So this is only my second blog post for 2011 and we're looking at June 1 here. I'd crack a joke about where the hell did the year go but for the most part if you follow me you already know that answer. But if you are one of the few that has not been unfortunate enough to have been in my loop (lucky you!) know that my mid-winter sickness crap demanded me to put my "extroversion button" on pause and, quite frankly, I wasn't ready to take it off until now. The healing process required me to severely limit my energy expenditure and to give myself some much-needed room to putz. And in all that convalescing I admitted to myself that somewhere within the past few years I had gotten, shall we put it, really lost. 

Oops. Wow, can't believe I did that one again! (How much therapy have I had?! Damn!)

Since that uber-repeat light bulb moment I have been making a concerted effort to take more time to consider where I am going so that ultimately I can begin to get a clue as to what I'm really all about. 2011 has been a time for me to shut up and listen to myself; to hear what my inner guidance system actually has had to say rather than soliciting and acting on the opinions of others. (Tip: if you need to conserve your energy, this is a great place to start. It's amazing how much LESS tired you feel when you stop doing all those things in your life based on what others think!)

I'm gently changing course, dabbling here and there, holding myself back from jumping into things without thinking it through, and getting back in touch. I'm also trying not to be so damn hard on myself and patient when old habits, belief systems, and fears rear their ugly heads. (Hey, I'm not perfect, though a good part of me still wants you to believe I am.)

So I'm off to putz some more for the long weekend. But before I go, here is a picture of the rose bush in my garden that hasn't bloomed in over two years because it never got enough of whatever it needed. I always thought it needed more sun but based on the weather we've been having, it would seem that wasn't as much the problem. It smells absolutely amazing, but not as amazing as the honeysuckle next to it.

 

 

 

For December, I tried to offset my surly mood by posting on Twitter and Facebook a daily "positive thought of the day" for 30 days. It bombed. Looking back, it was doomed it to fail. I didn't want to do it but I felt like I should be doing SOMETHING. It was hard to get going on it. I had a few good feelings and things that I wanted to express in the middle of it. Then it became an utter chore that I forced myself to finish because I had started it. So much for positivity on that one.

My follow-up went a little better. I aimed for 30 days of meditation; a practice that I did from time to time, but not long enough or consistent enough to get any benefits from it. This was also hard going the first week. It got better. I found some dibble dabbles of results at least while I was sitting doing it. I had timed the 30th day benchmark precisely with the start of my second-to-last 500-hour yoga teacher training; a 4-day intensive on studying the Bhagavad Gita. I've more or less stuck with this one; learning about the Gita pushed my understanding of what I have been learning to a whole new level so there's less prodding to continue my practices. Thirty days for meditation is not enough, nor is 500-hours in a yoga teacher training. A friend of mine remarked that we are on the 5-million hour program anyway in these specific areas, so it's time we stop counting.

Now I'm almost halfway through a 30-day project that was somewhat unplanned and that didn't turn out to be optional; recovery from surgery.

Many of you know I've been feeling pretty crappy for a long time. There's been a myriad of health issues that have plagued me within the past year and as of October, have rapidly gotten worse. In January they started spiraling out of control. I went from feeling bad here and there a few days of the month, to feeling bad on days half of the month, to feeling bad the entire month. I had to make a decision on whether or not to go the surgery route, which was one I had been avoiding because last time I did this I ended up with a whole concoction of post-op complications that I did not, for the life of me, want to go through again. This statement is not about pessimism. I know my body. I was aware it was going to be the same story this time around, so I was terrified. But when you're feeling so miserable, you settle, because the hell you've been in is nothing compared to an ongoing cascade as to which you are still unsure whether of not you've hit bottom yet.

For me, surgery is one of the most vulnerable things one can go through. I'm guessing this is the way it is for the majority of people. I wasn't sure what they were going to find so there was little to go on as to what I would be facing when I woke up. The process to getting into the OR is always the same; they confirm name and birthdate in PRE-OP, what you're there for, and then they stick the IV port in your hand or arm. You speak with the anesthesiologist, talk about any previous complications from general; you say goodbye to your loved one, and you're wheeled out.

I find the OR extremely unnerving. You roll in, and things start to slow down. I liken it to watching a movie. You don't really feel a part of what you're seeing but ultimately you are the center of attention. There are a bunch of nurses and other compadres wearing masks methodically setting all the stuff up. Many of them don't acknowledge you; you get transferred to the table and can't see anyone anymore, then the next thing you realize you're having small-talk with another anesthesiologist who is sticking leads all over you. The mask comes. Zonk.

Coming out isn't the hard part. You hear people talking and noises around you; finally, you open your eyes. This time I realized wasn't in recovery yet. I was still in the OR, lying on the chair I was rolled in on, only farther back, watching the same group of people seemingly doing the same thing. The same movie, only this time from row 20 as opposed to a front seat.

I never remember the trip to recovery. As it was the last time, I woke up to Alethea. (Yeah!) I was the first patient on the table that day, on the good drugs, and in no pain. Hours later, right on schedule, the same set of complications reared; knowing what was starting to happen, I clued the nurses in; my head nurse was wonderful and was supportive and probably thought things would shortly settle. She went to lunch; the interim nurse with less experience was on duty when my body pulled the same stunt as last time. There was the 10/10 pain scale as she tried to ameliorate the situation, then pulled in help. Misery accomplished. My IV was shot with a shitload of narcotics. Once again, I was the first one in recovery, the last one out.

It's humbling when you are sick. I'm fighting it less this time around. I'm allowing the support from those who care about me most, and am finally flushing down the drain the ones that don't. My healing is progressing, slower on some aspects, quicker on others. Things backslide as other components move forward. I get too ambitious with some tasks because I get impatient; then my body balks, and I back down. I attempted my first down dog since the surgery on Saturday; quickly found that reverse blood flow is not my friend right now. So my meditation cushion is where it's at. Let's just see how "zen" I feel about not being able to do things when it hits the mid 60's at the end of the week and I can't go for a run.

The myriad of problems that got me to this point are finally being picked apart and slowly worked through. Conclusion: sometimes it's good to crash and burn. It allows body, mind, and soul the time much needed in order to climb back out.

 

 

 

2010:

1. If I had kept a log as to how many regrets I had, I'd probably be mortified in a not-so-good kinda way.

2. If I had kept a log as to how many accomplishments I had, I'd probably be shocked in a really-really-good sorta way.

3. It has been pointed out by several key people in my life that I consistently remember #1 and disregard #2. Then there's #4.

4. Accepting compliments? Forgetaboutit. This inevitably culminates in #5.

5. A whole hell of a lot of the klunky and clutterly sort of quantity rather than quality experiences. In other words, lots of time spent chasing my tail while chasing everyone else's at the same time.

Then there was the arrival of Scooter the dog. I still have many trying moments in regards to this four-footed creature (as do 2 of the 3 of our cats) but it's slowly getting easier. And yes, I know, I know, I know, he is damn cute.

2011:

1. Less regrets.

2. Better acknowledgment of accomplishments and those accompanying compliments.

3. A life containing more quality, less quantity, with more time spent running down my own path in a much straighter line while staying off everyone's else's to the point that's humanly possible.

4. Hope that our 2 other remaining cats will emerge from the basement in the earlier part of the year rather than the latter.

So raise your glass. Ask yourself one question. What is it that you REALLY want to achieve? Then go for it.

Happy New Year!

 

 

 

I'm trying to get through my end-of-semester grading. I look at the stack. Three courses, probably one ream's worth of paper that's fluffed out, stapled, clipped, or dog-eared with the occasional post-it note here and there alerting me to something that a student forgot to do or a mistake that happened last-minute. I get paper cuts. I knick myself on the occasional staple because there's so many pages and the damn piece of metal wasn't big enough and neglected to go all the way through. Not only am I required to read all of this, but I also feel obligated to comment on most of it. After all, the majority of my students have worked hard and put long hours into writing all of these papers. And well, if it was me (since, in reality, it WAS me four years ago) I'd expect nothing less. 

So I'm through one course. Thirteen 30-page papers this weekend. Getting through that required negotiating a lot of distractions. Let me clarify, distraction is different than procrastination. Procrastination is avoiding; it's what many of us do initially and it's what I'm doing right now as opposed to tackling the next large stack for the second course. Distractions are the little things you do along the way that drags the overall stinking task out because the lack of focus makes the process take that much longer.

"Grading" distraction for me equals eating lots of dark chocolate. So is doing a load of laundry, then calling the plumber because for whatever reason, the main line out of the house backed up. Then there's the mindless Facebook and Twitter-checking as my attention wanes. I check the online version of the New York Times; peruse the yoga class schedules at the two studios that I never seem to have the time to attend anymore. Fantasize about all the things I would be doing right now if I *had* the time to be doing them right now. I go to weather.com and check the radar over and over again on a cloudless day which is the equivalent of looking into the cabinet or the fridge for the umpteenth time and expecting what you see to be different. Or I go all out and put on the actual Weather Channel. Local on the 8s. However, the only thing that seems to go fast is eight minutes and my increasing awareness that I've gotten very little done between each eight-minute period. Conclusion: despite what Jim Cantore wants you to believe, weather isn't all that exciting the majority of the time.

So tonight I decided to take the night off. Tackle course two tomorrow. Give myself some free time to do a few of those things that I had fantasized about 24 hours ago.

I meditated. Rather, tried to meditate. Inevitably, that's what happens when you go back to meditation practice. Monkey mind hits. Thoughts are all over the place. Tried focusing on the breath, using a mantra. It wasn't easy, but I'm proud to say I stuck with it until I jolted myself awake twice after starting to nod off.

With that "done," I called two friends that I have been thinking about and have wanted to connect with for some time. Got voicemail. Left a message, hung up, stared at my desktop, and realized that I had absolutely no idea as to what else I "wanted" to do. I started reading the most recent issue of O Magazine but I found myself flipping though pages, disinterested. I picked up Real Simple magazine which was an impulse buy when I was at Whole Foods over the weekend because the cover said "Be happier this year! 9 surprises to get you there!" (Yes, it left me disappointed, and as you probably can guess, certainly not any happier.)

I petted Scooter the dog. Yelled at Scooter the dog for barking at Dori the cat. Finally, I decided to blog, because, as I'm discovering, writing is the one thing in the short-term that starts to get me back on track. So here I am. A wee bit little less distracted, but not by much.

The long term solution? Regaining my daily meditation practice which will allow me to focus. I'm fighting it, despite the fact that I know it's good for me. It takes time and is hard to get going again when I'm feeling this distracted. Tomorrow is the winter solstice, which gives me hope, because the days infinitesimally begin to get longer. Meditation is like that. Initial gains can be infinitesimal, but if you stick with it, your time on the cushion and your ability to focus slowly gets longer. So I'm going for my next 30-day challenge, which, if I stick with it, should leave me focused and a lot less distracted.

I'll let you know. But, in the meantime, I'll be setting my alarm for 2:45 a.m. so I can bundle up and step outside for a short time to check out the lunar eclipse. (In my book, this counts as one of those few positive and worthwhile sleep-distractions.) Happy winter solstice everyone.

So I debated about blogging about this one. Journal? Blog? Journal? Blog? Journal?

Blog.

See, it's halfway through my "positive thought of the day" postings, and for the last few days I've struggled to find any slivers of positivity. There's been tidbits here and there, but more and more I feel as if I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel. It's hard to admit this. And hopefully, admitting it may put some fuel in what is now a very empty tank.

In my opinion, positivity is different from gratefulness. It's much bigger, more encompassing. A state of being. I'm doing just fine with the smaller "greateful" part, but seriously struggling with the bigger "positivity" part.

Yesterday's post was let the "nagging" items go. And as per the usual, the Universe threw at me everything possible to challenge me on what I chose. So last night, I lay there, at 3:30 am, ruminating about a whole bunch of "nagging" things, unable to get back to sleep. I tried petting the cat, changing positions, deep breathing, laying flat on my back with an eye bag, attempting to meditate. Nothing worked. I debated about taking half a sleeping pill, then decided not to. I've had a lot of these nights in my lifetime. I've tried clusters of things to resolve the sleeplessness, including getting out of bed, reading, doing yoga. Last night, I drifted back to sleep several hours later and had fitful dreams before Alethea's alarm woke me up.

I've had a recurring dream in the past few months. I'm always in an unfamiliar airport. I get separated from my luggage, purse, bag. Sometimes doing this is intentional, sometimes not. The times it has been intentional, I've looked back, changed my mind, second-guessed myself. I became fearful and panicked, concerned that I couldn't get back to them before they are lost or taken away. During another dream, I was at the terminal, holding my bags by an empty gate, waiting to board, but I I lost track of time reading a book and upon realizing this, became concerned that I missed my flight. When I asked the woman next to me if she could help, she refused, got up, and walked away. The most recent dream involved me being in a taxing cab with someone else, rushing to get to the airport, frantically trying to get to my bags that were already there and arrive before they or I miss the flight. And on the way there, we got hopelessly lost.

Dreams are metaphors, and I'm still working on fully deciphering this one beyond the more obvious themes of deciding to let go, walk away, and/or having regrets about decisions, and well, the baggage that accompanies it.

Which comes back to the title of this post: faith and hope.

In the middle of that early morning tossing and turning, at one point it felt as if I had lost hope. Completely. As in no longer there. I started to dissect the thought. Was it that I had lost hope about everything? Or that I had lost it about specific things? Was it about any of those ongoing little things that continue to nag me? Or the biggger decisions that I'm struggling to make to help overcome my current unhappiness? In the end, I decided that I hadn't lost complete hope. But I was facing and coming to terms with hard facts that some of the bigger things that are plaguing me aren't going to resolve themselves without making some drastic decisions.

I keep saying this. I keep blogging about this. I'm blogging about it here yet again. And here I sit, still thinking about it rather than taking action and doing SOMETHING about it.

Last night, in Alethea's and my relentless attempt to find something on live televsion since we ran out of TiVo options, we ended up in the tail end (no pun intended) of Finding Nemo. It was the scene were Dory sees the murky shadow of a fish in the distance, which turns out to be a whale, who, upon which, swallows them up. Once inside, Marlin keeps smacking himself against the whale's mouth, frustrated and more and more panicked, but unable to get out. Dory keeps speaking "whale". Then the water level starts to drop.

Marlin: "The water's going down. It's-it's-it's going down."

Dory: "Hmmm you sure about that?"

Marlin: "Look! Already it's half empty."

Dory: "Hmmm I'd say it's half full."

Marlin: "Stop that! It's half empty!"

And as the water level continues to drop, they both hang onto the tongue. The whale says to Dory, "Go back to the throat." Marlin follows with "Of course he wants us to go there, that's EATING us!"

Dory: "He [the whale] says it's time to let go."

Marlin: "But, but how do you know that nothing bad will happen?"

Dory: "I don't!"

Whereupon, Alethea turns to me with a chuckle and says to me "You're Marlin."

I held back tears. Because you know what? She's right. Yes, I'm strong, I have a lot of courage, I bitch and whine and in general, when the going gets tough I can perservere to a point. Sometimes I get scathed in the process, but more often than not, I do make it through. It's the vantage point I choose when I go through that makes the trip much harder than it needs to be.

So, when you step back and look at things, it's really about faith AND hope.

And when faced with a decision, as I am now (and have been for awhile), that requires to me to make a really large change, I want guarantees, I want to know that nothing "bad" will happen.

Truth is, I don't.

Last night, I received a phone call from an old friend that I don't hear from too often. Saw the name on the caller ID and didn't answer. That was the first tip-off that something was wrong. I gave myself a few minutes, then called her back. She called to tell me that one of our mutual friends had died. Few of us knew that she was sick; my friend was closer, so she did. These calls are the worst ones anyone has to make. I know it was hard for her, and I'm grateful for her courage and her willingness to do it.

Lung cancer. Diagnosed stage 4 less than 6-7 months ago. Age 43. Now gone.

After I got off the phone, I went to my friend's Facebook page which now has turned into a memoriam. She had found me again in the past year or so, we "friended", exchanged several messages, and commented to each other on that we both seemed so much happier than when we were in each other's physical presence a decade ago. I noticed that there were sparse but somewhat interactive links with others at the bottom of her Wall. You know:  ____ updated her current city to ____;  ____ is now friends with _____ sort of thing, and right above this was commentary from friends wishing her a happy birthday. Then there was a gap in dates, then more posts from friends. Only these were a running commentary to her on her loss. Her page has become a virtual way to remain connected to someone who is now gone. For unknown reasons, the donation link doesn't work, so I too chose to post on her wall. It felt strange, but I wanted to say goodbye, and without any connection to her family, it seemed the only way for me to do it.

I had spent a considerable amount of time with this friend back when we were "cubicle mates" at a job 10 years ago in a design career that we were both less than thrilled about. We shared the same wacky, saracastic, and cynical sense of humor. We complained and often bemoaned our situation, rolled our eyes daily about this-and-that request from our crazy clients. Guess you can say that we were uninspired, a bit burnt out. The best request we ever received was to design a brochure with colors to match the new furniture that was just purchased for the lobby. The kicker? The brochure was for an eye hospital where most of the patients would never see the furniture or the brochure because, they of course, had vision problems or were blind.

And what I remember most fondly is that she always had a daily story about her most recent "adventure" with her absolute cat from hell, which, ironically, has somehow managed to outlive her.

Looking back, we were definitely unhappy in our jobs. So why did we stay? It was never easy getting graphic design positions in Philadelphia. Both of us had worked for almost everybody in town at this point. We also had been laid off one too many times from one too many of these firms, corporations, whatever you want to call them. We were unhappy in our career, but seemed to have a somewhat decent position with great benefits. We settled because we felt that there were few options. She offset some of her own personal unhappiness by traveling. She took a trip to The Galapagos Islands. I bought my first car and moved out of the city to the suburbs. Thinking back, we probably spent the same amount of money in the process, but I think she got the better deal.

Right after both of these events, our employer laid us both off.

With the layoff, she decided that she was done with design. She didn't make a choice, so the Universe pushed her. It was the impetus she needed. Went to cooking school to become a pastry chef. She wanted a boyfriend. She had lots of crappy dates that never worked out. She continued to travel to great locations. She moved to a new city. She wanted a family, but she never got it.

When speaking last night, my friend and I talked about as to whether or not our mutual friend was really truly happy with her life and what it gave her. She took risks, she put herself out there. But did it make her happy? We always wondered, as she was a private enough person that we could never be sure. We will never know.

As for me, I spent 1 year, 65 or so odd days, and 8 hours in the absolute of all absolute design jobs from hell, then went back to my first employer until I too, was laid off one last time. That was the impetus I needed. I started training to become yoga teacher between those last two design jobs, which, was a great step, but wasn't going to pay the rent. So I went back to graduate school.

And here I am. The Universe is pushing again; I still resist it. I want and need to make changes, to embrace my life and what I have to offer, to get beyond those annyoing habits and things that I do to self-sabotage that keep me stuck, preventing me from expressing and being who I fully am.

Resisting is hard work and takes a lot of energy. It's a waste of time, a waste of resources. Chances are good that I'm going to be on this earth for less time than I've already been on it. Yet I still do it.

So, a "toast" to my friend now gone. Thank you for the reminder to take a risk. You set an example for all of us. We don't know the outcome when we decide to take them, but when that end comes, it just might have been worth it.

 

I hate December.

I hate the cold and darkness, hate the end-of-semester crunch, hate the holiday hubbub. It's the time of the year when I want to crawl under the covers, be alone, and remain there until late March and early April, when the daylight returns, the crocuses and the daffodils re-emerge. And, quite frankly, I start to feel like myself again.

I finished Rubin's book, The Happiness Project in November, which I believe, was very timely. See, my annual grumpiness starts in November. I get moody, anxious, tearful, cranky. I lose patience with myself. I'm hard to be around. My yoga and meditation practices tank. I don't get to run as often because I can't see where the hell I'm going in the dark. I turn into this time bomb where the littlest things set me spinning. My psychiatrist hears from me constantly. I bitch, I moan, I whine. I come home from work and slump on the couch. And despite the promises that I made to myself about positivity two months ago, all this crap happened again, right on schedule. The end result being that I was finding little, if anything, to be happy about.

So this year I'm letting go of my bigger expecations for myself and am trying my best to stop beating myself up. Accepting that for right now, my grander version of my personal happiness project is on hold. The one positive note? I'm now embracing the grumpiness. I'm keeping things small. If I wake up early enough to practice my yoga and meditation, then fine. If I don't, it means I needed the rest. I come up with one "positive thought of the day" and post it on Facebook. This small goal started with a short sentence, now it's become a single word. I work with the word for the day, explore it, see what it brings up. It was hard the first few days to come up with anything to post, which, as far as I was concerned, was all the more reason to do it. It's helping. Some days go better than others. Some days, not so much.

I had the opportunity to spend some quality time with my family over Thanksgiving in sunny Naples, Florida. My parents are snowbirds and the weather there was 83, humid, and very sunny. The best part of the trip? Interacting and watching my 19 month old nephew Fain, who is a good example of raw, unabashed happiness. He's got that "wow" factor for certain new things which causes him to completely light up. (The planes at the airport were the big hit this year.) He explores everything on his own terms, including me. You have to "earn" his willingness to engage with you. He's very tentative at first, but when he decides to play, it's pure fun. Watching him be on a beach for the first time, digging with a shovel, watching the sand fall, and taking it all in reminded me of the curiosity and sense of play that I've lost as I've gotten older, but now want to regain. I don't have the pics available from this most recent trip, so I'm including the ones from the summer when I visited him in Austin and we went to the local water park.

To me, he's a reminder that life is a work in progress, and that many things, like emotions, can change on a dime. But if you can go about things with a sense of wonder, it makes the trip a little easier, and possibly once in awhile, even fun.

The first part of this post is UNTITLED. I can't come up with another one, and I already used lorem ipsum, so this is it. It's been that kinda week. I blew #'s 1-5 on My Happiness Project too. Icky, sucky, stuff.

Found out once again that if you ignore #1: Me First, it becomes a slippery slope and before you know it, you are right back where you started. Crabby, cranky. Snapping at people you care about. Arguing with them. Worried about stuff you shouldn't. And overall, feeling trapped. It was one of those non-stop really hectic weeks at work with no-time-in-between-anything to take a breath. I found myself "yes-ing" in little ways that I didn't want to, then regretting it. First sign of trouble.

Rubin's book, The Happiness Project, goes to and from work with me every day when I take the train. My ride is short, 15 mintues to get into Center City; the next 15 minutes I have to get up and move around to let other people get up and get past me so they can get off. So this doesn't leave me enough time to get into depth with anything that I want to read. I finally admitted to myself this week (or last week) that I'm an amazon.com "hoarder" of sorts; I keep ordering books that I want to read but can't find the time to. The stacks are getting so big at this point that I have nowhere to put them. But one day a week or so ago I made a discovery; if I get to the train station a mere 10 minutes early, it allows me the opportunity to get a meaningful amout of reading done.

Problem solved.

Mind you, it's still going to take years to get through the current stack; like credit card debt, I'm only making "minimum payments". And yes, I do keep buying. But hey, as Suze Orman says, the small payments should eventually start to snowball and they will get bigger over time, right?

As I mentioned at the top of this post, this past week didn't go so well. Things on my schedule required me to drive in 3 of the 4 days I was in the office. There was some drama. And not a whole lot of time to get any reading (or anything else for that matter) done. I was getting home around 8-9 pm, so there wasn't any time to do #2-5 either. My small consolation while sitting in traffic was Linkin's Park's most recent album A Thousand Suns, which has been playing on an endless loop in my car. (Lois, my Saturn, is a 12-year old antique and doesn't like the cd's changed all that much anymore.) There's a lot said in that album's lyrics that has been a huge help in getting through some of the difficult stuff I've faced over the past few weeks. The ending of relationships, the complications resulting from that, regret, anger, death, and coming to terms with things when they change whether you wanted them to change or not, and making peace with it all. The chorus to Iridescent is particulary hitting me hard:

...do you feel cold and lost in desperation

you build up hope but failure's all you've known

remember all the sadness and frustration

and let it go

let it go...

In allowing myself to see things from a more positive angle, I've been working on the last 2 lines a lot lately, as many of those who know me are well aware that I've been living, stuck, and getting re-stuck on the first 3 for a little too long. And for the most part recently, up until this week, I was doing okay with working more on the last 2. So, as of today, I'm back on the wagon, and letting go.

The bright spots: I was able to squeak in a few runs where I was able to find quiet and just think. I typically run with headphones on, but recently, I haven't. I have felt the need to be in touch with what was going on around me rather than playing and listening to the (metaphorical) crap that was running in that old endless loop in my head.

On my past few runs, I've changed my regular route, mixed things up. I started to run in the huge cemetery near me, looping around and around, taking in the beauty of the colors and the peace and quiet of it all. Not to mention that while in there, you for the most part, don't have to worry about traffic. I say for "the most part" because one day this week there was a gravedigger truck whose driver wasn't watching where he was going, and nearly missed me as I hopped onto the lawn. I thought to myself, well, that would have taken out several steps out of the process, now wouldn't it? So, being offered the second chance, I kept on going.

Today I was supposed to have been in the office with a subject, but they cancelled. Yeah! I was offered the opportunity and it was another gorgeous day, so I took advantage of it and went out for a run.

This particular cemetery that I've been running in has headstone designs of the late-early to late-20th century, and some 21st. The first day I ran there, I came across this cherub statue on top of a stone where it seemed completely out of place; it did not match what it sat on top of at all. You know, for lack of a better word, like it was plunked there.

I took a picture of it with my iPhone, and as I continued to loop around, I didn't find anything else like it.

(A sidebar: taking photos in cemeteries is an old passion of mine dating back to my high school years. I love the intricacies of the designs and documenting how the architecture of headstones have changed over time. I only resumed photographing them recently after my trip to Chicago to visit my old friend who shared the same interest and was the subject in many of the shots I took back then. So I'm adding this as an item onto My Happiness Project. It's an odd passion, but it certainly makes me happy, so why not?)

Thing is, every subsequent run I have looped and wound around that cemetery on all the different roads, and for the life of me (no pun intended) I just have not been able to find it again. Did I imagine it? No, I have the picture on my camera to prove it. I became hyper-focused on finding it, but had no luck since.

On this morning's run, as I entered, I immediately thought about it, and then I told myself, STOP looking for it. Take what is in around you. Let it go. And the second turn, towards the back, I found it on one of the roads where there was nothing but that headstone and the cherub that sat on top it.

It was defiinitely a moment of "seeing the forest from the trees" (or however that saying goes.)

Then I turned down another road, one that I had probably been on several times since I started running there, and and came upon this one. One that I had somehow had missed before.

I had stopped looking for that one something in particular, which allowed me to find something else that I wasn't looking for, which resulted in a moment of unanticipated happiness.

 

Onto the second part of this post: UNKNOWN. (I promise I'll be more succinct than I was on the first.)

While I looped around this morning, I realized that there were a lot of people in there whose lives have come and gone. Yes, I know, I'm running in a CEMETERY, but the meaning of the "come and gone" part really hadn't make its way to my full concsiousness until today. I wondered if the people buried here were happy or sad in their lives, did they die suddenly, painfully, peacefuly, or with regret? I don't know. I'll never know.

But there's one individual in particular buried there that seems to have been very loved. I see the same woman every time when I go past the same grave, always the same time of day. I tend to run at the same time too, so it would appear that we are now on the same schedule. She's planting flowers, raking leaves, or spending time there with the remains of whomever she's lost. It seems to have been awhile since she's lost this person, as the grass on top of the grave is no different than the rest around it. She's either just arriving, doing her various tasks, or about to leave as I pass. She seems very present and seems to be doing whatever she's doing with a tenderness, rather than a sadness. (I don't know this for sure, of course, but outwardly, this is what I see.) We don't acknowledge each other; I give her her space, and she gives me mine.

Which brings me back to My Happiness Project, the fragility of it and all that life is and has to offer. There's so little time to enjoy what's here, and to slip up and fall off the wagon as I did this past week was frustrating, but ultimately, part of my path. I can't be happy all the time, and I can't beat myelf up for not always working on being (or making myself) happy. In the end, it's the sum of life that matters, which is always made up of a whole bunch of smaller happy or sad with everything-in-between parts.

As for the STOP picture that opened up this post? I shot it as I walked the last 1/2 mile home. Many people "blow" through that intersection. I'm glad that I didn't blow through things as much this weekend. I'm certainly a lot happier in this moment because of it.

I mentioned a few posts back that I'd write about my first experiences of living with a dog. Specifically Scooter, the dog (pictured above). I haven't posted about him yet because I wasn't sure what to say.

You see, I'm a cat person. We have three of them. Oreo, Dori, and Nemo. They're the quiet types with the exception of that once-a-year event where you have to get them in a carrier to go to the vet. My cats are aloof; they have their own routine. They stare you down when they want to eat. They hang out with you when they want to. And ignore you and go elsewhere when they don't. In other words, typical cats.

As for me, I'm used to coming home, having Dori meet me at the front door, Nemo running down the stairs, and Oreo showing up from wherever. I'd feed them their afternoon snack and go upstairs to do some yoga, journaling, reading, or whatever suited my fancy. Maybe I'd go out for a run. The only goal was to decompress from my day. Take my quiet time, reconnect with myself. The cats would join me wherever I was after they'd had their fill of the selection from that evening's menu. Or they wouldn't. Alethea was at a yoga class, or at racquetball, or at her mom's. And so my routine went.

Then Scooter arrived on Labor Day and turned my world upside down.

See, cats are pretty much self-sufficient. Dogs aren't. And that's the part that is taking a bit of getting used to. Scooter is like having a toddler. He takes short naps, but otherwise exhibits boundless energy. He barks, he wants to play, he brings me his string bone to play tug when I'm crashed out on the couch trying to watch the TV. He gets up early. He jumps up on you at random times, plowing me over, wagging his poofy tail along with the back half of him. He gets the "puppy crazies" after walks or at other times that make no sense to me. (This is where the first floor of our house mimics the Indianapolis 500.) After all, he still is a puppy (all 47 lbs of him); he eats things he shouldn't, he gets into things that aren't good for him. So when he's out of his crate he needs to be supervised, pretty much all the time. And, he needs to be walked, regardless of the weather.

Since Scooter can't be on his own yet, we crate him when we're at work on our third floor. So, on those days when I get home early, I feel the need to take him out for a walk. (Alethea says I don't and that he can wait until she gets home but the guilt gets to me.) So I take him out. And on those days when I'm home alone and I can't supervise him, he spends his time up in his crate, sleeping. That's when I find myself tip-toeing around, just like you do when a toddler takes a nap, as I'm afraid to wake him up, which means supervising him to keep him out of trouble.

So, I haven't done my yoga, or my journaling, or read after work since he's arrived. Alethea hasn't been to raquetball, or evening yoga either. The cats are like bats, and reappear at night around bedtime when they know he's up in his crate, chomping on a rawhide. We're all on a new routine here. The cats feel invaded, and oftentimes, so do I.

Which brings me back to my last post, you know, the one about my happiness project. I'm currently figuring out how to implement what I said in that post rather than just writing about it. It's been an interesting process. And Scooter, whether I like to admit it or not, has been a part of that.

I am learning to enjoy his afternoon walks when I get home early. He's got an eagerness about him, and as any dog would tell you (if they could) that going out for a walk is one of the best things in the world. He's happy to be out. He is fully attentive and present with whatever is in front of him which as you can imagine, is not always an advantage for an anxious novice dog walker like me. He wans to say hi to the squirrels, neighborhood cats, and other dogs. Thus, he makes me fully attentive and present too.

So, baby steps.

As for the rest of my happiness project, I've finally set for myself some concrete goals and deadlines to make those larger much-needed changes that, quite frankly, I've been dragging out for way too long. See, I lost someone last week who meant a lot to me. This was the first funeral for a friend that I've attended in a long time, and it was rough. He was one of the happiest people I've ever known. A truly sincere and happy guy who cared a lot about his family and pretty much everyone else who came in and out of his life. Including me. He was a former Navy man and a retired Philly cop, so he got the military send-off that he very much deserved. He was to be cremated, so, as opposed to going to the cemetary, our final goodbyes were in the funeral home's parking lot. I stood there, welled up with tears along with his family and friends, feeling this botttomless sense of loss. As I watched his coffin go into the hearse, the finality of what his death meant hit me. Hard. And I realized that he probably had a whole lot more happiness in his 70 years x100 than I've had on the 41 that I've been on this earth. I reflected on my life as it is now including my happiness level, and well, let me just say it's not something that I'd be satisfied with if it was my turn going into that hearse.

The work and the "to do" list will always be there; at some point I won't.

Now, more than ever, I'm looking for and taking those opportunities to make those small changes that will help me towards my more concrete goals whenever and wherever I can. And I've started to notice that doing this is making me happier overall. I'm more engaged in a lot of those little moments that previously I've missed, ignored, or viewed from a less positive vantage point. I'm rolling with the punches, starting to assume the positive about things, rather than the opposite.

And on some days, this includes walking Scooter, the dog.