Monthly Archives: December 2015

2015: the year in review

31 Thursday Dec 2015

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The quote on the page of my personal journal for one year ago, December 31, 2015, is by Lao Tzu: When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.  Next to that, I wrote: Who am I without you?  I still have no definitive answer one year later, but clearly, I am not the same person. Here are a few quick looks back:

 

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A look at my calendar shows that I was certainly active, literally in every month of the year.   I had 4 personal  trips to see siblings or kids, and also was able to add on personal days to 5 of the 6 work trips I took so that I could see family and friends.  Seven times I had company visiting me.  It’s no wonder that I was in desperate need of some quiet time by November when I left my job.  But being involved with my family is a significant, non-negotiable part of who I am, and so is supporting them. A new baby, a wedding, a few birthdays…and giving of my time to show people around this area, were the times that saved me when I obsessed about my priorities and considered the uncertainties of this Solowing future.

A look at my checkbook shows that I also didn’t stay home too much even when I was in town.  I ate out several times every week; I spent quite a bit on gasoline going hither and yon; and I managed to buy about two dozen books.  I also spent a huge chunk on restyling the house – from paint to furniture to floors.  And when I felt like I was unable to stop worrying about having enough, living by myself in this big house with no safety net of a second income, far away from everyone, I gave some money away to those who needed it more than me. I ended the year with a positive bank balance and no income for the foreseeable future but I feel okay about that.

If that’s all that went into the equation to describe a year in the life of me, it would be an acceptable balance.  But it’s the intangibles that tell the story of the subtle changes in me. A year ago I tried to run away, and now I am staying home.  I stopped crying somewhere around spring, and last week with my daughter I laughed so much it nearly became a giggle-fit and I had tears (of joy).  I was sleep deprived and lethargic until late fall, but now I can stay up until 10:30 or 11:00 and don’t even need a nap the next day.  (Seriously.)   For months, I couldn’t concentrate and read more than a page or two in a book, but now I am back to reading 2-3 books per week. (The current ones are The Brothers Karamazov, and Simple Abundance. Last week I read The Enlightened Gardener while on vacation.)  But the big deal is that I even am on this sabbatical for this coming year: that I found the strength again to trust myself to walk into the unknown, and I gave myself permission to examine my life, to listen to my own self tell me whatever it has to say, to be open to … well, just to be open – heart, mind, and soul.

The past doesn’t exist anymore; it’s gone; it’s only memories now. I have fully blessed Kevin’s passing, and at the same time, blessed myself here in the present.There are differences in New Year’s Resolutions, bucket lists, vision boards, goals, and everyday to-do lists.  I think I’ll work on a little of each today and tomorrow, and ring in 2016 as a girl with options.

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My last Christmas gift from Kevin

21 Monday Dec 2015

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As Christmas will be this week, I can’t help but remember last year’s Christmas and, of course, the last year.  Right before he died – a day or two maybe before – we had been talking about what we each had on our List for Santa.  Kev smirked a little and said he had already gotten my gift. This was before Thanksgiving. It would not be unusual for him to be done with his shopping by then.  After he died (Nov 23), I was preparing to go to South Dakota for the funeral service and wanted to take some of his things along for his children. My sister Diane and I searched for whatever gift he might have hidden for me.  No luck.  When my daughter Renae came home from SD with me, we were setting  up a few decorations for when her family and my son and his family came back for Christmas.  She and I also looked again for a gift he might have gotten  me. I even checked his bank account for any “unusual” expenditures.  Again, no luck.  There was no gift from him under the tree last year.  So I am sure he was bluffing.

But yet, he did give me an incredible gift…and more than one really.  First, he gave me the gift of time.  I didn’t “open” that until this sabbatical, but taking 2016 for myself is something I just would not have done if he were here.  Second, because of his passing, I have come to understand grief better than ever. I have more compassion for people going through it and  other milestones I know nothing about. Third, I have started and continue to examine my own life: my priorities, my emotions, my needs, my desires. This time of reflection might have happened to some degree, but probably not now and not to the depths I am going. Finally, the memories I have of our time together are more meaningful. I am reminded daily of something we did or he said or … and I am grateful for the life we shared.

I miss him, yes, and I’d take him back in a heartbeat if I could.  I believe, though, in life after life. I know the essence of him is still  here. I am blessed to have him around me at all times now, not just when his physical body was available.  I realize that my grief is not the sum of how much I loved him or we loved each other; it is a reflection of my beliefs about life and death and love and heaven on earth.  The gift he gave me is the opportunity to know this to be true in my heart. Thank you, GM, for that. You make me want to be a better woman still. Love you, your PQ.

Que Sera, Sera

19 Saturday Dec 2015

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I envy those who have known since they were kids just what they wanted to do when they grew up.  Back then, we didn’t distinguish between “doing” and “being,” although the question was commonly interchangeable: “What do you want to be/do  when you grow up?” Doris Day’s answer in her song, Que Sera Sera was “whatever will be, will be.”  I am dissatisfied with that answer still.  I feel like I am spinning my wheels trying to figure it out before it’s too late for me to do (be) something great.

In my analysis of the possible options, I have listed all of the jobs I have held since I was a kid, from babysitting to volunteering at the library, detassling corn, cashiering, legal secretary, analyst, administrator, and sometimes consultant and presenter.  I’ve looked for themes, for peak times, for common threads, for some light to shine on the path and show me what’s ahead  Nada. Zip. Zero.  I can’t see the forest for the trees, apparently.

I’ve also reviewed older and more recent journals I kept. I have looked at the titles of the books I’ve collected. I considered how my musical tastes have changed. My favorite places. The most fun pasttimes. Movies I watch and watch again and again. Who I like to spend time with. How I spend my money.  While that trip down Memory Lane has been an interesting one, so far there has been no revelation.

Except one: I like happy endings, which are almost always the result of some productive change along the way. And I always seem to find one, whether it’s at the end of a book, a project, a j ob, or a move.  So I trust that there is another happy ending in store for me.

That kind of trust is hard to come by sometimes. It’s a knowing, a sense of fait accompli, a foregone conclusion.  I just have to be patient. I can’t just wait around, and I also can’t force the reveal.  I have to make myself ready for that eventuality. Which is what this sabbatical is about.   I keep reading, keep learning, keep observing, keep resting, keep reflecting, keep meeting people, opening myself (preparing myself) a little more each day.  As William Bridges said in his book, Transitions, first there is the ending, then the wandering in the neutral zone, when there is a letting go of something, and finally a new beginning.  I’m wandering toward that new whatever-it-is, but remember, all who wander are not lost!

BTW, I’m reading an interesting book, Wander Woman, by Marcia Reynolds.  It’s about How High Achieving Women Find Contentment and Direction.  Unfortunately, no easy answers. I guess I will have to still do my own wandering, and accept Doris’ answer: Que sera, sera!

 

Music’s touch

16 Wednesday Dec 2015

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I am normally one of those people who gets in the car and turns on the radio, does her morning getting-ready routine to music, reads with music playing in the background, and usually has music in her ears while she walks around the neighborhood.  Then for much of the last year, I was so distracted I had to turn off the sound of everything so I could hear myself think. I learned to value silence.  My favorite quiet time is sitting on the back deck with coffee in the morning, with just the music of the birds and the leaves rustling in the trees. That’s when I connect with myself for a few minutes. I call it my “gratitude meditation” time, when I recall my blessings.

I have missed my other music, so I finally got my old stereo out of the  closet upstairs and brought it down to the living room where I can listen all I want.  I got it in 1992, and it has a turn-table that still works.  Frank Barone was right – there’s something about listening to old albums, with all their scratches, that is part of the experience.

And then yesterday I read an article in the May 2012 issue of Speaker magazine. It’s titled “The Healing Power of Music.”  According to the author, Rita Young Allen,  the body responds to music and can change your metabolism, circulation, blood volume, pulse, blood pressure, and moods. She quotes an oncologist who claims “sickness is a manifestation of the body out of harmony.”  Researchers have documented the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual healing effects of music.  They don’t understand exactly how this works, but it does…and has as far back as the Ancient Greeks.

I think they are right. Music has long been a source of joy for me, and I’m happy to now again let  it work its magic on me.  Oh…the next article in the magazine is on “embracing your inner rebel.”  Hmmmm……

So my new favorite version of one of my old favorite songs is Barrett Baber’s The Voice performance from Monday night, Silent Night. Check it out on iTunes or Thevoice.com.  And let me know what you think.  (I’d post it here but haven’t figured out how to do that.)

 

Some habits I need to break

11 Friday Dec 2015

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Wow, I had no idea how habitual my routine had become.  I said when I was preparing for this sabbatical that I was going to get rid of my alarm clock.  Until this week, I have not used it, and that’s been a very good thing.  But now I’ve used it three days in a row because I have agreed to some early morning commitments (like an 8:00 am veterinary appointment I had scheduled when I was still trying to not miss too much work, and breakfast with a friend).  Here is what I have learned.

  1. The buzzer alarm is ANNOYING. It is a rude, jarring way to wake up.
  2. The radio alarm is slightly less annoying, but it’s strange to wake up to some man’s voice in your bedroom, when you’ve finally adjusted to sleeping alone (or with two dogs who don’t talk that way).
  3. My natural rhythm is to wake up around 8:00 am, give or take half an hour.  My preferred routine is to take care of the dogs’ needs, make coffee, have a bowl of cereal, read a little, and take my time gently introducing myself into whatever “work” I have planned for the day. If I get up earlier than that (via alarm clock), I do feel a little on edge for most of the morning.
  4. My natural sleepy time if I get up around 8:00-ish a.m. is around 11:30 pm, give or take half an hour. When I get up before 6 am (as I have done for tooooo many years), I am ready for bed before 9 at night.
  5. When I’m feeling most productive is around 10:00 am (for a few hours), and again about 3:00 (for a few hours), and once more around 7:00 pm (for another couple of hours).
  6. I still think like I’m tied to a Monday-Friday work week.  I find myself “preparing” for Mondays on Sunday night, with the buff-and-polish routine (nail routine, for example).  I also notice that on Fridays, I am planning two days “off” and waiting until Monday to start reading or writing again.

What I need to do is, first, check out some apps for my iPhone that will wake me more civilly, with a meditation or affirmation or nice chiming sound.  And second, consolidate all my appointments into one calendar or planner system, and depending on what the purpose is, not schedule 8:00 am meetings.  At least until I feel like I have given my sleep-deprived body adequate time to reset its internal clock.

And then I need to be open to the idea of having my “weekend” during the week when the stores aren’t so busy, and the traffic patterns have changed.  Today I scurried to get my car washed and my hair cut once I realized it was Friday; these are chores I would normally have tried to fit in on Saturday morning.  And then I also became aware that I don’t need to agonize over not having started my Christmas shopping yet, since I have way more than just two weekends to get it done in…I have 14 days or 10 days if you take off everyone else’s weekends!!

It’s interesting how I conditioned I am to those getting-up and getting-going routines.  I am going to work on that mindset in the next few weeks and look for some sustainable alternatives.

It’s beginning to look a lot like…

07 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by in Dreaming, Traditions

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Stockings hung by the fire with care
2015 Christmas tree; new elves
3 years of Speaker Mag

The past week has had its share of holiday fun. The stockings for me,  Buddy, and Bo made it to the fireplace, along with the snowman mantel runner I haven’t had out in a few years.  The small tree found a home on the landing upstairs, and I got some help decorating from a few little elves. Even though I’ll spend Christmas with the kids, I think it’s important for my own holiday spirit to put on at least a little show.

Finally, an early present to myself. I went to an auction by the Virginia Chapter of the National Speakers Association and was high bidder for 3 prior years’ worth of their monthly magazine. Good info, plus bonus CDs of interviews with national level speakers, and if nothing else, I can use them in creating new vision boards as I think about 2016.

My Own Deflategate

07 Monday Dec 2015

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Yesterday and today have been full of So No Fun detail work. Having brought home all my STUFF from the work office, I had to make room for it. I still have two boxes of papers and files to do something with, but the office is primarily done.  It’s a good thing I decided to tackle it now, because one of the files I came across was my “exit interview” file from work, which contained all the info about COBRA rights for continuing health insurance and converting my life insurance to individual policies.

Memories from the last 20 years overwhelm

So, first, cleaning the home office closet. I had previously stashed boxes I hadn’t taken time to cull through when we moved in almost two years ago. Out came boxes of pictures and the trivial collection of things from my office in South Dakota.  Memories jumped out as soon as I opened the first box.  Eventually I made headway, and some boxes were transported upstairs to the Diva Den, a/k/a my craft room and the place for all the other stuff I don’t know what to do with. More boxes and tubs had to be gone through to make room for the “new” boxes.  But these were the more personal things – old love letters, family and school pictures, cards from flowers delivered by a florist, even my old high school ring and Girl Scout sash – complete with badges and pins.  For some reason, the flood gates opened, and three hours later I was on the phone to my sister Peggy to get help in stopping the tears. I was overwhelmed with the crap (that’s a Kevin word for anything of mine he would not have saved) to be sorted. And I was deflated with the idea of starting over again in my life. It felt like the last 20 years have just – poof! – meant nothing.  I’m right back where I was in 1991 after my divorce, trying to figure out my future. Thankfully, Peggy was successful in helping me calm down, and she even convinced me to not just torch everything or toss it. This morning I felt better (even though I did throw out three bags of papers and old letters).

Obamacare turns out okay for me

Now, today. I got out the COBRA paperwork and tried to read it. Then I went on to the Health Care Exchange thing site. Still confused, I called a neighbor, Dee, who has worked in the individual policy-insurance field for a long time. Eventually, I got on the phone with the people at the Health Care place (after a 39 minute hold, if you can believe that). Another 30 minutes after that I was signed up for health insurance through the Obama plan, at a sweet discount since I’m not earning any income,  especially when compared to COBRA rates.  But I still had to go back to the COBRA plan for coverage for the month of December.  All in all, four hours of my time, and nearly $800 spent.  I’ll tackle life insurance tomorrow…

And taxes due today

…because today is the Virginia deadline to pay the second half of Personal Property Taxes for the year.  I had to talk to the Commissioner of Revenue and the Treasurer’s office, each twice, because Kevin’s Chevy truck (turned over last January) and the boat (sold in October) were still on the account.  It was another deflating hour retelling the story of Kevin’s  death, and getting the records all straightened out. The good news is that they waived a $353 delinquency for not paying the truck taxes back in June!

I think I’ll go out and treat myself to supper tonight.  I’ve earned it. Mexican sounds good.

Last paycheck, for a while

04 Friday Dec 2015

Posted by in Budgeting, Sabbatical

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My last paycheck from work was direct deposited today.  When I looked at the balance in my checking account and then at the bills needing to be paid, I had to take a deep breath and calm myself just a little. I told myself it will be okay. Abundance flows easily to me. I have enough, and I am enough.  I believe that when you are worried about having enough money, you should give some away – to keep the mindset of abundance instead of scarcity. So then I wrote out two checks, one to the American Heart Association, and one to the American Cancer Society.  Now I need to do the rest of my part, which is to stick to the budget I had made out when I decided to do this sabbatical. It will be alright. It is alright. I have everything I need, and the Universe will provide if I need anything else.

Reading, so far

03 Thursday Dec 2015

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I’ve always been a reader, and a fairly quick reader, too.  I don’t often retain a lot when it’s a novel, but I use highlighter pens and colored ink when it’s a book I do want to remember details of. In the past few weeks, I’ve read the following:

Maeve Binchy, novel, A Week in Winter (so-so)

Elizabeth Berg, two novels, A Year of Pleasures (love it, second time I’ve read this one) and Say When (okay)

Nicholas Sparks, a novel, See Me (okay, a mystery more than his usual relationship type book)

Kahlil Gibran, spirituality sort of, The Prophet, (spectacular, best book ever!, have read it dozens of times)

Natalie Goldberg, spirituality, Long Quiet Highway, Waking Up In America, (a little hard to get into but quite good once you do, about her search for inner peace, studying Buddhism and Zen, and on writing).

Since I want to write (as evidenced by this blog, and the book I have in mind), here are a few of the key concepts from Goldberg’s book:

Writing is a way to connect with our own minds, to discover what we really think, see, and feel, rather than what we think we should think, see, and feel. (p71)

(about good teachers) … learning from the whole person, not from a lecture in front of a class… (p83)

Only something alive can die. (p84)

The funny thing is you don’t learn how not to think, you slow down and let thinking be thinking, walking be walking, crying be crying, dying be dying, and writing be writing. (p91)

Oh, yes, I do love to read.  And to think.

Another woman’s grief

01 Tuesday Dec 2015

Posted by in Grief, Transformation

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I saw  a post on Facebook this morning from Humans of New York. It was a story about a woman whose husband has died; it doesn’t say when, but I had the impression it was a while ago. The woman says that she sleeps on a mat on the floor rather than in the bed they shared, she hasn’t changed anything in their apartment, she doesn’t even walk down the streets they used to walk.  I was struck by this, as it is so very, very different from my experience of grieving.

Kevin died in our bed, and I have slept there every night (when I’m home) – often on his side of the bed, sometimes in the middle, and occasionally on my old side.  I changed his man cave room furniture and decor, and painted every room on the first floor of the house. I sold his motorcycle and boat. I go places we used to go and walk down memory lane, as well as seek out some new places. I watch movies we watched together. I talk about him and us to whoever will listen. I write him letters and talk to him every single day. In the global sense, I have changed everything except where I live, and I feel closer to him than ever.

So that’s one thing. But then I read some of the Comments on that Facebook page. One after another after another said it was heartbreaking, and what a tribute to have “that kind of love.”  My own reaction was, Poor Thing! She’s stuck. How could I help her?  I know there are no magic, one-size-fits-all words, but I hope that when I finish writing my story, I will help someone somewhere.  To cling to “that kind of love” would seem to encourage the heartbreak status quo.

My grief has been an amazing time of reflection, remembrance, and growth. It isn’t exactly the same for any two people in the details, although the end result is often comparable at some point in the future. If I could sit with that woman for an hour over a cup of coffee, I think that is what I’d say: I  don’t know what your grief is like, because all grief is different. But I do know that moving on is scary, filled with worry that things will change and you’ll forget him or the way you felt with him at your side.  Instead, think of it as moving along, step by step, day by day.  Remember the good times, talk to him while walking those streets you walked together, show him you are okay by resting in your own bed, so that he, too, can rest in peace.  Your love story does not have to end because he’s gone, nor does it stay exactly the same because he is, in fact, gone.

But then, who am I to tell someone else about grieving? To judge whether or not she is stuck? To tell her she should walk those street again? It is me who has something to learn from her: that it’s all good, we all get to choose how we grieve and do it on our own terms. Thank you, lady in New York, for reminding me of this.