The blank canvas The blank page The clutter-free desk The cleared-off cooking space. The beginning of something not yet created. The infinite potential The spark of creativity or action. To create something And fill up that space with something new That never existed. And that’s why I return again and again to the page: To a clean space, To make/create something. It is the meaning of life. If we are all creative, It’s the perfect medium to create. I can set the tone of my day, Which sets the tone of my Creative, connected life. On full moons, I always have vivid dreams And creative insight. I capture it here. The page holds all of my fears And creative dreams. It makes my creativity a reality. It is a give and take. A creative relationship That I take action toward And life works. It works for me. I feel light And in a mastery of my life.
Tag: journal
My Inner Warning System
Why can’t I just be satisfied? The happy, fulfilled factor is always a temporary state. Once I receive my desired dream, shouldn’t I feel bliss all the time? Pesky little irritations should have no power. Is it selfish to do what I want, for a change? Like a short gratitude yoga practice. Can that be allowed? Is there space for me, too? And when I can’t find the space, Exhaustion, overwhelm, irritability And frustration take the helm. Each one is a teacher, A guide that I’ve forgotten to put myself first. The groundwork has not been laid. So, of course, I am easily thrown off course. When you’re stuck in the weeds, All you see is weeds. There is no space for a higher perspective To see a clear pathway out. The pause button is lost, too. Oh, this is my inner warning system That I forgot to check in with myself today. When I connect to myself, Through journaling, yoga, or meditation, I remember that I always have a choice And that I am a work in progress. I fall. I get back up again. I remember. I forget. And that’s okay, too.
In darkness
Each morning I awake in darkness. My mind tricks me that it’s still night. But the alarm can’t be wrong, Can it? So I grumble a little Then I sit up and swing my legs to the side of the bed. I take sweet side stretches Awakening my muscles and side body. Only then will I stand up And greet the day. I begin my morning yoga in pure darkness. The only light emanates from my iPad as I start a yoga video. My personal asana practice is quiet. Everyone else is slumbering. They, too, feel that it is still night. Too dark to awaken. So I enjoy the solitude and present moment to connect breath and movement. My yoga practice ends with a brief meditation. Then I click on a lamp so I can write in my mindset journal. Sometimes I write about last night’s dream Like a real, tangible memory deep in my mind. Oftentimes, I like to write my lunar affirmation and intention three times in a row in my notebook. That is my ideal morning trifecta while the sun is still in slumber. My favorite time of the year is when the sun rises while I’m in the shower. I see its rays peek behind the curtains and begin their path up along my bathroom wall. If I time it just right, the whole shower gets illuminated in fresh morning light. For now I will have to wait for the synchronicity of getting to bathe in sunlight. It is all right. I can wait. My morning routine is a constant even when the sunrise is not.
We all carry a little trauma
I originally published this blog in 2019. I still feel it’s relevant and we all need the reminder of our common suffering.
We all walk around with a little trauma in our back pocket. Sometimes we forget it’s there. Sometimes, unbeknownst to us, we pull it up and it’s in our face without any warning. How we experienced the trauma is individual and unique: what happened, how we dealt with it or didn’t deal with it, our own personal experience of the trauma. We were innocent one moment and then the event rocked us to the core and that is something we all share.
We’d like to pretend it never happened to us. Why talk about such negative things that don’t affect us now? The event shaped us whether we’d like to admit it. We can choose to acknowledge this trauma that we’ve been carrying around for far too long. Perhaps we’ve grown tired and exhausted from the heaviness of that burden. And it has metaphorically created a hole and fell out of our pocket. However it happens, the opportunity lies before us.
Do we quickly scoop it up and bury it once again? Do we distract ourselves and hide it, ignore it or stuff it? Or can we just for a moment accept our common humanity that trauma unfortunately happens. It’s a part of the journey of life. But it doesn’t have to control us any longer. It happened, for sure. It sucks. Who wants to rehash unpleasantries?
But once we acknowledge our common human experience – our trauma – something shifts. Our burden lightens. We see that we are not alone in our suffering. It is okay. We are not justifying what happened, but right now in this moment can we feel safe? Can we take a breath? Can we sit with this feeling for just a few moments?
Here’s what I would like you to do right now. Don’t engage in a dialogue with the trauma. Just be the listener. Write if it helps you to sort out your thoughts on paper. Treat yourself gingerly, with the softness and tenderness as you would a small infant. You were innocent when it happened through no fault. Can you see what “trauma” is showing you? Is there a message? A nugget of wisdom that you can explore?
When you’ve listened to what has to be said, put your hands on your heart and just breathe for a minute. Counting breaths helps. I like to count to 10. One, inhale; one, exhale. Two, inhale; two, exhale, etc. I promise you that any fear, anger, or other strong emotion you feel will dissipate if for just a moment you can let it out. It’s been bottled up for too long.
Seven ways of looking at a notebook
1- Blank smooth pages that drink up the ink. Smudges do not deter. Perfection has no place. Filled or empty, each page has a space and a place.
2- A clean slate. A beginning. A chance to start anew.
3- A Conduit. I connect to my inner wisdom, to inner truth, real or fiction, to my creativity, to you.
4- An alchemist. The notebook takes what is unreal and intangible and makes it real and tangible. My see my words take shape before my eyes.
5- The pages speak my story. My dreams. My words before they form full thought or belief. Just a spark before the utterance.
6- Patient. The notebook sits quietly on the bookshelf, on the desk or tucked inside my bag. Waiting for me. Never rushing or demanding.
7- Healing. Therapy on the page. For my eyes only as I grapple with, dissect, explore, express or create. It is mine alone.
We all carry a little trauma
We all walk around with a little trauma in our back pocket. Sometimes we forget it’s there. Sometimes, unbeknownst to us, we pull it up and it’s in our face without any warning. How we experienced the trauma is individual and unique: what happened, how we dealt with it or didn’t deal with it, our own personal experience of the trauma. We were innocent one moment and then the event rocked us to the core and that is something we all share.
We’d like to pretend it never happened to us. Why talk about such negative things that don’t affect us now? The event shaped us whether we’d like to admit it. We can choose to acknowledge this trauma that we’ve been carrying around for far too long. Perhaps we’ve grown tired and exhausted from the heaviness of that burden. And it has metaphorically created a hole and fell out of our pocket. However it happens, the opportunity lies before us.
Do we quickly scoop it up and bury it once again? Do we distract ourselves and hide it, ignore it or stuff it? Or can we just for a moment accept our common humanity that trauma unfortunately happens. It’s a part of the journey of life. But it doesn’t have to control us any longer. It happened, for sure. It sucks. Who wants to rehash unpleasantries?
But once we acknowledge our common human experience, our trauma, something shifts. Our burden lightens. We see that we are not alone in our suffering. It is okay. We are not justifying what happened, but right now in this moment can we feel safe? Can we take a breath? Can we sit with this feeling for just a few moments?
Here’s what I would like you to do right now. Don’t engage in a dialogue with the trauma. Just be the listener. Write if it helps you to sort out your thoughts on paper. Treat yourself gingerly, with the softness and tenderness as you would a small infant. You were innocent when it happened through no fault. Can you see what “trauma” is showing you? Is there a message? A nugget of wisdom that you can explore?
When you’ve listened to what has to be said, put your hands on your heart and just breathe for a minute. Counting breaths helps. I like to count to 10. One, inhale; one, exhale. Two, inhale; two, exhale, etc. I promise you any fear, anger, or other strong emotion you feel will dissipate if for just a moment you can let it out. It’s been bottled up for too long.
The blank page is my refuge
My journals lead me, guide me, remind me, comfort me and show me. I’ve been keeping a journal since high school. They often lead me to the answer or solution. They lead me to insights. They guide me to the next steps to take or can serve as a gentle nudge. They can be a light in the dark; a map showing the easy and difficult terrain ahead; an exit to safe passage. My journals remind me of what I had forgotten.
They are a tool that is portable and accessible. I find the space to cope, hash out, dissect, examine, vent, relax, pause, slow down and breathe, and integrate: To be the observer of thought. My own words can comfort me during times of sickness, heartbreak, anguish, or confusion. It’s like a warm cup of tea or being wrapped up in a cozy blanket. I can enjoy and savor the moments.
My journals have showed me how much I’ve changed, my ever evolving inner and outer circumstances and how I dealt with various people, events and places. They serve as a still frame, a reflecting mirror, a magnifying glass as to who I was on month/day/year and what mattered to me then. Can I see how I got from there to here? The most important part of my journals is that it records my timeline and becomes tangible evidence of my life. My inner thoughts are brought onto the page for time immemorial; like a time capsule if I dare to look back.
The notebook:
In my teens they were one-subject notebooks. “Psychology,” “History,” “Oceanography” in large print on the cover. Who would want to look inside of that? Who would care to see my chicken scratch of quickly jotted notes? To their surprise it would not be. The subject on the cover was a ruse, a lie to cover up its true contents. A teenage girl who shared a room in a tiny apartment with five other family members does not have much privacy or space to call her own.
I discovered journaling could be the safety net I so desperately needed to deal with the trauma, the heartbreak, the teenage angst, the big questions, the fears, the boredom of not being able to go anywhere unless it was by foot or public transportation. Through journaling, I discovered my love of the written word. I tapped into that creative well and poetry began to appear on the page. It lit me up to hear my words rhythmically along the page. Instead of wallowing in despair and hurt or numbing myself with illicit substances, I went within. I found myself. I saved myself.
Now in my 40s I still turn to the blank page. These days I’m not looking for anything in particular to appear but the journals are more like creating an opening. I’m deliberately making creative space and taking the time to see what’s beneath the surface. What grain of salt or sparkling spec catches the light of my attention today. My notebooks lately have been simple composition notebooks that I slip on a pretty cloth cover.
I am the observer, the recorder of thought, and it will always be my refuge.
Fixed v. Growth Mindset
It depends on how much I “buckle down” and get done. If I just work a little harder, strive a little more, I will be X: Happier, successful, loved, fulfilled, accomplished, complete, evolved to be my best, smartest, healthiest, perfect-as-I-am self. But that’s a cop-out. I will never fully “arrive” as my life is here for the long haul. My health, my interests, my friends, work, creative focus and otherwise will wax and wane, as it should in this place called life.
What happens when we get to the end of the road and arrive? Is that the end of my story? Do I stop learning, evolving and growing? Do I want to?
There is no ultimate destination because that would mean the end of the line, the old couple on the porch sipping lemonade as the days quickly pass, waiting for what? Remembering the past and stuck in story? Waiting for a peaceful end to a fulfilled life?
I’m not there yet. I have a lot more to learn, to glean, to create, to love, to be, to serve, to clear way, to relax, to enjoy, to delight, to revel and linger. It’s too much, too juicy, too soon to stop.
So that fixed narrative sets you up for failure because there is no “done.”
Just be. Just here with life’s lessons, trials and tribulations, joys, mistakes, regrets, loves, memories both cherished and wished to be forgotten, hopes, dreams, pleasures, etc. My growth mindset says to keep being curious on what lights me up lately. Keep writing, keep asking the questions, digging and laying the inner groundwork to see what’s in store next.
This is where Doubt lives
Doubt is where the real inner work resides. We can take a breather, examine what’s worked, what lies underneath the surface, and uncover old fears and wounds. This is where Doubt lives. It makes us feel small and inconsequential. It belittles our triumphs as not a big deal or just a coincidence, chance or dumb luck. Not true.
What do we do when Doubt creeps in? Do we run and hide and choose not face what’s blocking our path?
Playing safe = playing small.
It’s our duty to share our gifts with the world: Our talents, our skillset, our voice, our words, our stories are desperately needed.
How can we overcome Doubt?
We can journal the uncomfortable feelings. Process our thoughts into words on the page. Or stop and simply get outside and take a walk in nature or do some other movement.
How do we get still and ready to confront Doubt?
My favorite is to sit still and do a visualization with Doubt. Ask Doubt what is she trying to protect us from? Imagine Doubt is an unexpected guest that needs tending and attention. Make a cup of tea. Help Doubt take off her wet raincoat and dry by the fire. Hand Doubt the warm mug. Start gently, where you are. Try not to get caught up in a shouting and pushing match. Accept Doubt. Listen calmly and openly to all the concerns and potential threats. See them as outside yourself. They are not your truth or your story or what will happen. There are no guarantees.
Assure Doubt that you are okay. You are strong. You are capable. You are ready to take the next bold step. That with uncertainty can come greatness, joy, and a life beyond imagination. Sit in silence together, sipping the warm tea that never seems to cool until the last drop is gone. Thank Doubt for her words and say goodbye.
What’s the payoff for playing small? It provides a safety net in a world that seems wrought with violence and fear. Doubt is natural and almost like reflexive, protective posturing. However, please remember that your dream, your talents, skills, story, words, and energy are not threatening.
When I sit with Doubt I uncover some more: FEAR. Fear of being vulnerable, being open to criticism or possible judgment. Or possibly overcoming Doubt will spark a movement, create momentum for inner growth and shared experience, and provide an accepting environment and community where we can all thrive and not only merely survive.
Labyrinth Walk
We start out as children and young adults learning and following the footsteps of those that came before us. They made it possible for us to exist! Now it’s my turn to create my own imprint and footprints for the next generation to follow; to trust my inner wisdom; to acknowledge with gratitude all the facets of life. When I’m unsure or the path seems misguided and leading me off course, if I get still enough, the path gets illuminated before me and I can be the guidepost for those that will follow in my footsteps.
I spent the weekend on a mindfulness for mothers retreat at Copper Beech Institute in West Hartford, CT. I had so many amazing insights and breakthroughs, which can only happen when we slow down and retreat. I wrote a lot in my journal. I took full advantage of all the yoga and meditation workshops. I kept my iPhone in the drawer in my private room and I went within. The group was led by Hunter Clarke-Fields, the mindful mama mentor. You can listen to her podcast and take advantage of her free resources at: https://www.mindfulmamamentor.com/
We were a small group of nine mamas. I learned new tools and tips for my mindfulness journey. Mindfulness and meditation are not an attempt to strive, self-improve, or add to my day as another to-do. In this retreat I was reminded about my why. Why do I meditate and do yoga most days? It gives me freedom and a sense of relief, as simple and profound as that.
As the retreat was coming to a close, I still hadn’t visited the labyrinth. So it was my own personal closing ceremony to integrate the group sharing and insights. I was alone. It had snowed the day before and I had to follow the footprints that led to the labyrinth. The path in the labyrinth was gravel and not shoveled. I saw footprints in all directions within it. I was able to find the path and stay the course. At one point because of the snow, I was unsure how to get to the center. When I got still, I saw that no one had gone right and when I did, I was back on the path. My gatha or mantra came to me in the center of the labyrinth: “Peace with this, Peace within me.” I am ready to be the guidepost for those that will follow my footsteps.
Healing Insights 