I loved this thought provoking book written by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, a professor of history at Harvard, and found it both well-written and fascinating. The book gives a nice history of the struggles women have had to overcome over the centuries, as well as excerpts from the writings of these women (i.e. Christine de Pizan, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Virginia Woolf, Gloria Steinem, etc…). It’s such fun that I devoured it in about two days. Buy it for every woman you know!

I found the book’s conclusion perhaps the most telling, so I’m going to share it here with all of you.

If history is to enlarge our understanding of human experience, it must include stories that dismay as well as inspire. It must also include the lives of those whose presumed good behavior prevents us from taking them seriously. If well-behaved women seldom make history, it is not only because gender norms have constrained the range of female activity but because history hasn’t been very good at capturing the lives of those whose contributions have been local and domestic. For centuries, women have sustained local communities, raising food, caring for the sick, and picking up the pieces after wars. Today, because more women are educated and communication is easier, more of these projects get noticed, but the work has just begun.

Well-behaved women make history when they do the unexpected, when they create and preserve records, and when later generations care (pp. 227-229).

Well, it seems I’m an INFP (Introvert, Intuition, Feeling and Perception), according to the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator test. I’m really not surprised by the results because the last time I took this test I was categorized as an ENFP. Apparently, I’m more of an introvert now than I was 10 years ago. Again, no surprise there. I still love interacting with new people; however, I find it more draining now than I did a decade ago. I’m more selfish of my alone time now, too, as I need my solitude to recharge.

So, what does an INFP look like?

According to the readout I got, someone like this:

Sensitive, concerned, and caring
Loyal to people or a cause
Guided by an inner core of values in decision making
Focused on contributing to their own and others’ inner development and growth
Committed to a strong personal belief system
Likely to enjoy reading, discussing, and reflecting on possibilities for positive change
Usually seen by others as sensitive, introspective and complex

Yep, I’d say that’s me in a nutshell.

Here are a few other quotes I’d like to draw attention to from my readout:

“INFPs look for meaning; they look for it in their lives, in their work, and in their relationship with others. They may feel a strong need to contribute something of importance to the world or to have an impact on the lives of those about whom they care, though they can also be quiet observers of people and humanity at large.”

“INFPs have a desire for harmony which may at times get in the way of their getting their own needs met.”

“Intuition gives their Feeling a future focus and orients INFPs to the abstract and symbolic. Intuition, however, is always secondary to the
deep-felt valuing and caring that characterizes their Feeling. Their orientation to the future something finds expression in their desire to help others manifest their potential. Their Intuition may also find embodiment in creative activity or show itself as an interest in communication.”

“If interested, INFPs may find an outlet for their gifts in the fields of writing, journalism, or foreign languages…their writing also tends to have a warm personal tone. Many INFPs also have a deep love and enjoyment of reading.”

“With interests in academics they may be found in the fields of literature, psychology, and the arts and sciences. Spirituality can also play a large role in their lives, as they look for a personal connection to something larger than themselves. Though INFPs care about people, they are often drawn to fields where they can work independently. Their behavior in the outer world is usually characterized by flexibility and they may be frustrated by routine, structure and rules.”

“Because INFPs are often attracted to new possibilities, and because they may have difficulty saying no, they may bite off more than they can chew. They can have too many projects going to successfully complete any of them. Under stress, they may also become rigid and perfectionistic, feel inadequate, and become critical of themselves. Under extreme stress, and in surprising contrast to their tolerant and caring style, they may even become outwardly critical of others, feeling that others are failing to meet the ideals the INFP has set for them.”

Well, that’s me, I guess, at least according to this test. I agree with it on the whole, although it also shows that I like to make lists of things to do AND that I enjoy structure when I’m over-busy! Still, while I mostly rebel against these types of tests, it’s always nice to have an additional mirror into ourselves. I love learning, so I’m happy to take this and expand it in my own life.

I just finished reading Jon Krakauer’s Into the Wild. It was recommended to me by a very good friend out in Montana who has spent many years traversing the backcountry of America’s West. I was fortunate to travel into some of this terrain with him on two occasions and have learned much from him in terms of survival skills, increasing my already healthy respect for the great outdoors.

The book chronicles the short life of Chris McCandless, a young man who left behind a loving family and promising future for the lure of the West. He eventually died of starvation in Alaska in 1992; however, the book does an excellent job of neutrally capturing how Chris arrived there and what may have led to his death.

When I confided in Carl that I was finally reading the book, he had much to say about it, reminding me, yet again, how important it is to always enter Nature prepared for everything and anything. He’s right. On our second expedition into the wilderness, I had packed in a sleeping bag that was guaranteed to keep me warm at 0 degrees Fahrenheit. However, after improperly storing it for a few years and after encountering colder weather than was expected, it would not keep me warm. My body temperature had already dropped during the day due to the wind and late arrival back at camp and by the time the sun went down, I was already shaking violently and feeling very, very cold. Carl laughs and jokes about it now, but if he had not spooned me, sharing his warmth upon noticing that I was in danger, I probably would’ve been in major trouble.

The point is that the wilderness, as lovely as it is, can also be dangerous and it’s always a good idea to know what you’re getting yourself into before you head out to explore its valleys and mountains.

Of course, I’ve always loved Nature, spending countless hours as a child playing in the woods near my home and running through sunkissed fields whenever I could. And, like Chris McCandless, this love of Nature grew exponentially upon my first encounter with the West, arriving under the guise of Montana, in the early 90s.

My sister and I would spend parts of summers riding bikes, swimming and hiking in and around the small town of Seeley Lake, MT. And, I think it’s fair to say that neither one of us had ever known such beauty or contentment before; it was addictive. Nestled about an hour north of Missoula, Seeley Lake had become my aunt’s adopted home and it quickly became ours, too. In college, I continued my love affair with Montana, even dating a young man from Helena, Montana my freshman year, visiting him there on one of my summer trips.

During later years, I would travel to Montana in the late winter and cross country ski on a frozen Seeley Lake, marveling at the density of the ice and allowing the sun to heat my body. A few years ago, I returned to Montana and did a week long backcountry hiking and camping trip with my then boyfriend, Erik. I was petrified! I had never camped a day in my life, and, as much as I loved the outdoors, the thought of trekking through Grizzly Country was terrifying. After seeing two bears on the first day (one being a Griz), I crawled into the tent, had a panic attack and seriously considered scratching the trip.

I stuck it out (much to the delight of Erik) and came to enjoy myself and the silence and simplicity the backcountry offered. Aside from almost falling off a mountain cliff, caught and saved by Erik, I considered the trip one of the best things I’ve done in my life. I went well past my comfort zone, was tested by Nature and survived, relishing the surreal beauty around me with every step. It was this feeling that came to me again while out traversing the Beartooths with Carl this past summer. Though not as well known as Yellowstone and the Tetons, it is one of the most breathtaking slices of country I’ve ever seen, even rivaling Glacier National Park.

Even now I can close my eyes and feel the icy wind on my cheeks, the bluebirds which greeted us in the morning near our tent and the carpets of wildflowers we crossed as we roamed around the area. It was lovely.

I say all of this because it highlights the addictive quality of the West, and I found myself understanding the impetus behind Chris McCandless’s trek into the wild as recounted by Jon Krakauer.

I don’t want to spoil the book or the recently released movie by saying much more about it here. However, I would like to leave you with these words in the hope that they may inspire you to read this story and to safely find your own slice of Nature to explore:

“It is easy, when you are young, to believe that what you desire is no less than what you deserve, to assume that if you want something badly enough, it is your God-given right to have it. When I decided to go to Alaska that April, like Chris McCandless, I was a raw youth who mistook passion for insight and acted according to an obscure, gap-ridden logic. I thought climbing the Devils Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life. In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing. But I came to appreciate that mountains make poor receptacles for dreams. And I lived to tell my tale” (p. 155).

Like life itself, I’m evolving. My concept of self, the “I”, is dying, and I’m embracing a new identity I’m affectionately calling “we”. My new favorite thing to do is to use “we” in sentences now, partly because it just feels *so right*, i.e. Justin was in DC last week and “we” strolled through a park, saying ‘hello’ to the faces “we” found in the trees.

Yep, that’s right…I’m in love with a wonderful man and plan on marrying him June 28, 2008 in E. Helena, Montana. I’m further ecstatic about permanently cementing this new found “WE” identity through our “WE”dding. Hee, hee. Couldn’t resist!

Okay, the point is that I’m just really giddy about merging with this lovely soul who is now studying in London for his Ph.D. While the geographic distance is certainly there, I am happy he’s in London, fulfilling his dreams and desires in life AND, when I am very still, I can feel him here with me, too.

My evolution, then, is that I’m dying to the separateness that the “I” identity holds and am now merging with Justin, creating a oneness between us, which I hope we will spread to others. Pablo Neruda has a lovely sonnet which speaks of this:

…I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep

(Sonnet XVII, 100 Love Sonnets, p. 39).

Mark Nepo in his book The Exquisite Risk describes how the Egyptians viewed relationship as an art:

“In looking at their hieroglyphs, relationship is depicted as the invisible painting which exists between people. It makes deep sense. For isn’t love the invisible painting that exists between us? …all of our stories, all of our laughter, all of our waking in the night to rescue each other - all of it is an epic mural that is nowhere to be pointed to, though I can see it as if it were all happening this instant. This is the power of true relationship: It keeps us close to the pulse of life” (p. 150).

With Justin, I feel close to that pulse of life…more so now than I ever have. It’s warm…like being home…like traversing the grounds of being in which we are, and always have been, one. And while Gibran might be right that we should have “spaces in our togetherness”, there’s something to be said for dancing in oneness, especially when it benefits others.

‘Tis my wish for us, at least.

For J: liomsa mo ghra mise agus

I simply can’t resist sharing more Sun Tzu with you, especially as I unravel Taoist thinking for myself. A little bit about me: I’ve practiced martial arts and dabbled in healing arts for over eleven years and have been aware that both arts dip their philosophies in Taoism. So, in reading Taoist philosopy on both these arts, I was struck but not surprised by the emphasis placed on their similarities, i.e. they both deal with disharmony and both believe that the knowledge of a problem is also key to its solution.

For example, in The Book of Balance and Harmony (Chung-ho chi/Zhongho ji), a medieval Taoist work, states, “Deep knowledge of principle knows without seeing, strong practice of the Way accomplishes without striving. Deep knowledge is to ‘know without going out the door, see the way of heaven without looking out the window.’ Strong action is to ‘grow ever stronger, adapting to all situations.” (Art of War: an illustrated edition, trans. Thomas Cleary, introduction, p. 11)

Deep knowledge is to be aware of disturbance before disturbance, to be aware of knowledge of danger before danger, to be aware of destruction before destruction, to be aware of calamity before calamity. Strong action is training the body without being burdened by the body, exercising the mind without being used by the mind, working in the world without being affected by the world, carrying out tasks without being obstructed by tasks.

By deep knowledge of principle, one can change disturbance into order, change danger into safety, change destruction into survival, change calamity into fortune. By strong action on the Way, one can bring the body to the realm of longevity, bring the mind to the sphere of mystery, bring the world to great peace, and bring tasks to great fulfillment.

Taoist literature, then, strives to help develop special sensitivity and responsiveness to master living situations.

…Indeed, to be able to do something before it exists, sense something before it becomes active, see something before it sprouts, are three abilities that develop interdependently. Then nothing is sensed but is comprehended, nothing is undertaken without response, nowhere does one go without benefit (The Book of Balance and Harmony as quoted in The Art of War, p. 13).

Here’s a quote on martial arts:

In martial arts, it is important that strategy be unfathomable, that form be concealed, and that movements be unexpected, so that preparedness against them be impossible. What enables a good general to win without fail is always having unfathomable wisdom and a modus operandi that leaves no tracks. Only the formless cannot be affected. Sages hide in unfathomability, so their feelings cannot be observed; they operate in formlessness, so their lines cannot be crossed (The Art of War, p. 16).

On the heart, strength and adaptation:

“Using order to deal with the disorderly, using calm to deal with the clamorous, is mastering the heart…Standing your ground awaiting those far away, awaiting the weary in comfort, awaiting the hungry with full stomachs, is mastering strength…Avoiding confrontation with orderly ranks and not attacking great formations is mastering adaptation” (pp. 158-60).

On benefit and harm:

“Therefore the considerations of the intelligent always include both benefit and harm. As they consider benefit, their work can expand; as they consider harm, their troubles can be resolved” (p. 165).

On the importance of consistency:

“If you are inconsistent in your feelings, you will lose dignity and trust” (Wang Xi, p. 217).

When I’m not reading the last installment in the Harry Potter series (for those of you who have finished it…don’t tell me ANYTHING, per favore!!!), I find myself curled up with the book I Saw Ramallah by the renowned Palestinian poet, Mourid Barghouti. He’s crafted a gorgeous work and filled it with lyrical writings which touch my heart. For instance, recently I came across the following passage and it moved me in a deep, deep way:

In that room I found myself retreating to ‘there’; to that hidden place inside each one of us, the place of silence and introspection. A dark, private space in which I take refuge when the outside world becomes absurd or incomprehensible. As though I have a secret curtain at my command: I draw it when I need to, and screen my inner world against the outer one. Drawing it is quick and automatic when my thoughts and observations become too difficult to understand clearly, when screening them is the only way to preserve them (p. 21).

I read this and said to myself, “YES! This is the heart of the matter!” This is how I find myself living my life these days, especially at the office. It’s odd. There I am surrounded by incredibly brilliant and humorous folk; however, chats on matters of spirituality do not always go over well, even casually, say over lunch. I had expected this, but I think I was ill prepared for the reality I’m finding. Two camps of thought are forming in my mind with regards to this. One, the optimist in me, says, “Ah…look at all the good work to be done!” but the other, perhaps the realist in me, says, “Temper and steel yourself! Protect your core! Be careful.”

I usually oscillate between these camps throughout the day…sometimes lingering in one longer than the other due to marked shifts in the energy around me. Still, it’s the balance between the two which I crave. It’s a “good” day (read: me NOT in a funk) if I can find that balance. ‘Tis a less than stellar day if not, usually meaning that I will have to spend more time at home distancing myself from the office before heading in the next day.

Justin recently helped me learn something about myself which I had not stopped to consider before and it relates to the subject of tonight’s musings: the realization that I like to cut to the chase and delve deeply into spiritual, deep matters right away in conversations, bypassing any kind of idle chit chat, repartee or sparring.

He’s right, and I think that’s what frustrates me at the office because there conversations exist only at that superficial level and it finds me wanting.

Hm. No, let me rephrase that…I am disturbed on some level and I suppose this is why Barghouti’s words were so moving to me when I read them. I’m disturbed that so much of my natural inclination towards openness must be closed for a third of my day. I’m bothered that there doesn’t seem to be room to discuss “deep” matters during breaks or at lunch. I’m frustrated that parts of me feel stifled. So, to survive, I don a bit of a mask. However, and rather lucky for me, methinks, I’m more stubborn than a mule sometimes, so I always find SOME way to sneak deeper issues into conversations I’m having, even if it’s not at the level I’d like.

It will be intersting to watch how this all plays out in the next year. Naturally sensitive to my environments, I suspect my lesson has to do with maintaining my core in the face of so much adversity…to be unflappable when chaos and superficiality reign.

May I learn this quickly!

I believe this will be my recipe for success. I felt a tad off today, though I woke feeling refreshed. The moment of “offness” didn’t come until late in the afternoon, but I wasn’t expecting it and it threw me for a loop. It had to do with my career path, and I still wonder if I’m really and truly on it. This afternoon, I didn’t feel that I was and the thought pulled me into a bit of a tailspin, which I worked the rest of the afternoon and early evening to right.

I thought to myself…ah, perhaps I’m hungry. Hunger satiated and the feeling was still there.

I thought…ah, perhaps I just need to talk to some good friends. Guess what was still with me after a few chats.

What happened next? Tears…fast and furious, but I welcomed them because it was cleansing of sorts. Each tear helped to wash away these feelings of anxiety and restlessness which found me today.

They dissolved a tad bit more in talking to Justin this evening. His words were soothing and the conversation ended in giggles, but I still felt “off”.

What to do?

For me, the answer came without hesitation…get thee in a bath full of sea salt to restore energy and dispel negative emotions…add to it lavender and sage and “Presto”…instant dissipation of down mood.

Add Enya to the mix to remind me of my Celtic roots and I was in bliss.

The moments spent soaking in that primordial recipe gave me the first sense of peace I have known since Justin’s departure a few days ago.

This may not be the solution to the immediate problem; however, it’s about the best bandaid I can come up with right now and so it will have to do. If nothing else, my skin will be radiant and my soul renewed daily. Not a bad consolation if you ask me.

A few days ago, I came across these words written by Rod MacIver, founder of Heron Dance. Given my love affair with trees and the recent need I have these days to immerse myself in pine, I’ve decided to include Rod’s commentary on old growth forests here.

***

Walking in the woods yesterday, I noticed the trees gradually change. Eventually I came to a place, deep in the forest, where I was surrounded by huge old trees. On the forest floor lay dozens of massive tree trunks in various stages of decay. I sat down for a while between the roots of a massive hemlock.

Those woods brought me back to a conversation I had a couple of weeks ago with Bob Leverett, a lover of big old trees and founder of the Ancient Eastern Forest Conference Series. I found our conversation so interesting that I asked Bob for an interview, parts of which will likely appear in the next issue of Heron Dance. I was particularly interested in Bob’s thoughts on the relationship between the age of a forest, its diversity in terms of numbers of species, and stability. More species, he said, means more stability. Fewer species, more vulnerability—vulnerability to everything from disease to climate change.

A red pine plantation, for instance, is quite vulnerable to a particular fungus (the Armillaria shoestring root rot). A forest, or for that matter a cornfield, consisting of just one species, is unstable. A forest with a lot of older trees, including dead and dying trees, is going to support a lot more birds. The insects eat the trees, the birds eat the insects. As a result, old forests tend to have lots of birds, in both numbers and numbers of species.

The other thing about forests that have been left alone is that they are quiet. Yes, there are birds singing and the wind sometimes roars through the leaves and branches, but there is a special deep peace in those woods. If you walk through them long enough, some of that quiet gets absorbed inside. Sharman Apt Russell calls it transparency:

When Nature whispers beauty, I do not always respond well. Feverishly I want to get inside. I bang at the glass. It is so beautiful. It is too beautiful.

Only rarely do I feel calm, equal to the occasion. Then I am, myself, transparent.

~taken from Heron Dance, A Pause for Beauty, #215

How I long for this peace of which he speaks! May my upcoming trip to Montana help restore this quiet which I am missing these days.

Let me just tell you all how much I am digging the Hampton Inn’s new beds. They are incredible, and it was such a relief to fall into one of them after driving 12 hours yesterday. We landed in Rapid City, SD last night and woke up early this morning to tour Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Monument, which is STILL under construction. After another 13+ hours of driving, we’re safely installed in Rochester, MN with only about 6 hours to go until we hit Chicago and my sister’s apartment.

It’s been fun, but I find that the long hours on the road are starting to take their toll. There’s only so much to do when the afternoon yawns start and, alas, Homer’s saga just doesn’t cut it. I had to laugh outloud today when Gabbow stopped disc two of the Iliad to comment, “These Greeks were a bunch of crazy sexed up folk!” Ha…she’s totally right. I mean, take Achilles. He whines and complains to his mother, who just happens to be a goddess tight with Zeus, that his war booty (read: beautiful woman) was ruthlessly taken from him and the loss was depriving him of “happiness”. Riggghhhhttttt. Poor woman! I just can’t get over how much women in the poem are portrayed as being something to possess without even one second of consideration given to how THEY might be feeling about becoming some brooding warrior’s “property”.

But, this is a conversation for another time. I digress. Homer has such a wonderful way of describing people and places. Athena is introduced as the “goddess with the gray eyes”; the sea as being “wine dark”; Hera as having lovely “pale arms”; the dawn as being “rosy fingered”….sigh….’tis all very lovely.

Highlights:

Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse

All I could think about when we pulled up to Mount Rushmore was Hitchcock’s movie “North by Northwest”. Note to self: watch it again! It was more beautiful and smaller than I originally thought it would be. Gabbow was tickled as it was on her list of places to see. In fact, she’s wanted to see it since she was a little girl. Good news to any of you desirous to see it - it only costs about $8 to park and view it, although, you *can* see it quite well from the road. A fellow by the name of Gutzon Borglum began the carving in 1927 and finished around 1941 and the monument features the likenesses of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln, respectively. It was really quite awesome.

As we drove around the corner to view Washington’s profile, Gabs turns to me and exclaims, “Hey! He has your nose!” Thanks, Gabs. Just what I needed to hear.

Another 15 minutes or so down the road and we viewed the Crazy Horse monument. Unlike Mt. Rushmore, this carving has not yet been completed and, in fact, will require a slew of work in order to get it there. All one can see right now is the face, as well as the work which is being done next, namely on Crazy Horse’s torso and outstretched arm. The monument was begun in 1948 by Korczak Ziolkowski, who worked under Borglum on Mt. Rushmore. If completed, this will be the world’s largest sculpture, which is really quite impressive given how long the carving is taking.

Wall Drug

A few more hours down the road and Gabs and I stopped into Wall Drug, nestled in Wall, SD for our token cups of free ice water. Wall Drug has been serving tasty cool water since 1931 as a way to lure hot and tired travelers to the store during the Depression and, it’s still quite sought after today. Apparently, according to folk there, Wall Drug serves up 20,000 cups of ice water each day during peak tourist months. Fascinating! Strolling around the town with Gabs was great fun, as this is really Americana at its best. One word: kitsch. I mean, where else can you find a stuffed jackalope dressed up as a cowboy, replete with guns and hat and staring at you through the glass window?

Mitchell, SD and the famed Corn Cob Palace

It’s an entire building covered with corn cobs! There’s art! There are mosaics! There are people eating corn cobs! In a word: A-MAIZING! Get it? Ha, ha. I’m so corny sometimes.

Driving through Minnesota

I can’t get over how much the landscape of this section of MN reminds me of my hometown. There are fields of corn and working farms as far as the eye can see, as well as big trees dotting these slices of land and giving afternoon shade to cows. Still, I was struck by my reaction to the landscape. As it rolled into the landscape of my childhood, I suddenly felt incredibly melancholy and sad. After meditating on it, I came to conclude that it was because this geography no longer speaks to me. I miss the mountains of Montana.

They’re in my blood now and it was sad to note that the land which once gave me so much comfort no longer speaks to me.

Sigh. Change: ’tis constant and ever present even in the most mundane of aspects of life.

Rochester, MN

Last on our journey was a stop at Rochester, MN, where my dear friend Gati and her husband, Tad live and work. Both are docs at the Mayo Clinic and we spent a great deal of the evening chatting about their potential move back to Ohio in order to be nearer to family. I know they’ll make the right decision. They are so happy and still very much in love with each other and this love has only grown with the addition of Madelyn, who is now 1.5 years old. I hope that I am as happily settled into a marriage as they are one day. We talked for hours about life and love, consuming wine, key lime pie and strawberries in the process. I haven’t seen Tad since his wedding day, but Gati and I see and chat with each other fairly regularly, though it’s never often enough in my book.

As soon as I entered their home, Gati tackled me with questions about Justin. She approved of his Buddhism background, as her father and his family are Buddhists from China and has now dubbed him “Justin Timberlake”. I don’t think he’ll ever lose that nickname…it’s rather catchy. Best of all, she noted how happy I was and this made her (and Tad by default) happy, too. Before long, she had wrested the entire story of our meeting from me and proclaimed it rather similar to her own story with Tad: “I knew on our first date that he was the one though it took us an additional seven years to figure it all out.”

Let’s just say that the rest of the conversation was a good one filled with their experiences and my own dreams and desires.

It makes for excellent fodder for dreams, which is where I’m headed next.

Hellllooooooo new decade! A few days ago, I turned 30 years old, and it’s been hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that I’ve now walked this earth for three decades. My hope is that the footprints and fingerprints I’ve left in my wake have been positive imprints and nothing else. These feet have carried me over continents and have supported me through life’s own set of rollercoasters. These hands have touched and loved others deeply, as well as mingled with this earth and its bounty. I’ve been blessed.

My 29th year was hard emotionally, as I worked to let go off all which no longer served me. The good news, though, is that it’s left me open to receive new experiences, and I feel as if I’m downloading them at an incredibly fast rate. I have to giggle because lately I’ve been feeling a bit like Neo in the movie “The Matrix”. At one point during a “download” Neo opens his eyes and exclaims, “I know Kung Fu!” Well, “I know love at first blush!” I’ve known love before and traversed its deep waters with Mark and Erik; however, this is different. I can’t even explain it, but I sense its richness and look forward to swimming in its warm waters until my fingers get all pruney.

Thoreau once said, “Love is an attempt to change a piece of a dream-world into reality.” I couldn’t agree more. When I was a child, I was constantly storing away stories and advice on relationships, often given to me by older and more seasoned women who had clearly loved hard. Over cookies and milk, older women in my grandmother’s Italian neighborhood would encourage me to “start praying for your future husband now because it might take God a while to build him and you want to get your order in sooner rather than later.”

So, even though boys had cooties when I was six, I figured that maybe these women knew something and that maybe I should do as they suggested. Later on, the prayers developed into what I affectionately called my “Recipe for a Soul Mate”. In my teens and early 20s, I started listing attributes and characteristics which were important to me so that I wouldn’t miss them when they suddenly materialized in front of me. Along these lines, my longtime mentor, Mary Fran Ehlinger, taught me the value of “manifesting my destiny” - essentially, meditating and visualizing what I wanted out of life and expecting it to happen. This is similar to what Esther and Jerry Hicks discuss in their book Ask and it is Given.
***

When you are consciously aware of your own thoughts, and you are deliberately offering them, then you are the deliberate creator of your own reality…once you relax into the idea that you will never cease to be, that new desires will be constantly born within you, that Source will never stop answering your desires, and that your expansion is therefore, eternal, then you may begin to relax if, in this moment, there is something that you desire that has not yet come to fruition. It is our desire that you become one who is happy with that which you are and with that which you have - while at the same time being eager for more. That is the optimal creative vantage point: To stand on the brink of what is coming, feeling eager, optimistic anticipation - with no feelings of impatience, doubt, or unworthiness hindering the receiving of it - that is the Science of Deliberate Creation at its best (pp. 18-19).

***

Perhaps the best birthday gift I received this year was him. The past several weeks have been an amazing blur but what has been constant has been his warmth, his deep laugh and what he offers. Still, new love can be, at times, uncertain, messy and confusing. Time has to be spent learning each other’s rhythms and, heaven knows, I still have to reveal much more about myself to him. I’ve never been one to rush that process, as I believe it should be savored and enjoyed.

I tried to explain the genesis of these feelings to my mum this morning and she replied, “But this doesn’t sound like you…where’s cautious Kelly?”

Silly, Mum. I left her behind in the last decade! Caution certainly serves a purpose, but it can also block growth. And the woman I was no longer serves the woman I am today.

It’s a brand new decade and year, for that matter, and I’m embracing it with courage and trust that all will unfold as it should.

My one birthday wish? That I know him for a very, very long time.