October 1, 2009

finding home

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, transitions | Tags: , , |
[7] Comments 

I remember when I moved out of my parents house, that figuring out where “home” was was something I thought about. Was I coming home from college for the summer, or visiting my parents for three months? Was I leaving home for four years, or moving to a new one?

It took me awhile to feel comfortable calling my college dorm room “home.” (And I’m not convinced I ever really did… I never felt that connected to Miami.)

The fall after I graduated, I moved to Colorado and finally felt like I’d landed. Maryland had been my home because my parents lived there and I grew up in the same house for 18 years. But I knew that house, and Maryland, wouldn’t be home forever.

Although I’d only driven through Colorado once or twice as a child on family road trips, being here and living here felt right. I moved around a lot at first, but as the years went by, I realized I identified myself as being “from” Colorado instead of Maryland. All my apartments and houses I’ve lived in over the past 14 years were homes for me. When I moved to Boulder, my connection to the state and to this particular town was stronger than ever. The air, the trails, the routes, the coffee shops… they fit.

And now, I’m leaving on a new adventure with my new husband. We’re leaving Colorado. We’re leaving Bolder. We’re leaving our apartment and putting all our material possessions in a 10′ x 15′ storage unit.

We’re moving to Hawaii for six months and then plan to travel through the US for a year when we return. We’ll have only clothes and a few essentials with us in Hawaii. A van for the road trip. Our possessions could be in storage for almost two years.

So where is home? It’s a question I have been pondering and mulling over recently. A good friend of mine has a great attitude about it: Wherever you are that day, is home.

Wherever we are.
Wherever we are. It’s a new perspective for me. One that intrigues and tantalizes. I want to explore it and feel it and notice it. I want to sit with it and say it to myself over and over. “I am home wherever I am.” Will it be challenging? Or will it feel natural right away? How will this new perspective effect other perspectives in my future? Will I find more or less meaning in tangible objects? Will I end up traveling nomad-style for longer? Or will I long to “nest”?

The concept of home has infinite variations. I love that about our world. Maybe Colorado was a stopping point in learning where my true home actually is. For me—today—it’s here. Right where I am. Wherever I am.

 

June 15, 2009

stepping into love is like learning to ride a bike

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, mountain biking | Tags: , , , , |
[5] Comments 

Imagine, for a moment, what it was like when you learned to ride a bike. You were a little scared, but excited at the same time. There was a future in front of you wide with possibility and adventure.

When the training wheels came off, you got on the saddle with some confidence and a little trepidation. You wobbled and fell. You got back on, yet hesitated. The realization hit that it was gonna take some time.

Eventually, you experienced “the flow” of riding on two wheels. It was exhilarating! Then you wobbled—and fell. You’d tasted it though… that freedom and energy of balancing on two wheels and what it meant.

So you got on again and again. Each time you went a little farther on your own, but something funny happened, right? As soon as you realized you were doing it alone—that no one was holding onto you (they were, in fact, well behind you cheering you on)—you wobbled and fell.

IMG_2914

how is this analogous to love?

There’s something that happens when our cognitive thoughts aren’t connected to our emotional ones. Sometimes (for me, it seems more often than not), our conscious thought gets in the way.

We listen to the fear. We hesitate. We start to believe the voice that tells us it’s dangerous and we might get hurt.

Horrors! Getting hurt? Send me to the bunker now so I can avoid all hurt and pain for the rest of my life! Right. We all know that doesn’t work and frankly, that it’s not at all good for us.

Conscious thinking has its place, for sure. It tells us a stove is hot. It allows us to find north. But when we allow it to overtake our lives, it can have disatrous results.

We stop living.

stepping into love
When we allow ourselves to let go and surrender, our wiser selves are suddenly given room to expand their wings and fly.

We have faith in our ability. We accept the reality that we can do it. We’ve left the training wheels far behind. We realize our freedom.

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Stepping into love is like learning to ride a bike. There’s the excitement mixed with fear. We consciously enter into new territory, with faith in knowing our wise selves are within us. And our partners are beside us.

There are times when we come out of the glow and fog of the cushy feelings of love, and we panic. We think to ourselves, “I might lose my independence” or “What if I get hurt?” or “I don’t want to repeat my mistakes from the past.”  And we wobble. And sometimes we fall. And the beautiful thing is, it’s okay.

We simply need to remember that our partners are there beside us to help brush the dirt off. That despite the wobbling and the sometimes-falling, that it’s fun.

The more comfortable we get, the more risks we’re able (and willing) to take. The faster downhills and technical inclines are suddenly a possibility. Committing to a lifetime together becomes an exciting opportunity to stretch our boundaries and experience deeper emotional connections.

IMG_8385The nature of love requires that we trust—ourselves and our partners. And once we breathe in and accept that faith, we begin to fly. The trail and journey before us opens up, wider and wider.

It’s about integrating the conscious thought with our faith in ourselves. It’s about letting go of our fears and taking the leap of faith—whether it’s a ride without training wheels, a technical and rocky downhill, or being present with the ones we love.

 

April 15, 2009

life lessons from the trail

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running, transitions | Tags: , , , , |
[4] Comments 

setting out

I trail run. A lot, it seems, these days. When I started running eight years ago, I tended to dread it. Then I went off-road and found exactly what I didn’t know I was looking for: peace. fun. challenge. patience. and a little bit of zen.

As my life shifted into new territory recently (I moved, left a secure job for an opportunity to find a career I was passionate about, got engaged and started the wedding-planning process), the trails in the foothills of Boulder have been instrumental in helping me focus my energy, maintain a semblance of sanity, and find that ever-elusive balance.

On a recent long run, parallels between the current challenges I was experiencing on that particular trail, and the challenges and fears I was working to overcome in my professional life began to emerge.

Know your goal, but you don’t need to know every little thing about the path you’re on.
We’ve all been there. We want to know exactly where we’re going; how long it’s going to take; what it’s going to look like when we get there; and how we’re going to feel. Some of us are a little less relaxed about this than others, but we’ve all learned the same lesson: Not knowing everything can be good. Why?

Our minds stay open to possibilities and opportunities. We become (and stay) more flexible when things don’t go as planned. A better way to go about it and reach your goal might just appear before you (if you’re looking).

Prepare for your journey, but don’t overdo it.
Remember your first backpacking trip with the 60 lb. pack? Or your first international trip with two (or maybe three) suitcases? You wanted all your comfort items and were determined to have everything you needed on hand “just in case.” I’m guilty.

Make sure you have the essentials dialed in. Your business plan. Knowledge of the product or service you’re offering and an ability to actually articulate it to others. A rain jacket in your pack. Enough food and water (plus a little extra).

But too much weight can, well, weigh you down (I couldn’t help myself). Feeling compelled to have all the “right” materials before officially announcing your new company to the world can leave you with missed opportunities to network and get the word out.

Learn (and trust) that you can start with less and expand as you move forward. Finding that magic balance of supplies, knowledge and gear might take some time, but know that it’ll never be perfect, so get to where it’s “good enough” and go for it. 

It might seem like your goal is far away, but trust in the process of the journey.
It’s closer than you think. I do this all the time when I’m approaching a summit. I stand at the bottom of the trail looking up and think to myself, “I’m never gonna get there.” Yet I make it. And along the way I find myself taking in the smell of the pine needles, the color of new blooms or the sound of crunching snow on the way up.

We’re an impatient species. We seem to shrink away from the tedium of an approach, only to feel depressed when we actually get to the summit. We made it and forgot to enjoy it because we were so concerned we weren’t going to make it. Trust that you’ll get there and remember to be where you are.

Remember to look where you’re going.
Manage the details of your journey, but don’t forget to look up once in awhile. Keep your eye on the rocks and terrain before you, but make sure you remember to stay on trail. When you do look up you’ll notice the brilliance of the sun and the way the wind moves through the trees. It’ll remind you why you’re on this path in the first place.

slow and steady

Take baby steps when you’re going uphill.
It takes less effort than an all-out run and it’s easier to stop. Running uphill is tough. And counterintuitively, it can often take more energy than walking—and be a lot less efficient. The same thing happens when we’re in a tough spot at work.

I know I often over think whatever seems to be going wrong. I invest so much energy into worry and frustration that I forget that sometimes going a little slower is okay. Taking a breath, making time to slow down often ends up saving me time.

We all know it, but stuck in the moment, it’s difficult to remember. When we rush into a tough challenge, we’re at a higher risk for falling down or making a mistake. And those mistakes made at warp speed can be doosies!

Get into the rhythm when you’re going down.
At those moments when things aren’t going well and you know you’re falling, go with the flow. When we try to slow it down, stop or otherwise control momentum, we’re at a higher risk of injury. When we move with the flow, it tends to be a softer landing.

Breathe deep and let your legs guide you. Trust yourself. We all fall at some time or another. It’s okay and it’s expected. We just need to remember to pick ourselves up and move on with grace and humility. Others admire those who take failures in stride. Just tuck and roll…

Tell someone when you’re out alone.
Having someone at home supporting you and knowing what to do if you get into trouble is important. They’ll know when to call in the troops if you need it; and will support you in your goals.

Trying to do everything by yourself can be tiresome and draining. Even just knowing someone’s home, cheering you on from the sidelines, can help keep your perspective and energy.

honor the accomplishment

Take a moment to stop and look where you’ve come from.
Success can creep up on us. One day we step out of the house for our first 3-mile run, coming home tired and sore. And the next time we look, we’ve covered 31 miles of tough, vertical terrain in one day. Or we stand on the summit of a mountain, looking over the vastness of the land before us and see a bird in flight far below.

How did we get here? When did this happen? I’m constantly amazed every time I climb a summit to look down at the trail below and know I’d just been there. The first time I actually ran up an incline on a trail I was stunned. How did I get so strong? Wasn’t it just yesterday I was huffing and puffing my way up? Stopping every few feet to catch my breath?

Recognize your progress and honor it. Success comes to us each and every day, in a myriad of forms and experiences. Take a moment to notice.

 

January 1, 2009

taking stock of 2008

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals | Tags: , , |
[5] Comments 

 


Just over a year ago, at the precipice of 2008, I felt ready for a year of risk and wonder. I found two quotes that seemed to capture my intentions for the upcoming year perfectly:

 

be amazed. “As I started looking, I found more and more.” ~Valerie Steel 

I wanted to remind myself that life isn’t always about what is visible. I believe there are so many hidden treasures that only appear when one is ready to see them… and I knew my busy life was not conducive to seeing all that was available to me. I wanted to slow down, to have the time to observe the world around me and revel in each moment. I wasn’t comfortable with the thought that I might be missing something important because I was preoccupied with surviving.

 

 

be alive. “The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” ~Eleanor Roosevelt 

Looking into 2008, I was anticipating newness. I felt a strong desire to distance myself from the known entity that was my career path and branch out. I knew that the relationship with Bracken that had begun to flourish in 2007 would grow and become even more in 2008—and I didn’t want to miss a moment of it. And I planned to push my physical boundaries and run a 40-mile trail race.

 


As 2009 begins, I am taking stock of all I experienced in 2008. I feel confident that I succeeded in my goals. I took risks. Some bigger than others. Some physical, some emotional and some spiritual.
 
I grew up in a “safe” family. Adventure was admired, but from a distance. Education, reading, music—these were the areas of expansion that were readily encouraged. Steady jobs were expected. Physical activities were limited to those that you could participate in (supervised) with the least amount of harm. Decisions were made only after extensive research and preparation. I have rebelled in my own way over the years against this approach, but always within the confines of my own comfort level.

In 2008 I made the decision to quit a job that no longer felt right. (You can read more about it in this post.) I have no regrets, but the journey and experience of no income, no crystal-clear insight into what I want to focus on next, has been challenging. I have spent a lot of time thinking and ruminating and wondering. I have felt fear (of failing; of succeeding; of mediocrity). I have felt excitement and pride (for taking the action in the first place). And I’ve felt stuck and inert (once I’d taken that first step, I found the next few rather hard to navigate).

2008 also brought forth incredible gratitude and appreciation. Bracken proposed in August and I cannot articulate enough how his love, support and encouragement has been a grounding presence in my life.

Other highlights from 2008:

  • I ran my first ultra marathon in February, completing the Mt. Mitchell Challenge in 8 hours and 21 minutes. It climbs the tallest mountain east of the Mississippi (at 6,684′) from the town of Black Mountain, NC.
  • I completed my certification as a Wilderness First Responder (WFR), laying the groundwork for more backcountry experiences.
  • I did a lot of climbing inside (The Spot) and outside (Boulder Canyon, Moab, Shelf Road, Smith Rock), led my first 5.8 route (5 Gallon Buckets) and climbed my first 10a.
  • I moved into a new apartment in July, purging and redefining what ‘things’ were important to me in my life.
  • I summitted three 14ers (Mt. of the Holy Cross, Mt. Evans and Mt. Bierstadt) in August. The first one was part of my solo backcountry trip on my birthday. 
  • I spent the summer running “for fun” and had a blast. I really loved the freedom of running without a race goal to train for.
  • I had the opportunity to co-guide a 5-day trip to Moab with The Women’s Wilderness Institute. What an amazing experience… and learned that I want to do more of this in some capacity. (I couldn’t have done this without the WFR training!)
  • I started this blog in October.
  • I traveled. Not working certainly freed up time to recreate and visit both my family and Bracken’s.
2008 has been an incredible year of change and growth. I have shed layers of my past and made room for new experiences and beliefs. Through the challenges and tears (many, many tears), I know I am stronger and more capable than ever, with the ability to step into 2009 gracefully, full of optimism and passion for what lies ahead. It’s gonna be a big year. 

 

November 19, 2008

defining moments – a conscious decision

Posted by Amy C under defining moments, life experiences, transitions | Tags: , , |
[2] Comments 

About a month ago, I was having a conversation with some friends about “defining moments.” Moments in your life that represent a new path; moments that mark an unexpected lesson; moments that change the trajectory of your life plan.

I’ve had a lot of these defining moments throughout my life. One taught me the value of being nice despite mean words and looks from others. One taught me more about my hidden confidence and strength in a few hours, than I’d realized I’d had the previous 25+ years that offered a new vision of what my life could be like.

The one I want to share today is a moment I experienced this past year that resulted in, what was for me, an extreme, yet conscious decision. A decision made as a result of a feeling that washed over me on a bus ride this past May that has since led me in a direction I’d only dreamed about, but never imagined being a realistic option for myself. 

“It’s time,” the voice whispered. 

I was listening to Lucinda Williams’ Blue on my ipod. Her voice deep and steady. The melody simple and pure. As I was staring out the bus window, looking out at the familiar and ordinary landscape of Westminster and Broomfield as it blurred by, tears began to well up in my eyes. “It’s time,” the voice whispered again with more conviction. In that moment I felt a deep sense of peace. I nodded in amazed agreement. Hearing those words and recognizing their truth, I felt a sense of renewal and confident strength.

I knew my inner voice was right. I knew, without hesitation, without fear, and without a need to find excuses as to “why not.” I knew it was time to quit my job.

The revelation itself, was not a total surprise. It was the strength of the truth that surprised me. I’d been thinking about quitting for a long time. I’d been struggling with an ever-deepening feeling of discontent and discomfort over the past months. It reminded me of the anguish that breaking up with someone that initially seemed great feels like. That feeling you get when you see so much potential for the relationship to be what you want it to be, yet something just doesn’t resonate and you can’t put your finger on why. So you try harder, saying to yourself, “There must be something I can do.” Everything seems fine, but it’s not. And you know it. Even if you don’t want to know it, you know it. 

And the time comes when you have to admit it to yourself. That’s the biggest step in this whole process, right? Admitting to yourself that you might’ve been {gasp!} wrong.

In the case of a job, however, the predominant and widely accepted way to quit is to have something else lined up. There are the financial reasons. The expectations (and pull) of society’s norms. Your career is at stake. And then there’s the safety factor. Having another job lined up is the “expected and approved” thing to do. And just the day before, I wholeheartedly bought into this line of thinking. I wasn’t ready to quit. I hadn’t been looking hard for another job. And besides, I wasn’t done trying to make this job work. I’d invested my time, energy and emotions into this job. There were aspects of it I truly loved and thrived on. I had plans for the future that relied on my income. I wanted to keep saving my money. It didn’t feel safe to consider quitting.

Structure was familiar and safe. The norm. I’d lived a structured life since I was in nursery school. Getting up at a certain time each day to go to class, to chorus, to work. Even in the rare instances I had free time, there was always something on the horizon.

Sitting on the crowded bus that May evening with tears in my eyes, I knew instinctively that this was different. That my life was on the verge of a major shift. It was time to quit the next day. No plans. No safety net. Just a small amount in savings to carry me and an amazingly supportive partner to encourage me to jump. It simply felt right.

The future opened up. My sense of adventure was awakened. The possibilities seemed endless. I took some time that evening to think about it, but deep inside, the decision had been made and I knew it. It was just a matter of figuring out how to make it work. The rightness of the decision couldn’t be brushed aside. There were no excuses. It was time.

I gave six weeks’ notice to help out with the transition. I was naive in thinking it’d take me only a mere few weeks to sort out what I wanted and jump onto a new path. It just doesn’t work that way. Five months later, I sit in the local coffee shop, an americano beside me, looking back over the past months, still considering my future. What do I want to do? What gets me up in the morning? What do I procrastinate doing? When are my passions aroused?

The feelings that I’ve experienced are all along the spectrum of emotions. Some expected, but most continue to surprise me. The contradictions of uncertainty, failure, strength, excitement, anxiety, guilt, freedom, pride, frustration, motivation and lethargy… sometimes they come all at once, sometimes they creep up and overcome me in waves–unpredictable and often uncontrollable (and yes, I like to feel that I’m in control of my feelings, at the same time I know it’s an unrealistic expectation). I feel so many varying things that I’ve found it hard to navigate what’s authentic, what is a result of past beliefs and which ones reflect a fear of the unknown.

In that moment on the bus, I very consciously altered the direction of my life. I veered off the path paved by society with my eyes open. I opted to bushwack through the unknown until I found (or built) a new trail. It’s been rocky and muddy at times; frightening, beautiful and incredibly awe-inspiring. I’m gathering up new strengths and forming new perceptions as I step into my future. I’m still searching and exploring, but I’ve made a number of discoveries about myself these past months:
  • I’ve learned that knowing what you don’t want to do is just as valuable (if not moreso) than knowing what you do want to do. 
  • I’ve learned (and continue to practice) the difference between what I truly need and what I simply want.
  • I’ve learned to appreciate the value of a penny.
  • I’ve learned that I need more compassion and patience for myself.
  • I’ve learned that I enjoy writing and look forward to sharing more of myself with the world.
  • I’ve learned that I still want to help others.
  • I’ve learned that my generosity didn’t disappear under a corporate spell, but that it was simply hibernating and now recovering and blossoming again.
  • I’ve learned that I am horrible at self-motivation on a daily basis.
  • I’ve learned that I still don’t like to leave voicemail.
  • I’ve learned there’s an entire new world of RSS and blogs out here.
  • And I’ve learned to pay attention to the world I’m living in a little bit more and notice the nuances, expressions and details that I so easily overlooked and took for granted. 
So, so much to learn and appreciate. I continue to create my path. The future is still wide open. The journey of self-discovery continues. 





 

November 4, 2008

standing in the fire

Posted by Amy C under life experiences | Tags: , , |
1 Comment 



Fire. We are taught at an early age not to get “too close” to the fire. That it’s hot. You’ll get burned. It’ll be painful and will scar you for life. It’s dangerous. Be afraid of it.

So we buy into the fear and avoid the fire. We shrink back when things get too heated. We douse those uncomfortable fires with water and try to put them out. In fact, we can spend years avoiding the fires in our life. 

We don’t want to look too closely at what’s in the fire. Our past wounds. Our shortcomings. Our mistakes and regrets. The hurts we’ve caused others. The accusations we’ve inflicted upon ourselves. The parts of our personalities and character that we’d rather not admit to… that ‘dark side’ that comes out when we’re stressed, or angry, or hurt. The stories and scripts we tell ourselves are true.

There’s a poem an old friend sent me a few years back called, The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. It’s an amazing poem about integrity and being true to yourself and those you love. There is one stanza toward the end that I’m reminded of today:

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
Stand in the center of the fire. Stand alone. Stand with your loved ones. Stand with a stranger. Stand in the fire and feel the heat of the moment. The truth in the present. The strength of your self.

To stand in the fire seems like such a foreign concept to our western minds. But it’s a powerful experience to look ourselves in the mirror, accepting and acknowledging the pain. Admitting to ourselves that our pain, indeed, exists is hard. Why is this so difficult for us?

Are we embarrassed? Do we believe that to admit pain is to admit weakness? That to get too close to the unwanted feelings, they’ll hurt us even more? That we won’t recover? Do we believe the fire will alter our core? That we’ll change into an ‘evil’ person? Who tells us this is the truth? How did we come to believe in, and subscribe to these beliefs?

I believe that taking the action to consciously acknowledge and accept our pain as our own–saying it out loud, if only to ourselves, that our wounds exist–we become stronger and more integrated within ourselves. In accepting our whole selves, we diffuse the fears and this notion that we cannot have imperfections in our character to be whole. To the contrary, we actually come closer to the ever-elusive balance that we all seek.

Because here’s the thing (and this is not a new concept, but worth repeating): To ignore pain; to ignore the less-than-appealing parts of ourselves that we wish we could hide, is to do ourselves a true disservice. For to ignore that part of us, to push it aside, is to give it strength. And we give up a chance at integrating all of the facets of our selves and risk being one-dimensional. To truly integrate and create balance in our lives, is to accept and even (dare I suggest it) appreciate the fires that burn within us. 

So I invite you all to go ahead and stand in the fire. Walk into it with your head held high and your eyes open and relish the heat. Embrace your fears and have compassion for them. Provide a safe place where they can exist as part of you. Nurture them with your humanity and feel the release.

photo credit: Hello_Serjiy
 

October 22, 2008

moving forward

Posted by Amy C under setting goals, transitions | Tags: , , |
[6] Comments 

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

beginnings in action

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, transitions | Tags: |
1 Comment 

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.”


 

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