Home

It’s a standard conversation starter right after or just before, “What do you do?”  It’s, “Where are you from?”  Where’s home?

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about ‘home’.  What does that mean to me?  How does it impact my life and the choices I make.  I guess the reason it’s been with me so much, even if only on the periphery of my thoughts,  has been because I’ve been house hunting — looking to find the space which calls to my soul and which I can still personalize so that it is mine and not another’s house which I have bought.  And then there’s the fact that I’ve been on a voyage of self-discovery this past year.  And my relationship with others and with places has changed as my relationship with myself has changed.

If I were to believe that home is where I grew up – the house and the neighbourhood – then I don’t have a home anymore.  The house I grew up in was sold after my father died and my mother moved.  I once returned to that street, parked my car, and got out and walked around looking at the houses where my friends had lived and the places where I had played.  And I was a foreigner.  It did not feel like home.  I knew I did not belong there.  And, more important for me, I did not want to recapture any of my memories or try to make myself fit into that space anymore.  So…that wasn’t home. 

And then I went to my old high school, a place where I had loved learning and where I had felt safe.  I walked the halls and saw the plaque where my name is listed on the academic awards of the school.  And I felt out of place.  I no longer belonged there.  I walked to the first elementary school I attended and walked and skipped down the stairs betweenRegal RoadandDavenportand back to my car.  I felt out of time and place.  No where could I find the ‘home’ of my childhood.

Is home where I live now?  Since I’ve only owned my condo for 16 months, I could argue that it cannot be home yet.  But I remember the first night that I slept in the first condominium which I owned and it did feel like home.  It was the fit for me at that time.  But, as I changed, it no longer fit me and living there became irksome to say the least.   And, although I’ve lived in Peterborough for over 33 years, it has never felt like home.  I still feel a bit like an interloper intruding on the grounds of those who were born there.  So…neitherToronto nor Peterboroughi s ‘home’.

So, I’ve wondered, is home where my family is?  Does my sense of connection to ‘home’ lie in the people in my life – my family and my friends?  This feels closer to my sense of groundedness.  I love my sisters and my nieces and nephew but my family members do not live in one single geographic area.  And while I visit them, I know that, even as I am a relative, I am a visitor.   I’ve know my best friend for over 58 years.  In many ways, she is the sister of my heart.  I’ve known my voice teacher and his family for over 15 years.  They have become good friends.  But while my connection to my family and friends gives me a sense of belonging and connection, it still does not provide me with a solid, certain sense of ‘home’.

What does ‘home mean to me?  For me, home is a place [for want of a better work although it need not be a physical place] where I feel centered and grounded.  It is that space which provides an anchor for me.  Not an anchor to hold be back or to hold me fast but an anchor to hold me safe in a storm.  ‘Home’ is the port to which I can return when I need silence and space to replenish my energy.  It is the place from which I can venture forth to learn and explore and experience life.

In the last few months, especially as I’ve known that where I am living now is a transition space, I’ve come to understand – really understand – that my true ‘home’ for me is me.  I am the place which fulfills my definition of that concept.  As long as I am true to the person I know myself to be, as long as I tell the truth to myself and others, as long as I live my life in that way, I will always be safe, I will always have the space I need to provide me with a safe harbour, I will always have what I need.  I know that if I live my life knowing that I am my ‘home’, I will never be alone or unconnected.  I will never be adrift.

That has been the unexpected gift to me of my house hunting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Declaring My Truth

I remember the psychiatrist I was seeing once asking me, “Who said life has to be a struggle?”  And I didn’t have an answer.  It seems that I’ve been struggling all of my life.

 

When I think about it, being conceived is a struggle.  I mean it takes a lot for a sperm to travel all the way up to the egg and then it has to struggle to break through into the genetic matter inside the egg.  That’s one hell of a struggle.  And then the fertilized egg has to travel down the Fallopian tube to the uterus and then it has to successfully implant itself in the wall of the uterus.  Again, another struggle.  And then the embryo has to survive for nine months before it is born. More struggle.  And let’s not forget about being born.  That is a struggle.  Trying to make it through an opening which is not designed to be big enough for the human head.  Both mother and baby trying to accomplish the same thing.  Both straining to get it done.  And then you have to start breathing.  That first cry of intake of air to inflate your lungs.

 

In my case, I also had to additional struggle of surviving the actions of a crazy woman who made my mother’s life hell.  I mean, who should have to go to bed at night fearful for her wellbeing?  Who should be worried about what her mother-in-law might do to her?  I do know that my grandmother hit my mother hard in the stomach when my mom was carrying me.  Was her intention to cause my mother to abort me?  I don’t know.  Somehow, I think it was.  Grandma was a nutcase!

 

I was the youngest of three.  Born to a very dysfunctional family.  My father was not a happy man.  He worked way too hard.  It had defined his life from the time he was 18.  He didn’t like confrontation.  He wanted his mother and his wife to get along.  Not going to happen.  He thought his wife was being emotional and irrational and demanding.  He didn’t believe that his mother could be carrying out a planned guerrilla war against his wife.  When he finally found out that his wife had been telling him the truth about his mother’s behaviour, he moved his mother out of the house but then expected his wife to look after his mother’s needs – taxiing her to the bank and the grocery store and buying her clothes when she needed them.  And he expected it.  He never did it.  

 

I don’t know what his definition of ‘love’ or his expectations of being married were but I never felt that he loved my mother or that he unconditionally loved me or my sisters.  My mother seemed to be grateful for his attention.  Her self-esteem was in the dumper.  She thought she wasn’t pretty, or attractive.  She thought that since she had not been able to finish high school she was not smart.  She, I think, never really felt worthy. 

 

And then there were my sisters as I remember them when I was growing up.  My oldest sister was afraid.  She lived in fear of being hurt, of being abandoned.  She tried so hard to please.  She struggled to fit in and to be acceptable.  She did not learn in the way that the educational system was set up to accommodate. So, she was told she was slow.  She struggled to do well in school.  She strove very hard to be exactly what was expected — the ‘good’ little girl.  She became hyper-vigilant and watchful.  And., because she wanted security and regularity and predictability, that affected how she responded to the events and people in her world  Anything that did not fit in to her world view or which threatened to upset her world was wrong.  It had to be controlled or changed or, if all else failed, removed.

 

 

And then there was my middle sister.  Her birth was a struggle because she was a breach birth. She was born in a time of, I think, reasonable stability in my parent’s relationship.  She didn’t have to face learning issues at school.  She seemed to fit in easily – the social chameleon.  She could fit in easily in any situation.  She was my family’s ‘Richard Cory’ because underneath that skin of confidence, was someone who was also watchful, someone who was also hyper-vigilant, someone who also struggled to fit in and to be what was expected.  In her case, she was able to adjust to fit the expectations of the group or the situation.  Need to be witty?  She could be that.  Need to be charming?  She could be that.  Need to be funny?  She could be that.  Need to be mature?  She could be that.  Need to be pretty and attractive to boys?  She would work hard to be that.  Whatever was required so that she could fit in and feel accepted, she would do.

 

And then there was me. 

 

My oldest sister was conceived right after my parents married. I know that my mom wanted to start a family.  She always said that initially she wanted to have six children.  The middle sister was conceived about one year after my oldest sister was born.  I don’t think things had really started to deteriorate for my mother then.  She was still trying to make a home and have the security of her own space at the time.  But after the middle daughter was born, my mother decided that she didn’t want to have six children. 

 

By the time, I was conceived I know [because she told me so] that my mother was seriously thinking about leaving my father.  She was scared and felt alone and felt that my father didn’t believe her.  But there was the worry about where she would go with two young children if she left.  Her father, my grandfather, would not have taken her in.  I think she might have been thinking about going to my aunt for help.  I know that her sister would have helped her without question. But then my mom found out she was expecting me.  Now she had to look after a four year old and a two year old and my father and her mother-in-law and the house all while expecting another child., She had to deal with the egregious behaviour of my grandmother who was trying to gas-light her.  She, I think, just started to feel lost and alone and afraid all the time.  And her pregnancy was not easy.  By the time I was delivered, my mother was so very tired and, I think, worn out both physically and emotionally.  I believe that my mother’s body chemistry of fear and watchfulness and worry about bringing another child into her life situation passed itself on to me in her womb.  I was born knowing that I was not unquestioningly wanted

 

I was a very demanding baby, I know.  I was fussy and fractious.  It turned out that my mother’s milk, while plentiful, was not nourishing me and so I had to be put on formula, an unexpected expense.  And mom felt like a failure because her milk was lacking – read, according to her mother-in-law, she was lacking.  And my mom was tired and she had no one to support or to help her.  So there she was with a four year old, a two year old, a newborn, a crazy woman living upstairs and a remote husband.  And the more she needed help, the less support there was.  Dad really was absent to her.

 

As I grew up, it seemed to me that I was always having to fight to be acknowledged.  While I know that it was impossible to ignore my presence since I was loud and boisterous and argumentative and physically imposing [to say the least], I always felt like I was being ignored or excluded.  I always felt that I had to fight for my place in the family – for my right to be acknowledged and to be part of the group. 

 

This led to two paths which I followed as I grew up.  Since I knew that my father privileged intelligence and I was very smart, I made sure that I was an excellent student.  It also helped that school was the one place in my life where I felt safe.  I still felt excluded by the other kids in class.  I was the last one picked for any team and I was rarely invited to birthday parties and that hurt but I told myself that it didn’t really matter.  Learning was easy and fun and I usually had really good teachers so that more than made up for recess.  Home was definitely not a safe place to be.  I never knew what to expect when I got home.  I didn’t know what mood my father would be in.  That unpredictability and lack of consistency made home really unsafe.  At home, I spent a lot of time outside sitting on the front porch reading or playing with my friends.  Or I spent time parked in front of the TV or up in my room reading and banging my head against a wall.  As I write this, it strikes me that, while I didn’t want to feel ignored or left out or excluded, I set things up so that is exactly what happened.  I think I told myself that, rather than wait for acceptance and being included, I would do the rejecting.  Then I was in control of my social situation.

 

It feels to me that I’ve lived most of my life being watchful and hyper-vigilant.  I’ve tried to monitor the reactions of other people to me.  I’ve tried to be acceptable.  I’ve tried to make my work better than anyone else’s.  I’ve worked hard to meet what I’ve believed to be are the expectations of others.  I’ve tried, for the most part, to live my life without letting the internal rage I’ve felt erupt.  It’s very tiring living a life based on fear of rejection yet that’s what I’ve really done.  That fear has been at the root of just about every decision I’ve ever made.  That includes taking on jobs or tasks when I’ve been asked to for no other reason than feeling that my being asked was an indication that I mattered and that I was included and that I was wanted.

 

In the last year, finally, I’ve begun to truly know that I AM a Godforce.  I am conscious that all I need to do is to be true to the person I know I am and to speak my truth out loud.  When I’ve been asked who I am,  I’ve always responded with what I knew or felt I was not – I was not selfish, demanding, anti-social and on and on.  But I understand now that the universe does not process a negative so the more I said what I was not, the more I was exactly that. 

 

I have never declared out loud, without anger, the truth of who I have always known myself to be.  So here is my declaration:

 

I am Jean Winter.  I was named after my mother and I wear that name proudly.  I am a bright, funny, caring, person.  I am loyal.  I have the ability to hear beyond the words people say to me.  I don’t carry preconceived notions of what anyone can do or of what’s possible for them.  I hold everyone as able to live their own lives.  Although I want the best for the people in my life, I know that I do not know what is best for anyone but me.  I believe in the spirit of the law not the letter of the law.  I love learning.  I’m curious about life and want to know and understand.  I have a really nutbar sense of humour and a great laugh.  I am very artistic – I love colour and line and design.  I am extremely musical.  I cannot imagine my life without music in it.  I am a very sensual and spiritual person.  In that sensuality and spirituality, I am able to bring forth new ideas, create new thoughts, and bring out the best in myself and others.

 

In declaring who I know the Godforce that I AM to be, I intend to live my life large and to choose those things which light up my day.  I owe myself my life choices.  I hold great respect, integrity and generosity of spirit for myself.  I am my own best friend. 

Declaring My truth

I remember the psychiatrist I was seeing once asking me, “Who said life has to be a struggle?”  And I didn’t have an answer.  It seems that I’ve been struggling all of my life.

 

When I think about it, being conceived is a struggle.  I mean it takes a lot for a sperm to travel all the way up to the egg and then it has to struggle to break through into the genetic matter inside the egg.  That’s one hell of a struggle.  And then the fertilized egg has to travel down the Fallopian tube to the uterus and then it has to successfully implant itself in the wall of the uterus.  Again, another struggle.  And then the embryo has to survive for nine months before it is born. More struggle.  And let’s not forget about being born.  That is a struggle.  Trying to make it through an opening which is not designed to be big enough for the human head.  Both mother and baby trying to accomplish the same thing.  Both straining to get it done.  And then you have to start breathing.  That first cry of intake of air to inflate your lungs.

 

In my case, I also had to additional struggle of surviving the actions of a crazy woman who made my mother’s life hell.  I mean, who should have to go to bed at night fearful for her wellbeing?  Who should be worried about what her mother-in-law might do to her?  I do know that my grandmother hit my mother hard in the stomach when my mom was carrying me.  Was her intention to cause my mother to abort me?  I don’t know.  Somehow, I think it was.  Grandma was a nutcase!

 

I was the youngest of three.  Born to a very dysfunctional family.  My father was not a happy man.  He worked way too hard.  It had defined his life from the time he was 18.  He didn’t like confrontation.  He wanted his mother and his wife to get along.  Not going to happen.  He thought his wife was being emotional and irrational and demanding.  He didn’t believe that his mother could be carrying out a planned guerrilla war against his wife.  When he finally found out that his wife had been telling him the truth about his mother’s behaviour, he moved his mother out of the house but then expected his wife to look after his mother’s needs – taxiing her to the bank and the grocery store and buying her clothes when she needed them.  And he expected it.  He never did it.  

 

I don’t know what his definition of ‘love’ or his expectations of being married were but I never felt that he loved my mother or that he unconditionally loved me or my sisters.  My mother seemed to be grateful for his attention.  Her self-esteem was in the dumper.  She thought she wasn’t pretty, or attractive.  She thought that since she had not been able to finish high school she was not smart.  She, I think, never really felt worthy. 

 

And then there were my sisters as I remember them when I was growing up.  My oldest sister was afraid.  She lived in fear of being hurt, of being abandoned.  She tried so hard to please.  She struggled to fit in and to be acceptable.  She did not learn in the way that the educational system was set up to accommodate. So, she was told she was slow.  She struggled to do well in school.  She strove very hard to be exactly what was expected — the ‘good’ little girl.  She became hyper-vigilant and watchful.  And., because she wanted security and regularity and predictability, that affected how she responded to the events and people in her world  Anything that did not fit in to her world view or which threatened to upset her world was wrong.  It had to be controlled or changed or, if all else failed, removed.

 

 

And then there was my middle sister.  Her birth was a struggle because she was a breach birth. She was born in a time of, I think, reasonable stability in my parent’s relationship.  She didn’t have to face learning issues at school.  She seemed to fit in easily – the social chameleon.  She could fit in easily in any situation.  She was my family’s ‘Richard Cory’ because underneath that skin of confidence, was someone who was also watchful, someone who was also hyper-vigilant, someone who also struggled to fit in and to be what was expected.  In her case, she was able to adjust to fit the expectations of the group or the situation.  Need to be witty?  She could be that.  Need to be charming?  She could be that.  Need to be funny?  She could be that.  Need to be mature?  She could be that.  Need to be pretty and attractive to boys?  She would work hard to be that.  Whatever was required so that she could fit in and feel accepted, she would do.

 

And then there was me. 

 

My oldest sister was conceived right after my parents married. I know that my mom wanted to start a family.  She always said that initially she wanted to have six children.  The middle sister was conceived about one year after my oldest sister was born.  I don’t think things had really started to deteriorate for my mother then.  She was still trying to make a home and have the security of her own space at the time.  But after the middle daughter was born, my mother decided that she didn’t want to have six children. 

 

By the time, I was conceived I know [because she told me so] that my mother was seriously thinking about leaving my father.  She was scared and felt alone and felt that my father didn’t believe her.  But there was the worry about where she would go with two young children if she left.  Her father, my grandfather, would not have taken her in.  I think she might have been thinking about going to my aunt for help.  I know that her sister would have helped her without question. But then my mom found out she was expecting me.  Now she had to look after a four year old and a two year old and my father and her mother-in-law and the house all while expecting another child., She had to deal with the egregious behaviour of my grandmother who was trying to gas-light her.  She, I think, just started to feel lost and alone and afraid all the time.  And her pregnancy was not easy.  By the time I was delivered, my mother was so very tired and, I think, worn out both physically and emotionally.  I believe that my mother’s body chemistry of fear and watchfulness and worry about bringing another child into her life situation passed itself on to me in her womb.  I was born knowing that I was not unquestioningly wanted

 

I was a very demanding baby, I know.  I was fussy and fractious.  It turned out that my mother’s milk, while plentiful, was not nourishing me and so I had to be put on formula, an unexpected expense.  And mom felt like a failure because her milk was lacking – read, according to her mother-in-law, she was lacking.  And my mom was tired and she had no one to support or to help her.  So there she was with a four year old, a two year old, a newborn, a crazy woman living upstairs and a remote husband.  And the more she needed help, the less support there was.  Dad really was absent to her.

 

As I grew up, it seemed to me that I was always having to fight to be acknowledged.  While I know that it was impossible to ignore my presence since I was loud and boisterous and argumentative and physically imposing [to say the least], I always felt like I was being ignored or excluded.  I always felt that I had to fight for my place in the family – for my right to be acknowledged and to be part of the group. 

 

This led to two paths which I followed as I grew up.  Since I knew that my father privileged intelligence and I was very smart, I made sure that I was an excellent student.  It also helped that school was the one place in my life where I felt safe.  I still felt excluded by the other kids in class.  I was the last one picked for any team and I was rarely invited to birthday parties and that hurt but I told myself that it didn’t really matter.  Learning was easy and fun and I usually had really good teachers so that more than made up for recess.  Home was definitely not a safe place to be.  I never knew what to expect when I got home.  I didn’t know what mood my father would be in.  That unpredictability and lack of consistency made home really unsafe.  At home, I spent a lot of time outside sitting on the front porch reading or playing with my friends.  Or I spent time parked in front of the TV or up in my room reading and banging my head against a wall.  As I write this, it strikes me that, while I didn’t want to feel ignored or left out or excluded, I set things up so that is exactly what happened.  I think I told myself that, rather than wait for acceptance and being included, I would do the rejecting.  Then I was in control of my social situation.

 

It feels to me that I’ve lived most of my life being watchful and hyper-vigilant.  I’ve tried to monitor the reactions of other people to me.  I’ve tried to be acceptable.  I’ve tried to make my work better than anyone else’s.  I’ve worked hard to meet what I’ve believed to be are the expectations of others.  I’ve tried, for the most part, to live my life without letting the internal rage I’ve felt erupt.  It’s very tiring living a life based on fear of rejection yet that’s what I’ve really done.  That fear has been at the root of just about every decision I’ve ever made.  That includes taking on jobs or tasks when I’ve been asked to for no other reason than feeling that my being asked was an indication that I mattered and that I was included and that I was wanted.

 

In the last year, finally, I’ve begun to truly know that I AM a Godforce.  I am conscious that all I need to do is to be true to the person I know I am and to speak my truth out loud.  When I’ve been asked who I am,  I’ve always responded with what I knew or felt I was not – I was not selfish, demanding, anti-social and on and on.  But I understand now that the universe does not process a negative so the more I said what I was not, the more I was exactly that. 

 

I have never declared out loud, without anger, the truth of who I have always known myself to be.  So here is my declaration:

 

I am Jean Winter.  I was named after my mother and I wear that name proudly.  I am a bright, funny, caring, person.  I am loyal.  I have the ability to hear beyond the words people say to me.  I don’t carry preconceived notions of what anyone can do or of what’s possible for them.  I hold everyone as able to live their own lives.  Although I want the best for the people in my life, I know that I do not know what is best for anyone but me.  I believe in the spirit of the law not the letter of the law.  I love learning.  I’m curious about life and want to know and understand.  I have a really nutbar sense of humour and a great laugh.  I am very artistic – I love colour and line and design.  I am extremely musical.  I cannot imagine my life without music in it.  I am a very sensual and spiritual person.  In that sensuality and spirituality, I am able to bring forth new ideas, create new thoughts, and bring out the best in myself and others.

 

In declaring who I know the Godforce that I AM to be, I intend to live my life large and to choose those things which light up my day.  I owe myself my life choices.  I hold great respect, integrity and generosity of spirit for myself.  I am my own best friend. 

Being Me

I feel comfortable in my home. I think that I do because I know that I can hide here, hide from me. I realized that when I am home I know I don’t have to face mySelf in the faces of others.

I’ve been traveling a lot lately with a team of people. I find myself with a great need to fit-in and it puzzles me why. Why do I need to be one of the “guys”, why it is not ok for me to just be myself and be ok with that? I just realized that throughout my life I always felt that I was different, I always felt (and feel) that I don’t belong, that I am different and it just struck me that it is me that makes that judgement on ME. No one tells me that I don’t belong, that I am weird, that I am different – I do that to myself and this statement, in my mind, has a very negative connotation. For some reason I feel that I must belong, I must be accepted, I must be understood and so I try to make myself fit in and it doesn’t work because it’s not me. So I beat myself up and I feel like crap and I forget that I am a Godforce  in this physical universe and that what I am experiencing is an opportunity for me to become more.

Does it make a difference when I remember who and what I am? Yes it does. It reminds me that we are ALL that. It reminds me that even though I think that I am different in fact we ALL are different. We all have our own reasons to do things and it is ok.

I wake up and try to remind myself and ask how does the Godforce that I am choose to live today and I look into my eyes when I brush my teeth and try to find mySelf in there and I take a deep breath and I choose. I choose from the place where I need to feel good about my life at the end of the day and know that I did not give up on ME, not for the need to fit in or any other reason. And what it is that I don’t give up on? It’s the knowing inside of me of what is important and right for me in THIS moment. Maybe it isn’t right for someone else and maybe they would do it differently and it doesn’t matter as MY life is ALL about me not someone else!

Beata

Life in the Fast Lane

Here I am in 2012 and January has already come and gone. Imagine! I am already standing in February and what I am noticing, as my life unfolds, breath to breath, is that my experience of living is becoming more intense and way, way more rapid. I have moments, when I simply choose to stop, so that my body can catch up with me.

Somehow, it all seems pretty funny to me, when I think of it… I have the image of a cartoon-like caboose hanging on for dear life to the engine of a great train blowing steam, in hot pursuit of a new way of being down an uncertain track… not willing to not be part of the  unknowns that it will meet along the way. When the engine chooses to slow down to a stop, then the caboose actually discovers that it can, indeed, catch up.

Paradoxically, none of it is true! Interconnected, there is nothing for the caboose to catch up to; caboose and engine and everything in between is the continuum, the process of being ONE. The rest is all illusion. Maybe, even that is, too. Our illusions are the ‘stuff’ of how we define our lives as ‘real’, yet none of it, to me, is ‘real’.

Yup! It IS all pretty funny… and makes ‘real’ – for me – my experience of my life as being ONE  in the fast lane! :o)

“Chaos”

Lots has been happening/moving lately. Two deaths, two illnesses, computer broke, basketball tournament, renovating the house, and starting my own business (Inspiring Leadership). Boy, I could create a lot of drama around this, and a lot of sympathy! However, in the middle of this “chaos”, I continue to breathe, for that is all I have-this moment and this breath. I move into this “chaos” (just a label) and let it rumble around inside of me and I am pleasantly surprised, for I am calibrating for My needs first, then I am able to be there for others. I also know that every moment is perfect as it is, and there is nothing for me to do except be mySelf and breathe. When my body is open and relaxed, the insights come, and whatever I need to know/do comes to me in the perfect time/space sequence. Life really is that easy and that good!

Godforces

On Friday, on our way to the teacher’s convention, I shared with a friend my blog from last week, which was about the word God. I told her that since writing that blog, there was a shift in my body, and how I now believed I was a godforce. As soon as I voiced that, my breath caught, the tears came, and the wave moved. For the whole convention, I interacted with others as the godforces they were, and I witnessed the power of that! The deep knowing inside of me awakened others, especially during the session on writing I presented for an hour. As I stood up in front of 65 people as a godforce, and seeing them for who they really were, waves moved. I then realized how powerful this was, and it was just me being me, my authentic self, as a godforce. Wow. Whoo hoo! Here comes my life!

Choices

Yesterday, I had a pity party. I had some things I wanted done around the house, and my hubby went golfing, I didn’t tell him of my wishes, but perceived he should have known. So I spent about two hours being mad at him when he came home, even though I didn’t express my feelings to him. That’s like me drinking poison hoping hubby will get sick from it. Then it hit me. Wait, this is a mirror for me. What is it about this that has me so agitated? Hubby chose to have fun on the holiday weekend, and I chose to stay home and do chores. Two different choices. Hmmm. My choice, his choice, he had fun and I didn’t. I forgot to ask mySelf, “Am I having fun?” And if the answer was no, then I could have chosen to call a friend or go for a walk on the beach. I chose to stay home and feel sorry for mySelf. The good news is the pity party only lasted for a few hours and I can now laugh at mySelf and move on. Yeah, my evolution never ends, thank goodness!

Reflections

Last week I participated in a life transforming experience, experiance of Manifesting a Meaningful life. The day after lots was moving, a lot of reflections. Today I am ready to express them. No stories, no drama. Here it is:

Life.

Day by day; minute by minute.

Choice. Moment by moment.

Evolution; growth;

More!

Consolidation; body and soul.

Breath by breath.

Joy.

Life!

Wirth RIG, Beata

fire energy

 

Part of being human is embracing all of it. The integral moments and the not so integral moments. And yet in just being honest with the layer I am being integral. I am not perfect. Yet I keep trying to be. It sneaks up on me. This fire energy is transformation of a new layer of expression.

Sometimes I don’t like my job. Most times I do but sometimes I don’t.  On the days I don’t I usually end up doing much more than I should and all the quality of my experience is drained. The quantity of tasks is great…and even the quality of the tasks…but the quality of my experience is nil. Then I feel drained and firey. The whole purpose of what I do is lost in the human to human connection. I am valued as an employee but I am valuing myself as a human. Nothing is black and white so where in the day can I choose differently where I achieve but also create a meaningful experience doing so.

In healthcare a doctor has to decide when comfort care promotes the quality of life more than treatment care.  To me I say why not try…its the whole fight for your life thing yet I know we continue on. I remember my grandmother telling me that when you get older the medical industry doesn’t try anymore becuase your old. Why bother right.   Then I look at the worlds greed and budgets with healthcare and I wonder.  If I was a senior with dementia I can’t choose if I want surgery and how does a doctor know what my outcome will be. They don’t..they only know probable. There are so many sides to this coin. Personal directives are there for a purpose but even those don’t reflect what we want in the now.  The decision for a doctor is a heavy one. I certainly wouldn’t want to make that decision or council a family one way or the other. As a nurse I am really not sure where I stand with it all either and its not a conversation I would even dare to engage with a family.  Part of my transition from new grad to experienced nurse is that I an not only integrating skills and theory but I am also creating bigger views of it all. Intention behind creation. Expansion behind development.  Right now I am just noticing all this.

New questions always lead to more

So whats next? I accomplished the new tasks and challenges of this type of position. I learnt the policies and integrated lots. And now I am just doing, So whats next?

How can I create a different experience and get back to my peace of mind and heart in my day where I am smiling again.

How can I ponder without perfectionizing and how can I stop being hard on myself…..

What will light me up?

What amazing things have I experienced and accomplished so far on this journey of me? Maybe focusing on those would be better

honestly, authenticaly….moi

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