I met Shelby, a woman my age who remembered my sister, a painter in WWU’s art program. “Ru? That was me!” I said…I’ve gone back to using my given name since then. She’s now set up shop as a maker of recycled leather wallets, selling them at the Co-op and Farmer’s Market. Big grey eyes and soft brown hair.
I snapped a picture of pink poppies with hairy stems.
Last night, I had a dream that a hand was planting seeds inside me. It wasn’t disturbing like it sounds. It felt hopeful, a harbinger of something new, positive growth. I have been making some shifts lately, tiny tweaking tends to yield dramatic results. I bought my first bus pass since getting my car, and I’ve been driving much less. It’s a trade-off: more time in community and much more health happy walking, less speed but also less money spent on gas. One morning, three weeks ago, I woke up and no longer craved caffeine. It feels like a gift–no withdrawal symptoms–so I am steering clear of it for now. I’m letting go of other things too, like focusing on other’s faults or giving unsolicited advice. I’m becoming more aware of my own deeply rooted patterns, perhaps the things I’ve been avoiding by focusing on others. I’m also letting go of my illusion of self-sufficiency…this is the hardest one of all for someone who thought trying really, really hard was all it takes to find my way in life. I am learning the great truth of interdependency, that I am not meant to make this journey in life alone, in my own strength but rather with others, intertwined like a strong cord. I wish I could say it’s been a joyful, maturation process for me but it’s been extremely uncomfortable…every part of me revolts against the inevitable changes that are happening…
I’m reminded of this poem entitled “Risk” by Anais Nin:
And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk