Less is More

 Less is More

I took my artist date on Wednesday this week because I was scheduled for my second Covid shot on FUN FRIDAY. The IKEA store in Stoughton, MA is always a source of inspiration, and it's been a year since I visited. A friend and I used to drive up every few months to browse and feast on their famous Swedish meatballs. Even without in-store dining, I felt drawn to immerse myself in a lifestyle I am passionate about---minimalism. If you know me, even virtually, then you know my mantra is, less is more. Less baggage, less stress, less attachment. More freedom, more connection, more memories. 

I've had the big house. I've had all the stuff. Over the years, I've lived in a 3,800 square foot reproduction Colonial with four other members of my family, and I've enjoyed a second home in the White Mountains. Now, I live in a 750 square foot vintage cottage with my sweet cat, Carla. My happiness could be due to several factors. I am single-by-choice (that means I'm not waiting for someone to show up with the key). I live debt-free. My adult children have lovely lives of their own and they welcome me often into their worlds. In short, I live an uncluttered life. Only the people, places and things that I love occupy my time, my home, my life, my world. 

I experienced a convergence of thoughts on my drive back to Rhode Island on Wednesday. With several IKEA room dimensions dancing around in my head (all under 500 square feet), I caught the tail-end of an NPR segment about the boom Amazon has experienced since the advent of Covid, as more and more people seek to fill their homes and empty hours. Finally, I drove by one of those metal storage facilities that people rent to store the stuff they don't have room for, and I flashed on our landfills chock full of waste. 

As a woman in long-term recovery, I have a pretty good understanding of addictions and the compulsions that drive them. My drug of choice was alcohol, but make no mistake, alcohol and drugs are just one distraction. People also use food, shopping, sex, gambling and relationships to fill their despair, their longing, their dissatisfaction. But the stuff just adds another layer between you and your higher self. 

I used to provide in-home massage therapy to a 90-year-old artist in her assisted living apartment. It was warm, cozy and inviting. Upon moving in, she had selected memorabilia and furnishings that she loved most to decorate her new home. She passed away last week and I thought about her adult children dutifully cleaning out her apartment. She only left what she loved, and I hope that made her childrens' task easier and more poignant. 

The next time you feel you can't live without that new pair of shoes, or plush home good, or fancy kitchen gadget, consider some quiet contemplation instead. Consider the possibility that now, and in the long run, less just might be more. 

(The pantoum is a poem of any length, composed of four-line stanzas in which 

the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as 

the first and third lines of the next stanza. 

The last line of a pantoum is often the same as the first.)

 ACCESSORY

by

Carol Mossa

Color and motion are on parade 

as she sashays down a cracked city sidewalk.

The teal backpack is careless in both content and style,

but it’s paper stuck to a boot bottom that steals the show.

As she sashays down a cracked city sidewalk

her sweater swings to the beat of her steps,

but it’s paper stuck to a boot bottom that steals the show, 

and that tells you all you need to know.

Her sweater swings to the beat of her steps,

but there’s a stowaway on her sole,

and that tells you all you need to know, 

as she hoists a bursting teal backpack.

But there’s a stowaway on her sole. 

On a free ride down cracked city streets, 

As she hoists a bursting teal backpack. 

Color and motion are on parade. 

POLL

 

Friends:

The Footloose Muse has turned four! In order to keep content fresh and members engaged, I would LOVE feedback on the features you'd LOVE more of. 

Feel free to respond to these questions in the chat below, or private message me if that approach works better for you. 

1.  Do the daily quotes resonate with you? Are they readable? How are you making use of them?

2.  Which of the daily themes are you most engaged in? (Mindful Monday. Tuesday Tools. Wednesday Whispers. Thankful Thursday. Fun Friday. Showcase Saturday. Soulful Sunday) Are there other themes you'd prefer? 

3.  Do you intend to participate in the Mindful Monday LIVE group meditations? 

4.  Do you intend to participate in the monthly muse book club? 

5.  Do you intend to participate in weekly writing prompts? 

6.  Would you be interested in any of the following educational workshops? (How to Live a Debt-Free Life. The Chakra System for Beginners. Single-by-Choice: Living Your Best Life Solo.) Which additional topics would you like added?

7. Once it's safe to travel, would you be interested in private multiple-day artists' retreats at Sweet Caroline's Vintage Cottage in Charlestown, Rhode Island? 

8.  Do you envision yourself engaging the 1.1 services of a creative midwife or creativity coach to help you birth your creative vision/dream in the future? 

9.  What other features would you LOVE to see added.

10. How has your participation in The Footloose Muse group changed your outlook and output creatively? 

Let your voice be heard!  

Thanks,

Carol

Creative Midwife

The Footloose Muse

BLACKBIRD

(The nonet is an awesome 9-line poem whose syllables trickle down in descending order until they are done. The first line has nine syllables and the last line has one.)

BLACKBIRD

by Carol Mossa

A fierce and crafty old bird known to 

haunt humans in dark dreams and death,

perches atop stone watchful 

and ready to pounce on 

prey without a prayer.

The circle of

life and death

here and

now.

 

 SINGLE-BY-CHOICE

It's the middle of Valentine's weekend, and I am enjoying a blustery three days on Block Island, off the coast of my Rhode Island home. Friends who know me well, didn't question my decision to book an Airbnb room, secure a car reservation on the ferry, and venture off on my own. Two acquaintances, however, rather passive-aggressively insinuated that I might be taking off on a secret rendezvous with someone special. Once I got over my initial annoyance at their supposition, I realized I had in fact taken off with someone special, and that special someone is me. 

I've been divorced for over a decade. Early on, I dated and in fact, had two committed relationships with men that latest nine and fifteen months respectively. Since 2016, I have not dated, nor actively sought out a partner. When I got sober in 2008, my sponsor suggested I stay out of relationships for a year, that I needed to get to know myself first. How I resisted her advice! I'd been married and divorced three times by the time I sought this wise women's counsel and sponsorship. It took years for her wisdom to sink in, and eventually, I came to appreciate and embrace her wise words. For the last five years, I have been blissfully single-by-choice and have no interest or desire to change my relationship status. None. 

I have healthy relationships with my three adult children and grandchildren. I have a successful small business and do meaningful and diverse work that I love. I am enterprising, creative and in love with life. I have a gypsy soul, hippie heart and gangster spirit.

Blessedly, I've been able to guide a few other women who, like me back then, couldn't begin to imagine life without a partner. If you're reading this and you're single and desperately want a partner, and/or you feel like you won't be complete until you find your soulmate, you're right. You need to be complete first. You must level up. You must develop the qualities you wish for in a partner. If not, you will attract the very things that you lack. I wish I had a dollar for every woman who has told me, "I'm lonely. I want someone to be with." Let me ask you this? Would you want to be with a partner whose sole purpose for seeking you out is because he's lonely? Oh, God forbid. Become the best version of yourself before you cast your net.

Then maybe, just maybe, you'll level up so high, you'll realize, you've had that special someone beside you all along---you! 

AMAZON SANTA

Through the looking glass, 

I wince at a younger me, 

toy catalogs in primary colors strewn about, 

a red wine stain mocks me 

from the white melamine desk,

as I click away.

Days later in the kitchen 

on the other side of the house, 

I feel the rumble of 

big boxy trucks, 

making their way down, 

the mile-long dirt drive,

breaking branches, 

like knives,

leaving deep wounds in farmland, 

scaring grazing horses half to death, 

delivering the surrogates,

the plastic proxies, 

the stand-ins, the substitutes

for love, time, family, passion.

Decades later,

my awakening is complete,

my grounding firm,

and today

I imagine a warehouse, 

a fulfillment center,

overstocked in Ohio 

with overtired men and women, 

bodies straining under 
the weight of color-coded bins.

And just this week, 

I’m on the inside again,

this time 

watching curious as one of my own, 

now a mom of her own, 

categorizes, sorts, stores, assembles, 

picks up after, 

her own brood of two. 

I eye the catalogs on her counter,

dog-eared pages full of intent, 

believing that her daughters of four and less 

must have, gotta have, absolutely need 

the latest singsong, sing along, alphabet soup, talking map. 

And once again, 

I watch

big boxy trucks,  

make their way up her paved 

suburban drive as the frenzied dog barks 

and chases after 

the Amazon Santa,

paid for with hours away from home, 

at a desk, 

doing things that bring more.

Always more.

An Unexpected Encounter.

I unfurl my mat,

like a wave,

and sink,

cross-legged

into my ocean.

Muscles.

Mass.

Bones come next.

My breath, like the tide

Ebbs and flows.

I stretch out,

Touch the shore.

Fingers.

Toes.

Flexion

Extension.

Blocks, bolsters, straps.

Shanti streams from the corner.

My intention is courage.

My mantra is please.

My fingertips find,

curiously come home to,

a wet spot,

a part of me that has leaked out

and found its way into the

vastness of my mat.

In prayer pose,

I accept this unexpected encounter,

and from a distant shore,

I am beckoned to heal,
from the inside out.