cookie dough philosophy

Yesterday I made cookies. I was somewhere through the creaming and adding when I was filled with something that made me stop and wonder just what I was feeling. Looking into the bowl of thick, gloppy stuff, I realized it was some combination of peace and hope and memory. Gratitude.

Not long ago it was fairly frequent that I figured a bowl of cookie dough and a glass of whiskey made a really tasty and reasonable supper. They were nights I hadn't fully prepared for, nights that were regular and predictable, but would still sneak up on me every week. Every week, I judged myself. Some weeks I made cookie dough. I was very blessed in that time to have two people in particular who would simply sit with me, without judgment of any kind, and share cookie dough. One would also share whiskey. Both would let me talk if I needed to, or sit quietly and eat. Or we would watch something on Netflix to make us laugh or cry.

The gratitude I felt yesterday was related to all of those things. And because that time is behind me. And for the memory itself. I'm grateful that I have dear friends who know my heart - not simply because they do, but also because they are willing to listen to me, to look at me and into me. To play "worst case" with me, and also to talk about far-fetched dreams that really mean something else I'm truly aiming for.

Once upon a time, I thought I had hope, that I knew what hope was, is. The other day, emailing a friend, I said that I felt something I couldn't quite define, but it was small, deep, and good. I liked it. In the course of describing it, I realized what I was feeling was real, honest to goodness hope. It's smaller than I pictured it, but stronger, in a nebulous and changing kind of way. Where I'd thought hope was supposed to be something grand and visible to everyone around me, I discovered this hope is mine and mine alone. This hope is attached to the dreams I have that develop into goals - goals that are changeable, malleable, flexible, and even discardable. This hope feeds my soul, rather than my judgment. I spent a whole lot of my life thinking that a goal was permanent; once it was set, it had to be attained, or failure was the result. I never knew there were other options - modifying goals, maybe (but only to make them harder to reach), but scrapping them? Never. Hope, I'm discovering, is related to true humility - seeing yourself for who and what you really are. Knowing, acknowledging gifts and flaws, and working to improve both. I think hope is what feeds that growth.

this hope is what came from those cookie dough and whiskey nights. It's what had me washing those dishes the next morning, and making it through another week. It's what's pulled me away from that self-judgment zone; or rather, is pulling me away, as I still run into it more often than I'd like. It's what brings me peace when the unavoidable "unpleasantries" crop up, as they do almost daily. Because it's always there. The Big Hope I thought was so definitive seemed easier to lose, to have to look for and work for. That hope left me feeling hopeless, and therefore like a failure in some ways for having lost it or let it go. This new hope, this small nugget of reality, is with me regardless of what I see in front of me. Quite often it peeks around my shoulder and looks at me without saying a word until I realize its presence and smile. Like the best of friends, like a lover. This hope stands by me in the pain and hurt, and in the good times, too. This hope says, "yep, that'll be fun, if we get there" without ever saying "that's impossible." Sometimes it does ask "is that really what you want?" And sometimes my response is "yes, it is what I want, even though I am fully aware that it's not what I need, or maybe even not what's best for me, but for today, it's what I want to dream about and wish for." And there's no guilt in the wishing. This hope laughs with me and cries with me, and showed me how far I've come - with a bowl of cookie dough.

I have miles to go. And I'm looking forward to every one of them: steep and rocky, rough and uncharted, smooth and freshly paved, fast, slow, and in between. I have hope as a companion.

my role model

A few weeks ago, I was asked "Who is your role model? What inspires you about this person?" I was in a bit of a rough place, and feeling let down by a whole lot of people I always thought 'should' be in the position of role modeling. I was set to respond with "It depends on the day" or "I don't have one. I prefer to model myself after attributes rather than people." The truth is, what I wanted to say is that I avoid letting anyone into that position now so they cannot disappoint or hurt me. The question was part of a survey I had to do - it was not optional - and there was no reason to say anything on it that wasn't the absolute truth. But, despite the truth in what I wanted to say, I knew, deep down, that it was temporary; the way that moment in time was shining on me. Or raining on me, I suppose.

I stepped away from my computer and thought about all the people I love, and who love me; my family of the heart, and my kids.Can a role model be a regular person? How could I have forgotten that? How could I have forgotten that the best role models are the ones that are right there, showing themselves - their true selves - in little ways. The people that had hurt me so much hadn't, really. I mean, yes, they did, but in the long run - a year, a decade, even a month down the road - the ways they had disappointed me would be long gone; the hurt healed over into a golden scar, strengthening the once broken parts of my heart. I considered who, really, was a role model to me, and how I could answer the question honestly. Truly honestly. An answer that would hold true in the future (days later, when discussing it, or a decade later, when I reflected on it), as well as the past. Was there anyone? Had I ever really let anyone be a role model? Of course. This is my response:

My dad. He could befriend anyone, in any situation. Along the way, he would find the best in people; everyone was his favorite. And he made that believable. From his example, I have learned that everyone has some gift to share, and I try to remember that, even with unpleasant interactions. His legacy to me is an admiration of the human spirit.

Today is Dad's birthday. Today marks ten years of no Happy Birthday phone calls. No left arm hugs. No coffee in pajamas all morning, until it's time to get dressed so we can have lunch and talk some more. No last glass of wine after lights out. I wish sometimes I had asked him what gift it is that he saw that I had to share. I wish sometimes that I had told him about my hurts, more about my joys, my dreams. I never asked him for real reasons on some things, like why he discouraged me from being a helicopter pilot, or going to the West Coast for college. I know the reasons he told me at the time, but I also know there was more behind it. The truth is, despite all the talking we did, and the love we shared, I didn't want him to know me that well. I was afraid, and I'm only beginning to learn what I was afraid of. The truth is, even as a little girl, I was already broken, and I really didn't want to know, or face, that he was, too, in some way. I didn't want that in common with him. The truth is, he's the reason I stayed. The reason I stayed at home, the reason I stayed in my marriage, the reason I stayed with at least a couple of jobs. I can't (yet) explain how he was, because I don't (yet) have the words. But I now know that to be truth. I love him for it. And I also wish I could talk it out with him, because it only makes so much sense, then it falls off into some realm I don't want to visit alone.

Another one of the questions on that survey was about a desert island:

If you were shipwrecked and stranded on an island without any supplies, fellow humans, etc., what do you do first? Why?
Cry, because I’ve never even considered learning how to build a fire without matches, and I know fire is the best way to protect myself from wild animals, prepare food to eat, and signal for help. Then I would pull myself together and explore. 

At the discussion afterward, we talked about sushi. In another conversation, my therapist said he knew there was something else I would do before I cried, because I am me. He said I would realize and be thankful that I am alive. And it clicked: I'm a survivor. The legacy of admiration for the human spirit is related to being a survivor. Dad taught me to survive. And from that survival, I am learning to thrive.

As I write this, the Morning Doves have returned. Dad used to whistle the Morning Dove's call, and always as a kid, because of the sound, I was convinced they were called Mourning Doves. Hearing them today is a gift from him, from Him. One year they nested in the crook of the tree right outside the window, and the boys and I watched them each day, sitting on eggs and staring at us. I like to think Dad watches over us, but I also hope that's not all he does. I miss him. I love him. And I'm grateful for all he taught me, and even the things he didn't, because they make him all the more real to me. Happy Birthday, Dad. I know you would understand.

a better place

Sometimes I forget where I am in comparison to where I was. I don't think I'm alone in that, but at those times, I do feel quite alone. There's no rhyme or reason to the "what next?" hitting me, nor is there any "usual" response I feel. Roughly two years ago, I made a list - a double list, actually - that serves as reminder of where something resembling rock bottom was, as far as Love (pseudo-love?) is concerned.

Things I'm not Allowed to Do
-post anything that can be perceived as negative on FB (or blog, or email, or talking with someone)
-Ever tell anyone that we've had a fight/argument, etc.
-use the words Always; Never; Everyone; Nobody; Every; or any other absolute
-interrupt
-complain when interrupted
-yell [or even talk loudly]
-point out when someone else is yelling, especially you
-exaggerate in any way
-get close enough to see when I'm not wearing my glasses
-ask what I am allowed to do
-have any complaints or negative feelings. Ever.
-exhibit stress in any way
-have no emotion
-have temper tantrums
-notice [your] temper tantrums
-finish any argument [that would mean admitting we're having one - duh!]
-walk away
-follow
-say that I'm wrong
-change my mind or have different opinions in different circumstances
-Grow

Things that I want to be able to do
-Be myself, even though I might have an "off" day
-Laugh
-Be sarcastic
-Be serious
-Know that someone is listening to me
-Cry
-Feel respected
-Sleep when I'm tired
-Relax - Not the sit-down-with-feet-up-doing-nothing kind - the kind where I can focus on what I'm doing and enjoy it for what it is because there aren't 400 other things that I have to remember to do/tell someone to do
-Be polite
-Feel like home is not a game/battle to be won
-be on a team; someplace where the page is the same for everyone
-Speak frankly without tantrums ensuing - mine or anyone else's 
-Go to the bathroom when I need to go to the bathroom

I keep these lists handy - with the things I wanted to be able to do face up - and although I don't look at it every day, it does manage to catch my eye from time to time and soothes me. Every one of those things I now have. More importantly, I recognize the other list for what it is: a picture of a life I am no longer subjected to, a life no one should be subjected to. And I'm able to see myself as I was, what and how much I didn't know. I had no idea of my worth, my value, even my spirit. I see articles sometimes and hear people say that we allow the bad behavior that affects us, and I no longer get angry about it. Sometimes we allow things because we don't know there is something else, something better. I didn't know, so I allowed that first list to become my life. It's when I began to learn about alternatives, options, reality (actually) that I made the lists. They were an effort to improve the situation. My life has improved exponentially - though not in the way I expected the day I sat down with a piece of notebook paper. I've discovered that sometimes the only way to have a clean slate is to get a new slate. Would I have chosen this path? Not in a million years. Would I trade it? Not for a million dollars. Do I regret that time, that period of my life? Not on your life. It helped to shape me. I am where I need to be. I am doing what I need to do. I have people I need in my life - people I need because they support and challenge me; they Love me, without any trace of pseudo-love. I am becoming who I am supposed to be - and I know, without a doubt, that I will never be completely her; I will continue to grow and change and learn and be reborn. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

motivated by purpose

I know what motivates me. This is exciting because yesterday I was stumped and asked for some thoughts on how to answer the question. Lots of great thoughts and ideas were offered, and I tucked it all in the back of my mind for pondering. My brand of pondering tends to let the thoughts alone back there to work things out a little with others, and I let them come out when they are ready. Possibly because some of those ideas challenged me - something I've been missing in my life for a while - the creative part of my mind seems to have jumped in to assist. I digress....

Today I was asked to take an assessment as part of an application process. Fairly similar to one I completed a few months ago for another company, as I answered the questions I thought about my verbal response to the results when the time comes, since I was unprepared the last time. Many of the questions lacked context that could change my answer dramatically, and I made mental notes of them, more for my own analysis later than anything else. Since I spent that 40 minutes essentially preparing for an interview question or two, the motivation question came to mind. "What does motivate me?" I asked myself as I curled up with a cup of hot chocolate. I closed my eyes and chuckled. One of my friends said yesterday that there are only two real motivators: Love and fear. When the hiring manager asked, my first thought was to say, "Well, it's not fear!" But I didn't know what it was. Then the images came to me.

Faces filled with gratitude. With understanding, new found knowledge. Delighted at having a new idea, a new skill, a new future. Some were faces of people I'd actually met, worked with, or encountered. Others were strangers from ads or marketing materials, but not models or actors; actual delighted people. Still others were faces I've not yet seen, made up in my imagination years ago or just now it's hard to say, but the answer was clear. I'm motivated by helping others, I thought, but realized there's more to it than that. All of it is wrapped up in my first memory of life goals in addition to being a mom. I then remembered details of my dream of having a job that required me to wear a hat and carry a clipboard - a cap, a hardhat, a uniform hat of some kind - and that my mother was mortified by the thought. (Which amused me as much tonight as it did back then!) But it's what I always wanted to do; that much I remembered vividly as I thought.

One Christmas while I was in high school, I read in the paper about the Arctic League and asked my dad if we could help. At the time, I was surprised at how readily he agreed (as a mom and former youth minister, I now know that if a kid asks to do something like that, you make it possible!) and on Christmas morning, we got up at some ungodly hour to drive a half hour to the warehouse and stand in a tremendous line in the cold and snow, and it was so worth it. The world was so quiet, between the hour, the darkness, the foot or so of snow everywhere, the hats, scarves, mittens and down enveloping all the volunteers. It was Christmas morning, but even more magical than usual, because we were going to be Santa. I was awed, touched, humbled. The line moved quickly, efficiently, and cheerfully, with hot chocolate handed out while we waited, maybe cookies, some friendly small talk among strangers. At the head of the line, we were given our deliveries and our map: 5 bags of treasures to deliver to areas I didn't even know existed. Dad found each address expertly, and together we would take the bag to the door, knocking quietly as we were instructed, so the sleeping children would have no idea we'd been there. I was profoundly affected that early, early morning by the faces of each person answering the door. No words were spoken, other than a whispered "Merry Christmas" and the corresponding "Thank you." But the faces. A picture may speak 1,000 words, but those faces, those eyes, they spoke ever so much more. Shortly thereafter I began looking into the Make-a-Wish Foundation and Habitat for Humanity, and even the Peace Corps. For reasons I neither remember the details of nor understood even at the time, I was discouraged from pursuing careers in such organizations.

But I held tightly to the tail end of the dream, like the end of a kite string.

It all came back to me tonight in that question: "What does motivate me." Love, yes; not fear. Good, that was cleared up. Helping people, yes; but in what context? Can sales goals motivate me, given the right argument of helping someone? Maybe - if some donation to a cause I believe in is involved, perhaps. I knew there was more brewing. What did all those faces that played like a movie in my mind have in common - in a concise, interview answer way? What did the jobs that meant the most to me have in common that I saw in those faces? And how did that relate to the jobs that I didn't like so well - what was missing in them?

And I realized the Love that motivates me is Purpose. Habitat, Wishes, Arctic League, youth ministry, Reading with the Lions, teaching dance and making choreography -- all of them gave me, or have inherent in them, a sense of purpose; a specific goal of helping people with something in particular. That's what motivates me: knowing without a doubt that the intent of the job is to help someone in some defined way, with a project flow to make it happen. I'm motivated by purpose that allows my process-oriented mind to get creative and find the map, and bring life to the journey. Because life is about the journey; the journey is the purpose, and the purpose is Love.

open doors

Many times in life we find ourselves in a place we didn't expect to be. Sometimes the surprise is quite pleasant; other times, especially painful. Unfortunately, some of us, many of us, perhaps even all of us at one point or another, see others in their places and try to imagine ourselves there, saying "I could never..." "I wouldn't want to...." "How does one survive...." The thing is, could and will, want to and have to, are so closely related they are indistinguishable in real life. Survive is a misnomer. Much relies on mindset, and support. I never would have imagined myself a single mother with no job at the age of 47, and if I had, I certainly wouldn't have considered using words like "free," "happy," "loved" to describe myself. And yet, that's where I am. My household is preparing for all possibilities, which means being open and honest with each other - something new to all of us. For the first time in my life I'm not hiding some part of my feelings, some chamber of my heart. We're sharing appropriately, which is also new (and sounds really, really odd in writing!) and so very refreshing!

Last week my therapist and I talked about the surprises that have come along, like the support of those around me - even people I didn't know 6 months ago. Some of it is luck; I happened into them, and they are who they are. But some of that luck was made, too, in that I have learned about opening up, blossoming, and the proper conditions for it. In blossoming, the surrounding beauty becomes clearer. I have an inner circle, a core group of friends who have stood by me through what I thought was insurmountable, and now share in my hopefulness, because this latest place also is only the mountain I make it. This group of friends is no longer a surprise to me, although they once were. I'm blessed by the fact that they have never been anything but real, themselves, thereby teaching me ever so gently to be me. Truly me. Being wholly me allows the surprises to be waves to ride, rather than tidal forces that overwhelm. Together, in many different ways, we look at each other and say, "That was a good one!" or "What a dud." It's marvelous.

One day, not long ago (and yet a lifetime of experience ago) I was chatting with someone about karma, and that it always does catch up. It was a painful day, and I was bumping up against less than charitable thoughts. "The trouble with karma being eventual is that then I don't get to see it in action and today I just want to know that it'll suck." We laughed, because we both knew I didn't really mean it that way, and I was then able to let the pain of the day go; to release it to God and His timing. A week or so ago while at the gym, I was struck that there may be those who wish me ill will, see my 'current situation' and think "Karma." I smiled - may have even laughed out loud - and thought, "I hope so!" Why? Because I am a sum of all I've done and experienced. I am not a difference, but I can - and have - make one, and will continue to do so. Perhaps in a different way or place, but I am not done yet. I may not be here by my own accord, but I am able to be here because I have grown, learned, loved, prayed, cried, pushed, fought, rejoiced, taught, failed, and succeeded.

Where is 'here'? In the very middle of hope. My anchor is secure - in fact, more secure now than a month ago, or a year. "Let him in the damn boat," my spiritual director told me many months ago. Pull up anchor. Let go. Be content. Know your worth (more than many sparrows). Toot your own horn. Home is where the heart is. Home. A home filled with hope. A home that is Love.

free my heart

"God could have stopped this if He'd wanted to."

These words, supposedly said in an attempt to comfort, haunted me for over a year. At first because they felt like an admonishment for having held on so long, and then being forced to let go. Later because they fed the age old question of why. Why does He allow certain things to happen. There were times when the words came at me sideways, along with another question: Then why on earth did He wait so long to make it happen? Eventually, because the result was, indeed, a far better place, I let them go, the words.

So I was surprised when they whispered at me this morning as I brushed my teeth. But today they came at me from a different place - somewhere under some memories, some great weight that had been lifted and carried away, but whose imprint will remain at least for a little while. "God could have stopped this if He'd wanted to." No, I thought, He couldn't. Rather, He wouldn't. That would have meant the loss of free will. What I understand about God's will is that it is for us, not against us. God's will in this is not what happened, or how, but the result. God's will is related to the open door in front of me, not the slammed and bolted one behind.

Yes, I do believe that God aids in opening and closing of doors - possibilities, options, opportunities - but nothing in God's will seals off something that was inherently good. Strength shows itself in compassion, in Love, in small kindnesses in difficult moments. Strength comes from God. "Feel some compassion for a weak man showing his weakness." Words that landed on me far more softly than I thought they should in the moment. The truth is, God didn't need to stop either event. But that doesn't mean He made them happen, either.

What God did do was to allow me an infinite range of options for responding. He'll allow that I choose to protect myself. He'll allow that I spend an evening getting rip-roaring drunk (safely at home). He'll allow that I dream the (once) impossible as clear, legitimate options. He'll allow that I use my voice, even in the censored state I to which I must agree. He'll allow that I have moments - days, even - when I forget that He is my consolation. He'll allow that I choose to trust this time. He'll allow that I choose to feel free. He'll even allow that freedom sometimes feels frightening. (Be not afraid does not mean that I shouldn't ever feel fear; it means that I should not take fear on as a state of being. Something I had done for a very long time.)

The future itself does not look anything but bright, shining, and inviting. The practical is, in some moments, pretty daunting. Its range is the same as the sky - from cloud cover to a raging storm. But the storm will pass. It always does. With nicks and dings and maybe total destruction, but I can face it. I am worthy of this challenge. And those words cannot haunt me any longer. God's will be done, which is in Love.

darktime

Near the end of the first vacation I've taken in almost 2 years. A great week it's been, at home, doing some sewing and other stuff. Halfway through pajamas, and a personally significant piece of paperwork filed today. Tomorrow a parade and dinner with friends; Sunday a trip to see Drew after work. All good things - and yet the darktime pulls at me, grasping at my extremities, slipping on my skin, as my heart beats determinedly away. Last year, in my determination to find gratitude in all I was experiencing for the first time, the darktime had far less affect on me. Perhaps making this week's darkness all the more intensely felt. Pained. Last night, I told some friends of a feeling of being alone in the daytime - especially in the rain - but tonight the feeling is more defined as of being unloved, again deserted, left wanting. So difficult to explain, to define, especially because there is a shining optimism all around it. I am in a far, far better place than ever I was, yet the desolation states me in the face. I share the feelings because it is the way to release their power over me. The darktime cannot smother me because the Light will always come with the morning, shining Love upon me and all those I love. Tonight my weapon of choice is the written word. Tonight my unexplained fear of the darktime is alive, untamed. But I will face it. You will not see my fight, but you will be a part of it. If you have gotten this far, your compassion, your love, your strength will be a part of my battle, whether you intend it or not. The darktime will not win.