October 2008
Monthly Archive
October 28, 2008
Posted by Amy C under
poetry,
transitions | Tags:
birthday |
1 Comment
The heat of the sun.
The rushing water below.
Insects hovering.
The wind across my face.
I delve inward. Seeking strength.
Drawing out memories of pain
To examine. To accept. And to let go.
Into the wind… toward the sun. Burning
Into particles of joy & sunshine.
I am seeking freedom in this wild place.
Freedom to embrace my past.
Freedom to treasure my present.
Freedom to create my future.
Freedom to become.
To become more. Stronger. Lighter. Joyful.
To recognize and harness my power.
To act without fear. To raise my voice with confidence.
I have something to say.
I am here to draw on the power I feel.
In solitude. In stillness. In light.
~Written 7.31.08, on the eve of my (most recent) birthday while camping alone in the backcountry for the first time.
Each year on or around my birthday, I find some time to remember the past year and all I’ve accomplished and how I’ve changed. And then I look ahead to what the coming year might bring. What my goals are. What I’m hoping to experience, etc. With the decision to quit my job and explore a brand new path, this year is one for discovery and creation, both externally and internally. I am learning so much about what is out there in the world, what’s going on, and more about who I am and who I want to be.
The time I have to sit in a space and consciously listen to myself and really see me is a new experience for me. I find myself noticing patterns from my past creeping in. Immediate reactions to situations that come up I see a little more objectively and try to reassess the situation with a clearer mind (although it’s still quite a challenge to reign them in). I notice colors, smells, sounds, expressions, nuances. My senses are more acute; more aware; more intense.
I am so grateful for this time I have, yet find myself seeking reminders (i.e., my poem above) when I need to remember that what I’m going through is normal; that the ups and downs I’m experiencing are all part of the growing pains of newness. I feel guilty for not being the person I was four months ago. I feel stressed and torn by the expectations of others. And I especially feel discouraged and confused by my own expectations–what the ‘old’ me would do; and what I think the ‘new-as-yet-undefined me’ should be doing.
Rereading the poem is grounding. It serves as a reminder that I have not lost my way. That I am staying true to my goal to expand within and move forward through my life with purpose and grace.
I know everything I’m going through, seeing and feeling is bringing me closer to that goal. And that it’s a lifetime journey full of experiences and moments. The signs are all there. Yet with this clearer vision comes more accountability and responsibility. I can no longer hide within my job, within a label of ‘what I do.’ I have chosen to live more deliberately and aware. I have chosen to feel more acutely the experiences of life–the failings, joys, surprises, disappointments, beauty, awe, sorrow and brilliance. I wasn’t expecting it all to feel so amplified in so many ways. The volume and intensity can be overwhelming.
Yet finding simple reminders is encouraging. They serve as mantras to repeat when I’m feeling the weight of the world. Today, my mantra is, “I have the freedom to become. I have a voice. I have something to say.” And I will take this time to embrace all of it; to acknowledge the challenges and the beauty of the process; and find compassion within me (and for me) as I become more of who I already am.
October 23, 2008
Posted by Amy C under
integration | Tags:
about me |
[3] Comments
Amelia Carolyn was the name my mom was planning on naming me before I was born, but she ended up deciding on “Amy.” She didn’t know any Amys and thought it was a pretty name. Indeed… many people that year seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. In the year I was born, Amy was (I think) the third most popular girls name. I think I was 30 before I was ever in a class, extra-curricular activity or work environment where there were no other Amy’s.
In my younger years, I dreamed about being famous one day. Or at least well known for a talent. Or wildly influential in some way. I was going to be a singer. A researcher. A fashion designer. An author. My pen name–the name I wanted to be known to the world as, was Amelia Carolyn. It sounded sophisticated, sexy, different.
I was always intrigued by the idea that, by having a different name, I might’ve become a different person. What experiences would I have had? What interests? Who would my friends be?
Four months ago I quit my job without a plan. Three months ago I moved in with my boyfriend. Two months ago he proposed and I now live with my fiance and am planning a wedding. (When I do something, I seem to go full throttle.) Talk about transitioning into a new life.
When I thought about this blog, and thought about what I’d be writing about, the idea of “Amelia Carolyn” seemed natural. I think of the name as a kind of inner self. A ‘me’ that has yet to evolve. A woman I can become. A woman that journeys with me, watches over me and protects me. I can expand into her and create a space for my voice and my energy as I transition into this next phase of my life.
So welcome to Amelia Carolyn.
October 22, 2008
I’m fond of quotes. Of reading new information and finding that nugget that feels like home. The words express a thought you’ve had before, but could never articulate. Or, in my most recent experience, a thought or concept that has you saying, “ah-ha! that’s me!”
I’m currently reading a book about finding your ideal career (when you’re feeling stuck). It centers around common fears people have of committing to, and doing, what they love. It’s called I Could Do Anything if I Only Knew What it Was, by Barbara Sher and in one of the chapters, she discusses how some people avoid making a commitment to pursuing a skill or interest, because they’ve never learned how to learn. They’ll start something, catch on quickly, but then as soon as it gets hard, get frustrated, convince themselves they’re no good at it, and quit. Reading this intrigued me. I have quit many things that interest me: swimming, ballet, geometry, advanced math classes (never even attempted physics or calculus in high school since I figured it’d be way over my head), speed training on a track, biking up Olde Stage Road, writing, painting, singing, playing the violin, learning a foreign language… my list goes on. And on. She writes:
“Always feeling like amateurs, but sensing their considerable talent, these people are caught in a nightmare of self-evaluation: Am I a genius or am I a fool? That seesaw thinking is a painful mistake people make when they haven’t worked enough.”
This line of thinking is achingly familiar to me. There are so many things I believe I might be good at, or could be good at, but I’m petrified to even contemplate trying even one thing. I haven’t pursued anything very seriously. I haven’t mastered anything. Writing is a perfect example and one of the reasons I’m so elated that I’ve begun this blog. It’s a beginning for me. It’s an gentle step forward into the unknown… into a realm of living that I’ve dreamed of, but have yet to realize. I am petrified of finding out that I’m a fraud. I have to be honest with myself and, regardless of how rational or irrational it may be, admit that I’m afraid people will find out I’m not smart, or talented, or very creative at all.
I learned about 8 years ago how perseverance works in the physical realm. Running a continuous mile for the first time in my life at the age of 26 was a defining moment in my life. I could do it! But then it got hard, and I thought to myself, “I don’t even really enjoy running.” But alas, I’d already signed up for a 5K race with a friend, so I was stuck. I had promised to run with her and I wasn’t about to back out. Something told me to keep moving forward. So I set up a schedule and I trained.
And I learned something that year. I loved it. Deep, emotional, ecstatic love for the training. Not the race. Not the running. (It was actually a few more years before I fell in love with the running itself.) It was the training I loved. The hard work. The sweat. The challenge. I thrived. And you know what? I was average. My time was average. And I felt strong. And there it was. My life had begun to shift. And it continued to shift in ways I never imagined, or had even perceived at the time I completed that first mile.
It was a valuable lesson. But one that, apparently, didn’t translate very well to my mental ability to learn and persevere. Reading the chapter today felt like a hammer hitting the top of my head. A big sledgehammer. Just yesterday I was in tears because I was feeling stupid for not being able to do one task on my ‘to-do’ list that involved learning something new. I’d procrastinated for over a month doing it. And just couldn’t ‘get it’ when my deadline was approaching and I finally sat down to figure it out. I didn’t know how to approach it and learn about it. And I didn’t know how to be patient with myself.
So what does this mean? Where do I go from here? It means that I need to learn how to learn. It means I will be patient with myself and have compassion for myself when my frustration and fears overwhelm me. It means I will set a few goals and stick to them–regardless of the pain and suffering and defeat I might feel at the time. I will persevere through the beginning stages and have faith (and trust) that I’ll move into a new realm of mastery and confidence with time.
This blog is my first commitment (of hopefully many) to that goal. To keep writing. To keep learning. To weather the struggles and temptations to quit I know I will experience. To see the struggles as a sign of progress and validation that I am getting better.
I am inspired by one of my favorite lines from Walt Whitman: “A foot and lighthearted, I take to the open road.” The road is ahead of me, full of wonder and experience and moments of discovery. I take another step.
October 20, 2008
My first blog. My first blog post. Whew.
“Just start writing,” my mom would advise. I typically (not always, mind you, but often enough) prefer to have everything figured out before taking action; to have it ‘perfect’; to meet some arbitrary standard I’ve set for myself. I’ve been thinking about and talking about starting a blog for the past four months. I have ideas I want to explore. Yet four months go by with lots of thinking and pondering and daydreaming and excuses, but no action. Until now.
Taking that first step–the commitment, the exposure, the fear–it’s tough. I’ve taken many ‘first steps’ this past year, so you’d think starting a blog would be small potatoes in the grand scheme of things (and it probably is), but it’s something that scares the heck out of me.
So why tonight? Why now? Why, on this particular day, did I sit down at my computer expecting to read the news and find myself here? I don’t have a good answer to these questions. Other than I think I’m finally tired of simply talking about doing stuff. I am restless. Antsy. Feeling motivated to do something. Anything. I’ll be writing more on this in the following posts, but I am in a state of pretty spectacular transition in my life. I’ve spent the summer exploring my inner world and how the choices I’ve made will effect my future. And all that thinking has begun to feel stagnant and stifling. I want to finally take action. The need to move has overridden the fear. For now. The brilliant hues of autumn serve as a reminder that change is inevitable–and an absolutely beautiful process that I can embrace and get excited about.
This is my first step of many towards a new world order. I don’t have all the answers tonight, but I know one thing for sure: I want to write. And it’s time to sit down and “just start writing.”
