I leave for my very brief walk to work this morning and take note of the heavy, gray sky. But I'm listening to good music, and I'm feeling well rested and well fed. I'm happy and I look up and there's sun breaking through the clouds.
Now whether or not the sun succeeds today is irrelevant. I'm experiencing a moment that I think we're constantly seeking as humans. That moment of transition. That moment of change. That breaking moment.
The moment the sun breaks through clouds.
The moment the sun sets behind the mountains.
The moment the sun turns into beams of light in the morning.
These moments of pure realization.
The moment pleasure turns into total ecstasy.
The moment when you're running and you no longer want to stop.
The moment in a song where you wait for it, wait for it, wait for it and then... boom.
Something changes. Something hits you. And you feel it. You ride it.
When you hear good things and your cheeks flush and you want to jump.
These moments where we break over the edge of resistance and we experience something pure and delightful.
I'm dwelling on these moments.
2.08.2010
1.31.2010
Let the paradoxes sit, as I juxtapose myself.
1.31.2010
I've heard yogis talk about our bodies being pulled in opposing directions. Stretching out our limbs in opposing directions. Pulling our heads up as our feet firmly plant in the ground as we lengthen our spines.
I'm not a big horoscope reader, but S got me hooked on this Free Will astrology guy. I think what I like about his writings is they're not trying to predict your future. But they usually contain some fairly meaningful advice on how to reflect and proceed in life.
I love mine this week. It's so easy to get caught up in self-reflecting and labeling and pigeon-holing and classifying. So easy to try to define exactly who we are and what our purpose is and how we relate to the people in our lives. Right?
I spend a lot of time thinking. I process outloud constantly. And, whatever we do in life, we're constantly telling our own stories. And trying to figure out what that story should look like. Molding our choicies into the expectations we've created about these stories. Defining our own leading character.
So what better advice than this:
It's hard sometimes for my brain to wrap around the idea that opposing truths can coexist. Opposing descriptions. Opposing ways I relate to my world and those in it. Opposing emotions. Opposing actions.
A great example of this is my shyness. Do you know that I'm shy? I am. Even though I "overcame" it enough to talk to strangers and am known as a social butterfly, I'm still shy. It's there. It will likely always be there. I have to remind myself that it is there. (Why am I nervous about this interaction? Why don't I want to answer the phone or go to this party?) I can mute it, but I can't delete it.
People ask big, impossible questions like, "Is there a moment that changed your life?" And I always hate those questions. Not one moment changes your life. Every moment does. Every choice. But some effect us more than others.
Switching out of private school and starting public school in 8th grade was a pretty big deal for me. All I knew was that small school. But this new junior high opened and we felt it was time for the change. Cedar Heights Junior High. The two closest junior highs fed into it. Everyone from one school thought I went to the other. And vice versa.
It was a transitional year. It had its highs and lows. But in a profound moment, a friend who rode the same bus home as me encouraged me to run for class office. She told me she would vote for me. A few other people on our bus said they would too. I thought, "Why not?"
I read a poem as part of my speech. I was totally that teenage girl who carried her journal around and wrote angsty poetry. Who let her hormones spill onto pages of scribbled notes and rhyme schemes. Who am I kidding? I am still very much her, just the adult version.
But to share what I'd written in front of my entire class? That was a pretty big deal! It terrified me. I remember looking at my hands shaking in front of me. I'm sure it didn't all come out right.
I won that election. And started doing a lot more things that took me way outside my comfort zone. And I still do. Regularly.
As comforting as comfort is, I also feel comfort in feeling uncomfortable.
Fast forward a decade and a half. I'm nearly 30 and feel at home interacting with strangers and in front of crowds. But I still feel that rush of shyness, the creeping red cheeks, the flurry in my tummy - when asked to speak in front of a new group of people.
I clowned for 5 years, and still got nervous before every single event.
So, opposing forces coexist within me. I am shyly bold, self-consciously confident, apprehensively socialable.
This is one example. I'm sure there are many more to explore. But this is me relishing in NOT knowing who I am. So we'll let the paradoxes sit, as I juxtapose myself.
I'm not a big horoscope reader, but S got me hooked on this Free Will astrology guy. I think what I like about his writings is they're not trying to predict your future. But they usually contain some fairly meaningful advice on how to reflect and proceed in life.
I love mine this week. It's so easy to get caught up in self-reflecting and labeling and pigeon-holing and classifying. So easy to try to define exactly who we are and what our purpose is and how we relate to the people in our lives. Right?
I spend a lot of time thinking. I process outloud constantly. And, whatever we do in life, we're constantly telling our own stories. And trying to figure out what that story should look like. Molding our choicies into the expectations we've created about these stories. Defining our own leading character.
So what better advice than this:
Usually I overflow with advice about how to access your soul's code. I love to help you express the unique blueprint that sets you apart from everyone else. Every now and then, though, it's a healing balm to take a sabbatical from exploring the intricacies of your core truths. This is one of those times. For the next ten days, I invite you to enjoy the privilege of being absolutely nobody. Revel in the pure emptiness of having no clue about your deep identity. If anyone asks you, "Who are you?", relish the bubbly freedom that comes from cheerfully saying, "I have no freaking idea!"I have no freaking idea who I am.
It's hard sometimes for my brain to wrap around the idea that opposing truths can coexist. Opposing descriptions. Opposing ways I relate to my world and those in it. Opposing emotions. Opposing actions.
A great example of this is my shyness. Do you know that I'm shy? I am. Even though I "overcame" it enough to talk to strangers and am known as a social butterfly, I'm still shy. It's there. It will likely always be there. I have to remind myself that it is there. (Why am I nervous about this interaction? Why don't I want to answer the phone or go to this party?) I can mute it, but I can't delete it.
People ask big, impossible questions like, "Is there a moment that changed your life?" And I always hate those questions. Not one moment changes your life. Every moment does. Every choice. But some effect us more than others.
Switching out of private school and starting public school in 8th grade was a pretty big deal for me. All I knew was that small school. But this new junior high opened and we felt it was time for the change. Cedar Heights Junior High. The two closest junior highs fed into it. Everyone from one school thought I went to the other. And vice versa.
It was a transitional year. It had its highs and lows. But in a profound moment, a friend who rode the same bus home as me encouraged me to run for class office. She told me she would vote for me. A few other people on our bus said they would too. I thought, "Why not?"
I read a poem as part of my speech. I was totally that teenage girl who carried her journal around and wrote angsty poetry. Who let her hormones spill onto pages of scribbled notes and rhyme schemes. Who am I kidding? I am still very much her, just the adult version.
But to share what I'd written in front of my entire class? That was a pretty big deal! It terrified me. I remember looking at my hands shaking in front of me. I'm sure it didn't all come out right.
I won that election. And started doing a lot more things that took me way outside my comfort zone. And I still do. Regularly.
As comforting as comfort is, I also feel comfort in feeling uncomfortable.
Fast forward a decade and a half. I'm nearly 30 and feel at home interacting with strangers and in front of crowds. But I still feel that rush of shyness, the creeping red cheeks, the flurry in my tummy - when asked to speak in front of a new group of people.
I clowned for 5 years, and still got nervous before every single event.
So, opposing forces coexist within me. I am shyly bold, self-consciously confident, apprehensively socialable.
This is one example. I'm sure there are many more to explore. But this is me relishing in NOT knowing who I am. So we'll let the paradoxes sit, as I juxtapose myself.
1.24.2010
Tingle in My Toes
1.24.2010
That tingle in my toes
now finds its way
freely all the way
up my legs
up my spine
and comes out my breath
and my gaze
and my laugh
and my dreams.
My dreams are so close and clear I can touch them,
Read in them,
Do math problems in them.
I'm walking in a blissed out haze of sleep
And sleeping in a chilled out maze of music
That tingle in my toes
Curls them
Stretches out my legs
Arches my spine
And evokes my breath
and my gaze
and my laugh
and my dreams
That tingle in my toes awakens me
From deep complacency
Deeply sedentary
That tingle in my toes frees me
From quiet apathy.
Confined reality.
My toes tap with constant anticipation
The tingle is a sweet realization
I'm awake.
now finds its way
freely all the way
up my legs
up my spine
and comes out my breath
and my gaze
and my laugh
and my dreams.
My dreams are so close and clear I can touch them,
Read in them,
Do math problems in them.
I'm walking in a blissed out haze of sleep
And sleeping in a chilled out maze of music
That tingle in my toes
Curls them
Stretches out my legs
Arches my spine
And evokes my breath
and my gaze
and my laugh
and my dreams
That tingle in my toes awakens me
From deep complacency
Deeply sedentary
That tingle in my toes frees me
From quiet apathy.
Confined reality.
My toes tap with constant anticipation
The tingle is a sweet realization
I'm awake.
1.15.2010
Ode to Gray.
1.15.2010
You may never see
quite what I see
in him.
But he is my beliefs
and how I see the world.
I chose him as my favorite years ago.
He is often unseen.
Misunderstood.
He lurks in quiet shadows.
Creating depth in contrast.
He shields me from blinding sun:
a calm blanket over the city.
He's the ground I stand on.
The sidewalks I tread.
He's the stones I throw.
The stances I take.
The ways I relate.
He's hot breath on cold wintry nights.
The fading blue of water disappearing in twilight.
He's the city scape.
Unsaturated.
Yet strong. And bold.
He's the sign of aging.
The cool of raging.
Melting perfectly into everything around him.
Within his shades, you'll find me.
quite what I see
in him.
But he is my beliefs
and how I see the world.
I chose him as my favorite years ago.
He is often unseen.
Misunderstood.
He lurks in quiet shadows.
Creating depth in contrast.
He shields me from blinding sun:
a calm blanket over the city.
He's the ground I stand on.
The sidewalks I tread.
He's the stones I throw.
The stances I take.
The ways I relate.
He's hot breath on cold wintry nights.
The fading blue of water disappearing in twilight.
He's the city scape.
Unsaturated.
Yet strong. And bold.
He's the sign of aging.
The cool of raging.
Melting perfectly into everything around him.
Within his shades, you'll find me.
12.30.2009
Friends are kinda like good art and music and stuff.
12.30.2009
I love when I'm experiencing artistic expression - getting completely lost in patterns, rhythms, expectations and predictability - and then the anomaly happens. The variant. The surprise.
Like when you're listening to a song you've never heard before and you can sing along the first time. But then you find yourself surprised by a dissonant note.
A key change.
A bridge.
An accessory that pops.
A lyric that doesn't rhyme.
It's the juxtaposition of styles and genres.
Like the first time you notice color in a black and white photograph.
Or an object protruding from a painting.
It's mixed media.
The essence of jazz.
And improv.
Pure comedy.
Twisting plots.
Interesting character flaws.
It's when I know I love a friend.
When I'm getting lost in their patterns, habits, predictability, loyalty.
And then they surprise me. Share a new layer of themselves. A fascinating story. An unusual hobby. A simple, unexpected gesture.
Here's to the friends and family who surprise us daily.
Like when you're listening to a song you've never heard before and you can sing along the first time. But then you find yourself surprised by a dissonant note.
A key change.
A bridge.
It's clashing colors.
An accessory that pops.
A lyric that doesn't rhyme.
It's the juxtaposition of styles and genres.
Like the first time you notice color in a black and white photograph.
Or an object protruding from a painting.
It's mixed media.
The essence of jazz.
And improv.
Pure comedy.
Twisting plots.
Interesting character flaws.
It's when I know I love a friend.
When I'm getting lost in their patterns, habits, predictability, loyalty.
And then they surprise me. Share a new layer of themselves. A fascinating story. An unusual hobby. A simple, unexpected gesture.
Here's to the friends and family who surprise us daily.
12.24.2009
One gaudy little Christmas mouse.
12.24.2009
It's hard this time of year to not be a tad pensive; reflective on the year that passed and the years that have passed, collectively. It's a season that evokes intense emotion for many. Total bliss and quiet sadness dance together in unexpected ways.
We're over-induldging in comfort foods and favorite treats while anticipating the lifestyle shift as we embrace health in New Year's resolutions, right around the corner. After at least one last evening of imbibing on sparkling wine, that is.
------------
Earlier this year, my mom's oldest sister, Delphine, passed away.
My Mom is the second youngest of seven children - 5 girls and 2 boys. The men moved to Southern California, the other siblings raised their families in the Midwest, but my Mom and Aunt Delphine raised theirs in the Northwest.
Delphine and her husband, Gene, had six children of their own. I have so many fond memories over the years spending the holidays with the Kettler family.
One year, Aunt Delphine and Uncle Gene were living in West Seattle and all six kids were still at home, and they were hosting Christmas. My Mom figures this was probably in the late 1960's.
My Mom had gone to Gov-Mart Bazaar, a place where you could find very inexpensive (read: cheap) little things. (Looks like it was later acquired by Thirfty Payless.)
She got a bag of little tie-ons for Christmas gifts. Most of them were little bells, etc. One of them was a little mouse.
But this was no ordinary mouse.
This was an ugly, gaudy little mouse. It wore a gold lame dress. It carried a baton. It had dangly little legs. It was tacky.
It ended up on a gift from my Mom to Aunt Delphine. Who knows what the actual present was. The kids couldn't stop laughing.
My Mom recalls that Maxine laughed so hard, she cried. Everyone was rolling around on the floor laughing. The Kettlers are known for their fabulous senses of humor, afterall.
And a tradition was born.
This ugly, gold-lame-wearing, baton-holding, straggly little mouse became an annual joke. Year after year, it would be passed back and forth. Pieces and appendages started to fall off. The lame dress looked more and more tattered with every year.
Some years were missed. Hectic holidays. My Mom started her own family (enter Carter and Noelle). Grandma Kampa rotated through living with her children.
One particularly hectic year, my Mom just hadn't quite gotten around to taking down the Christmas tree. When she finally did, on March 31st, she found the little mouse tucked away in its branches.
My Mom joked with her, "You put that mouse in the tree just to see when I'd take my Christmas tree down!"
The mouse broke free from only being a Christmas tradition. The two sisters would tuck it into a birthday present. Mail it for the 4th of July. It would end up in a kitchen cupboard or a bookshelf - just waiting to be discovered. Sometimes it would show up at the kids' homes, where Aunt Delphine had been visiting.
This mouse was passed between Priscilla and Delphine for, likely, around 40 years!
When Aunt Delphine passed, my Mom had hoped to place it in her coffin. When this didn't happen, she realized it is probably because the mouse needs to live on. When I go there this holiday season, I'm going to try to find it and, at the very least, take a photo of it. And, cousins, don't be surprised if the mouse continues to circulate for many more years to come.
I'm thankful for the time we shared, earlier this year, celebrating Aunt Delphine's life.
In loving memory of Aunt Delphine. You are missed.
We're over-induldging in comfort foods and favorite treats while anticipating the lifestyle shift as we embrace health in New Year's resolutions, right around the corner. After at least one last evening of imbibing on sparkling wine, that is.
------------
Earlier this year, my mom's oldest sister, Delphine, passed away.
My Mom is the second youngest of seven children - 5 girls and 2 boys. The men moved to Southern California, the other siblings raised their families in the Midwest, but my Mom and Aunt Delphine raised theirs in the Northwest.
Delphine and her husband, Gene, had six children of their own. I have so many fond memories over the years spending the holidays with the Kettler family.
One year, Aunt Delphine and Uncle Gene were living in West Seattle and all six kids were still at home, and they were hosting Christmas. My Mom figures this was probably in the late 1960's.
My Mom had gone to Gov-Mart Bazaar, a place where you could find very inexpensive (read: cheap) little things. (Looks like it was later acquired by Thirfty Payless.)
She got a bag of little tie-ons for Christmas gifts. Most of them were little bells, etc. One of them was a little mouse.
But this was no ordinary mouse.
This was an ugly, gaudy little mouse. It wore a gold lame dress. It carried a baton. It had dangly little legs. It was tacky.
It ended up on a gift from my Mom to Aunt Delphine. Who knows what the actual present was. The kids couldn't stop laughing.
My Mom recalls that Maxine laughed so hard, she cried. Everyone was rolling around on the floor laughing. The Kettlers are known for their fabulous senses of humor, afterall.
And a tradition was born.
This ugly, gold-lame-wearing, baton-holding, straggly little mouse became an annual joke. Year after year, it would be passed back and forth. Pieces and appendages started to fall off. The lame dress looked more and more tattered with every year.
Some years were missed. Hectic holidays. My Mom started her own family (enter Carter and Noelle). Grandma Kampa rotated through living with her children.
One particularly hectic year, my Mom just hadn't quite gotten around to taking down the Christmas tree. When she finally did, on March 31st, she found the little mouse tucked away in its branches.
My Mom joked with her, "You put that mouse in the tree just to see when I'd take my Christmas tree down!"
The mouse broke free from only being a Christmas tradition. The two sisters would tuck it into a birthday present. Mail it for the 4th of July. It would end up in a kitchen cupboard or a bookshelf - just waiting to be discovered. Sometimes it would show up at the kids' homes, where Aunt Delphine had been visiting.
This mouse was passed between Priscilla and Delphine for, likely, around 40 years!
When Aunt Delphine passed, my Mom had hoped to place it in her coffin. When this didn't happen, she realized it is probably because the mouse needs to live on. When I go there this holiday season, I'm going to try to find it and, at the very least, take a photo of it. And, cousins, don't be surprised if the mouse continues to circulate for many more years to come.
I'm thankful for the time we shared, earlier this year, celebrating Aunt Delphine's life.
In loving memory of Aunt Delphine. You are missed.
12.17.2009
Intentional Gadgetry. And reveling in the moment.
12.17.2009
I'm on my way home yesterday, commuting via public transportation from one end of downtown to the other. Earbuds in, listening to music. In my own little commuter world. Headed home, but first to the grocery store to pick up ingredients to make mac 'n' cheese for book club. Making mental grocery list.
I take the bus tunnel. Could walk from Westlake home, but the streetcar is at its southern stop. I get on. Find immediate seat. Thinking about ingredients. Listening to music.
And then I look up. The young man standing next to me is filming another young man and an older gentleman. Small handheld video camera. Pause.
Earbuds out.
Nothing life altering, but I sit and watch the younger man ask the older man about his paper-folding business. As the older man works slowly on folding a flower and talking about his website domain on go daddy. Look for a documentary featuring an interview of a paper folder on the Seattle Streetcar, coming soon to a theater near you.
It was a good reminder, however ultimately uneventful it was, to take the earbuds out. Put the phone away. Raise my gaze and pay attention.
It's a frequent topic of conversation in these iphone/crackberry/camera/mp3-player days. We all have these gadgets that can do some pretty phenomenal things.
As our guide in Thailand took video of us interacting with Burmese children, I was thankful he had that gadget on him.
When I get a funny, random text message from a friend, I'm thankful for our mutual gadgetry.
But when it takes away from our capacity to be in the moment; to truly listen to and witness the world around us; to be present with the people we are interacting with - That's where our technology has the potential to fail us.
I'm no luddite. I think technology can be used for good, and can actually help connect us in remarkable ways. It is powerful stuff. But it can also be addictive and distracting and take us out of the moment.
When I was sitting at Banya5 the other night with two dear friends, this came up. Our phones were all locked away. Other than a clock on the wall (which reminded us how long we had until they closed) - there were no signs of the outside world. We were able to relax, relate and be completely present.
We reveled in this.
A word surfaced in our conversation. Being intentional with technology.
Intentional.
Music can set a mood and a soundtrack to your day. Intentionally disconnecting from the world around you and listening to songs that will lift your spirits? Sounds like a good use of time.
But then, so is intentionally leaving your phone off for awhile. Letting it settle to the bottom of your bag. Leaving it at home altogether. Easvesdropping and people watching on the bus. Paying attention to things as you navigate downtown streets - like music echoing through alleyways and creative grafitti.
(Like the little silver stencils of people figures that showed up rather recently along 9th Ave N.)
The second night of our island stay in Thailand, we went to the beach to watch the sunset. The night before had been stunning. But when we got to the clearing and saw the horizon, there were a lot of clouds. It was hard to tell whether we'd get a sunset as bold as the prior night's.
And then we looked up and noticed a little rainbow up above the clouds. We all sat and watched as one little rainbow turned into three - colors shifting, moving, dancing, playing off eachother.
Definitely goes down as one of the most spectacular things I have ever seen.
And I didn't take a single picture.
I couldn't.
It was too beautiful to get behind another gadget and spend time playing with settings and trying to capture it perfectly. (Which never would have happened.)
I needed to just watch it, through my own eyes, and fully experience it. Our group got a photo in front of it. I didn't join. Because that would have required taking my eyes off of it. And I couldn't.
I didn't want to understand the science behind it. I didn't want to break it down or have it explained to me. And I know I'm not doing it justice by attempting to describe it here.
I don't have a picture (that I took at least) of one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my entire life.
And I couldn't be happier about it.
I take the bus tunnel. Could walk from Westlake home, but the streetcar is at its southern stop. I get on. Find immediate seat. Thinking about ingredients. Listening to music.
And then I look up. The young man standing next to me is filming another young man and an older gentleman. Small handheld video camera. Pause.
Earbuds out.
Nothing life altering, but I sit and watch the younger man ask the older man about his paper-folding business. As the older man works slowly on folding a flower and talking about his website domain on go daddy. Look for a documentary featuring an interview of a paper folder on the Seattle Streetcar, coming soon to a theater near you.
It was a good reminder, however ultimately uneventful it was, to take the earbuds out. Put the phone away. Raise my gaze and pay attention.
It's a frequent topic of conversation in these iphone/crackberry/camera/mp3-player days. We all have these gadgets that can do some pretty phenomenal things.
As our guide in Thailand took video of us interacting with Burmese children, I was thankful he had that gadget on him.
When I get a funny, random text message from a friend, I'm thankful for our mutual gadgetry.
But when it takes away from our capacity to be in the moment; to truly listen to and witness the world around us; to be present with the people we are interacting with - That's where our technology has the potential to fail us.
I'm no luddite. I think technology can be used for good, and can actually help connect us in remarkable ways. It is powerful stuff. But it can also be addictive and distracting and take us out of the moment.
When I was sitting at Banya5 the other night with two dear friends, this came up. Our phones were all locked away. Other than a clock on the wall (which reminded us how long we had until they closed) - there were no signs of the outside world. We were able to relax, relate and be completely present.
We reveled in this.
A word surfaced in our conversation. Being intentional with technology.
Intentional.
Music can set a mood and a soundtrack to your day. Intentionally disconnecting from the world around you and listening to songs that will lift your spirits? Sounds like a good use of time.
But then, so is intentionally leaving your phone off for awhile. Letting it settle to the bottom of your bag. Leaving it at home altogether. Easvesdropping and people watching on the bus. Paying attention to things as you navigate downtown streets - like music echoing through alleyways and creative grafitti.
(Like the little silver stencils of people figures that showed up rather recently along 9th Ave N.)
The second night of our island stay in Thailand, we went to the beach to watch the sunset. The night before had been stunning. But when we got to the clearing and saw the horizon, there were a lot of clouds. It was hard to tell whether we'd get a sunset as bold as the prior night's.
And then we looked up and noticed a little rainbow up above the clouds. We all sat and watched as one little rainbow turned into three - colors shifting, moving, dancing, playing off eachother.
Definitely goes down as one of the most spectacular things I have ever seen.
And I didn't take a single picture.
I couldn't.
It was too beautiful to get behind another gadget and spend time playing with settings and trying to capture it perfectly. (Which never would have happened.)
I needed to just watch it, through my own eyes, and fully experience it. Our group got a photo in front of it. I didn't join. Because that would have required taking my eyes off of it. And I couldn't.
I didn't want to understand the science behind it. I didn't want to break it down or have it explained to me. And I know I'm not doing it justice by attempting to describe it here.
I don't have a picture (that I took at least) of one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my entire life.
And I couldn't be happier about it.
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