01 March 2016
11 February 2016
10 February 2016
transfer day anniversary
6 years ago today, it was transfer day.
It was cold and snowy and we were in Waltham at the Boston IVF clinic.
I had acupuncture before and after.
2 embryos.
A nurse I detested.
A doc I had never met.
A very large and cold room.
They told us one of the embryos had "high implantation potential", HIP. And I thought, yeah, right.
But here we are.
She's at preschool.
And I am writing about her.
It was cold and snowy and we were in Waltham at the Boston IVF clinic.
I had acupuncture before and after.
2 embryos.
A nurse I detested.
A doc I had never met.
A very large and cold room.
They told us one of the embryos had "high implantation potential", HIP. And I thought, yeah, right.
But here we are.
She's at preschool.
And I am writing about her.
09 February 2016
the most beautiful
"
from my book in progress, lost and finding.
writing is hard hard these days. the spigot feels off rather than open. I wonder why it floods sometimes and sometimes just drips or does not drip at all and just laughs dryly.
Anyway, trying to show up and allow it when time allows and feel blessed when it comes and try not to feel disappointed when it doesn't.
Hey there people. I am two days away from turning 49. 49. what the holy wow.
Mid life, no joke, and probably past it. And suddenly realizing that my not knowing has mostly been about not believing it is possible to be passionate about so much... as if the plurality itself made it not count. crazy. for me, life is about this plurality. this love of science and art, of space and earth. inner and outer exploration. beauty. love.
I want to say that life is beautiful. Life is a beautiful unfolding.
I want to say we know so much more than we give ourselves credit for. I want to
say we just don’t believe ourselves when the pattern does not match something
we’ve seen before. Or the thing we thought we wanted. Or the thing we were told
we should want. Not knowing is scary scary scary. But not knowing is also a knowing.
"from my book in progress, lost and finding.
writing is hard hard these days. the spigot feels off rather than open. I wonder why it floods sometimes and sometimes just drips or does not drip at all and just laughs dryly.
Anyway, trying to show up and allow it when time allows and feel blessed when it comes and try not to feel disappointed when it doesn't.
Hey there people. I am two days away from turning 49. 49. what the holy wow.
Mid life, no joke, and probably past it. And suddenly realizing that my not knowing has mostly been about not believing it is possible to be passionate about so much... as if the plurality itself made it not count. crazy. for me, life is about this plurality. this love of science and art, of space and earth. inner and outer exploration. beauty. love.
27 January 2016
doing the do
I am baking medicinal and procrastinating brownies.
Here to say: brownies help.
But they do not take the place of Doing the good Do.
Not necessarily work or play, but the thing that is good.
For me, maybe, 5 minutes of ab exercises (ha ha ha)
or
a cup of tea (YES)
and maybe a moment of writing (YES PLEASE)
and
see what I did there? off to write.
and then
celebrate with a brownie.
and tea.
Here to say: brownies help.
But they do not take the place of Doing the good Do.
Not necessarily work or play, but the thing that is good.
For me, maybe, 5 minutes of ab exercises (ha ha ha)
or
a cup of tea (YES)
and maybe a moment of writing (YES PLEASE)
and
see what I did there? off to write.
and then
celebrate with a brownie.
and tea.
23 January 2016
Start small. Continue.
Showing up here, just showing up, feels kind of radical. Like I am both returning home and striking out on a new adventure.
A new book is trying to push its way through me, and I am really excited, but also resisting the opportunities to write.
I do almost anything else.
I've been thinking a lot about procrastination of this kind, the kind that is under the guise of keeping us safe when really, it is keeping us from becoming more fully whole, more wholly full. More holyful. More.
And
while I watch this with compassion, this procrastination, I am also witnessing with the curiosity of what Can I do?
So, I took out a piece of paper and wrote a list.
Then I opened a word document and wrote the beginning of a beginning of an intro.
And I no longer have to face a blank anything. I need only continue.
A new book is trying to push its way through me, and I am really excited, but also resisting the opportunities to write.
I do almost anything else.
I've been thinking a lot about procrastination of this kind, the kind that is under the guise of keeping us safe when really, it is keeping us from becoming more fully whole, more wholly full. More holyful. More.
And
while I watch this with compassion, this procrastination, I am also witnessing with the curiosity of what Can I do?
So, I took out a piece of paper and wrote a list.
Then I opened a word document and wrote the beginning of a beginning of an intro.
And I no longer have to face a blank anything. I need only continue.
11 January 2016
connecting
So there's this thing that happens in winter. I go inward, fast and deep. And I have to remind myself, over and over and over, to come up for air, reconnect with what is, be here now.
Today, the wind is blowing hard and the noises keep bringing me back to here and now in a way that is not synchronized with my natural rhythm and I am feeling jangly even while I am trying to embrace it. These past months I have become more and more sensitive to sensory input, feel flooded easily by a lot by noise and motion, which is pure insanity in a tiny house filled with a fabulous and interactive 5 year old and a puppy and a cat the puppy wants to bite.
So I am surfing the edges these days, trying to find the balance between enough and too much. Trying to learn to ask for what I need without apology. Why is this so hard?
Why do I say Sorry so much? What if I just say, this is what is for me.
The Sorry expects it to be a bother for other folks. But what if it isn't? What if I am teaching them to be bothered by punctuating moments with Sorry?
Work is calling and I need to get back to it. But I wanted to stop in and connect, surfacing for a moment on my own, following my own rhythm. Pausing to look at the way the late sunlight lies across the snow.
Today, the wind is blowing hard and the noises keep bringing me back to here and now in a way that is not synchronized with my natural rhythm and I am feeling jangly even while I am trying to embrace it. These past months I have become more and more sensitive to sensory input, feel flooded easily by a lot by noise and motion, which is pure insanity in a tiny house filled with a fabulous and interactive 5 year old and a puppy and a cat the puppy wants to bite.
So I am surfing the edges these days, trying to find the balance between enough and too much. Trying to learn to ask for what I need without apology. Why is this so hard?
Why do I say Sorry so much? What if I just say, this is what is for me.
The Sorry expects it to be a bother for other folks. But what if it isn't? What if I am teaching them to be bothered by punctuating moments with Sorry?
Work is calling and I need to get back to it. But I wanted to stop in and connect, surfacing for a moment on my own, following my own rhythm. Pausing to look at the way the late sunlight lies across the snow.
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