Home Sweet Home

Photos from my backyard.

I had a weird day last week where nothing seemed to work. I woke up feeling energized. Motivated to do something physical. Run, hike, be out in nature. My mind was clear and I decided to take Roxy for a walk to Carla & Doug’s. Perhaps it was a little ambitious for her. The roads were full of cars and noise yet I pushed her to continue, mean mom that I am. "It was only about a mile," I thought. She’s done twice that recently. “She’ll be fine.” And she was, although when we got there, no one answered the door.

Having a craving for Doug's quinoa pancakes I decided to wait. We walked around back with the newspaper I’d collected from the driveway and was startled to see Doug and Carla sitting on the back patio clearly embroiled in their conversation and needing privacy. Feeling a little embarrassed, I sheepishly excused our intrusion and we walked home.

So then there was the decision about what to do with the day. I decided to drive to Nederland (Neverland?) by way of several stopping points that someone had suggested earlier in the week. Road map in hand, I headed out expecting to hike and sit by a swimming hole or at least the high waters of Boulder Creek, and maybe photograph some wildlife. We stopped at Boulder Falls and seeing an endless rock stairway, realized it was not the hike for Roxy and continued on to Nederland looking for a lake or a pond with some relief from the heat so we could just hang and read and relax, and she could play with a ball and swim. There was a beautiful reservoir but of course she couldn't swim there so I kept driving. We came across an arts festival and decided to explore the town by foot. Maybe it was my mood, but I just wasn’t connecting with anything or anyone. We spent an hour or so wandering the art booths and left.

Nearly five hours later and feeling somewhat frustrated by the endless driving without really getting anywhere, we ended up back home. No sooner did my mind get to, “What a waste of a day,” did I stumble upon two beautiful bucs having dinner in my front yard. As I meandered the long dirt driveway, one just stared at me while he munched the leaves of a tree not 10 feet from my car. I was reminded of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when she declared to everyone hovering over her after her return from Oz, “I shouldn’t look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn’t there, then I never really lost it to begin with.”

As I got out of the car and shot off a few frames from my camera before the deer took off, I realized that sometimes it takes leaving and returning to see what we’ve had all along. And that just because we think we need to leave the Kansas part of ourselves behind, we never really do. Those parts are always there for us whenever we are ready to welcome them back in.

Sometimes stepping back, taking a break from our roots, our “selves”, our ordinary lives, our partners, our families, our jobs, our home towns, often helps us see the exceptional in the ordinary. And that it is the ordinariness of life that is really extraordinary. Just waking up every day and seeing the sun shine, the birds sing, the ocean roar, your children laughing, your best friend in bed next to you, is more than enough. The human experience of love and loss, of planting a garden, of having a job to go to, preparing and sharing a meal, these are all the truly incredible things we often take for granted. It is the underlying reason I’m divorced. I can see that now. And I still carry around some of that sadness for not having been satisfied with the extraordinariness of my life. Sometimes it takes leaving (or losing) in order to see what we've had – to see how incredible one’s life already is when we go searching for something more. Sometimes it’s too late to return. And we can either learn and go forward, or not. We hope that others, perhaps our children, will learn from our so-called “mistakes” (which of course really aren’t mistakes) and that they will be spared our painful lessons. But of course no one can learn our lessons. Everyone must have their own.

So here I sit wondering where home really is, feeling split between two places that I love. The Florida I left to explore the parts of myself long ago left behind at the doorstep to marriage. And the Colorado which holds so much promise for the me that has learned from my choices. Am I still searching for Neverland? I know now that it doesn't exist somewhere out there. And if I'm not careful, I will once again miss the perfection of today.

Oh Auntie Em, there’s no place like home.”

Moving On

So I’m packing up the house in Granby today and getting ready for part IV of this adventure, when I spot a moose outside my door. Not 100 yards away as has been typical of my time here. No, I mean literally less than 10 feet away outside my door! He is munching a baby aspen while I am at the computer. I catch a glimpse of him as Roxy sends her danger warning relentless bark. He is the size of a horse! And I cannot believe my good fortune. My last night here and I am beside myself with excitement. I grab my camera and head outside. I will upload photos another time. Suffice it to say, I feel incredibly lucky to have seen him tonight and will take that as a sign that it is time to move on.

I am looking forward to this next phase. The silence has been purposeful and I have processed a lot of emotion. There is no underlying angst. Moving on feels right.

I spent the weekend completely focused on photography at a workshop held by Perry Conway, an incredible wildlife photographer, and landscape photographer Gary Haines. It was fun and interesting and the weekend flew by!

At the beginning, Perry explained that his intention was to help each of us get to the next level regardless of our starting point. Some of us were beginners and others had been shooting for years. I wondered how he would be able to manage the different levels and was amazed that he could cover all the basics without having it feel too basic. His personal attention to each of us out in the field coupled by a very detailed seminar with his awe inspiring nature photography slide show set the bar really high and kept me involved at a heightened level. I came away with a much deeper understanding of my camera, other essentials, and the environment in which I plan to spend more time shooting.

I was up at 3am on Sunday in order to meet up with the group by 5. We climbed Mt. Evans (by car) and then hiked down to an almost secret community of 1500-year-old trees at the crack of dawn. The light was spectacular. And it was much warmer than anticipated. I started shedding layers as I got deeper into the scene. Perry made a point of reminding us to pay attention to the things we might otherwise pass by. It kept me very open to things I might have dismissed as unimportant. Kind of a metaphor for what we tend to overlook in our daily lives.

After the trees, we drove to about 12,500 feet in search of "animals." To everyone's delight, we encountered a number of mountain goats and big horned sheep who tentatively trusted our proximity as we inched closer to their feeding ground. We drove to the tippy top at 14,000 feet. Cyclers were pedaling up this monster mountain by the dozens. I cannot believe how fit people are here in Colorado! I hope you enjoy these photographs as much as I did shooting them!

Yesterday I learned that there is a small ski area right here in Granby and during the summer it is open to mountain bikers. How did I miss this? There is so much here and I’ve barely scratched the surface – the nearby lakes and protected wilderness areas for hiking / fishing / cycling / mountain biking / nature photography / horseback riding / rafting all combine to make for an idyllic summer. Plus there are music festivals and farmer’s markets, friendly people and incredible weather. I will be back!

Life Is An Ad-Venture

It’s been a while since my last blog entry, and I have to say, things are quite different since then. I’m venturing out everywhere – hiking the hills around and beyond this beautiful piece of property, and I am amazed at how quickly I’ve adapted to the silence and the wilderness. The birds are singing their spring is here song! The daffodils are blooming and the buds on the aspens are opening. I can’t wait to see them shimmy in the sunlight. The moose haven’t shown up at my door for days – no doubt headed to higher ground now that the weather is warmer - but the deer are everywhere in the early evening and not too skittish. Chipmunks and squirrels scamper here and there foraging for food. Even the ants are busy rebuilding after a long cold winter.

I once read that there are thousands of life forms in a single scoop of soil. I can see that now. As I spend more time in nature, my respect for everything and everyone increases. We are so interconnected and interdependent. To see the life cycle in action is thrilling.

It’s hard to go to the grocery store now without thinking about where all this stuff comes from. The effort that goes into preparing the soil, planting the seed, harvesting the crops, processing the food, taking it to market. I am grateful to the animals who have made the ultimate sacrifice so that I might enjoy a meal.

Sometimes we don’t even know what we will get when we prepare the soil. Being here, stepping outside the familiar, has been like a soft voice that has been calling to me for years, hoping I would pay attention. I don’t know what awaits me as a result of this detour, but I am certain I am headed in the right direction. Doing what I love connects me deeper and deeper to a world that is right for me.

Other than email and my incessant ranting to Roxy, sometimes I go for days without speaking. It’s quite comfortable now. I enjoy being with just me. The guilt is gone. The need for a routine has vanished. The fear that had haunted me for a while has dissipated. I don’t require entertaining. And even though I miss the energy of certain people, I am quite content to be by myself. Of course that could be because I’m not really alone and this is temporary. But I’ve settled into the solitude and know that I will miss it when it is gone. To be able to do what I want, when I want. What a luxury!

Can you imagine? Eating and sleeping when you are hungry or tired rather than on a schedule. Working when it inspires you. Exercising when your body has the urge. Taking a walk or baking or painting or writing or reading or just exploring outside when the mood strikes you. And the best part is I actually get a lot done. I don’t think I do any less work with this kind of loosely defined structure. I’m quite productive. And enormously inspired. I spoke with a client yesterday and can’t wait to work on the new projects we discussed. Work is fun again! I think I'm giving telecommuting a whole new meaning…

That feeling that never used to leave me of having endless to do lists and never getting caught up has vanished. That stressful rush rush rushing about to complete this or that on deadline, the whole measurement of time thing is gone, and a weight has lifted. Sometimes I have to think hard to remember what day it is. Saturday is not necessarily a day off and Monday is not necessarily a work day.

This has shown me that there actually is quite a lot of time in the day. And that choosing a life is made up of lots of tiny choices every moment of every day. How did I get here? Steve Jobs once spoke to the graduating class of Stanford University about “connecting the dots” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1R-jKKp3NA (please watch this!). And how when we look back on life, it all makes sense, but it is difficult to see the benefit of certain experiences, especially painful experiences, while we are going through them. Disappointments have a purpose. And we must trust in this and have faith while we navigate life’s challenges.

“Choose carefully,” my sister Cathy once advised me. “Your decisions will be felt for years to come.” Did I even know that I was laying the groundwork for a lifetime when I chose things like life partner, career, place to live? How many of these things did I do unconsciously, or even worse, how many did I do carelessly? I can think of more than a few…Do I have regrets? Some. But I am not taking those with me anymore. I am simply learning, letting go, and moving on.

My eyes are wide open now. There is no more time to waste. I will make time and space to continue this journey once I am back to living in a more “normal” situation. I will be still. I will not hold back out of fear. I will treasure my obligations. I will make space for the things I enjoy. I will spend time with those I love. I will listen to my heart and trust my instincts. I will venture out in nature to ensure that I am paying attention. And I will be more confident in my decisions.

I am reminded of Tim McGraw’s song “Live Like You Were Dying”. Every day brings us one step closer to death. So we might as well live as though it’s our last. Once you really feel that in your bones, decisions are easy. Having all this open time and space has certainly shown me life’s boundaries. Venture out!

Where am I?

I’m starting to get a little antsy here in my Granby rental. The weather has kept me indoors for the most part as I did not come well prepared for the snow, and it has been snowing on and off since I arrived 5 days ago. I chose to leave most of my snow clothes in storage silly me. What was I thinking???? I was thinking, "It will be spring and I’m not interested in skiing so let’s leave it behind." Of course it is all perfect since my reason for coming here was to be somewhat reclusive and focus on my painting / writing / photography. Is this not what I asked for? Thank you Universe!

Roxy doesn’t seem terribly excited to go outside either and refuses to walk much. The roads are uneven and rocky and cold and wet and I imagine maybe even a little scary for a dog that has grown up at the beach in mostly warm weather. And then there is the unsettling feeling of not knowing what wildlife is out there in this remote area. Would I feel more secure with a pistol? Perhaps, but I do not have any interest in owning or shooting one even though somehow it seems like the wise thing to do. I am reminded of Meryl Streep and Robert Redford as they faced down a charging lion in Out of Africa and I feel like a fish out of water. What happened to the days of living in the Green Mountains of Vermont? It’s not like I’m a rookie, is it? I suppose that spending the majority of my adult life in the tropics has transformed my mountaineer persona. Nothing I can’t relearn though…

The painting / photography / writing thing is going well. I spent a good part of the day at the computer yesterday working on client materials. I’m reading a lot and preparing healthy meals. Listening to music all day long and continuing to study the market. Yesterday I approached the baby grand in the living room and much to my delight, could actually read the Beatles songbook and enjoyed playing “If I Fell”. It must be at least 25 years since I banged out anything of substance on a piano. So why then did I play only one song and walk away?

I’m not exercising or meditating, though I long to. I am looking into yoga classes and researching the hiking areas nearby and will do some of that tomorrow.

This is by far the weirdest experience I’ve ever had. To be honest, I love / hate it. The solitude that is. I feel somewhat guilty that I am not doing more than I am. That “doer” instinct is nagging me to achieve achieve and have more to show for it at the end of the day. Allowing myself the time and space to wander from one thing to the next without rules is somewhat daunting. The work habit, the life that revolves around that, is hard for me to leave behind, even if it is only temporary. I dabble in this and that rather than immersing. I am easily distracted by my thoughts and do not seem to be able to fully embrace any of the things I am wanting to do. With all this time on my hands, there is too much time. With all this peacefulness, I am not feeling very tranquil. I “should” be doing more!

Does it all boil down to believing that more is the answer? To do more. Be more. Have more? When am I going to accept that it is all enough right now just as it is? Of course pushing through this wall is what this is all about and I actually see that I'm doing that. I worked on my painting today and I am starting to see it come together. I set up a yoga / meditation area in the house. And the sun just came out! Hallelujah!

I miss my townhouse by the beach. There I’ve said it! I do. I’m still processing some of that sadness I suppose. And wondering what will be next. Where will I live? It is difficult to live with so much uncertainty in a space that is so foreign and unfamiliar. There are none of the usual comforts – friends, family, familiar surroundings - to give me the illusion of certainty. I wonder where I will be a month from now. Two months from now. What is it that makes me feel this is any more uncertain than any other time in my life?

I know that the beauty here, in Granby, Colorado, is astonishing. And I am glad I came. It is more than just the scenery of course, although that is the catalyst. The beauty I see is tempered by a tremendous amount of fear - more than I expected. The questioning, the doubts, are challenging me to be present. Before I know it, I will be moving on from this too and I just need to be still. It's funny how even in such a silent space, there is so much chatter.

Namaste.

Manifesting and Fear

I have imagined this trip with this camera (a Canon Mark II 5D with a 24-105 zoom lens) for about a year-and-a-half now. Maybe more. My friend Casey offered to give me the money. My kids wanted to get everyone in the family to chip in as a gift. And each time the possibility came up, I wasn't ready to accept it. Until now. And even though the way it actually did manifest is not necessarily the way I would have wanted (don't we all have a specific scenario about how we want everything to be?), and there were many challenges to overcome before getting here, every time I use this camera I am completely blown away by the way I feel - so absolutely absorbed in the moment. In the seeing of the world through that lens. In the beauty that is all around me all the time even though there are many moments when I don't see it. And I realized that photography, this camera that I imagined for myself, is my portal to seeing and being me. To living actually.

I've realized that not every photograph has to be a masterpiece. Some are links to something else. Some are simply exercises in the process that will bring me to the next place. And the inescapable joy that I feel in the doing is more than enough reason for doing it.

I've let go of comparing my work to those I admire and decided that to simply love the doing is more than I could ever ask for. Allowing this is helping me to define my own voice. I see that my work is good enough right now even though it will get better. Even though I've not yet captured that one incredible moment when the light and the energy and the action all work perfectly in sync. That my voice is unique and I do not have to look like someone else or be like someone else in order to be important. That if others do not see what I see or relate to what I value, it is OK.

There is no doubt that I have disrespected my voice and hardly recognize it as my own. And I am beginning to understand why it is I needed to let go of a house that I loved in order to get here. Why I needed to go through certain painful experiences, the life I thought I would always have, married, living with a guy I loved, comfortably entrenched in that as the envelope to everything else, be completely and irrevocably ripped apart. Without all the shake-ups, I wonder if I would be doing what I am meant to be doing right here right now.

It's funny the choices we make and why we make them and how that creates certain outcomes. How when we are at a crossroads and we choose to go left instead of right, how it defines our life. Many of our decisions are made from fear. Fear of loss. Fear of growing old. Fear of death. Fear of being alone. Fear of not having enough money. Fear of not being successful enough. Fear of being harmed. Have I left yours out?

If I had allowed my fears to drive me I would not be doing this. There were so many fears and not just my own. There were the fears of others weighing heavily on my shoulders as I packed my car and hit the road refusing to allow them to change my direction. And as I pulled away, the tears streaming down my face and the tension building in my gut, trying to resist looking in my rear view mirror, I saw my father wiping tears from his eyes. And my heart just ached.

Thank goodness for Sirius radio. I put on the "coffee house" and let the openness of the highway help me breathe. Gradually the tension lifted as I carried a car load of stuff and a dog towards the mostly unknown.