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~

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."

All Clear~

Oh, this morning! Oh, this morning!

I woke up with the sun. "Merry Christmas!" was on my lips and a smile adorned my cheeks. *Cue crashing realization that I, indeed, was scheduled to work today.* --Shoulders Sag--Audible Sigh (okay, maybe it was more like an agonized groan)--Hands on Hip--and yes, there was also one (or two?) stamped feet. Oh, this Morning! Ugh, this morning!

As I scanned the room, what would catch my eye but my Ziploc full o' zazzle! I clutched desperately for the small pouch of glitter (the one that I keep on hand for such times as this....you know, those dire emergencies...) Oh, salvation of sparkle! --Do please redeem my bad attitude from this pit of self pity~ (And it did!) I decided to take it one step further and go all out (none of you should be surprised by this one bit), as I rocked the festive green and gold glitter tagteam today....so I pretty much (if we are using our imaginations--having the red hair, coupled with the green and gold glow--was my own friggin' Christmas ornament!) Oh, this morning! Glow, this morning!

At work the patrons were in full holiday spirit. The families file through the gallery...fathers holding their children's hands, babies clutching their mothers and napping in their strollers. All are jolly and bright, out and about after a sweet time of togetherness unwrapping gifts, reading the Christmas story and discovering who Santa deemed "good" this year. The gush of good spirits is overwhelming, rushing over me like a tidal wave. It is beautiful to see. It is painful to feel. Oh, this Morning. Alone, This morning.

I could sense tiny tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. I quickly reached up to paw away the proof of my self-indulgent "sorrow." As I looked down at my hands again, I see I have smudged my glitter....I was covered in resplendent sparkles, but all I could see was green. Oh, this Morning. Low, this morning.

I asked myself if I was indeed, my own little version of the "green eyed monster"...was it jealousy that was presently creeping its way in and blackening my heart? Not exactly....but I wanted to place what was bothering me. I was not begrudging of the people their time shared in rest and vacation with their families and loved ones, nor was I angered by the fact that I was having to work on Christmas day. No, I realized that what I was envious of, was that all of those people coming through those doors, once they bought their pastries and drinks, would make their way home together. For the first time this day I realized that the sights and sounds that were assaulting my eyes were not the people themselves, but rather what they symbolized to my heart....*home.* I looked around at the girls I work with--the fatigue that furrowed each brow--the frustration of finding themselves taken away from loved ones in order to serve strangers--yet, simultaneously, upon closer examination, I also witnessed the team effort and human spirit that rallied as each sought to stave off the spirit of negativity in order to bless and love all who entered in to their small sphere of influence. I saw in this moment, that we were all in this together...and that joy and peace was *and had to be* within each of us. Oh, this morning. Home, this morning.

I left work and got to my apartment. It had been a long day...yet a good one. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. I bent my face towards the water and felt its cool, cleansing kiss upon my cheeks. As it washed over me, I opened my eyes to watch as the swirling green remnants disappeared. I willed myself to continue my gaze until the all the green was gone...

So much can be said with one pair of scissors...one tube of goo~

Change.

Forward Motion.

Wandering Feet.

The sense that something--ANYTHING--is not stagnating in life..

These are the things that I was thinking of as I brought out the scissors today. (And the red red RED dye). For some reason (no, this will not surprise those of you who know me well!) during times of change or otherwise emotional/ milestone seasons/ chapters in my life, I change my hair. Yes, you heard me...my HAIR.

Sometimes I have gone softer...a brown--gentle and unassuming--gently grazing my shoulders. It was a season of steady practicality...the university years of study and diligence...the LU code among many others was strictly adhered to...brown seemed fitting...neautral...earthy.

Then there was the brazen blonde phase....hello Los Angeles...bring it on! Bright and shining; a new chapter filled with possibilities, and why the heck not go for a brilliant and bold change?Ante up, awaken to new possibilities and broader horizons--lighten up (quite literally)...and, yes, we are still (sort of) talking about hair...

So, the long locks of childhood...those sweet, sturdy braids...were soon shorn for the sake of style...something more grown up...sophisticated...sleek. It was necessary (of course). Then, once the separation from childhood seemed sufficiently solidified...the lustrous locks were reinstated; once again given free reign. A restoration of sorts....for a time...only to then be whacked off in a lop of liberation...a claiming of my freedom to choose...*yes, about my hair*

Short signified simple. Long lent itself to a portrait of femininity and grace. Yet there were exceptions in my mind (there always are, aren't there?) Short has also meant strong and independent. Long also harkening to times of healing and wholeness after a shorn winter--although the shorn winter stood for freedom from the old dead locks of summer that had grown heavy and cumbersome--too difficult to manage. (Hair...yes?)

So much can be said with one pair of scissors...one tube of goo.

Tonight the mirror reflects a radiant, redheaded wanderer. Short and touseled...quite messy in fact...the image staring back seems jarring at first. The dead ends have been cut out...the length is lessened...weight has been lifted. Simplicity reigns...yet not without cost...for she will miss the beautiful braids, the cascade of curls tumbling down her back. Stark, blunt, razored edges abruptly end...refusing to caress her shoulders. They demand to stand alone, independent and free. The almost violent vibrancy of the red...is shocking enough....bold enough...to keep her awake-- and make her feel alive...and life, to her, is more important than anything else...( yes, even hair)~

Struggle not denied..

I received an email from a friend of mine who I thank God for everyday. He was challenging me to give voice to the struggles in life that I (and that we ALL) face. I do believe that this blog would not be complete or balanced unless it brought to light (honestly and openly) struggles...plain and simple.

For what it is worth, this is my picture. As always, I welcome your own portraits, paintings (finger-paintings I am partial to, of course).

-------

Nestled in this nook,

Tucked away from prying eyes

This feathered bird prays:

Awaiting hope’s birth,

Sweet child of emblazoned sky

“Dispel this darkness.”

A chill in the air,

I reach out for my sweater,

Feathers not enough

October is gray

And winter has come too soon

I was not ready

Knitting, not preening

I make haste in a panic

Clothing nakedness

Slowly haste gives way

Surrendering sheer fatigue,

A delicate fade

Captive tears once trapped,

Angrily assault my gates

They are free to go

Succumbing at length,

I have become that last leaf,

And loosen my grip

Choosing to let go,

I dance and swirl to the ground,

Winter has not won~