On Cities

“Loneliness is personal, and it is also political. Loneliness is collective; it is a city. As to how to inhabit it, there are no rules and nor is there any need to feel shame, only to remember that the pursuit of individual happiness does not trump or excuse our obligations to each another. We are in this together, this accumulation of scars, this world of objects, this physical and temporary heaven that so often takes on the countenance of hell. What matters is kindness; what matters is solidarity. What matters is staying alert, staying open, because if we know anything from what has gone before us, it is that the time for feeling will not last.” 

― Olivia Laing, The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone 

Here we are, a tangle of bodies, a mess of dreams, a web of plans and to do lists and uncertainties, all navigating this maze of streets and sidewalks, the never-ending stream of transportation, together.

When I breathe in, the man in his reading chair next door waiting for the kettle to boil exhales. When I wake up to the sun, the wandering souls out on the street behind are just returning from a dance with the night. While I am paying my electricity bills there are people down the street struggling to make ends meet, there are sleeping bag-wrapped bodies in every train station. While I can’t pry myself out of bed on the down days, there is laughter echoing against the lampposts from those who have seized the adventures of the day.

Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about the strange human experiment that is a city – all of us piled on top of each other, just trying to carve out as much space for ourselves as possible. Sometimes I feel like I’m suffocating; every venture out my door feels like drowning in a sea of strangers, gazes, looks, other people running errands.

My heart craves stillness. My brain doesn’t lose momentum because the background noise never stops, there is no Off button to the City.

But on the other hand, there is something so intriguing, so utterly intoxicating, about the shared pulse of this place – when the sun comes out, I feel connected to millions of other souls whose hearts are beating a little bit faster, our cheeks flushed with warmth and the fleeting optimism of sunshine in April.

When I can’t pull myself out of my head as I’m walking down the street, just wanting to be back home under my duvet, I see three little children riding their bikes down the sidewalk, giggling and flashing their smiles like today is the very best day, and tomorrow probably will be, too. And I feel my lips curling up and my heart burning for the sanguineness that fills childhood to the brim. And suddenly my walk home becomes lighter, I am pulled out of the negative self-spiral and placed back into the universe where we are all connected.

There are days when I simply can’t bear facing another stranger’s face. I think maybe I feel collective energy so deeply that the city can sometimes be an overwhelming complexity of intensity and forces that are coming from every direction, that are hitting my ribcage from every angle and making their way into the chambers of my own heart.

Do I put my armour on every day before I leave? Or will this also block the serendipity, the chance encounters that become stories, life-forces, pivots in our path?

You don’t know loneliness until you’ve been surrounded by 8.78 million people and still felt excruciatingly alone.

When that tree down the road has begun to blossom and you want to show someone its beauty but there is no one, but simultaneously everyone, and you feel the urge to just shout about the lovely blooms to the next person who approaches you on the sidewalk.

But then the other night, as I was walking home, I paused in my tracks and smiled at the fickleness of it all, of my on-again/off-again relationship with cities. The sun had set and I was looking up at the moon, no headphones in, just listening to the sirens and the chit chat and the slow beat of the speakers down on the high street where a man was rapping to a hip-hop/reggaeton track outside of the station. I was passing by this cute white row house that I’ve always admired (because of the perennial orange berries that climbed along the black wrought-iron fence surrounding their front garden) when I heard the heart-wrenching tune of a violin melody spilling out from an open top-floor window. I stopped walking and closed my eyes, listening to the melancholy hum of the strings, my own private concert.

And I took that moment and tucked it away in my back pocket, for all the times when I will inevitably feel lonely again. For that moment, I was connected to that solo musician in the top left window of the white house I admire every day on my commute home. I don’t know him/her, although maybe I have passed them before on the street, or in the Yogurt/Cheese aisle in the Tesco down the road, or in line for the cash machine that’s next to the flower stand (the flower man only takes cash).

So I sit here, reveling in the duality of it all. I can hold both; the suffocation of the people & the buildings & the never-ending noise and stimulation together with the beautiful serendipity, the eternal opportunities, the communal highs and lows, the joining of sighs and umbrellas opening and windows flying upwards to let in any faint hint of spring.

I don’t know where I’ll end up, but I know where I began (in empty fields, on sprawling lakes, climbing the bluest mountains). And I (kind of) know where I am now – living amongst millions of other people’s beginnings, middles, and endings, aligning my timelines with theirs, sharing this space to grow and fall and mess up and hit life milestones and phone home and build a new home and try to find a decent patch of nature every once in a while..

I don’t know if its harmony that we are living in or chaos, or some sort of blended chaotic harmony that both pulls me apart and stitches me back together again. But for now, this is where I am. And may I continue to be rooted firmly, in the midst of it all.

“Why should I feel lonely? Is not our planet in the Milky Way?” -Thoreau

On Eclipses

Crescent moon shadows during the eclipse on my grandma's porch

 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the concept of eclipses. Anyone who knows me knows I was obsessed with the recent complete solar eclipse that could be seen across the U.S. My little hometown happened to be one of the places where you could view complete totality – the pictures my family sent are absolutely breathtaking.

It is just such an overwhelming concept for me to fathom – we were literally able to witness space in action; for a few minutes the world paused and recognized just how teeny tiny we are, how little control we have, how the moon can block out the sun and there is absolutely nothing we can do about that.

After the fact, there were loads of articles on “the loss of productivity” during those 2-3 minutes, the net millions of dollars lost because people took a moment to pause and look up. As interesting and noteworthy as those articles may be, the truly noteworthy aftermath of the eclipse was put best into words by travel writer and (a personal fave) inspiration guru Jedidiah Jenkins: “..the fact that our country is suffering a divided conscience, a broken heart, and a polarized confusion like nothing I’ve seen in my life…and the sky would go black, inviting every single human being in its path to stop for a few minutes and gaze, is a bit of a miracle, a cosmic gift. And it sliced right across the whole damn country as if on purpose.”

Must we let things go fully dark before we figure out how to (re)approach the light? In a solar eclipse, the moon totally eclipses the sun. There is no half-assed exposure, no smiling to hide the pain, no blanket of light to cloak the rawness of the shadows. This covering can only happen at a new moon, in an alignment called syzygy, when the Sun and the Moon are in complete conjunction as seen from the Earth. That last part is interesting – it’s all about perspective. The planets and the moons are in constant motion every day, but sometimes it takes a physical representation of this to stop us in our tracks and remind us that the Sun and the Moon are a team of forces working within us, simultaneously.

This incredible wonder of the universe was visible to our inconsequential human eye. That is just about the definition of awe. But, as Shannon Ables of the Simply Luxurious Life said, “We can’t wait 99 years for nearly 3 minutes of awe…Do we need to be told when something is significant? Do we need to be witnessing the beauty with millions of people for it to be an event worth slowing down for and savoring?”

I think not. As I’ve moved into a new chapter of my life, I’ve experienced a lot of friction between my “old life” and this “new life.” In this new life, pretty much everything as I previously knew it has changed – my home, my physical location, my family, my employment status, my schedule, the foods I eat, the currency I pay with, my healthcare system, the way I pay my bills, my proximity to the ones I love, the type of life I have to lead. Again, I was expecting this and am not complaining – rather, I’m emphasizing the fact that no one actually really knows what they are getting themselves into or knows how they will deal with the results of their decisions. You can plan and prep all you want, but it comes down to just making the decision and having a strong foundation to weather the aftershocks.

The only constant, as is usually the case, is me. Here I am again, navigating through a tumultuous ocean with the trusted strength of my own hand, the compass in my heart that I’ve worked so hard to strengthen and calibrate.

So if I am not to capsize, all I have in my boat is myself and the love and support of a few beautiful, loved humans who have volunteered as my life vests, to lean into. This life requires a lot of energy, mental and physical, and I’m trying to learn how to expand my days. I’m practicing lunging deeper to get the full experience of being, pushing myself to jump to the next lily pad, even though the last one seemed pretty comfortable. Stretching out time and breathing in deeply until the sun has moved behind the earth. At the same time, I’m trying to work out the delicate balance of simultaneously knowing when to scale back, giving myself the permission to sometimes just do what needs to be done and let that be enough. How do I know the difference between when I’m pushing myself to my limits because that is the life I crave and when I am pushing myself as a form of punishment or avoidance, when really I just need rest?

It’s a delicate balance. A syzygy. One that sometimes can be seen on the outside, a full eclipse, obvious distress, a physical change. But, as I was reminded by Dr. Jeremy Goldberg in one of his most recent (very aptly time) Long Distance Love Bombs newsletter, “Remember, it’s how it feels that matters, not just how it looks.”

My mom told me that during the few moments of complete totality, the temperature dropped about 7 degrees. It was lunchtime yet completely dark, the crickets came out, the animals went to bed. In the same way, my 180 degree change has made me stop in my tracks and really dig deep – what do I want, what feels right – to remind myself of the winding road that led me here. I am strong in my convictions, and very in tune with my body, and sometimes what I feel inside and know to be true does not match up with what I hear, see, read, scroll through on Instagram..

But, ultimately, it is about how it feels. It’s that connection I crave, that voice bouncing back at me from the dark cave walls. Like the moon literally blocking out the sunlight, forcing the world to pause, sometimes a soul just begs to be brought to the surface – especially when that soul has repeatedly been denied access to the light, has been brushed into the shadows either by its physical human home or other relationships or life events. The only way to recognize when you are shhhsing your own voice is to pay attention to how stuff feels (poetic, yeah?)

Liz Gilbert says an artist is “anyone who walks through the world saying don’t erase me.”

I create because I want to be seen. By others maybe, but also by myself. My authentic self is yearning to escape the stifling, the shoving away, the quieting, that it has repeatedly endured. It wants to feel what it feels, not just when it is convenient. It wants to love so fiercely and feel so deeply, sometimes to an extent that is beyond everyday human experience.

And the incredible thing is, we all have the capacity within us to allow ourselves to be seen. Whether it’s through creating, speaking, connecting, growing deeper in our relationships, leaning into our hardships, moments of awe and pivot surround us every day, if we choose to notice them. There is it again – the balance, the cycle.

I recently read a piece by Connor Beaton, author and inspirer, in which he said “Isn’t it mind-blowing how many of us pay for truth, connection, and reality—but don’t show up when it’s right in front of us?” We crave buzzes and likes and taps as some kind of artificial connection, we drink away our realities and constantly subscribe to new fads, diets, drugs, training programs, yoga classes, and beyond. But if we haven’t already quit/cancelled/dropped out, when we begin to engage with these new things, we are actually only halfway plugged in, because the other half of is busy looping into some new promise of “connection.”

“The worst thing we can do as a seeker is to sign-up for everything and show up for nothing.”

If you crave something, get it. Just that one thing. Savour it. Pause, and then continue.

If you commit to something, whether it be friends or a work assignment or something else entirely, give your all to that thing. Engage fully. Pause and immerse yourself.  The rest of the world will always be there; all of the things waving for your attention aren’t going anywhere.

Serve the people who show up. Show up for them.

And above all, recognize that we all hang in a delicate balance and the moon and the sun don’t really care about our earthy desires – both the Sun and the Moon out there in the solar system and the ones that reside inside each of us, representing our brightest highlights and also our darkest corners.

I don’t know about you, but I am so, so tired of resisting the universe. Of questioning my gut, of caring about how much space I take up in this world. I want to be comfortable with the space I inhabit, to let my voice echo off the walls, to cherish the opinions of those I care about AND to honor what I know to be true. Energy spent on the opinions or thoughts of some colloquial, undefined “others” is energy well-wasted. I’ve spent a lot of time as a planted seed, building up confidence and watering myself with honesty and love so I can burst through my skeleton shell. I want to honor that time that was taken, those experiences endured, by imbuing the time I have now with intention and purpose.   

My life is such a work in progress, but if there’s one thing I know, it is that I am not content with scraping the bottom of the barrel of existence.

This eclipse shook me to the realisation that sometimes you really do just need to let things go fully dark – feel the full gamet of emotion – in order to fill yourself back up with the most energizing light. Just make a decision, do the thing, without knowing how it will play out. But – make sure you allow yourself the space to feel, expect there to be some whiplash and don’t beat yourself up about it.

One of the most cherished pieces of advice I’ve ever received from my mother is, “You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

And maybe life is about figuring out what exactly it is that fills your cup.

Once it’s gone pitch black, once your tank is on reserve fuel, you must take the time and give yourself the space to “top up your glass,” as the people in my new home country say. Jury is still out on how to do this without internal judgement and without feeling like you are teetering on the precipice of an existential crisis, but hey, at least I’ve made it one lily pad further.

That’s as far as I’ve gotten, but it’s something. A well-deserved pause.

 

On Heaviness

a cloud is an iron weight
a feather is a ton of bricks
when you're anchored down
to an immovable heaviness.

Crushing weight on the lungs makes every breath a bit harder, a bit sharper. Breathe, breathe, (I'm told), but this is no easy task - a stone tied to a leg pulls the body deeper, deeper under.

Life is so excruciatingly beautiful sometimes its almost too much to handle; yet still I must push aside the heavy black curtains to let the light in.

I run, I jump, I dance, I twirl in the madness of it all; my chains drag along making patterns in the sand.

The wheel creaks on; the grinding grinding grinding makes rust.

Sometimes I wonder
should I just stay inside
if bathing in the sunlight sears my flesh
and waltzing in the rain opens my wounds?

Alone alone you trudge on.

Warm, sweet shower licks your tired body and kisses you with steam / hot tears roll down the cheeks, hidden.

You must be strong
you must be strong
gain composure
for another round

but who is being strong for me?

a pit
in my stomach
a bird
locked away
wings clipped
no flying today

a thief in the night came, took everything you gave.

Alone alone you trudge on.

You must be strong
you must be strong
gain composure
for another round

but who is being strong for me?

xx mm

On Helplessness

As I've said before, I think that I've been put on this earth to feel and feel strongly, to carry burdens and help out with heavy loads because the universe knows I can hold them. It's taken a while to prove to myself that I am strong enough to hold them, but alas, that is only the first step. Once you've dealt with your own pain, figured out how to quiet your demons and live amongst the wolves, there is a whole other dimension to explore - that of other people's pain.

If I've been given this gift of extreme empathy, this iron strength and (sometimes detrimental) commitment to perseverance, shouldn't I open them up to other people? My life will be a continual process of learning how to wield my powers - I'm picturing Harry Potter & crew as wild-eyed babes figuring out those wands (levi-ooooh-sah), then years later battling the darkest of darkness, all the while still figuring out how to hone their particular skills (alohamora & all that shit). As I grow and expand, I feel it would be a waste of my time here to not at least try and ease others' aches.

I've been very careful on my journey to make sure I don't approach empathy as a selfish pursuit. I truly want to do my part so that someone else doesn't have to go through the same depths of pain unwarranted - and if they are already there, I want to serve as a guidemap. Not a guidebook, mind you - I don't have the answers, I don't know what's "right" or "wrong" or anything like that. But I do know the darkness, I know how to exist there, how to blindly feel out for the walls. I am good at having conversations about this darkness, which, in turn, brings a little bit of light.

What I've never really been confronted with until recently, however, is that sometimes "easing others' pain" is a lot more nuanced than it sounds. It's not as simple as being presented with Problem X, figuring out what you can do to help with Problem X, and then doing that. Sometimes "easing" means leaning into the hurt. Sometimes it means discovering that there is actually another issue entirely. And sometimes, "easing" means doing absolutely nothing.

I've become accustomed to sitting with uncertainty.

Not knowing how things will turn out, but pushing on anyway. 

No one tells you how hard it is to sit with helplessness.

To watch someone crumple and completely lose their footing, and to just be a loving bystander.

That, I think, is where the beauty of humanity can really shine. In the unheroic, unflashy, usually-gone-unseen, act of true compassion. Just sitting, just being with another in the midst of their struggle. Acknowledging that you can't help end it, but you can sit quietly in the middle of it, refusing to let someone suffer alone.

Sometimes that is all you can do - and it is hard - but it is enough. I think. I hope.

* * *

I want to lay by your side and warm your cold back, I want to stare right into the eyes of your demon and refuse to look away. I want to hold your hand when it shakes, I want to keep talking even though you don't talk back, I want to love you even though you may not love me, I want to show you the sunset even though you just want night, I want to laugh deep belly laughs even though you can't join in, I want to shower you with smiles even though your pain makes me cry. 

And I want to sit with you in silence if that's what you need. I want to just occupy space around you. I want to breathe the air of your devil and spit it back in his face.

I will open all of the windows and let the rain pour in.

I will be your blanket, I will be your comfort, and I will be here. This to you I promise.

* * *

xx mm


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For more information on signing up for therapy, please visit https://www.betterhelp.com/start/ <3  

Isolation & Loss - NEDA Week

from "Year 16," a film by Delaney McCallum

It's been proven that potentially the worst punishment for any human is extreme isolation. Isolation quite literally "warps the mind," and our physical chemistry can unravel if we are in situations of prolonged aloneness. According to a BBC article, "chronically lonely people have higher blood pressure, are more vulnerable to infection, and are also more likely to develop Alzheimer's disease and dementia." In addition, loneliness "interferes with a whole range of everyday functioning, such as sleep patterns, attention and logical and verbal reasoning."  Social isolation also "unleashes an extreme immune response – a cascade of stress hormones and inflammation."

To be clear, this is not about the time-out that everyone needs periodically, the extra five minutes alone in the bathroom, the Sunday spent alone with Netflix, or even a general tendency to prefer introversion. No, I'm talking about a different kind of loneliness - a profound sense of being entirely disconnected from not only other people, but also from yourself. It's how I imagine it would feel to be an astronaut disconnected from the space station, sent hurling through black nothing-ness with no will, and no reason, to fight.

Disordered thoughts, which are a symptom of many major mental illnesses (depression, anxiety, eating disorders, bipolar disorders, to name a few) are like a silent killer. Our medical system tends to attack the physical symptoms of your ailment - weight loss/gain, poor metabolism, sleep problems, hair loss, poor circulation, brittle bones - with a vengeance. In fact, I think what I'm going to call "the war on drugs" is a shared experience of many people who have battled mental illness. A slew of pills thrown your way (some of which may work wonders - disclaimer: I am not here to hate on pharmaceutical treatments. Just to say that they themselves are not an end-all-be-all cure), when really your soul is trying desperately to find itself again, to gulp down any sign of familiarity with every water glass-head back-pill in-swallow.

You end up in this weird limbo, this stretching and expanding and then snapping back, curling up inside of yourself because you can't remember your worth. As my beautiful baby sister articulates in her experimental film "Year 16," your thoughts and dreams and fears can run rampant, but then you "can never remember how it ends." Stuck. Alone. Delaney's film brings tears to my eyes every *single* time I watch it (and I've watched it a lot..) because it is so raw in its simple yet profound articulation of the truth of this experience. Stuck inside the cage of your own mind, you wonder if you are just weaker than everyone, if maybe happiness isn't meant for you, if this is what life is just like.

I would highly recommend giving this vid a watch - it will make you feel feelings you didn't know you had. If not for that reason, because it also won Best Original Score at the All-American High School film fest (the instrumental score composed and performed by, you guessed it, Delaney McCallum. Oh, and also the vid helped snag my sis the title of a 2017 Young Arts Cinematic Finalist. Surround yourself with people who create honest beauty - I am a lucky one to call this artist my family.

Watch this baby in full-screen, volume all the way up, here.

In relation to eating disorders in particular, my friend-soulmate Riya is able to articulate the push and pull of social isolation extremely well. In an article for The Mighty, Riya wrote, "An eating disorder fills in for the interpersonal relationships a person lacks, but seriously needs, in their life." Riya told me that she thought people were out to get her when they would mention they were worried about her/her weight, so she would choose to avoid people altogether. And therein is the toxic cycle - we are in so much pain, steeped in so much self-loathing, and craving human connection. Yet our starving brain always gets the last word - and that is that people are out to get you, to take away this piece of you that is so "special." (Spoiler alert: it's not special. *understatement of the year*)

Here are some more very insightful words from my friend and fellow recovery warrior:

Those suffering from anorexia are usually often secretive and fixed to their rigid routines. It brought me an immense amount of stress and anxiety to even think about breaking my daily pattern. I would tell friends I would meet them at a party, only to cancel sometimes five minutes before, even though in my mind my decision to not go had been made long before. I was attached to my standard meals at my desk, where I would feel most productive. I would not be able to eat without Netflix open, playing Gilmore Girls in the background, giving the illusion of familiar friends in the room with me. Then I’d take a bite, and type my essay. It was an exasperating cycle of “I don’t want to be here. But I need to be here. I’m getting stuff done. I want to be here,” and “Why do I want people? When I’m with people I don’t want to be with them. When I’m alone, I want to be around people.” I just could not win. I could not make myself happy. I wasn’t allowed to be happy.

Read the rest of Riya's article here!

I recently came across a poem I wrote circa 2011 which I think encapsulates the feeling of loss that can come with isolation. My heart aches for the girl who penned these lines - a Madeline who felt robbed of her sense of excitement, her perpetual wonder, her adoration for every little thing on God's earth. This girl was left in bewilderment, wondering how she had blinked and suddenly lost herself - it's not a conscious decision, you don't just decide you hate yourself and then actively change your behavior. And to be quite honest, I still don't have the answers for how it happens and I doubt I ever will. All I know is that this sense of loss of an entire chunk of my life has haunted me for a very long time. I will never get those years back, those wandering, empty, lonely years.

a poem by me, c. 2011

I used to stand on the mountain
I used to look down at the sea.
I used to gaze at the islands,
the cozy little keys.
I used to stand on the rooftops,
hear the cars and the dogs
struggling to see the skyline
through the haze and the smog.
I used to float on the lake
I used to climb in the trees
I didn't listen to the questions,
they didn't apply to me.
Days would go by
and the rooster would crow
I used to capture the fireflies
and watch as they would glow.
Time passes and with it brings change,
oozing through the cracks in the door
and before you know it the snowman is gone
the chalk's not on the sidewalk anymore.
I used to light all the candles,
I used to lay in the grass,
I used to name the color of the sky
and count all the clouds as they passed.
I used to pick flowers for Mama
just because they were there and so was she
I used to laugh at my teachers' jokes
and have my dolls over for tea.
I used to take things for granted
I never thought that I might forget
about the secret club in the bushes
or the bird that I had as a pet.
I used to stand on the cliff,
not knowing that eventually I'd fall
I used to keep all the bottle caps;
Now I've lost them all.
I used to wonder what I'd look like
after the next school year passed
I would never buy my ice cream first
just to make it last.

_______________________________________________________

Do you think you may need to speak to a professional, but are struggling to find the time and the right person? Consider online therapy. Please see https://www.betterhelp.com/ for more information <3

If this post resonated with you, or touched you in any way, please consider donating to my Project Heal campaign for National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Help me fund a treatment grant for someone in need - a floating astronaut, an empty shell, a lonely, wide-eyed young girl who lost her youth to her demons. Any donation would be so much appreciated <3

Find my fundraising team here: https://www.classy.org/fundraiser/913265

xx mm

NEDA Week Intro

And even through the near decade long journey I have been on, even after the times I have ripped the Band-Aid off and exposed my wounds to the world, even after the musings I have shared with the pubic via this platform, I am still scared. Scared to share, scared to talk. To have my journey, my honesty and my strength and my conviction, used against me. But the one thing I will never waver on is my commitment to not only helping myself heal, but also to providing the same kind of nurturing platform to others.

My heart aches for the suffering souls of the world. Upon taking time to really think about how I could possibly help, I figured where my hands and my heart could be of most effective, immediate use is in a cause near and dear to my heart. This week (February 26-March 4, 2017) is NEDA Week, and even though I am still absolutely terrified to be so vocal on the subject, I know that the help I can give and the support I receive makes it more than worth it. I have created a project that you will see unfold here this week - a project that aims to bring together a group of people who have things to say, stories to tell, and friends to support and highlight. Throughout my journey, I have found the concept of community and connection to be more and more important. As I learn and grow and challenge my vulnerability by reaching out to others, I find strength and confidence in my core beliefs. I have made it my mission to help others along their own journey, to speak for them when their voice is faltering, and to do everything I can to help others open the road to their own recovery.

On that note, I have started a fundraising group for Project Heal's NEDA Week campaign. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of all mental illnesses, and about 90% of all Americans clinically diagnosed with an eating disorder will never receive treatment. However, recovery is possible - it just happens to be widely expensive and out of reach for most Americans. 

From Project Heal's site:
"Contrary to the widely circulated myth that full recovery is impossible, appropriate treatment can make life without an eating disorder truly a reality. Treatment provides tools to fight back against eating disorders by developing self-awareness, new healthy habits, and alternative behaviors for coping."

If you feel so inclined, I would really appreciate any kind of donation you are able to give to my fundraising team. 

Help me provide others with the key to unlocking their own strength and will to live here.

Look out for stories to come this week, highlighting both the unimaginable depths of darkness encountered in this journey as well as the incredible tenacity & light to be found on the other side.

On Change

I didn't come this far

to only come this far.

I've been struggling for a long time to form some kind of coherent reflection on everything that 2016 has been. The trouble is that this January will represent for me not only the end of one year, but the end of almost a decade long fight, the end of nearly five years in a very grueling environment, and many new beginnings in new locations. It is so much all at once that it is hard to hone in on just any one feeling - they are all bursting to be felt, but instead end up mixing all together into one giant vortex of emotion so strong that I would rather just turn off and not feel. Am I proud? Am I sad? Am I happy? Am I scared? Hopeful? Excited? Scared? Stressed? Anxious? Yes and no and everything in between.

The world kind of feels a bit upside down at the moment, in more ways than one. Yet I meditate on the Rumi quote that tells us, "Try not to resist the changes that come your way. Instead let life live through you. And do not worry that your life is turning upside down. How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one that is to come?"

I gravitate to the line "Let life live through you." How do we do that? This past year has made me really cognizant of time. The passing of it, the speed of it, the unpredictability of it. We never will know when ours is up. Also, I am very tired of the "I don't have enough time" line. There is no such thing as "enough" time. There is just time. And we all have the exact same amount. It's all about how you choose to allocate it. The way you choose to divvy up your time speaks volumes about your character - it illuminates the truth way better than any other actions and certainly better than words. By giving one thing more time than another, or more focus or energy, you are consciously making the choice to give that one thing precedence. It may not be a case of wrong or right, but it is a strong statement nonetheless. In 2016 I urge myself and others to stop using time as an excuse and to start better articulating our priorities - bring it all up to the surface, really ask yourself why when you begin to say "I don't have enough time." What is it that you are giving the most importance? Is it really the most important to you? The way we focus our time is the way we focus our life. 

It's hard not to feel really disheartened by the world, where it seems that most people have actively chosen that what is most important to them is their own comfort regardless of the well-being of others, regardless of the hate, bigotry, and ignorance that comes with that stagnant comfort. Sometimes I feel like I'm grasping desperately for something to give me strength, for some kind of bandage for my gaping wounds. If there's one thing I've learned, it is that the saving has to come from within. No one gives me bandages; I must create them on my own. In a recent She Reads Truth post, writer Raechel Myers gave some advice that resonated with me:

"Look for the helpers."

Myers said, "It was Mr. Rogers who shared this insight with us -- advice his own mother gave him when he would see scary things happening as a child. 'You will always find people who are helping.'"

In the midst of all this scariness, we must look to the ones who are reaching towards those who are hurting. There are always those choosing to spend their time focused on lifting others up. In my own time of immense change, I want to allocate my precious time towards those who aim to help, to lift up, to bring energy and lightness and active consideration. I also aim to be a helper myself - I want to learn from my time in the valley so that I can better recognize the signs of someone else headed there themselves.

Change brings with it instability, and I think that's part of the reason why it is so threatening. The future is foggy, the ground isn't sturdy, yet we are being asked to keep blindly walking forward. I must admit, there have been times recently when I wasn't sure whether I wanted to keep trying to walk. And I finally realized it was okay to give myself that. I let myself hurt. Somedays you don't have to fight - it is alright to pause, take off your armor for a bit, and curl up to hold yourself together. Meditate on your pain; grieve the loss of the familiar. And once you've filled your cup back up, cling to your strength and the inner stability that can never be affected by change.

One thing that has really opened up my eyes this year is a widening sense of my own agency. I have an innate power within me to be content, to facilitate my own emotional states within myself. And by being in control of how I handle a situation, I in turn will allow others the space to do this for themselves. Your kindness gives others the energy to be kind as well. As Sheena Mannina of Raw Talk with Sheena says, if we expect when we meet someone else that we are going to see that same essence of self, of love, of depth, then we are going to manifest those things in the other person. We must approach a situation or another person with love and depth, no matter how different it/they may seem, in order to fully immerse ourselves in what that situation or person is going to teach us. What you believe is what you are going to perpetuate.

All I can do is try to be the warmth that has become so absent in this world. We have enough judgment, enough shame, enough hatred - too much. It's the easiest thing I can do to just be kind, to give people the benefit of the doubt, to not be harsh with my words and to lift up anyone I can with light and strength and honesty. In no way do I think I will be able to affect everyone on this planet, but if I have been given a kind heart, an intelligent mind, and a caring soul, it is the least I can do to use them and spread them around, especially during this time of so much hurt.

At the same time, one of my goals for the new year will be making sure that I reflect some of this kindness back onto myself. I need to work on nourishing my sturdy roots with encouraging words and messages of courage and durability. Change is a lot - it is a time when we see the true colors of those around us, when those in our circle who truly care to hang on during this whirlwind rise to the top, and those who allocate their energy elsewhere slip off. Change can hurt, but we cannot be afraid of hurting. Change is a necessary part of life, and the way it makes us feel all comes from the mindset we approach it with.

All of this I try to keep in mind in the midst of a universe that seems to be becoming more unstable with every turn. We'll see how it goes...I am only a work in progress. But the key is that I am moving; I am progressing; I am trying; I am pushing against the hurt and choosing to grasp onto the healing. I hope you will join me.

xx mm

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