Transforming Fear. A Dream.

I was approaching my house (a small white house with a front porch). I had just moved into this house, it was full of happy people. I noticed that there were very large brown bears on the porch. I was scared and raced to get in the house where I would be safe. I shut the door and pressed my body up against it. I could feel the bear thrusting his body up against the door. I held the lock on the door knob to keep it from turning, as the bear struggled to unlock the door. He eventually got in the house and grabbed me up in his huge arms. I could feel terror in my body, as if this were really happening. My mind raced to remember how to frighten bears away, but I could not remember. I only knew that he couldn’t know that I was scared. I decided that I would meditate and visualize that I was in the arms of God. At that moment, everyone in the room began to pray for me and I could feel their prayers. Fear left my body as I began to ohm softly. Soon, the bear began to hum softly along with me. And then he began to gently sway back and forth rocking me tenderly. He began to stroke my hair. Eventually he put me back down, and left through the door.

A Course Correction

The Joy Experiment took a back burner, quite by accident. I didn’t intend to relegate it to anywhere other than the front burner, but old habits are hard to break. When life reconvened at top speed, I began to postpone writing. And with the postponement of writing, came the postponement of focus.

I had an incident happen at work that left me hurt and feeling under valued. In the blink of an eye the old Lynn resurfaced. I found myself ranting and raving, my colleague across the way joining right in. I began to take action out of emotion instead out of a place of being centered.

Two days later, my colleague and I discussed what had happened. “What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means that we need to do a course correction,” I replied.

I believe that one of the most powerful tools we have at our disposal is habit. We are going to have habits; we may as well choose the good ones. Changing a way of thinking and being in the world is merely changing a habit. And like changing of any habit, it is only difficult at first. So, I did perform a course correction, I moved back into the place where I really do want to live (or at least as much as humanly possible), that place of making conscious choice and living with intention. I want to live from a place where I realize that if I don’t wake up on the right side of the bed, it doesn’t mean I have woken up on the WRONG side of the bed, AND I can change the way I feel.

I am sure that this was not the only time that I will do a course correction…but what I know for sure is that writing about joy and the desire to do my life differently, makes it so. It states my intention for all to hear (and, yes, I am quite sure that God reads my blog on a regular basis), makes me accountable and conscious of my actions and feelings.

Choose joy today, it really is a choice.

Love,
Lynnie.

I have not Forgotten

The Joy Experiment percolates in my mind at all times...more to come.

Moving into the Magnificent Mansion

I dreamt that I lived in a magnificent mansion. I shared a room on the top floor with several mothers and their children. The room was wall to wall beds, but everyone seemed very happy there. The woman who owned the home passed away while I was there, but I decided to stay on. I saw her darkened silhouette only once. She was dressed all in black, as if she herself were mourning. When she was gone, I went to a sale of her things hoping to have some kind of remembrance of her. All the furniture I looked at was broken somehow and I didn’t want any of that. I was then in a pool swimming and came upon an instructor. I told her I was living at the mansion and would like a remembrance of the woman who had just died; I asked if I could get a peek at what was being sold before the sale. She said I could, but that things were only being sold by the pallet. I went into a conference room and there was a committee of people, all dressed in black and looking very morose. I told them I was sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to let them know that I was going to be staying on in the mansion. Later, one of the women from the committee brought over a bust of a woman, from the shoulders up. It was wrapped up, so I could only see her shape; she set it in the door and then quietly closed the door behind her. I never did make it to the sale.

For weeks I have been dreaming of selling delapidated houses. This is the first dream I have had of moving in to a house, and it was a magnificent mansion. People were very happy there. This is a good sign.

The Joy Experiment has been going on for three weeks now. This last week I have had to work hard to invite Joy into my life every day. There were days I beckoned it, there were days I plead with it “I invite you in, Joy…please come.” And every day, after being summoned she eventually showed. I am embarrassed to admit that I have to work hard some days to experience joy; especially in light of all of the suffering in the world, but I do. Today I recommit to expanding my life and opening my heart through joy and gratitude. I can’t go back now.

I have found in life that when one makes a move toward change, the universe ricochets in the opposite direction. This is a principle that I don’t understand, but it is as if life tempts “are you sure that you want to make this change?” Perhaps it is the ego, so resistant to change, that throws up the obstacles. The Pursuit of Happyness portrays this principle beautifully. The main character (and this is based on a real life story) makes a decision to change his circumstances by attending a brokerage training course. Things go downhill from there. His wife leaves him, he is evicted from his apartment, and yet he perseveres harder than anyone else in the class and he is ultimately victorious. All of my old vices – a penchant for putting things in my mouth that are not good for me when I’m stressed, or soothing my aching heart by buying something new, when my post-Christmas bank account doesn’t support it, my disdain for going to work out when I know that I always come away happy -- all of these things (perhaps these were represented by the dreamland committee) have been raising their ugly, ugly heads. I am committed to this change. I am going to persevere. And I do know that change is happening.

The other night I had a friend over for dinner. She talked for a long time about all of the friends that she had said goodbye to over the last year. She reminded me so much of how I was feeling when I started this adventure. Her disappointment in the people in her life was palpable. She kvetched for hours. Did I join in? Of course I did, but not as much as I would have in the past. I decided to talk with her about The Joy Experiment, and how I felt when I started. I told her how I used to say “What is with people!” And she said “Yes! Exactly! What is with people?! Can’t they smile? Nobody smiles anymore. There is no joy in the world! I just don’t get it.” And I realized in that moment, that the single most profound change for me has been that my experience of the people in the world, no longer fits that exclamation, and I haven’t said it in weeks. I just don’t run into those people anymore. Perhaps all of those people were just a reflection of my discouraged, tired self. I don’t pretend to understand how all of this works, I just know that things are different. The euphoria of the first few weeks is gone, and still things are different.

So, now my committee is concerned. They are afraid for their lives, I suppose, and I think they should be.

I spoke with my friend again the next day. She had read my blog from the start to current. “I loved it, this is something simple we can all do, Lynn.” And she is right. Be forewarned that there may be a rebound, that distinct pull back to the old ways. We can be very clever at resisting change, especially if it is good for us. I’m up for the fight, how about you?

In my dream I never made it to the sale, perhaps another night. I believe what was for sale was all of the rewards that await us when we make a commitment to change for the better, and we persevere past the pull to the old ways. The good news? Apparently they are only available by the pallet full. How cool is that!

Lynnie

Just Say No to Kvetching

KVETCH
Pronunciation: 'kvech, 'kfech
Etymology: Yiddish kvetshn, literally, to squeeze, pinch, from Middle High German quetschen: to complain habitually : GRIPE

The one thing I have been asked most frequently (and that would be twice) is how to stop those who come to us and repeatedly kvetch.

Many of us have the bartender syndrome. We are the ones people always come to to share what is wrong in their life. I really believe that listening to the constant barrage of complaints of others takes its toll on us, as well as them.

While I am no expert, I have been able to stop a primary kvetch partnership.

There is a friend/colleague of mine who sits across from me at work. Over the last year we have become friends. Part of that friendship has included an ongoing banter about the company’s moral decay. This banter went on all throughout the day, and often included inviting others around us to join in. I had found myself leaving work exhausted and I believe that our endless banter was part of the cause. I am the type of person who needs to find some semblance of meaning in her work, and between the cutting and pasting and the ongoing kvetch sessions, that was becoming harder and harder to do.

When I began The Joy Experiment, I knew that this kvetch partnership had to cease. It would be a critical first step in inviting more joy and meaning into my life. And yet, I also knew that I didn’t want to throw away a friendship with a man who was really a very good person. At first I tried to change the subject, I even tried to put up boundaries, but relentless kvetches are hard to dissuade. And he was relentless. Always the kvetch was the same, always he refused to shift into how he could reconcile the kvetch. So, I made it personal. I invited him to coffee and shared with him The Experiment. I told him that kvetching was taking a toll on me and that I had to change my life and do things differently. When we got back to our desks, I put a sign on my white board, “This is a Kvetch-Free Zone.”

Our conversation shifted immediately. Instead of endless kvetching, we endlessly buoy each other. We talk about philosophy and positive ideas, instead of the negative, destructive ideas that permeated our relationship before. The real payback is that our friendship has deepened, because we committed together to improving our lives at work.

Kvetching is NOT always bad. If kvetching leads to helping you define what you need, which leads you to action, which leads you to resolution, it can be a good thing. The kvetch helps you to identify the contrasts of life. It is the never-ending, repeating, circular kvetch that is absolutely non-productive. I believe that we do our fellow humans a disservice by listening to them over and over.

Listening can sometimes be a wonderful gift that helps people find resolution to something troubling them. Unless it is habitual kvetching, just listen to your friends when they come to you, don’t join in. It may be that this person just needs a sounding board. If it turns into circular kvetching, you haven't been a part of it.

The minute it starts to take a toll on you, please stop it. You are not doing anyone a favor by continuing. Make it personal, “I have been finding myself being too negative, can you help me turn that around?” or “These conversations where we complain, leave me tired and I do enjoy your company, how can we change what we talk about to be more positive?” or “How are you going to change this [thing they are kvetching about]?” or “What one step can you take today toward feeling differently about this, I am worried about you.”

Sometimes holding these conversations can be scary. Like nearly everything in life, the anticipation is much scarier than the actual act of doing it, and with practice we become better at it.

Good luck with the kvetches in your life. If you try something that works, please share.

Thanks,

Lynnie

Bumps in the Night

Anonymous from Colorado commented that “it's a scary thing to look closely at your dark corners and sweep them out.” I hadn’t really thought about The Experiment like that. It feels more like illuminating what was dark.

One week into The Experiment my dreams became vivid and prolific. I have dreamt three times that I am selling my house – not my real house where I am currently living. These houses are all different and none of them familiar. They are all fixer uppers. One house lingers with me more than the others. This house was two stories and dilapidated…but full of potential. It had six bedrooms and sat on a pretty piece of land. As the new homeowners were moving in, I walked through the house with one of them, and together we counted the number of bedrooms. It was then that I realized I was selling the house for significantly less than it was worth. I told the woman that I was going to have to call some realtors to find out the true value. I could not give it away for so much less than its value.

Last night I had three distinctly separate dreams. Warning: What you are about to read is graphic and twisted and may lead you to believe I am some kind of whacko. I’m not.

The first dream. I was going to the airport with my mother. I realized that I forgot my luggage and all information about our flight time. I looked in a mirror and saw myself. My throat was slit by another friend and written on my neck were the words “The Secret is Joy.” Blood gushed from my neck. We went back home to get my suitcase and I could tell by looking at my bed where I had slept the night before, that I had lost a lot of blood. I thought it was odd that I didn’t feel like I had. We left again and I still did not have my suitcase.

The second dream. I had lost my job and was talking with a group of people. I remember worrying about being able to stay in my home (again the home thing), without an income. I felt something on my arm. I looked down at my arm and there was a tiny cut in my skin. A large mosquito looking insect crawled out of my skin. Someone said “I bet it laid eggs in your arm.” I looked down and there was a row of tiny little bugs filing out of the cut in my arm single file. Then these very large (6”) insects, they were a cross between a praying /mantis and a crab, began to crawl out of my arm, their arms wrapping around my arm and their claws digging in as they pulled themselves out of my body. I could actually feel this sensation, and it hurt. Did I mention my dreams were vivid?
The third dream. Let me just discreetly say it involved an unidentified man getting to know himself, while I gazed on. I then experienced, for the first time ever in dream state, waves of orgasms – over and over again.

Let the reader interpret for themselves (I’m sure you will—be kind, I really am not a whacko), but here’s my take:

The moving from my homes is about change. Leaving the well-worn and dilapidated ways behind, while honoring what I am leaving. In each home dream, I walk through the rooms and admired the home’s potential. Retracting the offer on the table, to ensure it was appropriately valued was about not giving away my precious life where it is not valued.

The horribly graphic throat scene is about finding my voice (opening up my throat) about joy. After all, as the dream clearly states, the Secret really is Joy. I was never concerned about leaving behind my luggage in the dream. It feels as if am leaving some things behind in my real life too, things that should stay behind.

And then there is the bug dream. It just feels to me like a visual representation of purging my psyche of some really nasty and frightening stuff. How ironic that it was part crab and part “praying” mantis. I am literally praying the crab out of me. OK, it was either that…or it was the after affects of the foie gras I had for dinner the night before.

I think Anonymous is right…the dark corners are showing their face; not consciously while I am sitting across from a therapist, but in the darkness of night, while I am trying to get some sleep. Perhaps this an effective way to dispel the dark.

Oh yes, and dream three. Well, that was my reward for making it through the other two.

Lynnie

Rainy Day Tools

When the sun creeps out from behind Oregon’s inexorable winter cloud layer and transforms the steely grey sky into blue, it is easy to feel joy. Today is just such a day. Not all day, but we revel in the sun whenever it shows its face, if even for a moment.

Oregon is plagued with grey days in the winter, and it’s not just that the sky is grey, the whole world becomes colorless. Fog descends upon the valley, and its cold permeates even your walls. The phrase “chills you to the bone” was invented to describe these days. Thankfully, we DO get perfection in the summer, or I would have been long gone by now.

We need to have tools in our back pocket for when winter persists, or we have a bad hair day, or someone disappoints or we just wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Here are a few tools for your toolbox. They work.

· This morning as I lay in bed, I envisioned myself full of joy. I felt what it would feel like and saw what I would look like if I were in a supreme place of bliss. Before I knew it, I felt truly happy and jumped out of bed.
· Get down on your knees and give thanks, heartfelt thanks, for all that you have been given. On my knees I feel in awe of the generosity of the universe. While you are down there try to add five more things to the list, and smile with all your heart (and your liver too!).
· Sing a zippy song in the shower. My favorite joyful song is “Zippety Doo Dah.” You just can’t sing that song and feel down.
· Whistle a cheerful song (and yes, Zippety Doo Dah is still my favorite)! While I can’t really sing at work, I can whistle all day.
· I mentioned in a previous blog, that I signed a mental petition in support of a colleague's dream. Sometimes lack of joy goes hand in hand with lack of hope. Reclaim hope by asking for help. Have you read Eat Pray Love? In this book Elizabeth Gilbert, during a drive to a book signing with a friend, asks for help in a very powerful way (for those who have it, read Ch9). Emotionally and physically exhausted by an ugly, drawn-out divorce, she wrote a petition to God. She humbly asked God for resolution, and when she was done, her friend said, “I sign that petition.” For an hour, Elizabeth asked for others in her life to sign her petition, and then imagined it done. And when she ran out of people in her life, she asked others – St. Francis of Assisi, Bill and Hillary Clinton, Eleanor Roosevelt, Mother Teresa. I have heard it said that one should look at sleepless nights as sacred time. During one such sacred time, I read about Liz Gilbert’s petition to God, and wondered “what would be my petition to God?” I then wrote it on paper and signed it, imagining many people in my life and throughout history signing it as well. I then took this exercise to my women’s group, and each of us made a petition for a New Year, while the rest of us verbally proclaimed “I sign your petition.” Miracles can happen when we are clear with what we want, ask reverently, ask for support for our vision and wait patiently. In Liz Gilbert’s case, before she reached her destination, her lawyer called to say…what else…their divorce settlement was just signed.

I want you all to know, whatever it may be, I passionately and ferverently sign your petition, and am envisioning you signing mine. Thanks for doing that.

Lynnie

PS Do you have additional tools in your toolbox? Please share.

Just a Little Crashlette

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I have always wanted to be like Flo (yes, that's her to the left -- is she cute or what!). Flo, the Singing Checker of Albertson’s for 25 years, is the epitome of The Joy Experiment. Flo touched everyone who came through her line at the grocery store with her joyfulness. Her customers would gladly wait longer for Flo to check them out, in hopes that some of what she had would rub off on them, if only for a moment. If Flo were still around today, I would invite her over for coffee, so I could ask her, “Was it always this way for you, Flo? Was there a time in your life where you had to work at being joyful?”

But, I am not like Flo.

I was on a high since beginning The Experiment. Thinking about, writing about, talking about Joy as a daily focus was impactful. And then came the crash, not a big crash, a little crashlette. I awoke Thursday morning and jumped out of bed (this is totally out of character in my Pre-Experiment life). Seemed like this day would be like a standard happy-go-lucky Experiment day, but then I climbed on the scales. Seven holiday pounds staring at me, my heart immediately sank. Ten days of leisure, eating and drinking whatever moved me, had finally caught up. I was shocked; after all, I had worked out TWO FULL DAYS. Surely I should be down a couple, not UP! In my life my days have been controlled by the scales; down a pound, mood is up; up a pound, mood is down. It was so bad that one day, in a tempest of frustration, I actually threw them in the garbage after drowning them to make sure they would NEVER haunt me again. About a year ago I purchased a new set, and we had been peacefully co-existing. But then, my weight had been not too hideous. Now…they are making me cranky. Well, I promptly flipped them off, climbed down from them and sulked through my morning. (Is this kvetching or reporting?)

Then work. I had been in a state of nirvana at work since beginning The Experiment. I had been Ohming my way through my days, calm and centered. And then a ridiculously frustrating beaurocratic faux pas threatened to undo something I had been working on for several weeks. This hit me hard and I could feel my body tensing, stomach knotting, a tsunami of tears just waiting to burst forth. This felt like the good old days, the days before my New Year’s challenge.

I really liked the feeling of being joyfully alive that encompassed my first few days of The Experiment and now fear engulfed me, fear that it was only short lived and that the mindless shuffling through the day would return.

So, here’s what I did. I put one foot in front of the other and carried on. I got on my gym clothes, put on some lipstick, smiled in the mirror and then headed to the gym. I then came home and took a shower, and took special care to fix my hair and makeup and smiled in the mirror yet again. I pretended that I was joyful and before you know it, my spirits started to pickup. I had made a choice to feel good. It didn’t kick in immediately, but it did kick in.

So, choosing joy will not be easy every day, but many days it will. Climbing inside is not the best way for me to stay in Joy. Joy needs to be nurtured and shared in order to survive when seven excess pounds are weighing you down.

So, perhaps some day I will be like Flo. God bless you Flo for sharing your joy with all of us. You let us know that being playful and joyful is possible every day, and for that everyone whose life you touched sends you thanks. I double dare you to look at her face and NOT smile.

As for me? I now have a picture of Flo printed off and staring at me on a regular basis. That kind of joy is still contagious and I want to catch me some.

Lynnie

Click on Flo, to read more about her life of service through joy.

Deficit Spending

Two days ago I reclaimed 12 hours a week of my precious life from my employer (and by the way, I was giving it away, they weren’t taking it). I have committed 2 hours/day to gym time (and the occasional house vacuuming) and writing the blog the other evening took 2.5 hours…there’s a problem. I have gone straight into deficit spending.

So, here are my own personal ground rules. I won’t write lengthy blogs (if I write too late into the evenings I can’t sleep, I get so frigg’n joyful) during the week, but will devote more time on the weekends. During the week I will continue to share only smallish tidbits of miracles that happen during my day. And thus, I will get to keep my sanity. Lynnie with no sleep…it’s not a pretty picture.

OK then.

Something really has shifted since making the commitment to The Experiment. Perhaps what shifted is really only my awareness, but I do sense it is more than that. My Sister e-mailed me to tell me that on the very day I committed to The Joy Experiment she had made a personal commitment to gratitude. These two independent commitments were made 2,000 miles apart and without knowledge of the other. Yesterday at work a colleague told me he was on the verge of “something big.” He said that he wasn’t ready to talk about it, too close to his heart. In the past, I may have pressed him for information, but because of The Experiment, I told him that whatever his “something big” was, I wanted him to know that I had just signed a mental contract (more about this exercise later) in support of his idea. He was very touched…he said words could not adequately say how much that meant to him. I realize now that this exercise is about more than just joy, it’s about thankfulness and recapturing vitality. It’s about feeling hope when it may feel as if the outside world wants to infuse hopelessness.

So, here’s what’s different in my life. I feel better about work; I feel better about my body; I feel more present with the people I talk with at work. And I just got a sporty lapel pin from my daughter that says “grey hair is the new blonde.” I’ll take it that as NOT a slam on my intellect, but rather a statement that grey hair IS sexy. Take that Miss Salesperson who thought my friend was my daughter.

Not too bad for a few days work.

Lynnie

PS A very happy birthday to Lia Joy! Now there’s a girl who lives up to her name!

Reclaiming 12 Hours of Life

I want to become an archeologist of my heart. I want to examine all of its folds and crevices, unearthing resentments, discovering their antidotes. I want to make them disappear into the ethers only to be recycled as pure joy.

OK. That’s the dream. Here is what it looked like today.

The Kvetch: I awoke at 5:15 a.m. in order to make my 6:00 a.m. teleconference. The good news about these early morning meetings is that I can attend in my pj’s. The bad news? I am not much of a morning person. I was struck with that familiar burning in my stomach. It had been absent for ten full days; ten workless days of getting familiar with my couch, reading books, watching movies, getting caught up with family and friends – it was bliss. Next came waves of an intense desire to cry. I think I was just sad to be leaving the cocoon. Then I remembered The Experiment. I can’t be doing this. I can’t be having a meltdown on the first day, and THAT felt like pressure. Crap. What did I get myself into? I logged on to work. The pace was the usual, 30 e-mails awaiting immediate response, IM blinking, teleconference happening.

I have unearthed a resentment. It’s having to get up at 5:15 a.m., when you would really rather sleep until 6:30; it’s having to attend evening meetings when you would really rather have a quiet dinner at home and read a book or garden or go to a movie; it’s finding yourself too tired at the end of your 12 hour day to do much of anything that might actually be good for you – like exercising for example. I have been anesthetizing my frustrations with a cocktail, and then collapsing into bed way too many nights. Good grief! I feel resentful just typing this. (Kvetching = 258 words)

Through the magic of feeling some sense of accountability (after all I was going to have to write about how I found joy today), I stepped back from the feeling and wondered how I could turn this around. What is the antidote? The few months prior to the Christmas break I was putting in a good 12-15 hours extra every week. I was gifting 12 hours of my precious, precious life to the company! I contacted my boss immediately and told him that I would be signing off for “a few” hours in the late morning every single day. I told him that I wanted to spend time exercising (or whatever), and that the time would be marked out in my calendar. His response was a single word – “good!” And over IM, in a matter of seconds, I reclaimed 12 hours of life. Twelve hours every single week, effective immediately.

I had joined an Athletic Club a few days ago, but was unable to get in to see the Personal Trainer until tomorrow. I considered for a second gifting 2 hours of precious life back to the company, especially since it was so kind as to just gift me 12 back! Somehow I knew if I didn’t take the time today, I wouldn’t take the time tomorrow, or the next day or the next. I got my butt down on the floor and did my back exercises. I stretched, I lifted, I did abs, I felt how good it felt to be moving my poor, atrophied body. And then I vacuumed my house, followed by a leisurely hot shower. And then and only then did I take my slow-moving back-side into work.

In this action of empowerment, the resentment was transformed. Or so I thought. I told a colleague of my plan to no longer work more than 40 hours a week; I justified this with some grumblings about the company taking more than they give, blah blah blah. But I caught myself. The next time I told the story it was about taking care of me and not short-changing the company. And then it truly felt transformed.

The high of transforming this resentment had me walking off the ground all smiling all day. It truly was a day of joy.

One last word about finding joy. It lurks everywhere, that joy. Last night I celebrated the dawn of ’07 by sharing a marvelous meal with dear friends, topped off with joy on a fork -- white cake with lemon curd filling and crème anglaise butter cream (and yes, it was as good as it sounds), washed down with joy in a glass -- an Oregon sparkling wine made from pinot noir and chardonnay (and that, my dear ones, is how to make a liver smile). Go forth and seek joy wherever you can find it! (Joy Story = 245 words)

Lynnie

PS Happiest of New Years to you. I have heard repeatedly that people have a sense that 2007 will be something special. I feel it too.

PPS Where in your lives are you giving away your precious life? Where are you leaking time that could be spent in a way that would move you forward?

Prelude to an Experiment

I don’t know about you folks, but I have noticed that we have elevated kvetching to competitive sport status. We call each other when we have a story about something hideous that has happened. We bond on our blues and loneliness. I find myself saying all too frequently “WHAT’S WITH PEOPLE!?” in response to something that somebody somewhere has done that I think is rude/inappropriate/mean…you get my drift? Somehow I don’t think living in a constant state of disappointment and frustration with my fellow man (and with myself too), is any way to carry on a life. So, in order to break the kvetch cycle (I am Lynnie, I am a kvetch-a-holic, it’s true), I concocted The Joy Experiment. For 365 days I will focus more on joy than the kvetch. If I kvetch, I will devote at least as many words (plus one more) to joy, as its antidote. The goal is to see if the adage “what you think about, you bring about” is true. Can I bring more joy to life?

I want to share with you the story of the last two years of my life, so that you will really understand what compels me toward this experiment. This IS an exercise in saving a life here.

‘05 was a year of mourning. I lost three loved ones…first, my Dad, three months later his best friend and my second Dad, my dear Uncle…four months later, a lifelong friend. By the time she died, I was so numb that I barely felt it. The year is a blur of blackness, and rightly so.

‘06 was the year of change and chaos. I thought it might be interesting to “shake things up a little.” Yes, I actually lived to eat those words, but I was desperate to dust off the darkness of the previous year. I began the year of change by selling my Miata, because I could no longer feel the joy that it used to bring me (never occurred to me that maybe I was just sad over the huge loss I’d experienced), and, frankly…I was a little tired of having to constantly borrow a car every time I needed to carry home anything bigger than a bread box. So, I bought a mini min-van – from sexy to frumpy – and yes, I am hoping this is not a trend here. Then I sold my house of 9 years -- the 1939 house I had remodeled from top to bottom, as a way to distract me from the sadness of my divorce. It was a lot of work and I was tired, so saying goodbye to it was easier than I ever imagined it would be. I moved into my temporary home - a 500 square foot basement apartment and two very large storage units; all the while, searching for a newer house that would encourage more free time and simpler living AND (and this is no small feat), throwing a perfectly lovely wedding for my daughter here in Oregon, while she lived states away in blissful anticipation of the day. Six weeks before the wedding my Chihuahua was mauled by a German Shepherd, while I (knocked down on the ground to Chihuahua height) helplessly looked on. In the remaining six weeks I tended to the myriad of wedding details, worked full time, visited my dog daily at the vets (yes, he’s fine – a real trooper that one), bought a townhouse and arranged subcontractors to remodel it nearly top to bottom.

And did I mention that I got a new job in 06? And did I mention it was the job from hell? I went from being a Project Mgr/Team Lead to the Cut’N Paste Queen. I spent my days cutting and pasting data from one source into another. But as everyone reminds me regularly, “at least you have a job.” Downsizing has hit my company hard; most of my old colleagues are long gone. It’s like working at a funeral every day. It’s no picnic for those of us remaining.

‘06 was also the year I turned 50. I never thought it would bother me, but it did. And to finish out this very special year of my life, while Christmas shopping with a friend two years older than me (and yes, she bleaches her hair blonde, and yes, she HAS had a boob job and tummy tuck, and yes she is worth millions and so has the chicest and hippest clothes ever, but still this HURTS), the sales person looked to me and asked if I would like to share a dressing room with my daughter. She then tried to make it better by saying “Oh, but I love grey hair…my grandmother has it.” Bitch. Still makes me mad. She was no spring chicken either.

It was inevitable, me hitting the wall, and when I hit it I hit it hard. The year of focusing intensely to accomplish all that had to be done had caused me to deny any of the feeling that comes with all of that change. My body had decided it was time to get my frigg’n attention. Not being one to cry much, I found wailing uncontrollably for hours on end a bit disconcerting. 24 hours of tears and bed, and it was all out, and the weight that had been sitting on my chest had begun to lift.

So there you have it…now you can see why THIS particular experiment appeals, on this first day of 2007.

So, I know that is a lot of words devoted to kvetching, and I am not going to write that many words on joy, because you would all be bored to tears. This will be the one and only time I will break the “more about joy than kvetch” rule. Hold me to it.

Lynnie