried out my legs on this new ground ...

November 2005
I have turned in my resignation from the corporation where I work, and today is my last day. For the last month I have walked around on cloud nine, unable to keep the smile off my face at the prospect of my leaving.

People keep coming by my desk asking me what my next plans are. I tell them, "I don't have any," and I don't. The still, small voice in my heart is a bit louder now, and it has told me not to line anything up but to rest and see what the Universe has in store for me.

I make my final calls and turn in my last reports; the last faxes are sent out, and my desk is cleaned. I walk out feeling like Atlas with the weight of the world removed. I hop into my car, and I am free.

Four days later, I turn 30. I feel more alive than I ever have, more certain that my life is now full of possibilities. I am more excited than I am nervous. More anxious to see what comes next than fearful that something won't. I wine and dine with friends. I visit an art exhibition featuring amazing women at the local contemporary art gallery. I read books and listen to Joni Mitchell and John Denver. I feel at home in my own skin.


December 2005
It is almost Christmas, the season of Advent in my church. Everyone is waiting with baited breath for the arrival of something big, and I am too. I am beginning to be nervous and jittery. I know I have done the right thing but … something needs to happen already. Money is a concern, so I take on a part-time job at the mall helping in seasonal sales. It isn't bad, but it isn't great. My still, small voice tells me to believe, but I am struggling.

I call my priest, Linda. I tell her what is going on. She says, "Well, this is what Advent's all about, sweetie. The season of preparation, the season of darkness before light." I am not sure I am comforted.

Christmas 2005
It is Christmas. Advent is over and the Christ-child has arrived. Everyone's hopes have been fulfilled. People are happy and rejoice.

I rejoice, too. I have received a call from my church offering me a part-time job on a six-month contract starting in the new year. It is enough money to pay the bills and gives me flexible hours that still allow me plenty of time to focus on the matter of me and my vocation. I accept immediately and give thanks that this gift has arrived. Merry Christmas to me!

April 2006
I now have only two months left on my contract at the church and find myself still exploring options. I want to do something I love. I want to do something with purpose and meaning. But what is it? WHAT IS IT? I do career assessments, I chart my creative successes, I Myers-Briggs myself to death, and nothing is leaping out at me. I wander the shelves of my mind, searching for the job that has my name on it. Then I walk further back into my mental storage closet and begin taking stock, and it's there I see something on the back shelf that's been sitting there for a while. I take it out, brush it off, and read the writing on the jar. I discover that it's still interesting. I discover that it still intrigues me. And I realize that, at this point in my life, it may actually finally be do-able: I want to teach. I want to travel. I am finally going to do both.

June 2006
It is a June morning and I am on a plane to Germany, where I will spend a week before I alight in Crete . The sound of U2's Pride fills my ears, and my heart soars as the plane leaves the ground. I cry sweet tears of joy. I am going to Greece! I am going to train to be a TEFL teacher! Then I can go anywhere in the world, which is exactly what I intend to do.





Looking forward to hearing from you,

Many people have asked me over the years how I made the decision to move to Greece. And as I answer their questions and they discover that I neither knew no one in Greece--nor was I Greek myself when I chose to do so--I am also usually asked the next question: "God, how were you brave enough to do that?!"

The funny thing about moves like this is that, at the time that you choose to make them, the decision seems like the most natural one in the world. And even though you know you are making a leap of faith, you've usually been practicing with baby leaps for a good while. This is what was true for me anyway.

My act of faith sky-diving, as one friend called it, didn't start ostentatiously with all kinds of bells and fireworks. In fact, it started much more quietly. In the darkness. And with a step so mundane, you would never have guessed it would have set me on the path to a new destiny.

Let me tell you how it all began ... .

Labor Day Weekend 2005
It was 5:00 in the morning and graveyard quiet. The night animals had gone to bed, and the morning birds had not yet woken. I stepped out of my cottage into darkness, onto an unfamiliar path and, flashlight at my shoulder, took my first nervous steps.

I was scared. Not because I was scared of the dark so much as I was scared to death of snakes. Yet here I was in the heart of the South Carolina Low Country, at the tail end of summer, marching outdoors at the hour of morning where cold-blooded snakes like to warm themselves on the still-warm concrete.

As I slowly walked through the blackness (because it was black, truly black, not a single natural or man-made light around for miles), I prayed to dear God to please not let me see a snake. In fact, it was less prayer than it was mantra: Please don't let me see a snake, please don't let me see a snake, please don't let me see a snake, I repeated as I walked with great trepidation down this Low Country path to a warmly lit dining hall and the breakfast that awaited me at the end.

This weekend was part of a promise made to myself at the beginning of the year to go somewhere where I could hear the still, small voice in my soul that wasn't to be heard amidst the thunder, the fire, or the earthquakes that marked my life at the time. My promise had brought me here … to Mepkin Abbey, South Carolina--a Trappist monastery--for a weekend of silent retreat.

But now as I walked through the inky, pre-dawn blackness to the refectory and breakfast, I still wasn't altogether over the jittery nerves that had plagued me since I'd arrived here just a few hours earlier.

From the moment my car had pulled into the graveled drive, I had been gripped by an incomprehensible, soul-quaking fear. A fear so strong that before I'd even made it more than a quarter of a mile into the Abbey's gates, I had seriously considered turning the car around and just driving back the same way I'd come--which was 6 hours away!

This feeling of soul fear, along with my anxiety about the snakes, was still with me now as I made my way along the path toward breakfast.

Later that morning, I sat in my cottage bedroom looking out of the window, trying to listen to whatever I could hear amidst all this silence and not sure I was really hearing anything. But then my thoughts turned to my morning walk, and I had my epiphany.

I saw myself walking the darkened path earlier that morning, everything totally dark except for the small amount of light my flashlight had given off. I had been unnerved by the short range of its beam, wishing that it could have illuminated just a few more feet in front of me so as to ensure that there were no snakes, but it hadn't, and I'd had to go foot by foot down that path, a bit at a time, before I'd finally made it to the refectory.

When this memory came to me, I realized that this image was my life. Mired in a job I hated, confused about what to do next, feeling the call of purpose in my life, and desperately trying to discern my vocation -- literally my "calling" from the Latin vocare -- my world seemed very black indeed.

But as I sat in my chair at the window, amazed by this realization, clarity finally came to me in a voice or a whisper or a knowing, "Trust the light (of wisdom and Scripture). Trust the path you're on. Trust the community of people all around you, and they will lead you where you're going. Your vocation will be waiting for you at the end."

I knew then that I was being asked to have faith, to believe that even if I could only see a few feet in front of me at a time, I could be confident that what I wanted most earnestly would eventually be found.




Namaste.
Peace be with you.

Dear readers: I would like to ask for your kind indulgence today to allow me to present the following story en lieu of my more traditional posts. This is a tale that came to me recently during one of my morning walks. My fiance upon hearing it said, "You have to write this." And write it I have. I hope you will enjoy this contemporary folk tale, written from the recent experiences of my own life. May it touch you in some way. Happy Friday.


Once upon a time there was a traveler, a pilgrim in a strange land. She had journeyed there from afar and spent many amazing days and amazing nights discovering a new and unusual country full of treasures and heartaches. It was hard work for her, discovering this new land, and it came to pass that one day it was requested of her that she return to the city of her youth for a few months until such time as she was ready to truly enter into the life of this strange new country. And so she began a journey. A journey to a place that she had left several years before, curious as to what she would find there.

She walked and walked through the rocky terrain, the olive trees and the sandy limestone paths. Then the olive trees became fewer and the sandy paths became darker. Hills became less steep and mountains became more green. The birds overhead chirped a song that she knew, and the blinding sun (so usually strong during these months) became more gentle and allied itself with its friends, the rain clouds, and rain began to fall. As the trees became taller and the flowers became more numerous, the traveler knew that she was nearing her city, the place of her youth, and she began to make inquiries about a place to stay for the night. She knew that it would not do to be caught out in the cold with no shelter and, more importantly, no company.

The first fellow traveler she met along the way greeted her and said, "Hello, my friend. So you are going into the city, too? That is where I live. I have a home of riches and it has room for you. Come. You must stay with me. It will be an honor to me and my family."

The traveler was warmed by this request and relieved that her task had been so effortless. Seeing that she was still quite a ways out from the city, she rejoiced and was pleased that she could now travel on her way, enjoying the approach into the land of her youth with only the concerns of the visitor who wants to fill her eyes with the sights and sounds of those things at once both unknown yet familiar to her. She heartily agreed to this invitation and she and her fellow traveler parted ways, agreeing to meet at the entrance to the city in three days time.

The three days passed quickly, the traveler's steps quickening now as she anticipated her arrival and the warm reception she would receive in the home of this friend. But as she made her final approach into the city a series of bad omens began to give her pause. First she saw a blackbird. Then she saw a lame horse. And finally a pool of stagnant water. All of these were unsettling to her, and by the time she had reached the city's gate, she had decided that she would not stay with her fellow traveler.

As they'd arranged, her fellow traveler met her at the gate to the city, but she found his entire demeanor towards her to be changed. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you mean to insinuate you were going to stay in my home? Be gone with you. There's no room in my house for the likes of you." And he quickly strode away.

The traveler was stunned and heartbroken. For although she had planned to obey the signs and refuse his invitation, this rebuke hurt her deeply and filled her with doubts. Not only that, but now she entered the city with no refuge, no place of rest to lay her head and lay down the burden of her travels.

Fortunately, it was early morning when the traveler finally stepped through the gate and entered the outer edge of the city, the sun just blooming over the horizon and promising to be as bright and gentle as it had been for so many days during the last part of her journey. So the traveler began to make inquiries in the town for a place to lay her head before nightfall.

The first place she visited was a nearby temple. The joyful faces of the worshippers seemed promising and a young supplicant, hearing her query, said, "Why, yes! I think I do have a place for you. My mother is in need of a companion and would welcome whatever companionship you could give during your days with us. Let me speak with her, and we will meet at the well in the middle of the city at noon."

Again the traveler was pleased and relieved to have found such help so soon. So she agreed to their arrangement and took her leave to roam through the city's streets until such time as their meeting.

She strode into shops, ambled through the market stalls, watched the blacksmiths working their metals, and the merchants selling their wares. She basked in the sights and sounds of people and their livelihoods, seeing in this return things she had never seen before. So much life was in this city!

At the appointed time, the traveler made her way through the city streets to the well brimming over at its center. It lay in a lovely square presided over by beautiful trees. Flowers lined the walks. What a beautiful place to wait. And wait she did.

As the seconds gave way to minutes and the minutes gave way to hours, the traveler knew that the supplicant was not coming. But just as she had resolved to leave, he arrived, panting and out of breath. "You cannot stay with us. My mother is traveling herself to foreign lands. Good luck to you." And he was gone in the blink of an eye.

The traveler's worries were now very great, for the sun had already reached its zenith several hours before and was now making its descent towards its slumbering bed. She knew that it would not be long before she herself would need to do the same, and as yet she had no place to rest for the night.

So she began to pass again through the city streets, inquiring as to where someone may have a room. One of the citizens hearing her inquiries said to her, "Check the house near the edge of town. I hear that there is a place there where you may stay. It is not the most comfortable or hospitable of places, but it may suit your needs for a time." And the traveler set off in the direction that this citizen pointed out to her.

When she arrived at the place, she discovered an old woman in the front garden washing a basket full of clothes. Her back was bent over her washboard, her hands reddened from the scrubbing, and she looked up as the traveler entered her yard. "What do you want," she barked, not kindly but not unkindly either.

"I am a traveler. I come from a strange land. But I used to live in this city and am looking for a room for the night."

The old woman left her washing and came to stand before her. The traveler saw that the hair she had pulled back was sprinkled with grey and her eyes rheumy with the early stages of blindness. Harsh lines creased her face, and her voice (unused to conversation) cracked when she talked. Looking her over warily, the old woman finally said, "This place is only for females," and turned back to her washing.

Shocked, the traveler opened her mouth in surprise, "But … I am a female," she stated.

"Whatever you say, Mister, but this place is only for females and you don't look like a female to me."

The traveler puzzled, looked down at her garb, at the robe around her waist and the sandals on her feet, the rings on her fingers and the bracelets on her wrists.

"I do make exceptions, though," continued the old woman. "If you aren't a female, there are certain guidelines you can follow that'll make it alright for you to stay here. If you're still interested, that is."

And, with hardly a pause in her washing, the old woman reached into her bosom and pulled out a sheet of paper which she handed to the traveler. However, as the traveler puzzled over the rules and searched her mind for an explanation, she soon became distracted by someone else entering the yard.

This visitor, garbed in similar attire to that of the traveler, nodded at her in greeting as she went by. But then the traveler noticed a curious thing: before reaching the old woman, this visitor reached into her robe and pulled out a mirror. Placing it in front of her face, mirror side out, the visitor then approached the old woman. "Excuse me, ma'am. Might I stay here for the night?"

"Only if you're a female," the old woman retorted.

"But I am."

And the old woman, pausing in her wash, looked up and into the mirror, and smiled. "Ah, yes. I recognize you. You've stayed here before. You may go in." And she resumed her washing.

Now more baffled than ever, the traveler watched a steady stream of guests begin to arrive, each of whom repeated this ritual, each of whom was greeted by a warm welcome from the old woman who, recognizing herself in the glass, proclaimed each visitor suitable for entry.

But this did not sit well with the traveler: neither the list of guidelines which denied her femininity nor the trickery of the mirror which would result in her own inability to see what might lie in front of her. And so, with sinking heart, she bade the old woman farewell and exited through the garden gate.

The day was now drawing to a close. The sun had sunk low in the sky and the evening birds had begun their songs in the trees. In the distance, the traveler could hear crickets chirping, and she knew that she must soon find a place to stay or be left out in the cold.

With anxious and heavy heart, she began to trod the city's paths once again, pausing in darkened shop windows looking for the assistance of shop keepers who had already long gone home.

Finally, just as the traveler began to despair, she was greeted by a young man approaching her. "Excuse me, miss. Are you looking for a place for the night?"

"Why yes, yes I am. But I have found no one who will take me in, and the night is coming and I am not prepared to make my bed alone, under the stars."

"Do not worry," he said. "I know a place that may take you in," and he proceeded to give her explicit directions on how to find it. Nodding gratefully, with tears welling up in her eyes, she bade the young man, "Thank you," and set off on her way for, hopefully, the last time.

She wound through the city streets again, his carefully drawn map in front of her, and in just a few short minutes found herself before the door of a cheery-looking establishment. Flower boxes garnished the windows and lights twinkled from within. A cat mewed at her feet and curled itself around her legs, and bells tinkled as the traveler rang the bell. She could smell a stew simmering and the scent of fresh bread beneath, and her stomach growled in hungry anticipation.

Soon the door opened and a small, round woman appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were tired but kind, and her mouth was creased with the faintest lines of one who laughed often and much. "How can I help you?" she asked. And the traveler proceeded to tell her, "Please, madam. I am a traveler and have been a stranger in a strange land. Now I have returned to the land of my youth and need a place to stay for the night … perhaps for many nights. Everyone I have spoken to has turned me away. Might you be able to help me?"

And the woman, hearing the traveler's story was touched by compassion. She could see the weariness in the traveler's eyes, hear the worry in her voice, and understand the burdens she carried in with her. Knowing these things, she answered the traveler, "By all means, you may stay here. My house is your house. Stay for as long as you need." And she opened the door wide and greeted the traveler warmly with a holy kiss. "Please come in." And the traveler did.

That night as the traveler lay beneath the warm blankets, her belly full from stew and bread, she gazed through the window at the stars and thought about her journey. She thought about the man who had invited her and rebuked her, the supplicant who had assured her and failed her, and the blind woman who couldn't even recognize her. But then she thought of the woman in whose house she now lived, and she was grateful. She knew that all of her steps had led her to this door and that these steps had been ordained even before the start of her journey. And she knew that whither she went from here, this place would always welcome her in.

My Lunch With An Egghead. It was Like a Bad Train-Wreck. When the Past Comes Up and Smacks You in the Ass. These were all titles I had thought of for this blog post today because this is what happened to me last week. I had lunch with an egghead. It was like a bad train wreck. I felt like my past had come up and smacked me on the ass.

Positively Present wrote a wonderful post recently where she described her own confrontation with a painful, not-so-happy past. In complete honesty, she shared her panicked feelings, the rush of blood to her face, the sweaty palms, the utter anxiety of the event. And then she proceeded to tell us how she navigated her way through it and managed to find joy and acceptance in who she is now.

Well, this was another one of the moments of synchronicity where I read the post (the first post I'd read since being back) and thought, "What the heck?! Was PP at lunch with me last week?" And I even told her so.

Last week, I indeed had lunch with my past. Well, with an ex-boyfriend actually. Who looked remarkably like an egghead. And it was a traumatic thing. Frightening. Soul-jarring. And also a bit revolting, I have to say.

I found myself sitting in a booth across from what my future could have been if I'd continued on the path I was on 6 years ago, and that glimpse into a Future That Wasn't scared the bejeezus out of me. I found myself taking deep breaths between my gulps of Diet Coke and thinking, "OMG! What a narrow miss!"

Have you seen those old Hollywood movies where the main character is given the chance to see his life if he'd made (or hadn't made) this or that choice? It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol come to mind. I used to watch them and think, "If only that could really happen. Wouldn't it be great?"

Well … Fate, the Universe, God decided that, yes, it would be great and gave me that chance last week. They allowed me to glimpse myself down The Road of What Could Have Been from the safe and comfy vantage point of Where I Actually Am. And it was eye-opening.

It is rare in life that we are given this opportunity. I don't think it is all that common to be allowed to see The Road Not Taken. Most of the time we simply trust that when we are finally moving in alignment with ourselves and our purpose and, as some would say, the Divine's plan for our life, that this is sufficient reward. We can often look upon our present life (even with its sorrows) and appreciate the joy that permeates it because we have chosen to live in harmony rather than in dissonance with the world around us. We have come far enough to know that this present life is far better than we could have dreamed … and is, thankfully, many blessed steps away from where we once were. This is reassurance enough.

This is how I have felt, too. Periodically I have stepped back over the years, paused at a certain point along my mountain trail, and taken stock of how far I've come. I remember earlier parts of the path, difficult ledges I had to climb, parts of the trail where the path seemed to disappear entirely, and I can see the lessons learned. I can see how, even when I didn't think I was moving, I was still somehow climbing - up, uP, UP! These are things that I reflect on in these moments of pause. They renew me and encourage me to keep climbing.

But last week, I felt like I was truly given the chance to do more than appreciate the circumstances that had led me to this place. I was allowed to see a tiny bit of where a life of not making these choices might have led me. And in that glimpse, I was still wandering around the bottom of the mountain, searching for a way up, trying one path and getting discouraged and dropping back down again. Fearful of the mountain. Fearful of myself.

As I sat across from this ex-boyfriend, these thoughts were not going through my head yet. Mostly I was still in the state of "There but for the grace of God go I." But when I got home and had the time to reflect on my very strong emotional reaction to this encounter, these are the thoughts that came to me.

I find myself a strange mixture of relieved, elated, and sorrowful. Relieved that I did choose to do things differently. Elated that I (with God's help and the community of people around me) have begun climbing the mountain and have come so far. Sorrowful that my ex-boyfriend is still struggling to begin his climb.

It would be easy for me to be judgmental. And, to be honest, I do have to fight a bit not to be. I don't have a lot of patience with people who continue to choose the wrong paths despite all of the signposts all around them that spell out what the good paths are. But that's a side road we're not going to take today. What I realize is that the best thing I can do is to be there to support and encourage this individual when he decides to get serious about climbing the mountain. I did not get this far by myself. I got here because I had helpers and fellow climbers all along the way who gave me guidance, advice, tips, and love.

My glimpse down What Might Have Been Lane was not just a technique of the gods to bolster my pride and hubris. No, I believe its purpose was altogether different: to teach me that rather than stand in my elevated spot, looking down on and casting stones, perhaps it was time I, too, helped someone begin climbing the mountain.

Warmest wishes today,

I was sitting recently, talking to a friend about the brokenness that we can experience in our lives. All of us experience this at one time or another and feel broken ourselves--flawed, messed up, perhaps even irredeemably so. We're bruised, scarred and knotted, and we wonder: Can any good come of this?

Evelyn Lim at Attraction Mind Map wrote a lovely post recently that addressed this issue: she shared with her readers the Indian folktale "The Tale of the Water Bearer's Pots," sometimes known as "The Cracked Pot." In this story, we are reminded that beauty can come of our flaws, that our imperfections do not have to mean that all is lost. The story of the broken vessel seems to say: Don't lose heart. Even your flaws and chips and cracks can be used toward good.

I have taken comfort in this promise myself, glad that even in my not-so-wholeness there's a chance that even my chips and flaws might somehow allow for love and beauty to bloom anyway.

But after talking with my friend, I began to wonder if there is more to the story, if perhaps we may sometimes stop too soon in our acceptance of it. The reason I say so is this question that began to gnaw at me: At what point is a flawed vessel no longer serving its purpose?

My friend and I puzzled over this together because both of us had encountered our own cracked pots recently, people so frequently broken and not so put back together that our interactions with them had become dangerous--cutting us, pricking us, shattering and wounding us. We had reached a point when we said of these interactions, "The fool here is me … for continuing to pick up this vessel." And we had stepped back and said, "No more."

The cracked pot no longer held water. We put it back on the shelf, out of reach, far from prying hands, far from any hands at all. But then … what purpose does it, can it, serve?

I began to wonder what bearing this had on me. When are my flaws admissible character traits, and when are they liabilities? Isn't it in my best interest to eliminate as many of them as I can?

Growing up in a strict religious household, the response to these questions was most often Jesus' admonishment to "Be perfect as I am perfect." Wow. No pressure there. Be perfect? Nooo problem.

But as I got older, I came to understand that perfect as it was used in that scripture did not mean perfect the way I was taught to conceive of it: without fault or flaw. Instead perfect meant whole, complete. Ah. That made more sense. But how does one accomplish this wholeness? And what does it mean to be more complete?

Maybe it means taking all of the pieces of my life that have been chipped away and fragmented over the years and allowing them to be arranged again to reflect my truest nature which, at the end of the day, is really the divine nature at the heart of me. Maybe it means being a bit like Humpty Dumpty, but instead of remaining shattered, I am "put back together again." This is a process of re-membering.

To "remember who we are" is, in a very real sense, to engage in the process of letting ourselves (and others) put the pieces of us back together again. When we remember who we are, we remember our essence, our purpose. We ask ourselves the question, "Who am I?" and in answering the question, we come to understand what the shape of this vessel, the shape of us, is meant to be.

It's important to note that the process of re-membering is not a solitary one. We do not re-member ourselves in isolation but in the context of community. There is a point at which we have done all we can do to re-form ourselves, to file away our rough edges so that we do not shatter or wound those around us, and it is then we can allow ourselves to be shaped and formed by the loving hand of others, those who can see our inner beauty and help us achieve our purpose.



It's great to be back.
Peace be with you.