TWO PERSPECTIVES --7 YEARS APART

Checking out life at age 53

My True Self Isn't Always Comfortable (May 29, 2012) 

[I was 53 years old when I wrote this]

Sometimes I wish it wasn't true...that I wouldn't melt so easily...that I could do whatever I wanted without fear, without concern...that I wouldn't be afraid of consequences or how my actions might affect those I love...but then i wouldn't be me. And as it turns out, I am me, so my heart rules, love is more important than being right, kindness is more important that winning, creativity is more important than perfection, making a difference is more important that making a buck. Sometimes I wish I could play by the rules of "getting ahead, being successful, getting recognized, belonging" but then i wouldn't be me. And still, sometimes riding the tension between the extremes gets tiring, sometimes.

Making Friends with My True Self at Sixty (May 29, 2019)

Nearly three months into turning 60, I am loving it. It is not without challenges but mostly I love it. What I am noticing more and more is a growing comfort in my own skin, a growing confidence in the unique set of attributes that make me, me. I'm making friends with my true self. It's kind of amazing! 

Of course this didn't just happen all of a sudden at 60 though. It happened because seeds were planted, watered and cared for. It happened because God and I worked together to let go, to remove the weeds as I had the strength to do so (those lies that were choking me out). Some of that work was hard. Some was joyful. It happened because friends, over a sustained period of time, either showed me who I don't want to be or who I clearly want to be. It happened because someone besides me believed in me and took the time to show up. It was a collaborative effort! 

Inviting the fog to lift and the true self to emerge

And now some things about my true self have become clear. I notice that after a lifetime of hiding my voice in the back of the choir, I am truly happy and at home with my singing voice. It is enough and I don't need it to be more. I just love singing. I notice that even though I never thought I would teach, I love teaching! And even in the challenge and doubt of whether I am doing it right, I love how preparing to teach makes me focus on what's most important, it makes me the best me. I notice that when I read things I wrote 15 to 20 years ago, I love that old me too, even though she still had tons of angst. 

I'm still growing. I'm still making friends with pieces of the puzzle that I have only just discovered. There is more true self to come. And, I still dance with my false self from time to time, when the lies of loneliness and sorrow get a little loud. Even so, I heartily recommend getting older. So far, I'm thinking it's a really good deal! 

May the gift of aging be that you make friends with yourself!

~just jules 

Doing AND Being AND Clocks

The clock is ticking! Oh my goodness....I have a to-do list a mile long and all I want to do is sit and ramble. What is it about to-do lists that makes me suddenly feel all contemplative and reflective? And what is it about centering prayer that makes me think of all the things I have to do? Hahaha! I guess the grass is always greener on the other side of the brain. 

I feel old and outdated and cliche and boring saying it but it keeps happening. Time is flying! It is zipping by! It just keeps going faster and faster. Or is it that I am going slower and slower? Either way, it seems to be a perception thing. Some days I really would like to have nice long cup of tea with Einstein and see if he can straighten me out on this whole time/space continuum thing.

It's all a bit silly really. In my 30's and 40's, I wondered what I would do with all my time once I didn't have my children to raise anymore. I was a full-time, stay-at-home mom for two decades. I didn't sit down for lunch most of those years. And I had a thin body to prove it! I swear, I never did finish all those chores. So I remember wondering if there was life past all that busyness. What a silly question! 

Of course there is more! The better question would have been to ask when I was going to slow down. My younger self would be quite surprised to hear all that I am involved with now. In a way it's a good problem to have really; things to do, people to see, dreams to ponder, life to live. Sometimes we suffer a bit as the clock ticks on while we run in place trying to accomplish. And sometimes we wear our busy-ness as badge, a status symbol. We live in a culture where being a doer, a multi-tasker, gets more respect than the quiet and slow.

Although, I think the pendulum may be swinging the other way. More and more people are practicing mindfulness, meditation, contemplative practices. More and more people are letting go of their overstuffed houses and over-scheduled lives for small, quiet living. 

I've noticed that in the last ten years, I have done a lot more embracing of the quiet and still moments. And after lots of practice  with silent retreats and centering prayer, I find I want both being and doing. I find it makes me happy to get a task and want to work at it. Accomplishing what i set out to do is a great feeling. And having time to reflect multiplies that feeling.

Could it be that we don't need Doing to be any better or worse than Being or vice versa? Could it be that we were created for both stillness AND activity? I'm starting to think so. 

Meanwhile, the clock still ticks.

The Basement Excavation: Giving Thanks for the Connections

In the silence of the early morning, I stopped to meditate for a bit, to ponder. I became overwhelmed with gratitude for this knowing in my bones that I am not alone, that Love, that God, that all of you are with me. I have spent a lot of my life longing for connection (due in part to the conditions of my childhood growing up in a boarding school).

Later, down in the basement, the box I picked up to go through contained all of the sympathy cards sent to us after our son Hans died fifteen years ago. As I threw them into the recycling, I opened each one to read the names signed inside. I just wanted to see the names again. A feeling of gratitude washed over me and stopped me in my tracks. I am so thankful for the community of people whose threads of love held us up during that dark time.

As part of my ongoing longing to connect, I signed up for Facebook long before many of my peers. As a result I was able to "find" people I had lost track of. But Facebook itself is a surreal place. It is not a place of real connection, of real relationship but it is a place where we can come and remember how connected we are. As I have been going through decades of letters, cards and notes, I am experiencing the same thing there. Those letters and cards are not the real relationship but they are a reminder of all the connections my family has had over the years. Honestly, if I had to count them all, there would be hundreds of people over the years that have woven their threads with ours. Perhaps that is part of the answer of why my mom and her parents saved so many of their letters--as visible reminders of those connections. I can't say I blame them. Sometimes when we feel so alone, we need those reminders. It can help to have someone call or text or send you little note on email.

Brene Brown says humans are "wired for connection." This is certainly true in my case. There have been times when I have felt so alone, so separate from family, from friends and even from God. The longing to connect has sometimes been a physical pain in my body. But always when I pause to look and listen, to meditate and ponder, I notice there are threads there. You are there! And I fill up with gratitude and realize I have enough, more than enough.

So if I haven't thanked you lately, for weaving your threads with mine, consider yourself thanked! Friends like you, are worth more than all the gold!

THANK YOU! MERCI BEAUCOUP! MANGE TUSEN TAKK! MISAOTRA!

The Basement Excavation: the 100th Box!

“Letting go is hard (really hard) but sometimes holding on is harder.” ~ Anonymous quote.

“Sometimes letting things go is an act of far greater power than defending or hanging on” ~ Eckhart Tolle

What's the greater risk? Letting go of what people think - or letting go of how I feel, what I believe, and who I am? Brene Brown

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(NOTE: I did not say last box...I said 100th box!)

Today, just today, I went through my 100^th box! Of the boxes I have gone through, I have emptied 62 boxes! This means that most of those 62 boxes has ended up in the recycling bin by our garbage…and a few have made it to the thrift store. I am 8 weeks in to my commitment to attack 2 boxes per day. Of the boxes that are not empty, an additional 15 are scheduled to be given to other people; mostly old Malagasy books. And though I still have umpteen photo/negatives/slide boxes to go through, I am pausing to celebrate my progress.

Wow! The 100^th box! When I started I was very skeptical about getting even this far. I didn’t even count the boxes past 100 because I never believed I’d make it that far. This is amazing, so miraculous! I am not even sure that I can take credit for it even though I have felt each box in my bones and heart as I’ve sorted and emptied. A lot of tears have been shed. A lot of deep breaths have been let go. There have been many days when the instinct to hold on was stronger than the the need to let go. I can honestly say I am getting better at it though. Little by little I’m beginning to feel the power of letting go like Eckhart Tolle says in his quote (see above). Little by little, I am beginning to notice that along with the stuff, I’m letting go of old definitions of strength, of family, of connections. I’m letting go of what people think, of perceived expectations and focusing more on what I need to do to be healthy, what my family needs. Little by little, I am beginning to believe that my life after this will be freer, lighter; that I won’t be carrying this burden of stuff so I’ll have room to give more of my heart to other adventures.

So I am nearing the end of going through boxes of papers (which were mostly letters and scrapbook savings). Soon I will be going through a couple dozen boxes of old photos/slides/negatives. As I head that direction, I want to offer my gratitude to all of those who have offered me support and understanding in this process. I never dreamed I would get this far. Thank you!

~Jules

The Basement Excavation: Pushing through the Wall

Often when we go on a diet, we lose a lot of weight in the first couple weeks. The first ten pounds are pretty easy, although we have worked hard at the new habit of either not eating or eating healthier. It's great! We are proud of ourselves with good reason. We're making progress. It makes us want to keep going, to lose more but then something happens. Our body slows down the weight loss. The needle on the scale doesn't move. We hit the dieting wall. We work just as hard but with less results. Sigh!

Clearing my basement has been like going on a diet. It's been hard and it's been rewarding up to a point. At first it felt like I was making progress, emptying boxes. But as the days rolled on, it got harder. Four weeks into my 2-box-a-day commitment it began to feel like nothing was happening at all. I kept doing the work but it kept feeling messy, lost and confusing. Like the kid in the back seat, I kept wanting to ask, "Are we there yet? when are we going to get there?" Ugh! I have some days where I just wanted to close the basement door and forget it. Then I got sick with a cold this last week and that about undid the whole thing for me. Like in the beginning I would walk down the stairs, look around and then just come right back up. I really needed some new energy.

Fortunately for me a solution presented itself. Our son and daughter-in-law (Karl & Erica) live nearby. They are working on a project at their house too so we decided to do an exchange of help. So yesterday I got my burst. For the first time since I started the project, we were able to move furniture around and begin to create the new areas. We also did some deep cleaning as we moved things. The result makes the clearing much more real. Now when I look around, I can see the open spaces. It feels good. It feels like I might have actually done something. I still feel the burden of how much is left to do but I feel a renewed sense of commitment.

We will over time meet several walls in our lives. Some of these walls will be "dark nights of the soul." Some will just be piles of  laundry or bills to pay. I confess there have been times when I sensed a wall and just turned myself around and went a different direction. It's hard to go through the walls, be in the discomfort long enough, sweat a few drops, get dirty and weary. But we don't necessarily have to do it alone. We can get help. It is amazing how much easier it is to push through that wall when we have someone willing to stand next to us, to be in it with us.

I pray that you will have someone willing to stand with you when you face your wall.

love, jules

The Basement Excavation: Remembering Mom and Dad

Case #3: Remembering Mom and Dad

The other day I was sorting though another old box of my mom's. She had old letters, school programs; a chaos of papers. She used to save everything we ever did, every letter we wrote, everything. I came accross a card I made for my parents for their 30th anniversary. It was exquisite in both design and content. I was professing my love and gratitude to them for the gift of family they had given me. It undid me. I remembered how much I loved them and how much I miss them. Mom and Dad weren't perfect but I do believe I learned about love from them, real love. I wish with all my heart and body that I could tell them how I've lived in that love and used it. Oh the ache of that moment and the sweetness of knowing I had given them a gift in return, of gratitude. I didn't get much done the rest of that day. Perhaps I won't throw that card just yet.

Sometimes I wish, really wish that Mom hadn't saved everything, that she had let go. But that day, I was grateful. And I know her well enough to know she let go of plenty. Sigh!

Update:

AS of today, March 10th, I have gone through 66 boxes. 40 of those boxes have been emptied. some have been reused to haul things away to recycling or the thrift shop. In addition I've unloaded 4 big bags of clothes. Lots of tears have been shed as I face old family baggage that I've avoided for a LONG Time (at least 15 years). They have been therapeutic tears though exhausting at times. Today there are no tears and I'm grateful for that too. Today I just feel good to still be in it, to have not given up yet.

I've been saying that the word for the year is CLEAR. I love that you can interpret this in a number of ways. i'm still waiting for a sweet mission statement to come out of this, a nice statement of intention that makes the purpose all CLEAR.

I am praying and yearning for God's guidance and wisdom in all of this. If I let go of the old family stuff, will I better be able to handle the truth of family that is NOW? i hope so. and will I find renewed energy to pursue other dreams? I hope so.

Gratitude:  Many thanks to those friends, I think you know who you are, who have been so supportive of me during this project. I am so grateful! ~ jules

The Basement Excavation: A family history of saving and grief.

Ash Wednesday was ten days ago and much like many other people I've decided to try a new spiritual practice during the 40 days of Lent that follow it. I've decided to practice getting rid of things, letting go of the past, letting go of stuff, and in some cases letting go of commitments. this is a very personal journey. It is not the first time I've told myself, I am going to de-clutter; I'm going to let go. "Easier said than done" is understatement.

Looking back on a history of family saving
I was born into a family of savers (some might call them pack rats). There were some very logical and practical reasons for the saving over the generations. We didn't have much money. My mom had grown up moving around a lot.  Our family, in turn, also moved a lot, traveled a lot. Along the way, as you travel, you collect things. My parents were missionaries on the island of Madagascar so we couldn't just run to the store for new things. We were thrifty, using the same clothes, books, toys over and over again. We saved them, took care of them and were able to enjoy them for more than one generation. This served my family well for a long time. it was a good habit that taught us to be good stewards of what we had. It also taught us to save things we would never need to use again.

In addition, there are family historians on both sides of my family; in particular my mom's side. Before the dawn of the digital age, these ancestors, including my grandfather, kept diaries, extensive family tree information, took wonderful photographs and slides and even wrote books. My grandfather had a habit of saving all his correspondence (every letter he wrote or received) some of which serve to narrate his family relationships.  He wrote about 40 books, most not published but there are copies for his children. He had his own library. So for my siblings and I, our inheritance consisted mainly of a shed full of books, letters, photographs, slides and boxes with various sentimental and practical things that my parents thought we would use after they were done with it. They meant well. Our parents were trying to help and somehow, as the youngest child, it all ended up in my lap, my basement. And I added some of my own.

Storing my Grief
Over the years I have explored several theories and justifications and analysis for the behavior of hanging on to stuff. The reason that stands out above the rest is grief. I was born in Madagascar, spending most of my time in an Eden-like setting on the southern tip of the island with vacations with my parents in the capital city. For me Ft. Dauphin and Tananarive, Madagascar are my home towns, but there is no home in either one of them to go back to. So when I left, I took what i could with me and hung on to those possessions, notes, diaries, photographs with all my might. I took my home with me. When my parents died, I welcomed their treasures from those places too. It was then I realized they had been taking a piece of home along with them too.

Grief, in its darkest moment, is the excruciating pain of separation from those people and places you love. It makes sense to me then that in those darkest days of grief, we just hung on to what we could of those lost relationships, those lost places.

When I was 17 I left my home in Madagascar for the last time. I have never been back. When I was 27 my dad died. When I was 41 my third son Hans died of brain cancer. Six months later, my best friend died. Several years later my mom died. With each death, each separation, each new wound of grief, I hung on to the pieces of those places and relationships that I could, much like my parents and grandparents had before. And all the while the basement filled up with my grief.

By the time I was in a better place, I didn't want to return to the boxes, the stuff I had stored. I just wanted to live in the joy that I could. Above ground, above the grief, I went on with my life (a pretty joyful life) but every time I walked through the basement, I was reminded. The pile was growing and it was serving me less and less.

So here I am, years later. The boys are grown up and have homes of their own. Pete and I are grandparents. It's Day #11 of my commitment. I've gone through at least 2 boxes each day. Pete is making the first haul to the thrift store. Our recycling container is full. There is a long, long way to go. I've done the easy stuff first. But there is hope.

There is hope.

Prelude to the Basement Excavation project.

Introduction: On February 10, Ash Wednesday, I made a commitment to dig in and clean out all the stuff in my basement. I've been putting it off for a long time and it seems like Lent is as good a time as any to make this attempt. I'm petrified and I'm determined. I thought I'd share some thoughts about the process along the way. If you believe in prayer or wishes, please send some courage my direction. Thanks, Jules

The Basement Excavation: Prelude

I take a few steps down, turn and go back up.
can I? once I start, will I have the strength? the courage to finish?
It will be an even bigger mess before I get to the good part.
I will have to face my grief, my nostalgia, my sentimentality.
I will have to face my tears.
Can I? Will I?
I really want to.
I really need to.
It feels like it is time.
I start down the stairs again, determined to go all the way down.
I wander around the boxes, overwhelmed as usual.
"Break it down" they always say as if it's that easy.
"Do it in small chunks" they say as if I even know what the chunks are.
"if you haven't used it in a year, you don't need it." they say, a saying which totally ignores all the precious relationships those things represent
People think stored stuff is just about cleaning.
It is much more than that.
No one tells you how to deal with the grief when it rises.
no one tells you how to let go.
It's like diving off the high dive.
I suspect I'll survive but I'm not sure it will feel as exhilarating as they say.
I open my first box and surprisingly find something I can toss right away.
There is hope.

God help me...
Here I go....beginning to uncover more than a decade of stuff buried in my basement.

I mean it God...Please help me!