Gimme Gimme...

I am heading into the “big city” to negotiate my writing contract (again) this morning. I woke up early…could not sleep…knowing what lies ahead of me…negotiations (shudder).

Negotiations requiring so much that it makes my head spin just thinking about it.

Negotiations calling for confidence, for courage.

Negotiations demanding determination and decisiveness.

Negotiations selling my strengths, and owning my weaknesses.

Negotiations selling …myself….and owning…what I want.

I lace up my trusty sneakers, head out into the still dark pre-dawn morning , and I run.

I run for miles. I run forever. I run for answers.

I run for myself.

I run in search of myself, and the response to that question that I know is coming….”What are your expectations, Miss Miller?”

When asked what I want to be paid….how will I answer what I am “worth?”

When asked what I am wanting exactly...how am I to say what I "deserve?"

When asked what I can bring to the table…....how will I "sell" myself ?

When asked to choose between fulltime and freelance….how will I decide between the longing for stability versus that fierce fight for freedom raging within me?

When asked what I want….how will I tell you…I want it ALL.

Stride by stride, I succumb to the sensations swirling around me. My muscles burn. My mind spurns… more thoughts…and they turn…over and over…mulling…musing…running ahead…running alongside…running behind…me.

Gemma Hayes has a song that I love…with a line that voices so much…with so few words.

“Today I ran for miles. Just to see what I was made of.”

* And yes, Gemma. I did *

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZVpeUzorio

Activate~

DEACTIVATION…

It all sounds so…final…*Bum, Bum, Bum!!!* So very “CIA” / espionage-esque…I dunno. But what I DO know, is that this special agent is overwhelmed, and is looking for the words to describe what she is feeling. Heck, she would even be happy to know what her real name is! All she knows lately is her calling card from this crazy online world where they speak in terms of “spyspeak”.…”That’s Miller…Andy Miller”…and I am shaken AND stirred as of late it seems. So, that would make me Agent 00something…but what?

As I glanced at the Facebook page, with the glaring option to “Deactivate” staring me down….another D-word came to mind. DRAMA. I’ve realized that, in the midst of this self-exploration (and * not so * quarter-life crisis season of life)…I have grown an appendage. I now have two “faces” in my life. One physical, which (apparently) can be read like a book (often causing embarrassment to no end, and not to mention making me a complete liability at the poker table!), and the other, an inanimate, glamorously glittering movie-star status mugg…a countenance I can best only describe as an “online airport” of sorts (people-watching to no end)…pun intended~

Now, I don’t know about you, but I was taught in grade school (mostly out in the schoolyard….during recess…from much bigger/ older children…by a soaking wet swirlie…a wedgie…a swift kick in the pants…or a pride-stinging slap) that being two-faced was NOT something desirable. Hence, my dilemma. What to do with this new limb?

Is it something that can only be survived by completely severing its presence? I tried this…and was left feeling legless…disconnected from my body…limping along. The “amputation” left me feeling as if I was lagging behind my peers. Worried that I would be disqualified from the race because I was not registered as an “official” runner…with a number on my back...or was that an official page? (I digress.)

I had to come away….and yes, it is extreme, this deactivation. But sometimes I find it necessary..because then it allows me to extremely delve into WHAT it was in the first place giving me the idea that I needed a break….WHAT was so overwhelming to me? With facebook, there are so many things I could pinpoint. Do not get me wrong…I find it neither evil nor good as an entity unto itself. It just “is.” Much of Facebook’s power, I am realizing, lies in what it becomes (or is allowed to become).

It can become the black hole…a vortex of swirling, mixed messages coming at us from all angles…offering many things, yet most of which come up empty. Since this is a blog with which I have promised to use myself as the main fodder…I will only speak for myself (no judgments or projections upon anyone but this 00something). What began to bother me most was that I found myself coming home each day, and the very first thing I checked was my page. I would rush to the notifications and the messages, the little child inside begging the question…*who loves me?* and *someone message me some small encouragement, telling me it is all going to be okay…assuring me that I am going to be okay!*

For one inanimate object (my little trusty laptop) to have so much power (real or created) is no longer acceptable to me. For me to be (either) validated—or completely deflated….based on the mere presence (or absence) of a tiny little red flag at the top of a blinking *bleepin’ * screen, is self-defeating and masochistic. I need to no longer run home asking the question: “Who loves me?” and "Will I be okay?" but rather carry around with me always the answer: I love me...and I am better than okay.

So, now for the hard part…working on that answer….everyday…more and more.

Activate.

Say What~

Just yesterday I got an opportunity to meet a friend in Maui, all expenses paid. * Ask me if I took the offer?* (Duh!) I packed my backpack, then proceeded to coax and cajole my battered bug along the Kamehameha Highway…heart excited and bent towards the promise of a fun-packed, carefree weekend getaway. I arrived and met my friend.

Memory lane was traversed….in actuality, it seems more like ‘skipping’ would describe our chosen state of mind/ mode of transportation into the path of our pasts. The short, inter-island flight literally (and figuratively) flew by as we caught one another up on present day shenanigans and what-nots.

I soon realized, however, that underneath this peaceful and poised exterior, there lied a pained and bleeding spirit. After several hours of conversation *and just as many (okay, if not more) glasses of wine,* I had heard the full story. I had gone over in minute detail the plot that pained my friend so much. I felt I had met them there, had practically memorized the sorrow-filled script that had brought them to the islands in search of an escape.

My initial instinct when I see friends in pain is to want to fix it…to make that pain stop…to obliterate any hardship and suffering from their entire sphere of being. Yet I remembered something that a friend had shared with me in my past emotional purgatories. I remember I was in the middle of a breakdown * tears, Kleenex, runny nose, asthmatic wheezing, blithering…(you get the picture)*. I mean, I was really going at it, letting myself ‘speak truth’, allowing free reign to fully ‘FEEL these feelings’ and giving myself permission to ‘release them’ * oh, with gusto! * As I looked up, naively expectant of being greeted with sighs of sympathy, a heart melted, and a compassionate countenance, I was instead met with a fixed, expressionless stare (straight through the core of me did her eyes slice,) and a bold, monotone: “Well, that does suck Andy…SO NOW WHAT?”

As this flashback reverberated in my brain, the remembrance of its healing (albeit shocking) quality (and my reluctant acceptance of this reality of responsibility to move towards positive action) bolstered me towards my own brash move…

I repeated this same question to my friend. The scene played out in response was eerily familiar. I received the same shocked silence....followed by that momentary mulling of the mind (I imagined a spout of steam tufting through earlobes as I waited)…the sharp intake of breath (I believe as the pain of hearing hard truth is processed and compartmentalized)…the exhale of realization/ resignation/ acceptance of the reality that is…and then…then… the eyes raised to meet my gaze (as if my own mirror). To meet me here (wherever “here” is)…to look that daunting question square in the eye:

So.

Now.

What?

We don’t usually know right away. I sure as hell don’t have the answers…but I do know that there is always room for this question…with every breath…in every moment…a challenge for growth, a spur towards change… a catalyst championing forward motion.

I head home today, back to the life I love. I am happy and hopeful…yet have a newfound awareness….

I am responsible.

I go now...the next what awaits~

Meet Me In The Morning~

Early morning. I have spent many days like this lately…waking as the world sleeps, fumbling for my coffee cup to go, sleepily slurping my liquid speed, while racing down the dark, deserted road in order to meet my date. I like to get there first…so I can be waiting as he arrives. It is in those quiet moments…the still, silent seconds spent just before I see his face, that are priceless to me. The anticipation never ceases to bring the butterflies to my belly (they are flying high with the expectant joy of spending time with him too it seems).

The awareness that he is coming to meet me, reduces me to that giddy schoolgirl, (you know her)…the one standing on the side of that gymnasium wall at the school dance…giggling uncontrollably and praying under her breath for him to ask her to come 'cut the rug.' *And he does…oh, how he always does *~

We have a standing engagement, he and I. He has never missed, not even once. I, however, (much to my shame) have often (and still do) stand him up. Usually it is because I get lazy and would rather sleep in. Or, other days, I just promise myself I will make it to see him tomorrow, and that this somehow will suffice…that this will be enough for me. Any way you look at it, I am not there because I take him for granted. I forget what he does for me...who he is to me...how he makes everything better without saying a word somehow.

Yet, despite my neglect, he remains patient and forgiving...faithful even. This loyalty, and lack of all bitterness, is probably supported by the fact that he knows without a doubt that if I were to ever abandon our morning trysts, there is a constant stream of women around at any given time that flock to him, admiring his beauty and feeling privileged just to be in his presence. (I believe in some cultures he would even be considered a god of sorts, I tell you!)

Women fall at his feet (men too, even). I have actually even seen one woman saying prayers to him. People stop to take his picture…he always smiles kindly. Any angle is his best side, don’t you know? He shines with divine goodness. The sweetness of his countenance radiates and touches all. Healing to the heart, any would be blessed to spend even a moment with him. I am such a woman... Most Blessed. Every day.

So, yes, this morning, I showed up. I intentioned to do so. I set that d**ned alarm clock (only hit snooze twice!) I dragged myself out of that warm, cozy purple puff of heaven (also known as the “Purple Cloud”) I said a prayer (more for the other people I would pass on the roads BEFORE the caffeine had time to pulse its perky power through my veins).…and I made it just in time.

I watched as he playfully peeked his nose around the corner…granting me with only small glances at first (he always was such a delightful tease). I remained patient….happy just that he was there with me. Hopeful that he would be able to stay for the entire day…just to let me bask in his presence. He came closer…so tall…towered above me and smiled down. That grin…glowed. I lifted my chin, closed my eyes, and willed everything on earth to silence. This morning I am selfish. I will not share. He cradles my upturned face gently. Tenderly kissed like I have never been before, I find myself at peace in his presence.

My sanctuary.

My sun.

Changing Room~

It has been one month now since I have returned home from what most have dubbed my “journey round the world”. It is an eerie feeling to return home after being gone…to purpose oneself towards reassimilation---towards reintegration into what is actually YOUR world. It feels strange. It feels surreal. And (of course, in any transitional process I seem to encounter of late) it feels SCARY.

I find myself pushing; rushing towards an idealistic return of yesterday’s sentiments, cherished friendships, and familiar feelings—when in reality, I wonder if I mightn’t just relax and receive a welcoming today? Yes, I know, I think too much….and I might also * perhaps * analyze things to death, or at least until there is no outwardly visible semblance of breath left within my imagination’s mind *it having been running wild all day most likely *. However, with thought comes contemplation….and, hopefully, such contemplation creates change.

Change. I shudder at the mere word. Shivers run down my spine at the thought of the unkown arriving at my doorstep—uninvited—unannounced—and most assuredly unfamiliar to my acquaintance. Most of my life, this is how I have viewed change. A scary, unwelcome visitor crashing in (uninvited I might add) upon my peaceful, domestic bliss—disrupting my everyday routine—and in doing so, rocking my little boat as it was merrily rowing along life’s (predictable) dreaminess.

Since I have been home, and have found it to be (although not necessarily tangibly changed) different than what I had maybe expected to see, feel, and even “be”—I am attempting to approach this whole idea of change with (if not a warm, fuzzy welcome) at least a reception not including a necklace of garlic, or a silver crucifix.

I came home early. I had had enough of world traveling and foreign seeking. It is good to be home. I do not desire to be anywhere else in the world but here. Yet, in my heart, there is something I cannot quite place. A feeling. Not regret, no, definitely not that. Not quite resignation (for I am too happy to be here for that description to hold true).

Restlessness? Ah, yes. That must be it. Restless with home? No. Restless with myself? My life? My circumstances? –A startling, first-time-ever answer of “NOPE!” shocks even me to utter—but no. I know it to be a restlessness WITHIN the change. DURING the change. Minutes, to days, to weeks, to one month now….of transition. Today, as each day before, I am pursuing the peace within the process.

Most days, like today, this peace finds me--holds my shaking hands, and quiets my quivering heart.

Other days, it seems to shun me, and I am left feeling cold, unsteady and unsure.

Every day, I know I will be a part of this process whether I like it or not…so today (as I pray each day to come) I choose to engage…to face forward…to stand rather than cower…and to trust…understanding as I do now, that peace is not always palpable~

Enough~

One Girl. Nine destinations. Five countries. Fourteen Flights. Eleven hotels. Six passport stamps. One camera. Twelve photo albums. Six new brothers. Four reunions. Two care packages. One backpack. Two pairs of running shoes. Three marriage proposals (yes…really). Thirty swims across a sea. At least nine meltdowns (that’s one per destination for all you math wizzes out there…) Countless boxes of tissues (only slightly fewer fetal positions crouched in a corner). A smattering of fist bumps and random hi-fives. Four distinct happy dance occasions (or at least all you’ll ever know about!) =====è One woman.

One woman. Two perspectives regarding life’s path:

1) Go, go go!....Out…Beyond…Seek ...Reach…Search...the unknown. Revel in the independence and freedom offered by this amazing opportunity. Grow, Learn. Fear. Conquer. Overcome. Persist…..Become.

2) Stop, Stop, Stop! Be still…Look. Listen. Reflect. Recognize. Remember. Appreciate. Embrace…the known.

Two choices.

Ultimately, I choose both. Presently (tangibly) I choose “HOME” ~

I look around me and see such goodness. Blessing. Abundance…and I hear whispers of: enough.

[I have had] Enough [I have seen] Enough [ It is] Enough [I am]…

Bonjour~

For the past two months (and with two and a half months left to go), I have been on the trip of a lifetime…quite possibly the trip of several lifetimes. I have visited famous monuments, had my eyes opened by ancient places, and been humbled by the majesty of architectural and historical masterpieces.

Barcelona housed Gaudi’s creative genius, the bustling boardwalk of the Barcoloneta, Las Ramblas with its quirky talents and throng of tourists, and a breathtaking cathedral beyond compare. Istanbul offered the glory of the Hagia Sophia, the blessing of the sacred Blue Mosque, and the overwhelming sensory overload of the Grand Bazaar. Upon arrival to each city, I never wasted one moment before I was out the door in search of these awe-inspiring places that I had been hearing about (and dreaming of) since childhood. So, naturally I get to Paris and I follow the same pattern, right? Well, * not exactly *…

I have been in Paris a total of one full day thus far. One single day filled with what I call “little sweet nothings.” --Rambling walks with no particular destination in mind; Naked wrists with no schedule or agenda for which to "dress." Piping hot morning coffee cups, left to cool (in lieu of conversation and communion) to lukewarm liquids. Half-eaten pastries (the first portion being so sublimely satisfying, it rendered the second irrelevant). A "peasant's picnic" in the park –a simple feast consisting of fresh produce from the curb market and mouth-watering fromagerie brie spread on what could only be the closest thing to manna from heaven found on this side of the clouds…the French baguette. Morning runs, soaking up the stillness of a sleeping city. Nights on fire, lit with a glow that only shining, joyous people (not lanterns) can emit. Sidewalks littered with cafes, peppered with patrons watching passersby…every once in awhile you will hear a friendly “Bonjour” offered between neighbors, or catch a snippet of a shared smile among strangers. “Bonjour,” meaning literally “Good Day” in French…* and it was. *

Sdupendous~

Sdupendous~

Market day in Kas. I decided to walk into town. Having been lovingly * yet sternly * admonished for my “foolhardy and dangerous!” jolly swims across my beloved (yet increasingly windy!) channel….I figure some sunshine and other form of exercise will do just as well. Shoes laced, keys in hand, IPOD set to Sigur Ros (of course), a quick, passing wave to brother Mem (if I stop, he will try and talk me out of “overexerting myself in the hot sun,” braving one big a** hill/ driveway, and I am on my way.

Once I arrive at the top of the drive—winded, “glowing” (not sweating, mind you) and gung-ho, Sigur Ros ushers me into a steady stream of musical and visual bliss. Turkey provides the accompaniment…* teşekkür ederim, friend * For Forty-five glorious minutes, I make my way past glistening seascapes, pebbled beaches, residential roosters, fellow pedestrians (ponopeople that bless me with every breath), and (my favorites)…peek-a-boo grottos (yes, I see you, you lovely bashful beauties).

As I approach the corner that will bring me to the main street market, I prepare myself for what is to come. The peaceful pedestrian must swiftly switch roles…Clark Kent style…quick-changing into the cunning and alert consumer. What may appear as mere “shopping” to some, I have come to know more as a true sense of self-preservation here in Turkey (at least for my rapidly dwindling bank account) J

To give you a mental picture….it mostly has gone like “this” in the past…

-Arrival. Onslaught. Hands Up. Back-Peddling. Stuttering. Reeling. Gasping for deep breaths. Back-Peddling some more. Spinning. Whimpering (to myself thank God) the mantra “deep breaths,” when all I could hear like a spell-binding chant was “BUY! BUY! BUY!” Teetering about, wondering where in the world is my Zack Morris freeze-frame when I need it...words can only come to: Whoa Nellie…

I have learned a few tactics that have served me well thus far (ALL the TWO times I have tried them):

-No Eye Contact.

-Keep your a** moving! (Once you stop, you’re as good as toast!)

-If you MUST stop, Brace yourself--in what I lovingly refer to as the “Barter Stance!” (Basically, feet firmly planted, yet ready to roll…one eye on the merchandise (cursory glance of non-commitment of course) and the other eye on the door (or in this case….stall entrance…).

Normally, I am not buying, but today I am actually looking for something small for a friend’s birthday. The vendors sense this…it’s like some frighteningly sensitive alarm system in their psyches and I have a big, blinking neon aura around me. * And, yes….I have been spotted… *

The teetering old man surprisingly approaches with stealth-bomber speed, arriving directly under my nose (smaller in stature by a good foot, yet I sense instantly that he is the one in command of this situation). His ferocious friendliness and charm is almost palpable. I sense myself slowly crumbling beneath his easy manner, humorous antidotes and winning smile. I ask the price of a handwoven scarf I have had my eye on. It is quoted, and seems reasonable, yet my big brother Mem’s advice rings in my ears: “Andy, you NEVER buy the first price! That is for suckers! And the higher they sell to you for, the more of a sucker you are….*shaking his head all the while at my complete hopelessness and ignorance….tsk tsk* ” I take this wisdom to heart, and (Barter stance still holding strong!) back-peddle my way towards the escape….er…..exit.

Just for my curiosity’s sake, I waited just outside of view to watch this man work (this was by far better than any entertainment I have yet to stumble upon in my adventures). I must have observed for at least2 hours (they flew by) when I noticed a man pick up my scarf. I waited with abated breath as I listened to hear the quoted price ( I was mighty curious to know just how large of a “Sucker Sign” I had tattooed across my forehead this particular day. * Apparently, a biggun’ * …..the man was quoted HALF my price, and seemed happy as he reached for his wallet to pay. I gleefully took this opportunity to round the corner and interrupt with an innocently ignorant (of course) doe-faced: “I’ve decided it’s just too good of a deal to turn down! I’ll take it at your sale price and DO thank you ever soooo much for giving me the special!” * I even added a clandestine wink for good measure.

As I strolled out of the stall, merchandise hot in hand, I chuckled to (or at) myself (one can never tell which most days). The * sales price * * steal * of a scarf was beautiful, but it was the exultant look upon that vendors' face, coupled with the priceless machismo comraderie between the two men (who shared a secret smile * or snicker? * over the little American Super Sucker) that I considered to be worth every lire~

Turkish Tarzans~

We woke up late (a luxury we are most definitely NOT allowing ourselves to get used to). Breakfast with our brothers. Add a new guest couple, recently moved in, to the mix…blessings abound. Carbo-loaded, laughter infused, energy boosted and charged with caffeine (Turbo-style Turkish, of course), and we are ready to greet this day.

Our morning swim across the channel has never felt so good. The current was strong, but we were stronger. The ocean’s pull was a welcome resistance, providing a challenge—something to shoot for and overcome…a goal. And, when we finished—fully spent—too tired for troubles—no energy left to waste on worry…we thanked Jah for all the cares castoff—collected now at the bottom of that salty sea—having slicked off our slight shoulders in the somewhere in between~

Morning melted into afternoon. Days here dally about; yet somehow we fill the time. Fellowship, peace, sunshine, and laughter—all merge as we go about our work in a moderate manner. Languid lengths of hours…merging into one 24 segment cycle.

Evening time now. Not yet night, and the morning having made its quiet exit long ago…the slight lull lingering in the space now left. What to do? Are we hungry? Not yet…the bountiful breakfast became brunch (and quite possibly will suffice for dinner as well if the fullness and satiety of our stomachs has its say). In fact, we can imagine its say would go something along the lines of: “lütfen! artık”….(“PLEASE, NO MORE!”) J We realize that we should probably write something today, but here at the hotel our family is such fun, not much penmanship or productivity is projected to occur. To town we go, then…

One dolma down (that’s a Turkish bus…and...after the first, we believe we may only “need” one, as our legs are suddenly not so tired anymore…* funny how claustrophobia, cramped spaces and odiferous aromas of various unidentified genres--and origins--can do that…*)…and we are deposited into the depths of the bustling, big town (try to contain your excitement..I know…it’s alot to take in all at once). From the one grocer, to the two main (and only!) drags, one really must pace themselves to absorb it all J

Okay! Focus, Ponopeople, we are writing tonight! Hmm…surveying the town square (which, we have to admit, is ROCKIN’ tonight!) we see that the town is represented in full force…all twelve of them. Woo-hoo *hands raised, fists pumpin’—fanfare *. Productivity and writing in mind, we skirt around the square’s edge in search of a place to perch our poetic awesomeness. There! Spotted!—a little corner of bench right by the sea…far enough away from the crowd, yet still enough atmosphere around to inspire—we have arrived! We launch into writing mode…Notepad: CHECK! Pen: CHECK! Lucky handmade ring from Ari: CHECK! Water: CHECK (hey, this writing can be tough..one must stay hydrated!) Black and white spotted feline friend avec notebook: What the (C)HECK?.... and enter our new kitty co-pilot. * Fabulous * just wonderful…now, if we could just have you, Miss Kitty, scoot over a * tad * …so we could * maybe * just see one corner of our paper…yes, thank you, that would be SUPER…* sigh*~

After humoring the little furry freeloader (yes, we fed her too….such pushovers), we sent her on her way, and set our focus back to work. Pen poised, we pondered plot, characters, setting, rising action, falling action, and climax... * as in, the head trauma we just underwent as the band of biker boys, avec little sisters in tow..avec SPLAYED SOCCER BALLS…awesome! BUMP THAT—literally (we are assuming they had the same idea…) * sigh *~ As we turn to give them all an EVIL “Hey what the HOO?” glare-with-a-nostril-flare!---our eyes rest upon the cutest, most adorable, infectiously endearing imp that we have ever seen. * Goners *…..we smile despite ourselves—In that instant the throb of our (now dinosaur egged) heads dissipating.

* Sigh…* ...* smile *... *sigh *…..Resigned, we allow ourselves to revel in the rambunctious rowdiness that is now enveloping us. Looking around at this tribe of tiny Turkish Tarzans, we know we are surrounded…we drop the pen, and reach for our camera (our own version of raising the white flag)… and surrender, swept up in the silly sounds and sweetness of youthful bliss….we are being held captive-ated~

Just Like The Moon~

Barcelona

I awoke early. Bouncing out of bed, I was eager to get to know you. You slept. You made me wait. I tried to go back to sleep and be patient, yet I felt restless...listless...lost. I am a morning person, didn't you know?

As I waited on you, I had time to think; time to pace the chilled marbled tiles, giving my icy feet time to remember (and grieve for) the warm, Hawaiian sand they'd so recently burrowed beneath. I had time to worry...to fret over how many mornings alone I would spend during our time together--time to calculate that loss in not just days, but hours...minutes...seconds...moments...and loved ones. I looked outside. Not even the sun would shed its light; instead making me wait in momentary darkness. I felt you were closed entirely to me, Barcelona. Even your shops and markets had no warm welcomes for me this morning....signs seemed to scream in resolved solidarity: "CERRADO!" I was awake, alone.

Unaffected, you took your time. As mid-day approached, I (being nearly at my wits' end, and certainly almost out of patience) watch as you nonchalantly amble towards me. Slowly, you beckon your day to begin, acknowledging noon in an unhurried aside. I follow at your heels, anxious to see who you are; what you are all about; to discover why you are so beloved among your people. To possibly understand why those who arrange their entire lives just to stay near to you possess such fierce loyalty in your name.

You stroll down the street, round three corners, cross one plaza, and slow. Sidling up to an unassuming sidestreet cafe, you enter...no introduction necessary. This is your spot. Here your table is ready--your coffee and croissant are waiting to warm you. I eat as well, feeling energized by the welcome repast. Yet, still, I wonder what it is exactly that is so special about you. You seem so quiet; almost rude; arrogant in your way. I wait to see.

You settle the bill and I assume we are on our way. My heart drops as I watch you leisurely reach for the daily news, shifting your weight ever so slightly--settling in. We sit for what seems like hours, observing as people pass. Your neighbors, your friends, your colleagues...all greeting you in quiet nods and familiar double-kisses from cheek to cheek. Your streets begin to slowly grind their gears--street vendors pedaling their wares; citizens shifting their paces into one slow and steady, collective hummmmm (yet in a reserved and almost regal way). I begin to see glimpses of life in you, Barcelona.

We share a lite lunch in a little cafe, and you open up a bit more in conversation. Gestures are more animated, and your muscles along your jawline (as well as your stiff upper lip) become more relaxed. I think I may have even caught a brief and fleeting glimpse of a grin at one point.

I begin to get excited, but now, where are you going? "Siesta," you say?!?!? But...isn't that just an exotic and very European-ese way of saying..."NAP?!?!" (as in the kind I used to be forced to endure back in the day...in Mrs Frye's Kindergarten class...while relegated to an orange foam mat that I DISTINCTLY remembered smelling of a grievous mixture of urine and cheetos?...) Well, if so (and I sadly fear it is), to be quite honest, this idea of wasting so much of my day away when I could be getting to know you, leaves quite the same odious stink to my senses). * Boo *.... Yet, I humor you, and we place our days on hold as we sleep. * sigh *

We awake and, surprisingly I feel refreshed. Almost, yes, almost as if this is morning anew. YOU bounce out of your bed and leave ME in the dust! There is much to do, you say, as I dash after you. We make our way through the (now bustling) streets; streets awake and alive with people yelling, heralding their family and friends across the avenues. I dodge children and papas giggling through a frenzied futbol session in the square...watch as a tiny curl-crowned Spanish princess passes by, greedily gobbling up her gelato--a tiny pink trail of sticky sweetness the only evidence remaining of her afternoon's delight.

Arriving at the pub, we sit. We eat. We drink. We laugh. And..I watch you come alive...mingling, dancing, reveling in fellowship and light. It is not until now that I see you, Barcelona. You, to me, personify the very rhythm of your days. We got off to a slow start. I only felt darkness from you...until I understood and looked closer. You, too, shine....the moon to Hawaii's sun, you are now understood, and recognized, with respect and newfound wonder.

I collapse into bed as we return home. How about tomorrow, new friend, let's sleep until noon....

~Sound (Affects)~

Airports. Microscopic blinks. Brief, concentrated glimpses of this macroscopic world, and all those inhabiting it. I have always found them to be fascinating on so many levels. From fashion to finances, being a spectator as the spectrum of humanity colors my scope of sight, is such an eye-opening experience.

In fashion-forward Europe, where couture is king, it is not surprising that I would gravitate first to clothing commentary. Today, some people dressed for style (from 8 inch high stiletto heels and skinny jeans, to thigh high boots and barely-there mini skirts; fashion is always a factor here in Barcelona). Other people (such as myself) dressed more for *coughs* ...."comfort." (Yes, I assure you, I strategically planned this outfit--fully aware that I am in the mecca of mod). These jeans, sneakers and tee shirt are going to serve me well, and allow me the luxury of breathing, thank you very much...(and yes, they also just may announce to the entire European airport: "American tourist! American tourist!" )

Closing the fashion file, I make my way up the terminal stairs, surveying the crowd en route. Those who seem in a hurry (or perhaps just were inspired by a secret, undying affection for aerobic idol Richard Simmons and his sweatin' to the Oldies self) took the steps. Those who opted for the escalator, I noted, could be grouped into two major categories:

1) Those who were in a hurry, yet too lazy to take matters completely into their own hands (or feet?) and actually climb...they rather more were half-a**ing is, while hemming and hawing at the second group...

2) Yes, group number two...those poor, innocent bystanders who alighted the escalator fully secure in (and resolved to maintain) their stationary states. The longer I watched this parody of Truman-show transit, I realized that there actually kind of was a non-verbal (yet understood) "protocol" to this processional. Basically, if you weren't going to move your rump, you had better GET RIGHT!

Once I recognized this pattern, I decided to post myself off to the side and "Charles Darwin" it for a bit. For a good twenty minutes (seriously), I entertained myself with the emotional outbursts of "inconvenienced" travelers as the rump-resters refused to stay right, or * heaven forbid * absent-mindedly allowed any portion of their person to remotely venture into the left-hand lane. *Hem!**Haw!**Hurrumph!**Wheeze!**WAIL!** (and, yes, there actually was at least one distinct and gutteral wail). Sound effects make everything better, do they not? ;)

Finally tearing myself away from this asthmatic display of ire, I headed to find something to drink. As I was standing in line at the airport cafe, I noticed a striking difference in how much people were spending. I saw parents buying children 10 Euro grilled cheese sandwiches that would most definitely remain half-eaten (or find their way, in short order, to their final resting places on the sticky terminal floor). Others (like myself) were notably (not necessarily by choice, mind you!) more "frugal" with their funds. As I got to the cashier and reached into my purse, raising, with trembling fingers, the whopping 5.95 Euros to meet her open fist...I willed myself to NOT calculate exactly how much that worked out to be in American dollars. Sheesh....She smiled with me (okay, maybe she was actually more like laughing AT me)...but she "got it." As in, she knew exactly that I was thinking: "This better be some DAMN GOOD Arizona Green Tea!"

And here I sit, waiting for my plane to board...and sipping my 6 Euro Arizona Green Tea. I am present...soaking it all in...surrounded by style, spendthrifts, and yes, sound effects~

Awaken the Senses~

I am what most people would call a "morning person." Love them (Or hate them), "morning people" are generally known for greeting the day with gusto! Hutzpah! Fanfare! Razzamatazz! (And if you are one of these chosen few, and it just so happens to be before noon as you are presently perusing this blog, then please do feel free to insert whatever * dazzling * emotion you are presently rockin' out here___________.)

This morning, however, was different. I woke up feeling...nothing. The eager anticipation of demolishing my "To See" list here in Barcelona, coupled with my darned diligence and frightening efficiency and go get 'em mentality, had seen to it that I had no plan or desired destination for this particular day whatsoever.

I thought to get up...* Meh *... (The day can wait). I thought of taking a shower...* Meh *...(Hygiene is sooo overrated I tell myself). I thought of making breakfast...* Meh * (Pancakes for one? No Thanks). I thought of calling home...*AAAAAND we have motion! * fanfare! *...rolls...slowly...grunts...rolls...thud. Pad, pad, pad...scuffle, scuffle....hum....dials...and, yes...*home*.

Home caught me up with their day(s), and home asked me about mine. Home shared with me, and home received my share in return. Home recognized my loneliness, and home met me in that ache. Home helped me to remember, yet reminded me in whispers sweetly of the blessed now. Yes, home got me out of that bed. And then...home lit a fire under my a** (with love of course). "Do you feel that?" I felt like I was being asked. "No" I replied....still numb. "Well then, FEEL this..." (a small nudge....okay, what then became a firm push, out the door).

The sunlight was blinding....I felt its warmth. Placing one leaden foot before the other, I stumbled towards the sea. I could sense the strain of my leg muscles with each new stride; the contraction of my calves with every step...I felt motion.

On the boardwalk, the waves of bikers blow past me...I feel the wind left by their wake gently rock my frame.

The adoring couple, unapologetic in their open affections...I feel connection.

The raucous children, launched into spastic motion with such eagerness and enthusiasm, trill their tinkling laughter--a holy chorus of angels more heavenly and spiritual than any church choir these ears have ever heard. I feel cleansed.

The nude sunbathers, baring all. I feel the heat of solar energy; its reflection dancing among their flawed, yet beautiful forms.

I feel it all. It is closing in around me...squeezing me until I cannot do anything but focus on each new breath. Pulsating. Throbbing. Bubbling up and spilling over. Unable to be contained within the vacuumed void of numbness, it will not be deterred.

I feel *life.*

I see it being lived.

I hear the beating of my own heart...in response and humbled recognition.

I taste the sweetness of partaking.

I touch upon truth.

~Awakened~

Cerrado~

Metro man

Furrowed, brow

Furtive, forward-focused eyes

Arms crossed

Legs together

Jaw clenched

Muscles taut

Tight, pinched lips *I can only imagine your bum cheeks are in the same strict state… *

Shoulders slightly slumped

Metro man…your body shrinks from me…its language telling of a concave creature, whose stature screams "CERRADO!"

Metro man, you are like a shop whose lights are turned off, yet the shopkeeper remains behind, smoking his pipe in front of the glass windows….fully aware that the dim glow beckons to passersby, teasing and taunting.

I wonder if you know how much they want to come and sit awhile with you…how they ache to hear your stories…to have the rich, velvet aroma of your stogie saturate their senses, sweeping them up in fellowship.

One of these days, Metro Man, I will get to you. When you are tired and weary. When your guard is down. I will catch your eye. I will cause your gaze to stray, and I will smile. I will smile unabashedly, and you will at first be embarrassed by my childishness---my inappropriate and brash behavior. Then you will realize you are too exhausted for embarrassment. Your day will have so beaten and bruised you, seeming to rob you of all joy…it is THIS day you will have left only the energy for embrace.

Blessings be, Metro Man. I await with joyful expectation, that day…when I can share smiles, or perhaps just sit and smoke with you~

Life is Like a Breath (of Wind?)~

Lately I have been blessed to have a little more time to really take advantage of all that my Hawaiian island home has to offer as far as outdoor adventures go. Whether it be hiking, swimming, biking, tennis, kayaking, or “surfing,” * and yes, I DID place surfing in quotation marks on purpose! * …one would be hard-pressed to find me anywhere other than enjoying one of these pono-producing pastimes.

As I have a slightly * ahem * low tolerance for the routinely mundane, monotonous things of this life …you know…like laundry, going to the grocery store, changing the oil in my car, taking out the trash, etc…it is probably not surprising that I like to “mix it up” in regards to the specific exercise that I choose to incorporate into my daily routine. For example, a ridge-roaming hike will be followed the next day by a blissful bike ride to my favorite seaside spot. The successive days three and four will include some sort of hand-eye coordination sport such as tennis, “surfing,” * yep! Still got ‘em folks! *… or volleyball (I just so happen to know of a particular fire station that has a rousing game every Sunday that I tend to barge in upon on a regular basis J ). This variety of options is one of the main reasons I chose to make Hawaii my home in the first place. It suits this restless, adventure-seeking, rambling rose quite well.

This past week in particular, when going about my daily excursions, I have noticed one main recurring theme/ idea that has been marinating in my mind. The concept of wind—specifically of how dramatically different I perceive this natural phenomenon as becoming, when placed within the context of each separate category of leisure that I happen to be participating in at that specific time.

When I think about it, it really is amazing the dramatic metamorphosis wind undergoes * in my mind at least * when merely transferred between sports. For instance, when I am biking, and the wind is at my back…I feel alive—bada**!—like nothing in the world can stop me!—propelled forward—Superman bullet-esque! HOWEVER, when the wind is against me…I sense the whole world is against me. I feel dead—simply “like” A**!—defeated, beaten down, bullied backwards—like I have been SHOT by the speeding bullet. Quite a difference to say the least~

While hiking, as I ascend rocky ledges, I feel, not resistance, but rather refreshment being offered to me by the rustling wind. Along my way, it stirs a breathy breeze—one that alights upon my brow, bringing me comfort and beckoning me forward—upward on my path. The summit supplies great gusts, swirling and whipping my hair…reminding me of how small I am, and how big the beautiful sky and earth dancing around me, are in comparison. I am engulfed by the wind on my hikes—they trap me in time—awaken to me how very little of it I have left—remind me how very much of it I have already wasted—and serve to open my heart to the priceless value given to that which remains~

Tennis belongs to the “anti-wind camp” as well. As one tries to manipulate the bouncy yellow ball—relegating it to the confines of the small white boxes * boxes, I might add, which appear more miniscule in proportion to the skill of each particular player, it seems, most days *…the wind can only serve to frustrate, tamper with and tyrannize all the Andre Agassis of the world~

Swimming seems to be one of the only wind-neutral sports in which I participate. When I am swimming, I am surrounded by silence. This impenetrable peace and quiet of my nautical bubble represents pure bliss to me. Ensconced within the ocean—the wind is dead to me…the world is dead to me…but I, I am alive—more alive than I have ever been—or at least this is how it feels. The wind has no jurisdiction here in my harmonious haven. No sound…no interference…nothingness…embraced—enveloped—inside a world all my own—I swim in my isolation tank—alone in my thoughts—unaffected by all outside forces, sights, sounds, or even beings. No wind can touch me here. I am encapsulated in isolation, surrounded by safety~

The list could go on and on….but ponopeople, you get the idea…wind is a powerful “force to be reckoned with”…. OR IS IT? I have begun today to ask myself the question, “What if it is just a force…*period*?”~

Whether it be coming directly towards me, blowing benignly upon my back, accompanying me up the face of a mountain, shifting and surging as I am sent scrambling on a clay court, or even if it is not present at all…wind is simply that— WIND. Not hostile by nature, wind is no respecter of persons. It has no agenda or plot for vengeance to reek upon any particular individual as far as I am aware. When the wind howls and crosses my path, causing me to exert more effort, or when it is helping me along my way with ease, or even as it is forcing me to realize that my stratagem on the court is not enough of a match for it to “save my game”—I have to remind myself that * no matter how it FEELS, * this appearance/ presence of wind is not a personal affront. It is not vexed by some grievance unbeknown to me. I have not committed some sin to bring about its fury. * It’s Just Wind *…a natural occurrence coming in cycles, and stages, and not necessarily with warning.

Wind and Life do not seem to be that different to me. This idea is what has filled my heart and mind most today. Life—coming in seasons—seasons of sadness or pain, when we feel hostility—is also nothing personal—no punishment for indiscretion here—simply a season. In seasons of happiness—when we feel overwhelmed by joy—not particularly arriving in our midst due to some divine or deserving act—simply a season. Seasons of numbness, when we feel nothing—not because we have done something (or even nothing?)—is, still…simply a season.

There are deaths, there are births, there are moments of overwhelming joy…only to be followed by what seem like hours of such sadness that the weight of them are crushing.

LIFE if like this~

Wind is like this~

Life is like Wind~

Isolation, Preparation, Self-Preservation~

This past month, ever since I found I would be leaving my home, friends, and what has now become my Ohana (family), I have been somewhat of an emotional roller coaster. Granted, no one would have known this by simply looking at me. But, rather, I know myself, and am able to clearly see the signs that show my stirred state of mind.

I recognize it in the small things, seemingly insignificant to most, yet for me, they are classic signposts that I am “going through a season”. This season, what I see as yet one more transition, is riddled with change, yes THAT DREADED CHANGE * shudder *.

I realized yesterday that my life here I am so happy with (and in). Some days everything within me is gravitating to that “Don’t rock the boat” mentality. “Just stay Andy Beth….you love your little life here!” I will chant this mantra over myself, and then stop and remember this amazing opportunity and blessing that has been laid before me by God…this challenge, if you will * for He KNOWS it is a huge obstacle of fear to overcome for this stability loving soul! * I often feel that He has given me specifically this option in life because it involves risk…and trust…and spontanaiety…all of which now don’t be shocked too much I NEVER would have chosen of my own freewill and accord. Really. Don’t get me wrong, I love trying new things…but I PLAN to try new things, and I PLAN on how I will go about them, and I THINK AHEAD of all the outcomes and make all arrangements according to how I am confident * based on my precise ahem calculations * that things will inevitably turn out exactly as PLANNED *tied pristinely with a pretty pink color-coordinated bow, thank you *

What struck me most with this upcoming season of change is thinking about how very much of my home I will be missing here. The little things…like daily coffee with my good friend Lamm, the sunset swims with my girls, evening bonfires on the beach with the funniest and over-the-top jokesters I have ever met, sunlit bike rides that make me feel more alive everyday, buying fresh honey from heaven and calming kava from the local man in his roadside stand, or even going to the market and “talking story” with my favorite cashier.

My first reaction to this present predicament is a defense mechanism I have often used in the past…isolation. In my oh so strange mind, I somehow believe that if I simply stay to myself these last few weeks, and train my heart to “not need anyone”… and become that lone wolf…then I will be more “ready,” or that it will make things better and easier to tear myself away when the time for departure comes. I noticed myself beginning these patterns earlier this week…politely refusing invitations to parties, opting to do yoga at home versus attending my favorite beachside class, embarking on early morning solo hikes and bike rides versus joining my buddies who have a pretty amazing little group going most days, or even shyly eschewing beautiful souls who desire to take me out * in the convoluted notion that this will somehow make me less lonely “in the long run, of course” *

This week I tangibly sensed my masochistic insanity. In my seeking of self-preservation, I was drying up from lack of fellowship and love like a raisin left out to bake in the sun. I knew I had to stop this negative pattern of being paralyzed by fear…and I also knew I would have to do it afraid. So, rather than pull away from these relationships and invitations in my life, I am striving to sprint towards them as if my life depends on it (for in actuality, I am realizing it does).

This past week was spent in complete community and fellowship. I have been blessed to experience the intimacy of friendship and love that I have only dreamed of, and read about, in favorite books…agape love such as that which was found in the apostle Paul’s Corinthian Community--that realistic, tangible love and mutual concern that Hollywood movies find boring and non-screen worthy, yes…that GOOD stuff of the everyday.

I used to fear this type of closeness. I was a master at placing walls—realizing that to be so open and known, is to be made vulnerable—and vulnerability to me, was dangerous. I still see the "danger,"-- yet I am now understanding that there is such breathtaking beauty in risk….and unfettered freedom to be found in offering oneself up to the amazing possibilities of all things yet known~

At Second Glance~

I woke up this morning and looked out my window. It was cloudy, rainy and windy on the North Shore. Boo….big Boo. So, I did what I do best…ran AWAY from the darkness and ick!!! Ran far, far away * okay, DROVE far away .* I decided I would drive and not stop until the sun shone again…which, if you live in Hawaii, you know isn’t too difficult to find. My wheels rolled towards the rhythm of the seas…finally making their way to Waikiki. And, ahh, the sun was resplendent! People were out in full force, thoroughly enjoying the day. Good call, AB, good call.

I knew I should write an entry today, yet I have a rule with myself that I can’t write anything I don’t FEEL—or that is really authentically tugging on my heart or mind. And as of 8-friggin’-AM this morning…not much of ANYTHING was I “feeling” to write about J So….I decided to take a run, praying that along the way something would speak to me (this tactic has never ever failed me , by the way…life just seems to happen and inspire when given enough time and room).

No, it never fails. I was running along the path in this amazing park right on the water. It is a popular venue, making it a fantastic place to people watch. As good as any airport I have ever been in, hands down.

As I ran, I noticed a familiar sight…or familiar event(s), I should say—Wedding Photo-Paloosa! Everywhere I looked, it seemed, there were blushing brides and glowing grooms! To the right, to the left, flanked on all sides—by frills! The lace, the bouquets, the tiaras, the satin, the bows, the chiffon, the BLING!

A smorgasbord of sensory overload….the blinding white garments glistening in the sun as the photographer extracts every emotional image possible from the cooing couple. * Click, click, smile, laugh, GAZE--oh GAZE!-- into each others’ eyes* --and repeat.

One might think that, after every single day (and on every single jog) of being (what some would call) ”bombarded” with adoring couples left and right…that I would be desensitized to any emotional response by now….yet I am not. Like clockwork, every day, and with each couple I come across, DAMNIT!, I can’t help myself but to smile, slow my pace, and breathe it in.

Yes, breathe it in…but what is this “it” I ask myself? Is it love? * swoon*…no, not exactly, for my common sense and logic sadly reminds me that, despite my romantic feminine heart, two out of four of these couples (at least) will not even make it to their second wedding anniversary. So, no, it’s not love that I am smitten with here.

So, then, again I ask: “What is ‘it?’’ I look again at the sun-kissed smiles. I strain my ears to hear the lilting laughter, making its way to me across the sky, as if floating on fairies wings. I look again…and I see all the tangible sights; hear the audible sounds; but I feel and know… HOPE. I look around me at these couples, gazing into each others’ eyes…adoringly clasped in embraces…and know that, to me, it is more than an embrace, far-reaching beyond a shared smile; it is the symbol of what is to come…hope. The hope they have with a brand new beginning. Hope at the idea of a life ahead…together. Hope looking forward to an added chapter of their lives’ books. Hope for a change. Hope for more of the same something that is good and wonderful. Hope for possibilities. Hope for something shared. Hope in belonging. Hope in knowing. Hope in being known..…and it is breathtaking.

Webster’s defines “Hope” as: “a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life…[..]…the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.”

So, yes…I call what I witnessed today hope.

Surprisingly this day’s display of beautiful brides does not particularly produce an intense aching in my soul…nor am I taking away from this jog a picture of love. No…. "bah, bah, rah, mama”… *unlike Lady Gaga, I don’t necessarily want a romance*…But I WILL take some of that hope, please….and thank you~

Soooo Fired~

I have not written in a few days. I had not thought much about this fact until I was reminded by a friend (in love, of course), that I had better get with the program and become consistent in my postings, as it is: “technically my job come April.” I have been contemplating this turn of events, the fact that I am, in essence, supporting myself solely through my writing this year—making me an actual, “writer” of sorts. This title makes me laugh, and simultaneously overwhelms the bejesus out of me. Therefore, I am officially announcing my resignation…no…I am taking it one step further and am absolutely firing myself, termination effective immediately!

I have decided, however, that I would be willing to accept a lesser position, as “field researcher” and “fact gatherer” for an elite and special task force, who operates under the mantle: “Ponopeople.” My first reaction when I was approached with working with this underground group was that surely there was someone better qualified for the job than myself. Yet, those who have been involved with this mission from the ground up assure me that they have weighed the costs and handpicked me precisely due to the fact that I am such an unlikely candidate. No one would ever suspect that I work for this operation and am familiar with its inner-workings. Think about it…a mere civilian…unassuming and boringly average.

Uncanny...how illogical it seems that I am to be trusted with such a fantastic mission…therefore making perfect sense. This mission: * which I have chosen to accept * : to go into the world, seeking out ponopeople across the globe, and writing their stories…I will keep a log of my own thoughts as I go through the rigorous training involved… revealing the many lessons I am sure to learn along the way…recording and storing every bit of data I come across, in hopes of returning to homebase with a wealth of information with which the Ponopeople can collectively use to their advantage in their greater mission: Finding that fine balance of Goodness, Rightness, and Life~

If you are receiving a copy of this memo, you have been deemed as a vital and integral member of this mission: your name appearing on a top-secret list. I am counting on you to be my contact(s)…my inside links into the Ponopeople realm as I wander…my connection to the core. I have complete faith that you are also up to this task. And on we go. This memo will self destruct within 30 seconds…*and if it doesn’t, by some chance…rest assured that just means that it * ahem * must be written in that, um, new invisible “only-you-can-read-this-ink” that they have only recently just come up with *do you sense this is INCREDIBLE ink?* that so few people know about in the world…*

……30, 29, 28, 27….

Banana Breakfast~

Interesting morning already, and it is only 8 30 AM. Brings much to think about. Perspective to me is always an amazing thing. Today I woke early * especially for not having the morning shift at the Gallery * and decided To cruise into town to get some coffee before a run. I never like to park and leave money around, or have to carry it with me, so I grabbed just enough for my soy yogurt, Powerbar and coffee…and I was on my way!

As I pulled up to the store, I ran in glancing at my watch…thinking I had plenty of time it’s gonna be a great morning! As I poured my coffee I let my mind wander to all the beautiful things I would see on my hike. I was already itching and ready to go go go. I felt a (non too gentle!) Tap... (more like a smack) on my shoulder, followed by a booming voice…it bellowed “ HEY LADY! YOU GOTS TEN CENTS FO’ A COFFEE FOR A SISTA? “ As I reached down to wipe up the coffee I had just spilt all over the counter (I did say BELLOWED? Right?) , I turned to see the smallest little peep of a woman child staring UP at me with these huge (yes, bloodshot red) almond eyes.

As I opened my mouth to tell her” N-to the “eff”-O!,” I realized I technically DID have it…and then some. I set my coffee down, and refilled what was now her cup of joe…asking her how she liked it fixed. She eyed me suspiciously…then after a moment of sizing me up, apparently deemed me sincere and proceeded to tell me exactly how many sugars and creamers she desired…”*AND DON’T YOU GO FO’GET DA LITTLE BITTY STRAW, EH? IT’S MO’ BETTAH THAT WAY!* “ Alright. Sheesh.

So, coffee in hand she stares impatiently at me as I head down the aisle to grab my yogurt and Powerbar. I get halfway down the aisle as she shrieks…”SHO’ IS NICE THAT YOU GETTING SOME BREAKFAST IN YO’ BELLY THIS MORNING, AIN’T IT SISTA?” Shoulders sag….Enter realization that THIS is a perspective moment…a pono opportunity in the making that I REALLY REALLY am not “feeling” exactly. I stop, turn and backtrack to the woman. Okay, lady, I have 6 dollars exactly. You have just burned up one with the coffee…leaving “US” with five for breakfast. How would you like to spend it? I handed over the bills. She greedily grabbed the green and sped away down the aisle out of sight. “I’ll just meet you at the register” I half-heartedly muttered/ offered up to the ether.

Three minutes later and around the corner she spins, wide grin on her face. Hands full. She plunks down a hot breakfast burrito from the deli, a spam musubi, two hard boiled eggs, her cup of coffee, and a freckled, bruised midget banana from the “penny bin”. “*We GONNA PAY CASH SISTA!*” the woman proudly announces to the cashier. The cashier (as she is ringing up “our” morning feast) keeps trying to catch my eye…I avoid it on purpose and try to act natural. She finishes ringing up the items and, as she is taking the bills, grabs the lady’s hand and says “ISN’T IT NICE OF AUNTY TO PAY FOR YOUR BREAKFAST?”…the woman shrugs her shoulders and grabs her stash and runs…I am left with a half-assed thank you wave via her rear view…and a crappy, rotting banana for the interchange. haha, oh boy

I look up and finally make eye contact with the astounded cashier. Who asks me if I realize I just paid 6 dollars for a rotten banana. “Yes.” I replied, still laughing at myself and the absurdity that I am sure this represented to her (and I must admit, even myself at that moment!) She went on to inform me, “You know, that lady begs off of everybody you know…she never work, and so she doesn’t deserve nothing...she hasn't earned it.” “Nope, I guess she hasn't "earned it" has she?” I replied…and FELT the smile for the first time that morning. AS I got in my car to drive away, STOMACH GRUMBLING, I realized the pono-moment wasn’t necessarily for the ungrateful woman who walked away with my breakfast in her belly…it was for me, and for that cashier…to think of what everyone deserves and doesn’t deserve, about "worthiness" and motivations…and perspective.

One of my favorite set of lyrics is by Songwriter Ani DeFranco…she says all that I could say “Mo Bettah”:

I do it for the joy it brings
because i'm a joyful girl.
Because the world owes me nothing
and we owe each other the world.
I do it because it's the least i can do.
I do it because i learned it from you
and i do it just because i want to
because i want to~

May we all love and be loved not in proportion to what each “deserves” or has "earned"…because I sure want and need so much more love than that~

For This Year, For Life~

January comes

Thinly veiled, frostbitten firsts

of the year, of life.

Twelve chaptered novel,

Tenses shift, Plots ebb, then flow

Not much longer now.

Slow thaw, waking warmth

nudging subtlety of Spring.

renewal, rebirth.

Crocus crowns, good earth.

Fallowed ground, revisited.

For this year, for life~

Word(s)! *to your mother, your sister, your grandpappy...whomever*...

It is the New Year. The time of resolutions, new beginnings and hopefulness for the future. I've discovered that (as I have been asked for the umpteenth time what my New Year's resolutions are) I tend to find this time of year somewhat ridiculous and tedious. I think mainly it is because *I will speak only for myself here* there are such overwhelming expectations connected to this "holiday" of ours. I almost feel like I am being lassoed with my own personal albatross...a Frankenstein of my own creation...rebirthed (or re-invented?) each and every year.

This morning, I am awake early and thinking of an amazing conversation I had with a co-worker just yesterday. What beautiful truths and illuminating insights can spring forth from such simple interchanges~ My co-worker and I were talking as I came into work about how our New Year was going, etc... She was making a comment about my hair *I most recently whacked it all almost entirely off...I remind myself presently of a baby bird with its newborn downy fuzz* She said that she liked it...and that I can always grow it out...but that for this season of my life I can "be a pixie"....and then later when it grows I can "be something else." I got to thinking about this, and for some reason, I was really bothered by it. Not bothered by my co-worker...but more about *again* the semantics of it all. I wanted to say to her, "What if I just want to 'be' ME?" Long hair, short hair...whatever...

Later in the day, I approached another co-worker and was talking with her...she was asking about my hair *are you sensing it is a big change, yet?* and the reasonings behind it....whether it was for New Year's, or if I just needed a change, etc... and I began explaining (as much as I even knew!) my "why's". I talked about simplification, seeking lightness, being unencumbered *yes, still talking about hair*...and mid-sentence I realized I did it because I COULD. And I didn't even need a damn reason why! Randomly, I immediately thought about my return to veganism...nine years strong before. I told her how I really missed sushi *random* and she said, "Oh, well you can switch back and forth between being a vegetarian, and then being a vegan, and even a carnivore Andy"...and again, I thought with rising panic and frustration..."WHAT IF I JUST 'BE' ME???" and eat...FOOD? Earth shattering profound logic, I tell you~

I then just opened up like a floodgate...all these truths coming through...we talked about health, and resolutions people make to go on diets and fitness plans and "stopping this or that" and "beginning these things." "Becoming" thinner, better (or in Hawaii we say "mo' bettah"), faster, richer,--MORE....LESS....it is exhausting to even think about.

This year I have no resolutions...not one stinkin' one. Well, maybe just one...I will not focus on making myself anything this year--not better--not stronger--not wiser. I will simply be. I will "be" good....and because of this, I will "be good."