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It’s Monday, raining and day 22: Give yourself a break!

Here we are on a weekend of self-nurturing and the lunch conversation is paused by a participant’s plaintive plea: could she smell the coffee? No, no, she didn’t want one, well, actually, she did but was on a 30-day regimen of no caffeine, no sugar, no junk … you get the idea.

I responded that I was on a 30-day regimen, too, one of adding to my life rather than taking from it. She replied that she was using food as a distraction, and the only way to get back her control was to quit and cleanse. I wish her well. As with every conversation, this one yielded nuggets of knowledge. Every person has a different path to wellness. Only you can know what’s truly best for you. It takes courage to listen to yourself and act on your instinct, especially when it’s out of your comfort zone.

And for me, I am doing exactly the right thing.

I am exhausted on the outside and empty on the inside, slowly drained by years of self-denial, self doubt, and self-deprivation, placing my needs and desires second, third, or fourth or lower to everyone else’s. Drop by drop I have lost my curiosity, sense of adventure, love of surprises, sense of humour, and voice. I cannot at this moment take anything else away.

But I can be creative in how I change my habits.

In my 30-day exploration, I have chosen to add things – extra glasses of water, one more serving of veggies, more sleep, more alone time, a playlist of favourite songs … all good things that support physical and spiritual healing. Not once have I told myself not to have something. Chocolate, potato chips, cheese ball … it’s all readily available upon my word and I have thoroughly enjoyed them.

Just not as often or in as great a quantity. After sloshing down my eighth glass of water of the day and crunching through a carrot, I really don’t feel the need to attack the Doritos as if they are the last food on Earth. I do have a need to savour the crunch, taste the cheese melting on my tongue, and I do. but now I’m satisfied with a few handfuls rather than the whole bag. Some nights, I don’t crave them at all. My body wanted me to listen and I have. Now it is rewarding me with the gift of instinct and moderation. Food is not just a substance of survival, it is a medium of pleasure as well. Unbalanced and saddled with unprocessed emotions or negative messages, eating can become an unhealthy pursuit, but removing all pleasure creates just as great an imbalance, too often tipping us off our path into unrealistic expectations.

So, if I’m tired I breathe deeply and rest, even just for a few moments. If I’m hungry I snack on something and more and more, the desire is for something unprocessed or at the very least unsalted. Monday, heck, life can be tough enough. Take a moment to be gentle with yourself. You hold the door open for strangers and would share your lunch with a co-worker in need. Give yourself some kindness, too, instead of taking something away. See what happens.

Thanks for being here. Talk to you tomorrow.

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Lessons from The Enterprise: Day 21

I always believed life’s best lessons could be found in Star Trek and this weekend, it was proven to me. Sweet. But there was something even sweeter.

I got to share it.

In the original series episode The Enemy Within,  Captain Kirk emerges from a transporter malfunction as twins – one violent and cruel, the other indecisive and timid. As separate beings, the violent twin destroys, attacks and defiles while the other cowers, shivers and hides. Over time, both end up with the same fate: dying. As separate beings, they could neither function nor survive. Only with both the violent and the gentle balancing and energizing the other could the captain live, as well as be a successful leader and compassionate human being.

At a gathering this weekend of women who met to Rise Up! Through yoga and conversation, we discussed Yin and Yang: the need for masculine qualities including aggression, concrete thinking and analysis in harmony with feminine qualities such creativity, instinct and nurturing. I mentioned Star Trek. No one was a fan. I described the episode. Someone had seen it. Another had heard of Captain Kirk. Everyone, however, found a connection between the episode and our discussion. The facilitator said she would use it in future discussions.

It felt good to add to the conversation. But what felt fantastic? Sharing something important to me. I’ve been a Trekker since I was a kid, but in my tiny rural school no one else watched the reruns or cared to hear about them, so I learned to keep my fandom to myself. Now, more than 30 years later, I found the confidence to share and made an important connection for myself and our group.

My 30 days of exploration have been to heal body and spirit from the ravages of stress. Part of that healing, I now realize, involves finding my voice, and finding the courage to use it.  Hiding or neglecting our passions denies us a source of energy. Holding back our voices causes our messages to grind within, unleashing the cycle of stress and the damage that goes with it.

This weekend’s gathering was a small step but a shining example of how each of us within our passions have important messages only we can share.

Bring on Week 4!

Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.

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Turn the knob, don’t pull the plug

I’m really dating myself here, referring to dials rather than touch screens, but that’s part of who I am, old. I also feel like a radio these days, needing to tune out but not wanting to lose the signals that enrich my life. It’s like when the country hour comes on our local station. I can handle a few of these artists, actually enjoy the occasional tune here. If I turned the whole thing off, I’d miss the good songs. Or, if the tuning is nudged off-station, I don’t pull the plug, I fine-tune the setting. On days when I need silence, I don’t take a hammer to the radio, I turn it off, and save the rail for a day when the music is welcomed.

I just wish controlling the signals from life were as easy.

When exhausted and overwhelmed, I have no energy for separating and sorting. Every emotion, request, appointment, deadline, and thought swirls together until a huge knotted clump of confused, angry half-deeds knocks about my frazzled brain until I am paralyzed by anxiety and frustration. In desperate need of relief, I think about quitting my work, my writing, my career, and in my darkest hours, life itself, anything to make the noise and feelings stop. what I need to do, though, is not pull the plug but tweak the tuning. I may need to focus on one task for awhile rather than split my energy between two or three. I may need a station playing different music; a change, after all, is as good as a rest. Or, I may just need to turn things off for awhile. Take a mental health day and sit on the beach, in my room with a candle, or on my deck surrounded by trees. No electronics, no people, just me.

In my 19 days of exploring ways to cool the burnout and Keep It Super Simple, I have learned that never will the world change for me – only I can slow down or declutter my world. Requests will continue to pour in, calendar dates will keep piling up … It is up to me to put them in their place: Accept or Decline, Save or Delete. That way, I can hear the signals I want, even when the batteries are low. Be selective now, to avoid total meltdown in the future.

Thanks for listening. See you tomorrow.

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A stiff breeze makes us stronger

Did you know tomato plants grow better in the wind? Me neither, but my son’s high school science project gave undeniable proof. Then I got to thinking: is the same true for authors?

First, the tomatoes. Phase one of his experiment proved that tomato seeds germinated faster when fed green tea rather than just water, which was the first clue that maybe these fruits with the veggie reputation are pretty smart. Then today, after three months of careful lab work, my young scientist presented me with two clear cups, the kind that in the goold ole days would have been filled with beer at a Rawlins Cross concert … but I digress. In one cup were two scraggly little sprouts, the sort of thing I’m famous for nurturing straight to the compost. In the other, though, were a half dozen sturdy green seedlings staking their claims and reaching for the sun. The difference? The sturdy guys were given an hour a day in front of a low-speed fan. It seems the breeze encourages the stalks to grow stronger, which leads to healthier, faster-growing plants.

Huh. Who knew.

“Well, you might have, if any of your plants ever lived long enough,” my darling boy suggested as he kissed his plants goodbye and donated them to my kitchen garden … or what I hope will be a kitchen garden, if not everything decomposes by July. Sweet child. Long on honesty, short on tact and the awareness that one should never disrespect the hand that does their laundry. I could have pointed out that he is growing just fine, thank you very much, and might grow better if he did his own laundry but again, I digress.

Now, for these tomato plants to stay healthy, the breeze needs to be moderate to light, not steady or hurricane-force. There also needs to be stability in other conditions – water but not too much, sunlight but not too warm, all the usual things. But to see the two cups side by side is fascinating; a force no one could see and can only partially control rendered one group weak and caused the other to thrive. Could we, by any chance,  be like tomato plants? We instinctively seek shelter for ourselves and those we love, discourage entry into the hint of a storm, but does that keep us safe or weaken our spirit? When we survive a challenge, meet a goal, win a competition, or navigate an obstacle, we feel a sense of accomplishment, pride, energy. Placed in a stiff breeze on a regular basis would we not grow stronger as well? Resistance in the gym builds muscle; resistance in life ‘builds character’, our grandfathers would grumble. Perhaps they were on to something, and not just trying to get their kids doing the grownup work for them.

When I began this exploration 17 days ago, I felt like I was in the throes of a hurricane. Set something down, it goes spinning out of reach. Try to focus on one thing, six others become lost. The despair, the sensation of being pushed off course, the air being sucked from my lungs, even the roaring in my ears all mirrored the feeling of being caught in a windstorm. That strength of breeze doesn’t grow things, it destroys them. My decision to let go of my book for now, turn attention inward, and take baby steps back toward my path gave shelter from the storm. With every choice I make and every promise I keep to myself, the window is widened and the breeze grows stronger. Will I grow stronger, too? We’ll see. In the meantime, I may have the best kitchen garden ever, with tomatoes that actually live to bear fruit.

Thanks for listening! See you tomorrow.

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Life experiences and a space to sort them in

Storage of our stuff is a multi-billion dollar industry in North America. How much do we invest in our head space? We pay hundreds for the perfect shelving unit to hold books (proper thing, of course!), ornaments and electronics. What about all those experiences housed in our body and mind: how much do we invest in processing, sorting and storing those?

Now at Day 17 of my 30-day exploration, I have learned that Week 1 was on fuelling the body (water, food, relaxation, sleep) and Week 2 was on feeding the senses (favourite things and songs, friends, scents, the natural world). In Week 3, I am feelng the need for not just time to process the inputs, but conducive spaces as well. I am drawn to rooms with sunlight, need to open windows for breeze and scents, and have been outdoors as much as I’m able. But I’m also being creative with how I interact with my indoor and outdoor spaces as well.

One creation: my tuffet. Yep, just like the girl and the spider. Two years ago, a storm blew down an tree in the midst of my lilacs, leaving a gap that begged for a seat. This past weekend, my family and I created one, out of a repurposed front-load washer tub, old truck tire, hardwood seat from an old kitchen chair and a vinyl tablecloth left behind in our cottage. My children christened it The Tuffet. Picture a mushroom with a metal base, giving a seat surrounded by lush leaves and topped at the moment by lilac blooms. Cost? A bit of imagination and effort to assemble. Payback? Even thinking about it makes me happy. Five minutes on my tuffet and I have been transported to a different world and back. Surrounded by soft scents and cooling breeze, my mind is clearer, breathing is calmer. The solution was there all the time. I didn’t need money or time, just the headspace to pull together a few things and make the priority. Now I have a connection to my yard, my home, and my mind, body and spirit. And, a cool place to hide.

Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.

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Changing the Way I Share

Past the halfway mark, I have learned that recharging one’s body and spirit is possible and quite doable, but there is no drive-thru or microwave version. Homegrown, home cooked, time-honored and daily are the only ingredients that will work. Conditioned now to chafe at a 10-second download, the work this week shifts again from sensory engagement to strength exercises – of both muscles and patience.

Yesterday I worked in the garden and dud my trampoline bounce. I was sore and tired, but calm. Today, I got involved with work and had a school concert to attend – an awesome concert, by the way, with 13 yos playing jazz like they were born 50 years ago. There is a special place in my heart for music teachers, but I digress. I didn’t garden today, and missed my bounce tonight. Now I’m jittery, exhaustedbut not that relaxed, tired feeling after a solid day’s work, more of a it’s-late-so-I-should-get-to-bed-just-because sort of tired. Earlier today I could feel my frustration rise and energy lag. I drank a glass of water. Minutes later the tension lifted.

These little things are working, yay! Yet it seems I am still working against myself. What has grown is my awareness of both the action and the consequence. I am still filling out my playlist and lists of favourite things and smells, still drinking my water and all of those things promised in week one. My gift to self today is to think on how they work, and why I stop. Am I really that busy? Or am I afraid to go the next level?

I’ll figure it out this week. Thanks for being here. See you tomorrow.

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Back to work, Ready or Not

Two weeks after hitting pause on my book, I dusted off my publisher hat and got back at it. Was I scared? Eerily so, but I was more afraid of letting that fear control me. As much as I need a break from all things stressful, I need to be clear about the source of that stress. The two weeks away have helped me see, and appreciate, that I do love my work. As I read the manuscript, the nagging doubts melted with the hours. I was lost in the story, clarifying it, fixing it, polishing it. I ended with a list for tomorrow, and left my desk in time to catch some afternoon rays, cook supper, plant more seeds in my container garden, bounce, play some music with my son, and watch a little TV. It was a good day.

But I still have a long way to go. Here is why. My techno- brain – the one looking for grammar, typos, story arc and sentence flow – was purring. A switch to my creative brain, though, brought angst, tension and frustration. Asked to pick an accent colour for our new kitchen island, I blanked. Eyeing the bald patch on our front lawn I suddenly couldn’t decide: garden or reseeding? If garden, put the lilies on the left or the right? I stormed back into the house in tears.

Then I breathed, deeply, 10 times like I promised myself I would. Paint can be painted over. Grass can be dug up. So can lilies if they need to be moved. I know that, but my processing time is still hampered. My brain, body and spirit are still grinding more than they should, resulting in a continued need to heal and recharge.

But the best thing about today? I’m looking forward to getting back at that manuscript tomorrow.

Thanks for being here. See you tomorrow.

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14 Days, 3 things I know for sure

It has been two full weeks since I promised myself and all of you a 30-day search for little things to cool the burnout and recharge the joy. Here’s what I’ve learned:

1. My body knows what it’s doing. Listen to it. My outlook has improved these past two weeks but my energy is still fragile. A busy week led to a near-shutdown on Saturday. So, instead of spending the evening serving food at a fundraiser I snuggled at home with my 9yo and watched Frozen. Today, I was still tired but functional. And content.

2. People will help if you drop the perfect act and let them in. I spent last night with my 9yo because my husband stepped up and took my place at the fundraiser. No argument, no pleading, he simply said I should be home resting and he would have a good time helping out. During the past two weeks, I’ve been asked how I’m doing, offered help if I need it, and given an encouraging word or a hug out if the blue. We are all connected by something. Trusting in that connection is incredibly comforting.

3. Little things grow into wonderful things. My children. Three glasses of water a day. 35 minutes a week on a trampoline. I have a long way to go, but the panic is ebbing with each crunch of my carrot, and my optimism inches upward with each note on my playlist. I even planted tomatoes today from seed, and fully expect to savour their sweet fruit at summer’s end. So I may be a bit high on sunscreen and life … But I’ll take that any time over sitting in a chair wishing the world away.

A new week begins tomorrow! See you then.

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Lucky Number 13, telling a writer to read, and other anomalies

My precocious character Rose invoked the ire of her Catholic teachers and dismissal of her mother by her insistence that 13 was a lucky number. Why did she have to explain the obvious? Baker’s dozen, an extra loaf of bread just in case, in her childhood world there was nothing luckier than that. Then she grew up, and 13 faded to nothing special, no longer on her mind. With me it was reading. I was devouring books long before I started school, I’m told. I was a voracious reader until the teen years. Then reading became a chore for school. After graduation I began my career as a paid writer. Who has time to read then, and why should I? I’m creating my own stories now.

Wrong choice, for two reasons. Good writers and good readers. Cliche but true. Seeing and abosorbing how other writers create their worlds and transport their readers gives practical hints to ideas. More importantly, reading continues to set flight to the imagination, widens the door to the world, invites in the facts beyond our knowledge and fancy beyond our grasp so we can learn, play, tingle with delight at that perfect turn of phrase or fascinating detail. Like the story of the Baker’s dozen, and how in the mind of a child it is good rather than fearful. And how a child’s mind fully embraces a stor – doesn’t skim or scan or flip to the end, but takes it in word for word, beginning to end. That is what reading used to be for me, before the days of school notes and emails and technical writing for hire.

So today and every day, my gift to self is to read something. Not for work, not for school, but for the sheer pleasure of absorbing another writer’s world. A magazine article, perhaps, or blog post from the heart, or a daily reflection. It’s not quantity of words, but quality of experience.

Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.

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Have you smiled at a plant today?

I had fresh thyme on my salmon tonight. Tiny green leaves, world of flavour, 15 steps away on my front deck. Cheap, too. $3 per plant at the farmers market. And a miracle, firstly because it hasn’t died, and because in the next few months it could double its size. Plants in our world are everywhere: underfoot, overhead, on our window sills, in our gardens. They also inhabit a special place in our emotions. My sweet little grandmother became an axe murderer when a dandelion dared to appear on her lawn. The scent of wild roses takes my mother back to her childhood on Nova Scotia’s rocky, salt-kissed south shore. The smell of lilacs, well, we all know there is a special story there. Someday, you’ll get to read it …. But enough about that for the moment. Love them for food and beauty or detest them as weeds, plants are wondrous. Some lucky people can grow them. I’m working on my gardening skills, because there is peace to be found in the dirt, a sense of purpose to be seen in living creations that are rooted yet unique. My gift to self today: appreciate a plant, any plant. My herb garden. My perennials that grow despite my lack of empathy. The neighbours’ lush cedar bushes. And of course, for a few days yet, the lilacs. Book or no book, they’re still beautiful.

Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.