Posts by t0r0x

Word

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Word

“I would rather die of passion than of boredom.” – Vincent Van Gogh

I have friends, many friends to be precise, who annually choose a word to use as a touchstone or a reminder of how they want to live for the year. Over the years, I’ve marveled at the wonderful words they’ve chosen to guide their lives. I love the simplicity and beauty of having just one word to keep in check and stay on track.

For the past several years, as the year’s end approaches,  I’ve watched as one friend and then another announces their annual word. I too have searched for the perfect word to guide my year. Instead, I struggle and in the end am unable to come up with single word for myself.

So while my friends sashayed into each new years with words like “curiosity” and “freedom” and “purpose” and “wonder” and “fierce” attached to them, I trudged along behind them wordless.

It was disheartening to say the least.

A couple of months ago, I was docenting a group of high school students through the art at the High Museum. They were researching a writing project for school and the information I provided would figure into the final assignment. Concerned that I had covered the topic adaquately, I checked with one of the teachers to make sure I had hit all the required points. She reassured me that I had and then added, “I really enjoyed your tour today. You’re so passionate about art.”

I appreciated the compliment, and I really loved that she recognized how much I love sharing art with people. It’s true. I am passionate about art.

Over the next several weeks this word “passion” kept coming up. A friend comment on my “passion” regarding a topic we were discussing. An acquaintance noted my “passion” on a particular subject. People began to say things to me like, “wow, you’re really passionate about that” or “I love your passion.” I found the frequency the word was being attached to me…curious.

I ruminated on the word “passion” for a bit. I turned it over in my mind many times. Finally, I came to this conclusion.

I like feeling excited about the people and things which I surround myself. I want to have an “intense desire and enthusiasm” for my life. When I love open heartedly, when I live my life with intensity, when I throw myself body, mind, and soul into what I’m doing, I find it exhilarating even though this level of intensity can be more than a little intimidating.

I placed the “word” on the back burner because “passion” is kind of a big “word” and I’m not one of those people who has a “word,” and I began making plans for 2015. Without giving it any thought, as I contemplated the projects I would take on this upcoming year, I found myself asking the following questions:

  • Does the idea of doing this really excite me?
  • Will this challenge me?
  • Is it something I care about?
  • Am I truly, deeply passionate about this?

Am I truly, deeply passionate about this?

I had to consider that in spite of my resistance (or because of it) that maybe, just maybe “passion” is a good word for me to use as a touchstone or a reminder of how I want to live in 2015. Throwing caution to the wind, I decided “passion” it is and I immediately felt apprehensive and excited and nervous and more than a little scared.

Then I realized that this is just as it should be. If your touchstone, if your reminder for how you live is with “passion” then being apprehensive and excited and nervous and more than a little scared is probably about right. In any event, it defintly beats bored.

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Full

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Full

Lately my life has been full.

My oldest is home with all his worldly possessions after serving five years in the Marines. My middle has taken over the entire basement with his art studio. My youngest, who is wrapping up her last year of high school, is barely contained in her girly suite.

We have four cars with a fifth one in the plans and a two car garage. Getting in and out requires a game of musical cars from time to time. My and my husband’s home offices are buzzing with activity. Then there’s the holidays with extra food, decorations, and gifts being tucked away in every available crevice and corner.

I find myself holding onto things I normally don’t hold onto. Larger boxes to wrap Christmas presents, the set of dishes I haven’t used in several years, towels, pots and pans, and random glasses and bowls. I keep the two benches that don’t have a purpose, chairs that don’t match, a side table I no longer need, and picture frames, lots of picture frames. There’s a tangle of Christmas lights in a box and cache of gift wrap in the upstairs closet.

And I feel full, almost stuffed to uncomfortable. I itch to load it up and haul it away. To clear the rooms. To make space.

Then I remember.

The holidays will come and go and the larger boxes and extra food and gift wrap and tangle of lights will be put to good use. They will induce smiles and laughter. They will bring us together in ways we can’t yet imagine and in their wake create memories we will hold onto forever.

The oldest is making plans to go to college and get a house. He’ll leave taking all his worldly possessions plus one of the cars plus some of the towels and pots and pans and random chairs and picture frames. I hope he finds a need for a bench or two and will be grateful to see things I no longer need put to good use as he starts his new life in his new home.

The middle will move and the art studio that hums along with his creativity will once again become any empty labyrinth of rooms that I won’t traverse. He’ll take a car and a bed and a couch and a television. He’ll take the shelves that hold his cans of paint and the paint covered tables on which he works. The hum in the basement, the artistic energy, will dissipate leaving a void in it’s wake.

The youngest has college in her sites and will be moving into a dorm next fall. She’ll take a car, her clothes, and the futon from the basement. I anticipate that she’ll keep her room here, at least for another year or two, but the stuff she uses everyday will go with her and the room will be a place she visits on occasion and no longer a place that she lives.

And the rest? The things they don’t take? All that remains?

I will load it up and haul it away. I will clear the rooms. I will make space.

It will feel good and a little lonely and somewhat sad.

Full will not last forever.

So, I decide that today I going to overlook the clutter, I won’t worry over items crammed into crevices and corners, and I’m choosing to ignore the things that have not yet been put to good use. Today I’m playing musical cars with a smile as I walk past the shelves that are over flowing. Today I’m enjoying full.

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Decluttering: The First Step

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Decluttering: The First Step

This post is really only for the person who finds themselves being swallowed by their possessions and who sincerely want to change their situation. If you’re happy just the way you are, by all means, carry on.

The first step to decluttering is to stop buying new stuff.

If we really want to get a handle on the stuff we have, we first have to stop adding to it. We have to commit for a month, a week, a day, that before purchasing anything new we will make sure that 1. we don’t already have one, that 2. we don’t have something else that can get the job done just as well, that 3. we can’t wait and make the purchase later, or that 4. we maybe, just maybe, can get by without the item.

Not buying stuff is challenging. Not running to the store to get that thing-we-are-convinced-will-make-our-lives-oh-so-much-better is a difficult habit to break. Making due is not always fun. Not distracting ourselves from the grind of our lives with a trip to the mall to look at pretty stuff and letting go of the high we get from the purchase isn’t easy. None of this is easy. I know first hand.

So, why should we stop buying new stuff?

We stop for the peace and clarity of mind that comes from knowing how much stuff we have and being able to find it when we need it. We stop because having less stuff means we have more money and more time to invest in the people and things in which we truly care. We stop because we want to live lives that are focused on people and experiences, not things.

Easier said than done? Always. A constant practice? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely.

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Making Space

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Making Space

“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.” ~ Lao Tzu

My daughter finally chose her dress for prom. A lovely black and gold number that I’m sure she’ll look stunning wearing. As she finalized the order, she realized she would need new shoes. She has a pair of strappy, silver heels, but they would clash with her dress.

It occurred to me that I might have exactly what she needed. Excitedly, I hurried to my closet and pulled two plastic shoe boxes down from the top shelf. Each box held one pair of shoes. These were my fancy shoes. Since we wear the same shoe size, one or the other should be perfect.

As she tried on the beautiful, beaded sandals, I had to agree, they would clash with her gown. She dubbed the black pointy-toed pumps “ugly,” She was right. They were ugly and not in the style of the minute.

Shoe shopping trip planned, I placed my fancy shoes back in their plastic boxes and tucked them neatly on the top shelf of my closet. Over the next few days, even though they were out of site, I couldn’t keep them out of mind. I questioned myself as to why I was holding onto these two pairs of shoes.

I couldn’t honestly remember the last time I had worn either pair, and even after careful thought, I had no idea where I had bought them or how long I had owned them. I tried on both pairs again and teetered around the house to my husband’s amusement. Neither pair was the least bit comfortable.

Since they were in good repair and I have the space to store them, I argued (with myself) that I should hold onto them just in case something comes up. Every girl needs a pair or two of fancy shoes, right? Finally, I had to admit that in reality if something did come up, I would probably go out and just buy a new pair of shoes.

I’m a professional organizer, and while I’m sentimental, I’ve never even come close to being a hoarder. I throw things that are damaged or stained in the trash. I happily give away items that others can use. I’m on a first name basis with the employees at my favorite donation center. I encourage my clients to do the same.

In the past six months, I’ve redone every closet in my house, my pantry, and the garage carefully scrutinizing every item in each of these places. Tools, hardware, linens, kitchen ware, clothes, pictures, and decor were sorted through and those items we no longer needed were donated, sold, or trashed.

So, as I contemplated my fancy shoes, the ones that made the cut just a few months before, I had to ask myself why I held onto them. Even though they were in perfect shape and even though I had space, there really was no reason.

Then, it occurred to me that if I let them go, I would have extra space in my closet. An entire eight inches of emptiness. Excited, I racked my brain trying to think of what I could put there in place of the shoes, but nothing came to mind.

I realized that I would have to leave the space empty and that is when a deep, deep discomfort swept over my entire body and a knot slowly began to form in my stomach.

I know that in order to bring new, better, and right into your life you have to let go of old, lessor, and wrong. My mantra for the past five years has been “letting go…embracing change.” Yet, here I was with a death grip on two pairs of fancy shoes terrified of the eight measly inches of empty space on the top shelf of my closet that I couldn’t/wouldn’t be able to immediately fill.

I breathed deep. I settled into the discomfort. I stayed with it until it passed.

The next day, I tried on each pair of shoes one last time to confirm that they were indeed uncomfortable and out of date. Then I walked them to the dining room table and placed them there to donate.

I wondered what other things I had overlooked in my recent purge. As I poked through closets and cupboards, more and more items were added. The nearly new red shoes that I promise are filled with invisible razors and make me cry in pain at the very thought of even putting them on for one second, the plastic cup from the car dealership that nobody in my family will ever use, and several pillow cases, their mates lost long ago.

As I pulled each unneeded item, I made an empty space, and each time I felt the discomfort rise in my body, I breathed through it.

I keep going because I know that it is only in the empty space, in the quiet silent moments, in the free fall that begins the minute we let go of old things, old feelings, old thoughts, and old ideas that change can happen.

I’m making space and holding the emptiness sacred and waiting patiently for the change.

 

– Want to join in? We’d love to have you. Use #making_space and post photos of what you’re letting go of. If you want to see what else I get rid of, please feel free to follow me on Instagram or Facebook.  If you’d like to receive updates in your inbox, you can subscribe using the box on your right. –

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Moving Forward

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Moving Forward

“All is well. Everything is working out for my highest good. Out of this situation only good will come. I am safe.” – Louise Hay

Yesterday, I woke up early and I sat in the pre-dawn hours, cup of turmeric tea close at hand, working on my May calendar. This monthly calendar ritual has become a favorite of mine. Frustrated with the limitations of every “time-keeping organizations” system on the market, I eschewed them all and created my own.

It’s a time consuming task, but I love it. Using a Moleskin, I carefully write each day and date on the top of each right hand page. Then on the top left side of every single page I write a daily affirmation. Finally, I fill in appointments I’ve already confirmed for the month leaving a space to list my accomplishments for that day.

I also have a monthly calendar pages for appointments and to help with long range planing. I tuck both into a leather portfolio given to me many years ago by a mentor. The the smell of the leather, the sound of the pen scratching out the details of my life, and the turning of each page filled with promise for the future centers me.

The night before my husband and I had a long talk. He has lovingly supported and encouraged me to find my path. I’ve been searching for my direction, but after several false starts (via career paths that were not good fits for me), it would be fair to say I’m a bit cautious. I don’t want to end up investing time and energy into something else that in the end does not ring true.

So for the past few years, I’ve treaded lightly. I’ve looked, listened, and contemplated. I’d like to be able to say that I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt where I’ll end up, but I can’t. Not, yet. But things are getting clearer. I’m beginning to own my truth.

In addition, we’ve been able to set things up at home so that I can guiltlessly take more time to delve into these interests I’m pursuing. My responsibility gene is large. It’s difficult for me to pull away from that which I think I need to do and focus on that which I was put here to do. My husband was adament, “if not now, then when?”

I knew he was right.

So, I gave myself permission to lean in a bit. I decided I would take the time and invest. I made appointments with myself to learn and explore. It was scary but exhilarating, and as I finished planning out the month it felt right…very, very, right.

Literally at the moment I closed my May Moleskin feeling braver and more convicted then I ever had, my phone rang. It was my husband. One of key pieces we had in place allowing me to guiltlessly take more time to delve into these interests I’m pursuing had fallen away.

I tried to stay in gratitude, but I was livid. At the exact moment that I leaned in, the bottom fell out. I spent a most of the day racking my mind for a back-up plan, that is when I wasn’t fighting back tears or ranting about the unfairness of it all.

It was not some of my finest moments.

I capped the day with a bit of bad TV, then crawled into bed exhausted. I woke up this morning still angry. Normally I meditate first. Today, I checked my email and popped onto Facebook for a few minutes to make sure everyone was safe and sound.

Then I meditated.

I could hear my dogs, who are always close, breathing gently. I could feel the warmth of their bodies. I allowed all the thoughts, all the feelings, all the hurt and anger and confusion to drain from my body and as I sat, empty, I realized that key piece in place or not, nothing had really changed.

There’s always going to be a bump or a wrinkle to work around. Life is in flux. Life is always in flux. Always.

I just have to stay my course. I have to stay in gratitude. I have to accept what is. I have to keep moving forward in spite of the fear…that’s called brave.

So, that’s the plan. Whether the bottom is there or not, it doesn’t matter. The details always work themselves out. I’m staying focused. I’m moving forward.

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Tackling Overwhelm

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Tackling Overwhelm

“I have so much to do that I shall spend the first three hours in prayer.” – Martin Luther

Lately, I find myself faced with an endless to-do list that in spite of my best efforts just keeps growing. It’s all good stuff. First world problem kind of stuff. It’s just that there’s a lot of it and for every thing I’m able to cross off, I end up adding two or seven or ten new things. We all have busier times. I assumed that after a week or two, things would ease up. Sadly, they haven’t and weeks later this list of things I need to take care of just keeps getting bigger.

I’ve tried breaking tasks down into smaller chunks. I’ve tried scheduling tasks to a specific date and time. I’ve tried making a master to-do list. I’ve even tried delegating. While each of these strategies has it’s merit and some items were completed, many more are still left undone.

The worst part of all this is how I feel. I feel guilty that I can’t seem manage it all.  I feel stressed about the magnitude of what I’m facing. I really want to schedule these appointments and run these errands and make the calls. I really want to finish my docent tour and gallery talk for the art museum and wrap up my EFT certification. I really want to join the class and paint the bookshelf and have lunch with my friend and write. No matter how hard I work, how much I do, there’s just more at the end of each day and I end up feeling like some incompetent looser.

I wasn’t surprised when the crash came. The alarm went off that morning and I just crawled back into bed. I couldn’t do it. Not that day. I stared at the bare branches outside. I contemplated the quagmire in which I found myself. I asked for guidance.

Then I got up and did some laundry. I cleaned my son’s room, hung a rack in my daughter’s closet, and fed the dogs. I sorted through items in the garage and changed the cat liter. I had tea with a friend and chatted with another online. I watched a movie and a television show. I waited for divine intervention.

Finally, it came.

And I realized that I really just needed to let it all go. The answer is not in doing more. It’s in focusing on doing more of the right things. I realized then and there that I needed to redouble my efforts with the important, if I was to have any chance at getting a grip on this crazy making to-do list.

So, I decided that instead of thinking about what I was grateful for, I would write it down. Instead of meditating once a day, I would do it twice. I committed to walking an hour instead of my normal thirty minutes and doubling my time on the yoga mat as well. I promised that every single time I felt the least bit of stress or overwhelm, I would stop and tap. I decided I’d continue to focus on family and friends. I vowed to pray for guidance and pay attention to the signs instead of going it alone.

I realized for me, the best strategy to get a grasp on the overwhelm is to dedicate myself to those practices that strengthen my connection with spirit and honor this earthly existence. A to-do list has it’s place, and  I need to keep mine in it’s proper place. I need to remember and focus on what’s most important. I’m trusting if I can do that, everything else will fall into place.

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Choosing Kindness

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Choosing Kindness

I was chatting with a friend recently when he mentioned that he was living on Ramen until his next paycheck. His rent had recently and unexpectedly increased when his roommate moved out. Being the generous sort and with the holidays and such, money was just a bit tight. He wasn’t complaining. He just stated it as fact and we moved on to the next bit of conversation.

Later that day as I was cleaning up the kitchen, I noticed the avocado, clementines, and pears on my counter. Someone would need to eat them in the next day or two or they’d end up in the trash. As I put items in my pantry, I wondered for the thousandth time who bought the gigantic box of saltines that sits on the top shelf. We’re mostly gluten free and the box is untouched. I thought about my friend and his Ramen and I pondered whether or not he would appreciate a bit of my bounty.

As soon as this idea pop into my mind, I immediately followed my usual pattern. Without a second of hesitation, I began to talk myself out of it. What if he thought I was being stupid? What if he didn’t like the items I shared? What if he were insulted by my humble gift? What if I made him feel bad by giving him some food to tie him over until the next paycheck arrived? What if? What if? What if?

Normally this monologue results in one of two things. I either give up the idea and do nothing, or I drag it out so long that someone else does the very thing I was contemplating doing. This time I changed the conversation in my head. I asked myself if the shoe were on the other foot, if a friend showed up on my doorstep with a few items from their pantry to tie me over until my next paycheck, how would I feel?

To be completely honest, I have an immensely difficult time accepting any largesse be it material or in the form of a kindness no matter how small. I’m frequently dumbstruck when someone does any thing nice for me to the point of feeling flabbergasted and acting stupid.

BUT…

In spite of this, anytime someone spends a second thinking about me from the stranger who holds the door open to the friend who brings me cookies to the co-worker who helps me redo my garage storage system, I’m truly feel immensely grateful and completely humbled.

AND…

The number of times I’ve sat alone and waited and wished without any result that someone, anyone, would take a moment and notice that I needed something and reach out and offer it are too many to count.

SO…

I admitted that if the shoe were on the other foot and I was the one eating Ramen and my friend showed up on my doorstep with a bag of items from their pantry to share with me, I’d be a little surprised but deeply touched. Even if it wasn’t exactly what I wanted, I’d still be happy and feel loved.

SO…

I packed a grocery bag and dropped it off. My friend? He accepted the gift in the spirit that it was given.

AND…

I’ve made what I believe to be an important decision. I’m no longer going to wait to be kind. I’m no longer going to worry about how my actions might be received.  I’m no longer going to question whether or not I should give. I’m just going to do it.

BECAUSE…

At the end of the day, I only have control over how I think and feel and behave. From now on,  I’m going to act on the love. When given an option, I’m going to step up instead of opting out. When in doubt, I’m choosing kindness.

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In the End

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In the End

“Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.” ~ Nicole Krauss 

A few days ago, I came across one of the funniest pieces of writing I’ve encountered in a long time. It was so funny that I decided I had to share it with my husband. I started reading the article aloud to him, but barely three sentences in was laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face. I composed myself. I started again. This time I was only able to read a couple of sentences before the laughter and tears stopped the words.

This cycle of reading, laughing tears, and recompose went on until I finally got to the end. My husband was clearly enjoying my hysteria much more than anything I read. As he returned to his work, he kissed me on the forehead, and noted that he needed to record my laughter, so he could listen to it anytime he wanted.

One of the ways I earn a living is as a professional organizer. Recently, a client and I had spent the better part of the morning sifting and sorting through a lot of boxes in the muggy Georgia heat. As we were wrapping up for the day, she stopped and began to express her appreciation for the work I was doing.

I, of course, threw the compliment right back at her. I reminded her that she was the one who had made all the hard decisions and had really done all the hard work. I was no more than an extra set of hands just helping out. It was then that she looked me right in the eye and simply said, “Denise, take the compliment.” So, I shut my mouth as she expressed her gratitude. I accepted the compliment.

Last Thursday, I was in Atlanta for an event with Living Walls. Each year a group of artist are carefully selected to paint large scale murals on the sides of buildings. As I stood on the corner of Edgewood and Boulevard, I had the privilege of watching a young artist floating high above me in a cherry picker intently painting details on his masterpiece.

As I watched him work, I carefully snapped a few photos, trying to capture the best aspects of his beautiful and intricate painting. I was mesmerized, but finally realized it was time to move on. I took in the painting as a whole, yet again. I scanned it for any delightful details I might have missed. Finally, I glanced up one last time at the artist. He looked down at me (it was the first time I had seen his eyes leave his work), smiled sweetly, and gave me a little wave. I smiled and waved back.

This is all to say that I find myself wanting to linger over delicious meals and take long walks with people I love and adore. I want to listen intently and really, really hear what’s being said in the space between the words. I want to hold hands and hold space, share moments, and love with my whole heart wide open. I crave community and connection, a cup of hot tea, and hugs. I want to roll up my sleeves and give every ounce of love and support I have. I want to look people in the eye and tell them how much they mean to me and how blessed I am to have them in my life. I want to laugh and cry and laugh some more…all at the same time.

I find myself feeling overwhelmed by the sheer mass of it all and I’m tired. I’m very, very tired, and I’m scared.

In the end, only love is real.

So, I’m letting go of all that is not kind, that is not compassionate, and that is not loving. I’m not going to worry about crossing things off the list or rushing towards the end. Instead, I’m putting my plans, my projects, my programs on ice. I’m embracing generosity, reverence, respect, and empathy not only for others but for myself as well. I’m closing my eyes and breathing deep. I’m reaching out to hold hands and hearts. I’m just going to laugh until I cry and cry until I laugh again.

Because, in the end, only love is real.

 

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Silvering

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Silvering

Over the past eighteen years, my hair has been every color from a too dark brown to a light, light blonde. I’ve had highlights and lowlights and washes and tints. I turned my hair green once and a lovely shade of apricot on two separate occasions. All of this has been in an attempt to cover the gray that started poking through somewhere around my thirtieth birthday.

My grandmother’s hair was completely white by the time she was eighteen. My mother’s by the time she had me at twenty-two. I always thought their white hair was beautiful and unique. Neither of them attempted to color their hair, ever. They accepted their genetics and wore their snowy locks like a glorious crown.

In spite of this example, when I found my first white hair, panic immediately set in. I didn’t feel ready to be a white-haired lady and I rushed off to find a solution to what I deemed a problem. I’ve been doggedly trying to cover my white hairs ever since.

At first it was easy. A trip to the salon every six to eight weeks kept my locks the dark brown of my youth. In recent years, the quest to cover the gray has become tedious to say the least. Nothing I or any stylist does effectively conceals the abundant white hair for any longer than a couple of weeks.

There have been many times, especially in the last few years, where I have considered just giving in to my gene pool. I’m tired of trying to solve this problem, tired of sitting in a salon chair, and tired of the white halo that still emerges after every attempt to hide it. I’ll let the white grow in for a month or two but, in the end, I always head back to the stylist for another hit of color.

I have several friends, who like me, started silvering at a tender age. Unlike me, they didn’t hide it. I think they’re beautiful. In addition, whenever I see a woman with snowy locks, I always do a double take. I think they are stunning. So the questions remains, why can’t I do the same. Why can’t I allow nature to take it’s course.

A few weeks ago, frustrated at this dilemma I did an image search for “white hair” and came across photo after photo of gorgeous white haired women. I drove my spouse crazy forcing him to look at the pictures while I discussed at great length whether or not I should just begin the silvering process. I politely accosted several women to discuss their beautiful heads of white hair. They were all kind enough to offer me tips to make the transition easier.

In the end, it all came down to Denise Wade. My best friend for fifteen plus years, she grew up in her mother’s salon and has built a stellar career as a stylist. She gives the best cuts (if you live anywhere near Temecula, CA you must look her up) and I knew that she would be brutally honest.

She’s not a fan of gray hair, but I pled my case, showed her some photos, and promised that I would not become frumpy. I explained that I was going for hip and fit and mature. After much contemplation, she decided that my skin color might be compatible with white locks. She decided I could give it a try.

Prior to visiting her in California, I had already allowed about three quarters of an inch of white to grow. I had  also done a pre-cut to a chin length bob to get rid of the old tinted hair and to make the transition to white faster. Over the next four days Denise worked her magic. Two rounds of highlights, several rinses, and a cut later, I was not quite white but considerably lighter and shorter then I’ve been since my mid twenties.

The whole experience has been unnerving to say the least. I don’t think I look bad but I definitely look different. People who’ve just met me, have had favorable comments, and my friends are supportive. My kid’s reactions have been reserved and in a moment when I caught my poor husband off guard the man agreed that I looked like a middle-aged southern belle. Yes, he still regrets it. Bless his heart.

Everyone says it’s a process and I keep reminding myself of this every time I catch a glimpse of the stranger in the mirror that is now me. In the end, when the last remnants of brown and blond are ancient history, when my hair has grown into the style I want, and when Denise Wade gives her final approval, then and only then will I decide if I like this silvering thing.

If at any point I tire of the process, I can always haul my self into the salon for a color fix. In the meantime, I’m just going to keep leaning in and embracing the change. Thank goodness silvering is a choice.

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A Delicate Matter

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A Delicate Matter

“You share with people who earn the right to hear your story.” Dr. Brene Brown

It’s a delicate matter. It really is.

I really don’t know how to proceed. As I consider my options, a lot is coming up for me and  I keep hearing the words “earned the right” in my head over and over again.

I agree with those who say we have people in our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. As a person who heavily vests myself in those who cross my path, I don’t always like this. As someone who doesn’t want to let go, who wants to stay in the thick of it and work things out, I’m beginning to accept this truth. I’m slowly becoming more at peace with the idea that some people are just reason/season folks and that it’s o.k. It’s really o.k.

Because the bottom line is that not everyone has “earned the right” to hear my truth. Not everyone gets to call me on my bullshit. I don’t always have to work through it or hash it out.

It’s a delicate matter. It really is.

I really don’t know how to proceed. I’m really not sure how one sets the criteria to determine who has earned the right. I’m really not sure how one decides when enough is enough.

I know that for me it’s been a complicated and convoluted journey. I do have a few breaking points, but mostly I’ve had too many spongy boundaries; too many second and third and one thousand and ninety-eighth chances. I’m getting better. I know that at the end of the day the only person who I can save/change is me. I believe that being honest and standing firm in my truth is the best I can do on any day. It’s the best any of us can do.

Because the bottom line is that not everyone wants or needs to be saved (especially by me). People really need to be given the time and the space and the freedom to own their journey, to walk their path, and work out their own issues at their own pace.

It’s a delicate matter. It really is.

I really don’t know how to proceed. My heart is filled with love and respect. I am here and I will stay. I will continue to show up, to be loving, and to be present. I hope that I have earned the right to hear the truth, to call bullshit, and to be part of the conversation as it’s worked through and hashed out.

Because the bottom line is that we need to make sure that the people we allow in our lives have the highest and best intentions for us. We each deserve to be surrounded by people who love and accept us. People who support us. People willing to hold space for us.

It’s a delicate matter. It really is.

I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. I say the wrong things. I do the wrong things. All. The. Time. I ask myself…When I mess up do I make up? Do I apologize? Do I try to fix it? I mean really try to fix it. Or do I arrogantly cleave to my right to be right?

Because the bottom line is that we need realize that while love is unconditional relationships aren’t. Ever. Relationships have conditions and boundaries. Relationships require mutual trust and respect. Always. Relationships require compassion and empathy and time and space.

We earn the right to be in relationships one word, one gesture, one kindness, and one apology at a time.

It’s a delicate matter. It really is.

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