Just Keep Going

Good morning, everyone.

I awoke early in Elgin, a suburb of Chicago, Illinois, in a lovely urban farmette, as my young Airbnb hosts, Mandy and Dan, refer to it. After a 7:30 meeting, my plan is to take my hosts' suggestion and hit up some of the galleries downtown, take some pictures, and then around 11:00, climb back into the Hyundai and make the four-hour trip west to Lacrosse, Wisconsin where I will be the guest at another Airbnb home on the Mississippi River for one night.

Although the trip is unfolding in wonderful ways (some planned, some unexpected), I was seized, upon awakening this morning, with a fear that, up until now, I have only fleetingly acknowledged. Fear is a funny thing. Fear is a dangerous thing. Fear sits in my belly and churns up a storm of emotions. Fear has the potential of shutting me, and this whole circus down if I allow it to have its way with me. Fear reminded me that this is only Day Three, that I still have at least 27 days out here if I intend to complete my epic journey, and that I am getting farther and farther away from home. Fear whispered worry into my heart about my precious cat, Carla, back in Rhode Island, that she may take sick while I'm away. Fear told me lies about my car, my health, my finances, my relationships, my faith.

The truth is, my faith is strong, strong enough to kick fear out of the bed. So, I did what I've learned to do. I got out of bed before fear could have any more of me. I got on my knees and I asked God to keep me, Carla, and all my loved ones in the palm of his hand (thank you, Jodi Gladstone for that image and prayer). And, thank you, Mary Ullrich Anderson for posting this quote from Rainer Maria Rilke.

"Let everything happen to you

Beauty and terror

Just keep going

No feeling is final."

Just keep going. 

Open Hearts Open Doors.

Hi, everyone.

Well, Day One on the road went better than I could have anticipated. Lunch with Mattie was awesome; it was great to catch up with my charming and handsome son, but I wasn't prepared for the sadness I felt when we said our goodbyes in front of his apartment around 1:00pm. Thanksgiving, blessedly, is right around the corner. (And, I'm due back in New England on November 15th, his 21st birthday!!)

From Syracuse University, I drove to North Syracuse where I had the privilege of meeting a wonderful woman I've been Facebook friends with for a number of years, but never actually met face-to-face. Kimberly Balch, thanks for inviting me to your workplace! It was great to meet you and your crew, and to share some of my work.

I spent the rest of the afternoon driving to Buffalo where I got to meet Marivi and her dad, John Howell. Marivi is the youngest Airbnb host in the country, and at 17 years of age, she is a beauty pageant queen and honor student. Her innkeeping efforts at her parents' historic arts and crafts home in the heart of Buffalo, allow her to underwrite her pageant expenses as well as help out with her private school education. Great folks!!!

John Howell directed me to the shops in Elmwood Village where I made a few sales calls. One in particular, Talking Leaves Books, showed promise. More will be revealed in the days to come, and I'm glad my e-commerce website is, at last, functional. While the afternoon itself was rainy, I did manage to take my camera out and shoot a few random images.

Turns out that fellowship in Buffalo is alive and well, and I attended a fabulous Emotional Sobriety discussion meeting tonight. I am always amazed at how quickly a room full of strangers can become fast friends when the sharing is from the heart. Open hearts open doors.

Thanks for tracking along with me, everyone. I'm going to post a few images to Earth's School Of Love fan page, and then call it a day.  I'm leaving Buffalo at 5:00am tomorrow so I can drive to Niagara Falls, cross the border into Canada, and then down through Michigan to meet Sheri Skinner, a woman I knew back in Rhode Island at least 20 years ago. It will be great to meet again!

Setting Off

Good morning, everyone!

The long-awaited Wednesday morning of departure has arrived. It is presently 4:21am in my east coast world, and I am writing these brief words and heading out the door, bound for Syracuse, and then a night in Buffalo with my young Airbnb host, the junior beauty pageant queen. My goal is to sell at least one pack of cards today, take some pictures, meet an old Facebook friend for coffee (we have never met face-to-face), and wear life like a loose garment.

I felt the fear this morning, and got out of my warm bed anyway, petted Carla one more time, held on to Paul for a minute, (though I knew there'd be no tearful goodbyes allowed), got on my knees and thanked God for the strength to go forth on this journey.

One cardinal rule of mine is to not drive in the dark, night time dark is scary to me, but morning dark, well morning dark gives way to morning light, and that's a different matter. The GPS says five hours to Syracuse, so I know I need to be on the road within minutes if I want to breeze onto the Syracuse University's campus to hug my son, Matthew, before his noon class.

Thank you all, for your kind words, generous support, love and well-wishes in the last few months. You have inspired me, kept me humble, and encouraged me to move forward with this dream of mine to take my work, our work, on the road.

See you out there.
Love,
Carol

Embracing Life

Good morning, world.

Today is the last morning, for a month or so, that I will wake up in the safety, simplicity and splendor of my own apartment in Rhode Island with my precious cat, Carla, between the sheets, surrounded by familiar sounds, rhythms, and activities. Tomorrow morning, before dawn, I will cast off from the safe shores of East Greenwich and southern Rhode Island, with my Hyundai Elantra, a Rand-McNally map, a dream as big as the moon, speaker tapes, a few changes of clothes, and the prayers and well-wishes of hundreds (literally!) of friends. I have known some of these friends personally for years, and others I have gotten to know here on the page, and in many ways, those relationships are no less intimate. Oddly, a few of the people I had expected to stand beside, spiritually, on this journey, are conspicuously absent, and that's okay. I release them with deep affection and gratitude for all they have taught me about life, love, and forgiveness.

Today, will be a final day of organizing, packing, checking things off lists, meeting and orientating the women who will care for my apartment and Carla while I'm away. Tonight, I will share one more meal with the gentle man who has encouraged me for the last seven months, and nurtured the birth of this vision, this heartbeat, this passionate pursuit of taking my work on the road. I am blessed, beyond measure, to have this opportunity to go out into the world to share my work, my love, my hope for a better world, a better planet.

A boat is safe on the shore, but that is not what boats are made for.

Love,
Carol

Two Sides: Same Coin

A friend in the fellowship uses the phrase, "Only good can come of this," as a mantra. What a great tool to frame, and thus neutralize, all the petty annoyances and tiny disappointments that life cooks up. Practicing this principle means that I can run a client's cancellation through my spiritual filter and view that hour as an opportunity for prayer and meditation rather than loss of income. If a sale falls through, I can tell myself that God has something better in mind. When a friend bitterly disappoints, I can love him anyway. But what about the big events? What about death, sudden death, with its gut-wrenching finality, attendant grief, and unanswered questions?

On the evening of Friday, November 22, my spiritual belief system was rocked. Having just emerged from a peaceful, late-night, rejuvenating meditation at the annual Women-to-Women Conference in Vermont, my dear friend and traveling companion received word, via a heart-wrenching phone call, that her 20-year-old son had been killed in an automobile accident. Intuitively, every woman present gathered around our mournful sister and prayed. However, when I review my state-of-mind in the minutes and hours immediately following the tragedy, I don't see a spiritual warrior. While I bowed my head alongside my sisters, my mind buzzed, self-will shot into high gear, and I grew impatient with prayer. My psyche side-stepped God and began the feverous preparations to pack up, check out of our hotel, and begin the arduous, four-hour long drive back to Rhode Island. Fear had me in its hold. Our literature tells us that fear is the chief activator of our character defects. In the weeks that followed, faith took a backseat while I orchestrated ways to protect my own children from the ravages of highway driving, drinking, drugging.

How then, in the face of incomprehensible tragedy, can I possibly extract a silver lining, a spiritual lesson from the pain? How does good come from tortured sorrow? One of our Promises reminds us we will intuitively know how to handle situations that used to baffle us, and what I've come to understand is this: expecting good to come does not mean that the opposite qualities--bad, dark, grievous--don't walk side-by-side. Metaphorically speaking, there are two sides to every coin, thus there is duality. For without the darkness, how can we experience the dawn?

Full Circle

Over ten years ago, I drove up to New Hampshire for the weekend, ostensibly to decorate my family's vacation home for the holidays. In the back of my SUV, I carried an oversized cardboard box with an artificial Christmas tree (some assembly required), a Tupperware container of glass ornaments, and a case of red and white wine, hand-picked for the outing, at the Hampton state liquor store (a virtual vending machine paradise that my children came to regard, euphemistically, as the candy store.) The truth is, I did plan to trim the tree, hang the stockings, and decorate the house, but I was really going away without my young family so I could drink.

At the house, I poured a glass of Merlot, ripped open the cardboard box, and to my horror, laid eyes on dozens of individually wrapped, color-coded plastic tree branches, and pages of instructions. I distinctly recall thinking, rather gleefully, "I may run out of patience, but I won't run out of wine." I inserted a lot of twisted, metal-tipped branches into pre-drilled holes that night, and I drank the way I wanted to---alone, and into the wee hours. To my surprise in the morning, the completed tree looked pretty good. My reflection in the mirror told a different story.

The memory of that winter weekend flashed back yesterday while I was standing in the fake Christmas tree aisle at Lowe's. As a child, I only knew artificial trees; my parents would never go to the trouble of displaying a real tree in the living room, but once married, with children of my own, it became tradition to tag, chop, and drag the prize home. I honored that tradition for a good, long time, but those days are behind me now. My children are grown, and it's up to me to decide which traditions to maintain, and which ones to create anew. Standing there in the aisle, I couldn't take my eyes off a 7 1/2-foot GE, pre-lit, frasier fir, looking surprisingly like the real deal. I wrestled with my decision, but I can think things through today. By the time I dragged that box up three flights of stairs into my apartment, made a cup of lemon tea, cut open the box (to blessedly find three pieces, not dozens, and a one-sided sheet of instructions), stacked the sections, and fanned out the branches, I knew---I'd come full circle.

I'm going up north again tomorrow, this time to Vermont, and I won't be alone, by golly. I'll be with a whole pack of women, sober women, women happy to be alive, celebrating this season with zest, vigor, a whole lot of laughter, and---no wine.

Meditation: Simply Notice

A group of women gathered at my studio last week to be trial subjects in an upcoming meditation workshop one of the women is presenting this month. Volumes have been written trumpeting the practical benefits of meditation, yet all too often I hear, "I can't do it. I can't quiet my mind. It doesn't work for me." Somewhere along the spiritual continuum, a lot of folks missed the point.

I don't practice to relax. I don't practice to quiet my mind. I don't practice to become a better meditator. I practice to notice. I practice to let go, without attachment, without judgement. If you're waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect mood, the perfect cushion, clothing, music, incense, CD, you are cheating yourself out of one of the most useful tools in our wellness arsenal. 

Try this. Find a spot to sit undisturbed for a few minutes---start slow. Get comfortable. Set your timer. Close your eyes. Breathe. When the siren outside screams past, notice (don't curse), the sound. When the cat jumps into your lap, notice the sensation. When your mind revisits the argument you had with your partner last night, notice the thought. Don't judge sounds, sensations, thoughts. Don't get mad at your mind for dragging you into the past, racing you into the future. Notice, then let go, detach. Stay. Breathe. Repeat, and then repeat the process again tomorrow, and the day after that.

You can't do this wrong. You can only not do it, and in not meditating, you are depriving yourself of learning to coexist peacefully with the world around you. Practically speaking, this means, the next time another driver cuts you off in traffic, notice, do not attach, do not react. Instead of railing against a co-worker's procrastination to complete a needed task, notice your resistance, your frustration, and in that moment of noticing, choose, without malice, without judgement, the higher thought. 

Notice. Simply notice.