insomnia and google reader

allowed me to stumble across this lovely quote:

precisely the right disasters comes at the right moment to break us open to the helplessness that an opening of the heart requires.~coleman barks

bliss

i love words.

i love the way they explain things.

i love the way they roll off my tongue.

i love the way, that when i find the right word, whether it be for a poem, a statement, or in my own busy head, it provides freedom, release and peace.

with words we predict our future.

yes.

no.

can.

cannot.

will.

won't.

with words we make and break our relationships.

we can say hello or goodbye.

we start and finish... and fill in all that's in between.

for the past three years, to mark the new year and send off a wish for what i hope it will bring, i've chosen a single word. this word serves as an intention. a reminder. it's the word i fall back on throughout the year seeking it out and trying to understand it to the best of my ability.

words are tricky.

one single word can have so much meaning.

and each year that i choose a word, i learn it's meaning in more way than one.

2008 was a hard year. it was a year that involved many wonderful experiences, but also one of many losses and a lot of hardship. i wanted `09 to be better, so i chose the word bliss, thinking it was a no fail word. that there was going to be no downside to bliss.

and there isn't, at least not yet that i've noticed (fingers crossed), but i've learned that bliss isn't as simple as i once thought.

i'm not alone in my word tradition and learning each word throughout the year... many other friends have joined me in this new year's practice.

one particular friend, chessa, chose the word joy.

her 08 was also tough, and as we planned for 09 to come around we both moaned and groaned to each other that we hoped it would be easier.

a couple months ago chessa started documenting her daily joys. it's something i love to keep tabs on. first, i love getting a glimpse into what it is that brings a smile to her face each day and second, i just think it's a really cute and cool idea.

each day she takes a moment to make a tribute to joy. in one of her entries she wrote: sometimes, joy is what shows up only after the pain finally stops.

and just as chessa is getting to know her word in more ways than she had figured, i am learning my own chosen word as well.

this is what i am learning...

bliss is found in moments. it's not something one can hold onto or even control. it's not even something you can summon, though i have tried to do so many times. instead, at least in my experience, it is like a rainbow in the sky. something that just happens to appears when the conditions are right. and if you keep your head to the skies and are in the right place at the right time, you'll be lucky enough to enjoy it.

in this year i've tried to create moments of bliss, i've tried to evoke the feeling only to find myself frustrated and discouraged. i've found myself in the midst of a handful of things that should have made me happy beyond belief, only to feel sad, down, and annoyed. searching and wondering "where is my bliss?!"

but when i've let things be and went about my day, i found it showed up here and there without any meddling of my own.it was in morning coffee sessions. in the surf. in the sunset. in a warm embrace or a belly laugh. it wasn't something i could bring to the table, but if i took the time to focus and appreciate the moment, then there it was, darting in and out, here and there. reflecting off the bits and pieces of my life.

in addition to learning that bliss is not within my control, i've also learned that it requires a bit of bravery. it requires following, which contrary to popular belief, isn't for the meek, but instead is for the trusting. to be blissfully happy is to let go. to give in to the senses and let all else fall away.

whether it be:

in love

in the moment

in life

to follow bliss requires a certain degree of faith. it means not asking questions but instead just letting that little voice or feeling in me lead. it means listening to what it is that speaks to me in a silent language, even if i don't fully understand what it's saying or know where it's going to take me. it requires the courage to be okay with things not making sense.

it requires more being. less pleasing. more allowing. less searching and trying to figure it all out.

bliss.

it's a beautiful word that i am enjoying the challenge of learning.and while we're still a bit off, as yet another year starts to dwindle down, i find myself thinking about my next word for my next year. i'm thinking maybe next year i'll go in the opposite direction. choose a word that's usually unappealing and learn the upsides.

we shall see...

thoughts on green grass, daisies and erik

My ever so optimistic friend, Kira, likes to say, “The grass isn’t greenest on the other side of the fence. The grass is greenest on my side.”

She’s one of those people I aspire to be like—always finding the upside in down times. Most recently, when her apartment flooded, instead of complaining, she told me how lucky she was to have her in-laws to stay with. When I asked, “Isn’t it an inconvenience?” she just shrugged and smiled.

I am not at Kira’s level yet. Far from it. I swing both ways on my green-grass philosophy. Some days I believe the grass is green wherever you water it. Other days I find myself hopping fences without meaning to, watering someone else’s yard while complaining about what’s missing in my own.

My grass is like a Dr. Seuss rhyme that never quite rhymes: green grass, brown grass. Good life, blah life. I never quite know what mood I’ll wake up in. It frustrates me, because I know I’ve got it good. Really good. But I can’t always feel the goodness of it.

And all this talk about grass, when the truth is, I don’t have any grass.

Just concrete.

That, and four long garden boxes Erik built for me. Boxes that hold strawberries, chilies, basil, rosemary, lettuce, and a few stubborn extras, including the Gerbera daisies I had to fight for.

(Several months ago at the garden shop)

Me: Oooh. Let’s get these! They’re so pretty!

Erik: Really? But they’re kind of useless. They’ll take up space—we could grow something useful instead.

Me: What? They’re not useless. They make me happy.

(Needless to say, I won that argument.)

Since he takes charge of watering, everything stays green… and pink, and red, and orange too. No grass, but that’s okay.

Because in this time of grays and greens, ups and downs, questions, fears, and the constant low hum of wondering what I’m doing with my life or whether I’ll live up to my potential, whether I still even have potential, I’m learning something.

Even if I end up desolate, dejected, and far less than I hoped to be, I’ll be okay. Because I’ve got family and friends who will love me anyway. Who will tell me I’m good. Who will stay.

And I’ve got Erik.

As weeks turn into months and newness settles into something steadier, as we grow into an “us,” I find myself forgetting what life felt like without him. I’m learning this:

I’ve got a man who builds me a garden with daisies even when he thinks they take up space.

A man who, if I were to pick a daisy in that garden and strip it down to its last petal whispering “he loves me not,” would still love me without hesitation. And if a hundred daisies came to the same conclusion, he would still stand, unwavering.

There is something to be said for someone who is not shy with their feelings, who doesn’t go a day without letting me know I am loved.

And maybe that is the greenest green. The bluest blue. Maybe it’s the color I always wished there was a word for—the one I used to call “Alaska” as a child. Not knowing it was a place, not a color, but imagining it anyway: everything in the world swirled together like an oil slick on pavement, but somehow beautiful.

As time goes on, maybe I am becoming just a little more like Kira.