Little things

As is the yearly tradition, New Year’s started with welcoming the sunrise, declaring my word (this year words) for 2023 and burning my letter to the universe/powers that be. It was the best way to welcome in a new year and I was surrounded by the best of friends. 

Later that day was followed with other traditions— making ozoni (a Japanese New Year’s mochi soup) and a dip in the ocean with Erik and the boys.

I don’t believe in “new year, new me;” and yet I can’t deny a freshness and reset button feeling that makes me feel grateful and grounded.

My words this year are:

 “Equanimity” to have that higher spiritual like quality to not let the shit stir me (you may want to look up the actual definition— but that’s ultimately what it means to me). 

“Homesteading” - I want to be out in Waianae living off the land, growing food, raising chickens, permaculturing, and all of the things. I am so looking forward to our step backwards which feels like the most forward thing we can do for our family. It feels grounding, and at a gut level almost necessary. 

“Joy” - I just want a joy filled life. 

And so on day 3, I am bright eyed and bushy tailed about 2023. And already feeling the gifts.

In addition to New Year’s morning and day, yesterday we went on a family forest hike, and Kamahele- my forage driven child was intent on finding food. We found kukui nuts and took about a dozen home and I made inamona for the first time! It was so much fun. Kama especially loved cracking them open and it feels in line with homesteading and joy.

Simple little things that make up the moments of life.

My Panel

My first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. While miscarriages are common (some statistics say 1 in 5 pregnancies will end in miscarriage), a person's reaction to a miscarriage can vary. For me, it was devastating. I felt completely shattered. We had been trying to conceive with no luck, and when I saw the two little lines on a pregnancy test after being told the possibility of me getting pregnant without IVF was close to none, it felt destined and kismet. Even more serendipitous was that the baby's due date was my birthday. I knew within my heart of hearts that this child was meant to be that that I was meant to have him/her. I was elated, confident and so so grateful.

At 10 weeks, with no outward signs or symptoms to indicate a miscarriage, at a routine doctor's appointment I was told with all certainty that what I so confidently knew to be true, was not. Life's colors dulled that day and for many days and months following. There was a wind tunnel effect in my head, and a hole in the pit of my being. 

It took me 2 years before I was willing to try again. The thought of trying to conceive would put me right in touch with my grief and loss, and it was like touching a searing hot stove. I recoiled at once, and would think, no- I can't. No.

Over time my longing to have a child eventually outweighed my fear of losing a baby and back on the proverbial horse I got. In August of 2016 I sat with a positive pregnancy test once again, and hope mixed with a whole lot of fear in my heart.

This is where I learned to create my panel. It's a tool I use whenever I find fear taking over space for something big, beautiful, wanted and terrifying. 

During my pregnancy with Kama I would feel nauseas one day, and fine the next. Fear would say "oh no! it's happening again! we lost the baby!" and I would feel anxious and devastated. While I believe that fear is often an expression of love-- a sign sometimes of just how badly we want something, I also knew that I did not want to go through my entire pregnancy bouncing off the walls in such an anxiety ridden way.

I decided I could not let Fear be the project manger on this endeavor and instead developed my panel. I sat down and thought about what emotions and states of being I wanted most present in my pregnancy and selected Wonderment, Gratitude and Trust as my leaders. Every time Fear said "something's wrong" I would turn to Wonderment and she would say "Isn't it amazing that one day you can puke your brains out and the next day you're feeling fine? Isn't it neat how sometimes the baby moves a ton and other days he's quiet and still? I wonder what tomorrow will bring. I wonder what the next hour will bring? This pregnancy thing is so fascinating." Gratitude would counsel- "whatever is to happen all I know is that in this moment I am so eternally grateful to be pregnant. I'm so grateful to watch my body grow. To feel changes. To be in this moment. In fact I'm so grateful for so many things. A loving husband, the flowers that are blooming, etc. etc." Trust would close the deal with mantras "I can trust my body. I can trust my baby. I can trust this. Breath in and out. Trust. We've got this." 

Again and again, I went to my selected panel throughout my entire pregnancy and I had such a joyous pregnancy. I felt connected, grounded and present.

I've found this practice helpful for myself and others whenever there is a pregnancy of any kind. Pregnant with the hope of what if, pregnant with an idea or a creative endeavor or anything else. 

I hope maybe it will be helpful to you too.

Light & Love,

Christy

*side note- I want to credit Elizabeth Gilbert's work in Big Magic as inspiration for the development of this tool.

Body love

The first shower I took after giving birth, I stood hot water running down my back, tears streaming out of my eyes feeling the warmth envelope me and being overcome with gratitude.

I looked down at my soft pudgy belly and softly held her with both hands whispering “thank you, thank you so much.” I let the hormonal flood of all the feels and 100 deep thoughts pour over me and mimicking my firstborn’s voice and enthusiasm in my head, said cheerfully “we did it!!”

There was a time I didn’t know if I could get pregnant.  Then there was a time where I didn’t know if my body could successfully hold and keep a pregnancy. The road to my first born was not an easy one and yet here we are. Two beautiful boys. Two loves created and carried within my body.

There was also a time when I obsessed over weight, size and appearance. Where I was painfully insecure about my body and tried to control and edit her into an unachievable different version of herself. I hated myself for having cellulite. Was repulsed by the largeness and heaviness of my thighs and hips. Felt itchy and uncomfortable in my own skin. 

I love where I have arrived. Do I still wish I didn’t have cellulite, stretch marks, sagging boobs or wrinkles,? Do I still have moments of insecurity about my appearance? Oh of course. I will look at friends or social media feeds and feel awe and envy in moments over other’s bodies, appearances and attractiveness. I will in moments wish for that booty or those legs, abs, flawless skin, etc; but it’s so fleeting and holds very little leverage. It becomes more of an appreciation for the human body and a “good for them.” And less a cutting inventory of my lacking.

And then there are the moments where I feel a badge of honor and pride for the imperfections. Where they are a testament to me of being human and of the arduous and rewarding journey of acceptance and self love. Like in the shower, marveling at my soft bulging belly and feeling so proud of it. 

An Introduction

Or perhaps a re-introduction, as it's been about 7 years since my last post.

Hello blogosphere, it is me, Christy. I am 40 years old, live in Hawaii and am the mother of a rambunctious 2 & 2/3 year old son who fills my heart with more joy than I could have imagined (#obsessed), and the wife of a kindhearted, button pushing, clever and lovely sawyer. We also have another one on the way, so I am currently a person who has two heartbeats and who grows full like the moon with each passing day.

I am also the daughter of an ailing mother, who has mild Alzheimer's and a body that becomes weaker, stiffer and more immobile with each passing month, but a sass and spunk that continue to thrive; and the daughter of a charismatic, infuriating, adventurous 72 year old father who makes me smile just thinking of him. I am the sister of a badass and bossy younger sister who has been my best friend throughout all of my life and who is an inspiration to hundreds of thousands of her followers, and the sister to a half brother, 11 years my senior who after all this time I'm still trying to get to know as well and figure out my relationship with; as well as another older brother who was given up for adoption when my mom was a teen, but who found us when I was 30. He is sweet, soft spoken and brilliant.

I am the friend of many many wonderful people, who fill my life with joy, laughter, learning lessons and more. I have been blessed with good relationships in my life. It's not something I take for granted, because I am also a therapist to many wonderful individuals and in that role, I get the honor of listening to the stories of other people's lives. In hearing so many hardships, I know how lucky I am to have been given all that I have in terms of love and support and the good fortune of attracting and keeping good people in my life. It is something I appreciate every day.

I tell you these parts of who I am and who others are to me, because while I have no idea where this blog will go, and what it will become, I am sure these parts of my life will show up in the entries. Relationships are how I see and understand myself and the world. They are what shape me.

I used to write all the time and find salvation in it, and with time the writing has stopped. New year, same me, and a desire to find an older me that I miss. So, one of my goals for 2020 is to make a dedicated effort to reconnect with writing. To reinstate that intimate friendship I once had with it.

And why blog? I don't quite know, aside from there is just something about being seen, or putting it out there that does something for me. I'm not quite sure what it is... I think it helps me find my truth. I think there's a little bit of a thrill I get from the vulnerability of it. It feels brave and it allows me to feel connected to something bigger than just me...

So, with that quick intro, welcome and thank you for stopping by.

Aloha,
Christy

Shame Spirals and Negative Narratives

Parenting is the whole rainbow, sunshine and storm wrapped into one. I love that about it, and it’s pretty darn exhausting.

 

My husband and I have been blessed with a wild, energetic, loving, sociable, boundary pushing little boy who lights up my life more than I could have ever imagined. It’s been an amazing gift and a constant test. 

Yesterday was ROUGH. We went to dinner at a friend’s house with other good friends and their children and my little guy came in full with chaotic energy, a strong need to push boundaries (and other kids), yelling, screaming, kicking, climbing and throwing and just a tornado of toddler tumultuousness. He definitely delivered on giving weight to the term “terrible twos.”

 

I did what I try to teach my clients not to do… I walked straight into my shame storm and categorized all the ways in which I was failing as a parent, as I watched and compared all of the other kids at the gathering and all the ways in which they were behaving, playing nicely and following directions. 

 

I ignored the fact that there were bits of sunshine… the way he greeted Aunties, Uncles and friends and said hello when instructed. That he did a really good job with taking turns on the trampoline. That he was happy, even if chaotic and destructive, and that he did hop in the bath without fuss, hop out without protest, even if he refused to wear clothes following.

 

I also didn’t allow myself to tune in to the care that surrounded us. One of the fathers that said, “let me take a turn, go relax and hang out,” the other kids being annoyed but accepting of him despite his crazy. Imani saying “Werner is even more crazy than usual today, but that’s okay.” And both her and Beryx still continuing to try to lure him into games of monster chase (he playing the role of monster, of course) despite the fact that it would ultimately end in both becoming frustrated by his over commitment to the role. And the fact that no one was really too bothered, aside from me.

 

Shame doesn’t allow for this. Instead of connecting us to others, it disconnects us and has us feeling flawed, alone and embarrassed. Instead of allowing us to feel held and supported in our struggles, it creates an isolating feeling.

 

I went home, complained to the hubby, wrote a gratitude list looking for the silver linings, reminded myself of the weekend when we had a really really good day playing with others, read parenting blogs for solutions and ate a bowl of ice cream. I survived the day and also realized how lucky I am to have his honor. 

I write this entry not for sympathy but for transparency and for any other human out there in their own shame storm for whatever reason. I feel you and send virtual hugs your way. Please dear fellow human, go easy on yourself.

 

Also, for anyone interested in resources, Brene Brown is one of my all time sheroes and does amazing research and work on this topic. I highly suggest looking her up.

 

Love and warmth,

Christy

New Years Traditions

For the past 13 years it’s been a tradition to gather with close friends and welcome the rising sun, write our “word” for the year in the sand and burn our letters to the Universe. One year it was snow instead of sand, however, regardless of where we do this, I love how we’ve  kept up with this for so long. There is something to traditions made and handed down that are so special.

This year’s word for me is Balance. As we prepare to welcome another being into this world and our family I want to find balance in honoring the needs of all my family members as well as myself. Included in this concept, is also the idea of more time to recharge. While I am lucky to have such a rich social circle, I am also an introvert and often run on empty or close to it. I don't think it helps that I'm a social introvert with FOMO, as well as a people pleaser, those factors create a lot of push and pull between wants and energetic/emotional needs. I am tired of feeling depleted or knowing that I'm not as present or bright and shiny as I want to be because I haven't tended to my needs. I want to get better at balancing self care in this way as well.

One of the things I love about the intention in the choosing of a word tradition is not only does it set a goal and guiding point for the year, I also get to learn the word more intimately. I get to understand it’s different facets and meanings as I reflect on life from the perspective of the word. For example, one year my word was Excitement and while I intentionally filled the year with adventure and new experiences I also had to unexpectedly move out of my home and got into a car accident as well. Both which I realized were also “exciting,” though not in my preferred way.

I’m curious to see what the word balance has to teach me in 2020 and will likely update on the insights and reflections.

The hubby’s word this year is Adjust with the intention to adjust smoothly to our coming arrival and what life throws our way. The rule in my family and circle of friends is that if I know your word, I will use it against you. I’ve already done that him this afternoon when he got frustrated with me and I responded that I was giving him an opportunity to practice adjusting :) So there's that other benefit as well.

Our son’s word (he’s 2 so we choose for him) is Share. He’s going to have to learn a great deal of sharing in the year (and years) to come and we want to introduce him to the concept in a positive and values driven way.

And for our baby boy on the way, his word is Healthy which I think is what most expecting parents pray for.

If you’d like to share your “word,” I’d love to hear it. And yes, I may use it against you.

Another tradition I’ve taken on In the past 7-8 years is to make Ozoni, a traditional Japanese soup enjoyed at New Years. It helps me feel close to my Japanese Grandma who passed away. There is something about traditional foods that I love.

I love hearing about others’ traditions so please share if you feel compelled.

Happy New Years! Cheers to 2020 ❤️

Dear Tawny,

I wore your earrings last night. The ones you made me out of pheasant feathers. I kept my fingers crossed that someone would notice them and compliment me just so I could tell the story... It's one of my memories of you that burns bright. All of my memories of you, while always treasured, are now golden-- they have become more precious because we have no more memories to make-- at least in this lifetime. I hold them all near and dear to my heart- and whenever I have the chance, I share them.

No one ended up noticing them... not because they aren't bad ass earrings (they are) but it just wasn't a notice earrings kind of night. Still, I want to tell the story again; I want to keep reliving moments of life with you.

Do you remember the day I'm thinking about? My dad had caught pheasants a few weeks back that he threw uncleaned into the freezer and Garrett had just shot his first one, so we were tasked with cleaning them all in the front yard. The birds were stiff, cold and dead. It was not a pleasant task.

You hung out the whole time. You didn't want to clean any but you sat with us as Kimi, Garrett and I went to town. I remember you commenting on how pretty the feathers were and collecting some. It was a pretty nasty affair. I cringed the entire time, but I also ended up being the best at plucking, which meant that I ended up cleaning the most pheasants. The next time I saw you, you gave me those earrings, and I loved that you made something so pretty from such an odd event. I also love that you've never been the kind of girl to let the carcasses of the birds deter you from seeing the beauty of the feathers. You always had a knack for being able to pull the beauty out of any moment.

Last night as I got ready to go out and carefully selected your pheasant earrings I could picture you clear as day squatting down and collecting those feathers. Then later laughing your wonderfully sweet Tawny laugh at me and teasing the face I kept making to show you just how miserable I was. I love that I have a memento...a physical object that I can wear on my ears to allow me to relive our past experiences and carry you just a wee bit closer. One that declares just how fricken awesome you were in so many countless ways.

I miss you and love you.

xoxo

Travel blog

I'll be keeping my travel journal here. Please feel free to follow it :)

Pre Travel- restless nights

In less than a month, we'll be leaving on our trip. I feel like there's a giant clock counting down and I worry that I won't be able to get everything done in time.

When I was a child, I would love to spin in circles, as many and as fast as I could, then come to a sudden stop and feel that dizzy off balanced feeling, as I tried to stable myself and wait for the world to catch up with me. As an adult, I have a tendency to dizzy myself with thoughts. They spin and spin, only they rarely stop, and thus, I'm left with sleepless nights.

There is a fear that seizes me in moments when I stop the spinning and let my emotions catch up. It makes me want to smile. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to seek cover. It makes me want to jump up and down and clap my hands. Sara reminds me that this fear is a good thing. It's what we feel the night before the first day of school. It's what we feel before dropping in on a big wave. Before a race, or a cliff jump. As we fall in love... in all the big things in life.

In the still of the night, I try to breathe deeply, slowly. My mind and my body run in opposite directions. One wants to stay on, the other wants to turn off. I toss and turn and try my best to sink into that quiet energy that lulls me to sleep. It doesn't work, and so I toss and turn some more. And as I do, Erik stirs awake and asks "what's wrong?"; his voice tired and and heavy. I reply- "I'm scared." "Of what?" he mumbles and I can hear him trying to be as patient as possible, though frustration leaks through his voice. Tonight I say "I don't speak Spanish." He pulls me in closer and hugs me tight- "go to sleep" he begs. Feeling guilty for waking him, this night and all the other nights before I try my best to stay quiet and still as I wait for my nerves to calm down and sleep to come.

In the morning I am tired and dreading the day ahead. Erik greets my rising with a kiss, and tells me his solutions to my fear. This morning's solution includes bringing a small 7 inch laptop with us with Rosetta Stone on it, so I can learn on the road. The day before, I was worried about baggage, no- not my emotional baggage, the actual bags we'll be taking. That day I found an email with a bunch of links to backpacks. Though I don't want to push him too hard with my insomniac neurosis, I have to say, I love that he does this. He always tries to fix things for me. He feels my fears and tries to qualm them.

The nights that are hardest on him are the nights when I say "I don't know what I'm scared of, I'm just scared." That gives him nothing to work with. Sometimes on those nights, he'll playfully wrap his arms around my neck and pretend to strangle me.

Moments in time, in the rain

Yesterday it stormed. Big time. Driving was scary. God was crying, having a massive bowling match and someone up there was taking pictures. 

As I left my parking garage from work, heater blasting, soaked to the bone, because I still have it in me that I just don’t need an umbrella, I saw an Asian couple donned in wedding attire at the corner of Hawaii Theater. It was 7:08 pm, and the lightning and rain flashing and pouring down reminded me of something out of a movie. My driving slowed to a crawl and I stared slack jawed, wishing I had a camera because it was just so pretty and poetic in the way that contrasts often are. 

I remember once seeing a photo of a young girl holding a flower in the forefront, behind her, the chaos from a plane crash. There was something haunting about it, something appealing, and something distasteful and visceral. I stood there for a good half an hour entranced, eyes going back and forth from her eyes and the wreckage behind her. Till this day, I still don’t know exactly what I felt about it, but I remember it clearly a decade later.

As I drove past this couple I yearned for my camera, and sent out a silent wish their way. I hoped they were the type of couple that would find fun and humor in their predicament; that there would be just as much beauty in their moment, as I was observing from my window view.  Then I turned to my right, and saw two photographers calling out directions from across the street, and the feel of the whole scene changed. The mysterious allure faded, and after a split second of reconciling that I wasn't observing an authentic moment, I quickly shifted to feeling stoked for the artists across the street. My wishes went their way- that they would get their shot… and that I would see it someday in the future... and know.

i will say

that in our finest moments 
we were beautiful


like a belly laugh
or the perfect satisfying meal


like a lightning storm
in the middle of summer
 


or the tears one sheds when life is hard
and the way hearts can break over and over again



or maybe, just as we were

two pairs of mischievous eyes
staring back at one another
dancing with excitement
for all that life could be

Untold stories

Perhaps one day I'll tell the story of the guy who came into my shop with a heart in his pocket. As I rang him up for a bottle of one of my favored Spanish reds I saw it's outline through the cloth of his pale buttoned up shirt and I couldn't hold back my curiosity. I pressed for details, asking him to quite literally place his heart on the table.

And he did. He displayed the paper heart with note attached and gave me the gift of a small but beautiful glimpse into his life.

It was a story that made me smile. At love. Specifically and uniquely his.

Tickled, I quickly went outside to share the story with friends. But my timing was off and the interest was not there. Though, to be honest, even more than that, I think it was because I was meant to savor the encounter alone. Sometimes a sacred thing gets diminished by sharing. Growing up in Hawaii and having my secret playgrounds become not so secret, I know this all too well. Conversely, sometimes something becomes more sacred when shared with others...but in this case it became evident that this was meant for me to keep.

After all, there may have been something lost in it's telling. Perhaps I wouldn't have done it justice, or it wouldn't have been well received in all of it's not so glorious glory. Because really, it was just a simple story... there were no lives saved in it's making, no grand conquests of triumph over tragedy, no earth shattering realizations. It was fluff. Like that lone cloud that sits in the sky, just a wisp in the air, not even capable of rain, and hardly big enough to take shape.

But sometimes fluff is that perfect distraction to direct your gaze up toward the heavens. To take in the expansiveness of the big blue sky that lies behind it.

And perhaps it is a story I will not tell. Perhaps I will let it be what it was- a passing moment. A flash of beauty. A glimpse within. For just as there is value in the telling, there is also a quiet beauty in all that goes unsaid.

the shelf

I went down to the ocean to surf today but I sat at the top of Cliffs and watched the waves go from pretty good to not so good in a matter of 15 min. I just sat there staring. Unsure of what I wanted to do. 

Feeling a sense of defeat for not being able to fully motivate myself, I decided not to go and headed back home.

Today I feel broken. Splintered. Or maybe shattered. Like the glass door of the beer fridge at Oliver, that I want to replace but am told not to, as it continues to work just fine. On slow nights at the wine shop I spend my nights staring at it. I remember the night it was broken. I saw it shatter, and yet remain intact because of the two walls of tempered safety glass on each side. But it remains broken on the inside and for all the world to see. A pretty mosaic. A translucent jagged puzzle. People who come into the shop often share that it looks so cool that way, and I always smile and nod, but the truth is, deep down inside I keep wondering if one day soon, it’s all going to fall apart. I'm anticipating the day when I will have to clean it up.

Like the glass, my type of broken is jagged and can cut, but it's not quite so pretty. I have no passerbys stopping to oooh and ahhh. It's just there. Raw emotions tangled up inside of me not knowing their way out.

An adolescent girl is haunting me. She’s not a ghost, but could easily become one if her depression continues to worsen, and her will to live keeps slipping. 

She’s been through so much and my heart overflows with pain for her sorrows. Overflows with rage for the injustice and unfairness that’s fallen and continues to fall upon her. And of course there is fear too. A vat full of it, because I am tasked with helping her step away from her hopelessness and into a better place.

I don’t get to have these feelings at work. They go on an imaginary shelf that sits behind my heart. She talks, I listen. My feelings come up and I automatically shelve them so I can be there for her. So I can be calm enough to take in all that she doles out, and so that I can have enough compassion to house all of her feelings, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, that will help. I shelve everything I feel so that I can listen openly while ignoring the urge to scream. I shelve everything, so there is enough quietness so that maybe, just maybe the right words will come. So that maybe healing will happen.

At the end of yesterday, I just don’t know. I cringe at my smallness. At how limited an hour a week is. What dent will that make? What difference? I just don't know...

And today... the emotions that I put on the shelf topple forward. 

Surfing is not the answer. 

But perhaps a hike is…a long arduous hike, in which I put one foot in front of the other, to get from here to there. To look. To breathe. To take in many moments of infinite appreciation and disdain for the fact that life is so cruel and so beautiful all at the same time. 

pre travel continued...

I keep thinking about that big open blue sky we'll see as we're traveling from Hawaii to Bolivia. My mouth salivates with delicious anticipation.

When I was in the midst of completing my 30 before 30 list, it was all I could talk about for the 6 month period. I was focused, excited and driven. But over time, I also became a little self conscious that I had become a 30 before 30 list talking machine and that I would soon exhaust everyone around me… that someone would put a pillow over my head to drown out the noise. But I couldn’t stop. I was in obsessed mode.

Now I’ve got travel on my mind and it seems to be all I can think and talk about. It is always there, in my thoughts, permeating through every part of my life. I drive my car, and think about the busses we’ll be catching. I eat food and start to wonder what my favorite meals will be. I look at the sky and wonder how different it will look way over there.

But more than that, it’s my hopes, my fears, and everything that must be done that cycle through my mind at high speed. It feels like there is so much to do and know before we actually leave. How do people actually do this? I’ve been reading blogs from other travelers, but haven’t found the little details about the lead up. The neurosis involved.

My stuff…

As of now, all 3 jobs of mine have been alerted of my intended leave. I feel so incredibly lucky to have such great supportive employers. I can’t really believe my luck and feel a great sense of gratitude that almost makes me teary eyed when I really allow myself to sit with it. It also makes me feel incredibly guilty, but I try just to focus on how grateful I am. Each job will allow me to return and pick up work again. I don’t need to resign and reapply; I just get back and go back to work. How lucky is that?

I’m not sure of what to do with our place. We’re only gone for 3 months… which makes it hard. It’s not financially worth it to pay rent for the 3 months we’re gone. While Erik and I have found a nice home in this place, we’re also not extremely attached to it. But leaving and coming back essentially homeless does present its problems. We might be able to couch surf for a week or so with friends, but being a burden is not a comfortable thing for me, and the idea of scrambling to find a new place scares me. We will be desperate and being desperate has never fared well for me.

The idea of having that safety net of a home to return to is comforting. The idea of getting rid of so much of our belongings and simplifying, and then starting anew is refreshing. It’s hard to know which choice will be the right one. 

I’ve been putting off calling my landlord to alert her of our upcoming trip because I just don’t know what to tell her and I just don’t know what we want… 

And there's more... but I've rambled enough for today.

pre travel

I have been staring at pictures of lands unknown. I have become a peeping Tom into the great big world out there. Staring into the windows of other people’s captured moments. There is a quiet excitement to the process.

As I plan this trip, my excitement grows, along with a tremor of vulnerability. I can’t quite explain it, but there is a squiggle (yes, a squiggle) of emotion that moves somewhere between my gut and the center of my heart. It makes me feel small; like an ant, peering up towards this world, so big and most of it so unknown to me. It makes me feel emotional. As if I could laugh and cry at the exact same moment. It makes me catch my breath and get quiet.

I don’t understand how I am supposed to live my life. It’s a question that I ponder frequently and never fully arrive to an answer for. I know the fundamentals… I live it with love, integrity, respect, joy and adventure. And compassion. And more.  But what about the rest?

The idea of travel itches something in me. This idea that I could explode into a thousand particles across the plain of the great big world and all would be okay. That itch, however, then stirs something else up. Is it doubt? Is it reality? Is it???? I don’t quite know… It’s this sense of limitation. I can’t travel forever. I don’t have the money or resources for it. I can’t travel forever. What about my work? I love my work. I can’t travel forever. Just… because.

But I want to.

Staring at photos of Bolivia (this is where we’re thinking we’ll start), I can’t help but want to be gone forever. Or at least a really really long time. 

3 months is starting to feel much too short.

Click this link for photos of Salar De Uyuni- http://www.atlantisbolivia.org/tunupagallery.htm  A place I can't, can't, can't wait to see. We're going in the dry season so we might not see the water covering it, as in these pics, but I am keeping my fingers crossed and praying for some rain.

Our current plan. Bolivia-Peru-Ecuador-Columbia-Venezuela.

i wish to be

as peaceful as the moss
that lays itself against the forest floor and walls

i wish to be
as silent as the moon
that shines brightly in the dark night

i wish to be

okay

i wish to be
a strong tree
standing tall against time.

Another birthday...

They say the world was born in fire... my 32nd birthday was born in water. Salty water. That consisted of sweat, tears and ocean goodness.

Another year passes and I am even more blessed than ever.

Changes

Things are different now,

she said. And the words hung there

like lead in the air


 

Mysteries

There. Nestled on the the mountainside lies a rock with "Justin Rutka, 1942" carved into it. I don't know who Justin Rutka is, or what it was he was doing in 1942, but as I attempted to hike the Koko Head ridgeline I found myself intrigued enough to jump off the path, trudge over the brush, and climb in for closer look.

After a few quick camera shots I let my fingers trace the carving- about one inch deep and cool to the touch despite sitting in the the glaring sun. My curiosity grew. What tool did the carver use? Was it Justin Rutka himself, or someone else? Why the date? Why this spot? Did the sun shine brilliantly like today? Or was the carver spared with a cloud cover and cool trades? Did they hum or sing a little song as they set about their task?

It's been a week since the hike, and I still find myself intrigued and curious about this Justin Rutka fellow...

This isn't the first time I've been compelled by the random and simple mysteries of life.

My first memory, though I'm sure there were many before this, was when I was about 8yrs old. One day, on the simple playground of Pukalani Elementary School, kids lined up against the chain link fence staring at an old wooden red house that sat on top the hill of what is now the Kua Aina subdivision. Before it was a sea of family homes on subdivided lots, it was just a grassy knoll where a rustic forgotten house stood all alone. I remember catching wind of the stirring energy, and joining up to where my peers stood staring. I asked what was going on, and was informed that the house was haunted, and several of the kids had caught glimpse of the ghost that lived there.

I'm not sure how long after, but eventually, Kimi, our friend Coral and I found our way to the abandoned house and ventured through. The spooky fear we initially felt peaked as we wondered through the empty rooms making our way across the creaky, and in some places, missing floorboards. My memory eludes me, and I can't quite recall what is real or what I've added and embellished to it over time, however, the image of old furniture and the remnants of a once lived in home drift foggily through my mind.

As like so many sensationalized things in life, the hype at school faded in about a week and with it so did the excitement and intrigue. Also when Coral's parents got wind of our adventure, they banned us from going back due to fear that we might fall through the floor or hurt ourselves in some other way. They also explained to us in that dull adult way that lacks mysticism that it was nothing more than a forgotten structure, no ghosts, no hoopla. And so, the mystery faded. However, every now and then I remember that house from a the vantage point of an 8 yr old child peering through the school's chain link fence, and I still picture it sitting perfectly there on that stark hill. When I conjure up this image, I often catch just the slightest glimpse a middle aged motherly ghost who winks and smiles back at me.

Another lackluster but at the time completely compelling mystery was the Old Maui High School, located above Ho`okipa. It was rumored to be haunted, and as a high schooler, there were more than a few nights that my friends and I dared each other to leave the safety of the car and to brave the old abandoned school. We usually ended up huddled together creeping our way toward the entrance, perhaps a bit further in before becoming frightened and fleeing, often screaming the whole way our way back to the car. We were certain we could feel the spirits that inhabited the area.

I loved the Old Maui High School and while I appreciate the restoration that's currently being done to it, I loved it most as how it was in those high school days. In the light of the day, I would walk through the corridors and classrooms and let my eyes take in the havoc of abandonment and nature's invasion. With it's over turned desks and chairs, banyan roots and other plants growing over and throughout, along with broken glass and graffiti, I found it dreary and beautiful. I became obsessed with the mystery of why it had been left in such a way, and was convinced that the answer must be something deep seeded and hidden. I remember researching archives at the library, and coming up with no other answer than something about a water line break and the fact that it was too small to function as a high school. At the time I was convinced there was more to the story, but the answers never revealed themselves.

As time goes on and I get older and lose my mysticism, life's little mysteries become dulled. An abandoned old shack or institution is met with a practical hypothesis... gone are the days of haunted houses. I now think up the water line break or the size factor myself... I don't see glimpses of the ghosts that inhabit them, nor do I find myself scared and running back to my car.

But every now and then, the curious child that loves a good mystery peaks out, and I find myself compelled all over again.

Thank you Justin Rutka 1942...

Mary Oliver

Is another one of my favorite poets. I love her love for nature and how her poetry draws me in quietly, making me lean forward with each stanza read, until I am absorbed into her words.

In her poem "When Death Comes" she wrote- "I want to say: all my life, I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.” I wish I came up with that quote myself. But since I didn't, I will continue to let it inspire me and remind me about the life I want to live.

This poem is about her affinity for the sun. An affinity I share with her, but have never been able to put in such words.

The Sun

Have you ever seen 
anything 
in your life 
more wonderful 

than the way the sun, 
every evening, 
relaxed and easy, 
floats toward the horizon 

and into the clouds or the hills, 
or the rumpled sea, 
and is gone-- 
and how it slides again 

out of the blackness, 
every morning, 
on the other side of the world, 
like a red flower 

streaming upward on its heavenly oils, 
say, on a morning in early summer, 
at its perfect imperial distance-- 
and have you ever felt for anything 
such wild love-- 
do you think there is anywhere, in any language, 
a word billowing enough 
for the pleasure 

that fills you, 
as the sun 
reaches out, 
as it warms you 

as you stand there, 
empty-handed-- 
or have you too 
turned from this world-- 

or have you too 
gone crazy 
for power, 
for things?