Your Courageous Life

I connected with Stacy via Facebook. I think. I actually can’t totally and completely remember. I had read her blog before, and then somehow we were chatting on Facebook and commenting on one another’s status updates, and before you know it, it’s NOW and I’ve met her in person while in L.A. and think she’s the bee’s knees and love how she’s asking everyone who follows her a great question of the day, which one can opt to answer, and I love the questions and the responses.

When I started the idea of a career change, I thought to myself that part of what I wanted was more collaboration. I was noticing all of these places in my life where I had this story that I was doing it alone, and yet again and again these wonderful people would step out of the woodwork and nourish me or help me in the most amazing, generous, soulful ways–and I’m going, “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this.” 

(Mental note to self: stop affirming that statement!)

Stacy was someone who was just so unbelievably supportive and I was going, “Wow–someone I don’t even know and have never talked to in person is being so wonderfully supportive. I don’t believe this. I can’t believe this.”

So I had this idea of wanting to carry a talisman with me. Right now, my talisman is a little buddha statuette that I bought at a shop in Berkeley. I used to be a big “zenhead,” but this buddha is actually Tibetan. On the back it has Sanskrit that translates as “Right thought, right speech, right action.” Sometimes when I am in the midst of a difficult situation, I will hold that little statue in my hand and rub my thumb on the inscription. I thought to myself, “I want something like that for courage, and I also want a symbol of what this year means to me, what it represents on so many levels.” I thought of Stacy because for some time I’d been wanting one of her “be” necklaces. I love the simplicity of that.

So I talked to Stacy about making a courage necklace, and she was down for it. There’s just this one weeeee little detail: Stacy is expecting her second child (!) a little girl (!) and will be going on maternity leave (!). 

Thus, these courage necklaces are limited edition necklaces. To receive one, you’ll need to place your order no later than January 15th–and if you would like someone special to receive one for the holidays, or if you want to receive yours before The Courageous Year officially starts on January 18th, you’ll need to order before then.

My necklace is currently making a little trip up the California coast, heading to me–I’m excited to report back with pictures when I receive it. I envision it as something I will use much in the way I use my little Buddha–in those moments when I am most called to be courageous, I can run my thumb over the word and let it provide some comfort.

And yes, of course–you can get one even if you are not officially participating in the e-course. You don’t have to participate in the e-course to consciously step into making this your Courageous Year. 

Enjoy! Click the images or a link to be transferred to her shop.

If I chose one metaphor for my life in the past year, it would be the snow globe. In general, everything has felt so shaken up, so topsy-turvy, but in a beautiful way (the kind of way where you might be tempted to shake it up again, just to watch it happen), and now the pieces seem to be slowly floating down into a slower space.

The odd part about all of it is that underlying everything that happens lately, I have this larger sense of fate. I feel as if I have stepped off the track of being the arbiter of my life, someone who has sat down to identify goals in a purposeful way and then worked her ass off to attain them, and that now there is something bigger and more magical at play and I am just riding that ride. There is a lot of deja vu, a lot of hanging back and then when something happens kind of shaking my head at the “rightness” that I feel, and then sensing that, yes, it was all supposed to turn out just this way.

For instance, even with the troubles we’ve had with the house that we’ve just moved into–the plumbing lines that backed up, and the newer problem that has presented itself with the electrical system (!)–despite those troubles, I don’t question for a second whether this is the right place to be. It just feels right. In other houses where we’ve been when troubles have arisen it only confirmed what I knew–what I’d felt leading up to the signing of the papers, the red flag warnings that had been whispering at me to think about the choice just a bit more. For whatever reason, with this house it is my story that because it feels right, it is right despite the challenges. Thus, living here feels perfectly okay (in fact, I feel inordinately proud that we made the decision–walking in the house, I feel that sense of “Ah…” that I have been missing the past few years).

There is a kind of magic (energy? presence? spirit? who knows) that seems at work in the background, and I think it is always there but in this particular cycle of my life I feel more present to it. I feel guided by it, protected by it. I feel more committed to doing only that which resonates and trusting that if something does not resonate–even if it’s something that “should” resonate for some reason–there is something to that. I feel willing to listen. I have felt this way to varying degrees since Italy. Sometimes I think to myself that the only thing any human needs to get “right” on what they want is a week away from their everyday life. I find that every time I take myself out of my daily routines, issues that I think I’m challenged by become more clear, and then I can return to the routines with that insight.

I feel really grateful because I know I have felt this guidance before in my life and then it slipped away (or perhaps it’s something that just naturally cycles through, changing like seasons, waxing and waning?). It feels good to have this, especially now, because I also have big waves of fear come up–there is so much more money flowing out of my life in this moment than into it, and my inner little kid, happy as she is that I will no longer force her to do a job she is ready to let go of, is looking at the money part and going, “What the fuck are you doing? Who put you in charge?”

In a few minutes, I’m going to slip out of the house and head to one of my favorite places, Cafe Gratitude. They’re holding a workshop on abundance and I feel all sorts of things–afraid, resistant, excited, open–but mostly I’m hoping that this workshop is just an opening to sinking deeper into a sense of being held by the world. I’m also really, really grateful that there is a place I can go to get even further insights into stepping completely into being abundance. I’ve done a lot of money work in the past few years, and I’m proud of all of it, yet in many ways it feels like an onion being peeled as I discover another way that old patterns around scarcity or lack show up in my life (most recently, by the way, my old learned story about money, “Rich people are selfish and out of touch with the suffering of others” has shown up in feeling sudden bits of self-consciousness that someone might come into my home and think that because Andy and I are paying more rent and buying new furniture, I’ll be viewed as “selfish and out of touch with the suffering of others.” That was a huge wake up call for me yesterday–just when I thought that that story had played itself out fully…)

I’ll be excited to report back!

The Blackbird, Fly camera.

I just uploaded that picture and realized how much nail-biting is visible! Ack! You now bear witness to the full extent of my anxiety over assorted issues such as moving, being sick, and getting my cat to sleep through the night (so that I can sleep through the night…), and toilets that back up when you run the washer and changing careers and the semester rounding up and more papers coming in for grading…

Just so you know, there is another picture of this camera on my computer that reveals no badly bitten nails whatsoever, and I am opting to keep this one because it feels more authentic and genuine (and honest!). I don’t want to portray myself as anything other than what I am, and what I am is a person who is courageously navigating through the fear that surrounds taking a huge risk and doing something that feeds my soul even if it doesn’t feed my bank account. And, by the way, I don’t believe that the two are mutually incompatible so much as I’m speaking into the fact that there is just more certainty being paid by a large and established institution than in working for oneself.

I’m holding another giveaway over at Your Courageous Life (and I feel I should mention that I am now opening a window to start taking on new clients starting in mid-January–appointments are being set now, and the registration deadline for The Courageous Year is quickly drawing nigh), and this giveaway at Your Courageous Life is exciting to me for several reasons. Namely, it’s a planner that comes from Cafe Gratitude, one of my favorite places to eat and the site of my dinner plans for tonight with my awesome marketing guru who inspires me and supports me in more ways than I could ever fully put into words. 

The title on the cover of the planner is: PLENTY OF TIME and the subtitle is, “It’s not what you have to do…it’s who you get to be…”

I mean, for anyone who frequently feels challenged by managing their time (I raise my hand to THAT), this planner takes a completely different approach to time management. Instead of having the hours of the day, it’s divided into seven qualities. You could theoretically focus on one quality per day, or perhaps just put in the things you’ll be doing that week that will address that particular quality.

In any event, it’s an almost irreverent sort of way to plan your time (compared at least to how most people do it). And I love that, and I love the philosophy of Cafe G.

To enter the giveaway, head over to the Your Courageous Life resources page, read the info, and enter your information on that post. A winner will be chosen with a random number generator that night!

Oh, yes, and my marketing guru has advised me to make a number of changes to help affect my ease in showing up with search engines and also streamlining and clarifying the site and what I do. I’m going to be working on implementing her changes over Thanksgiving break, so you’re likely to see some Under Construction signs and switching about around here. Thank you for your patience.

Oh, Buddha. What a little goon you are.

I call him a goon about fifteen times a day, and it is true every single time.

First things first: This guy is such a little lover. He will love you unconditionally and he is absolutely fearless. He is so fearless that the other day he escaped his harness/leash contraption that we had set him up with in the back yard, and apparently wandered right on in to someone’s house. They were kind enough to call the number on his collar so that we could go pick him up.

“What a goon,” I said when he was back in the house (he knew he’d been naughty; he stayed in the cat carrier for a few minutes).

The transition has not been easy–he cries at night. Some nights he doesn’t, but other nights he does, even though he has plenty of water, a clean litterbox, plenty of food, and the option of crawling into bed with us if he wants to. We don’t know why he cries at night, when he does, now that he’s been here for over a week and seems to have gotten himself quite settled. Why cry some nights and not others? At first we’d get up to try and figure out what he wanted (and that got old the third or fourth time), and then I read up about cat behavior on the internet–the standard line is that you should totally ignore the cat so that it learns not to get a response for that kind of thing. It is getting better, but it is so far not resolving itself, prompting Andy and I to ask whether or not Buddha will be a long-term, permanent member of our home. There are lots of behaviors that we were prepared to deal with when adopting a cat, and train the cat out of–scratching furniture, say, or trying to jump into the trash can. But waking us up every hour? This just can’t happen. 

Part of the problem with all of this is something that I finally figured out–he’s deaf. It didn’t dawn on me right away. I noticed that when we’d call him he wouldn’t react, but I thought he was doing that cat thing. You know, the “I know you are calling me but I will not acknowledge you” routine. Also, I noticed that if he was sleeping and I petted him, he’d totally jump in surprise, but for awhile I was chalking that up to him just being a deep sleeper.

I figured out that he was deaf the day that I ran the vacuum cleaner. I worried that it would scare him so I fed him right before I ran it so that he would be in the other room. He finished his food and sauntered into the living room, and then walked right up to the vacuum cleaner and sniffed it, as if to say, “Hmmm, verrrry interesting…what a strange looking contraption, and The Human is moving it back and forth.” Then he sauntered away and went and laid in his little cat basket.

When I realized that he was probably deaf, I shared this with Andy and we began trying a series of things like yelling really loudly (quite comical to have observed out of context, I imagine). His ears don’t perk up or twitch the way they would with a normal cat. I also noticed that while I was putting shelves together last weekend, when one shelf that was propped against a wall slid down and made a very sudden, very loud clattering sound, I looked over and he was just staring out the window, calm as can be. He had taken no notice of this whatsoever.

His being deaf isn’t really an issue that is hard to deal with. Because he can’t hear us calling him, and theoretically cannot hear cars coming at him, we put a kitty harness on him (poor dear, I actually had to buy a puppy harness because he’s so big he doesn’t fit the kitty harnesses) and have a long, 20-foot lead in the backyard, where we let him wander around and eat grass and be out in nature. We can only do this while we’re home–we want to be able to hear him meowing if another cat comes into the yard or something–but this isn’t ultimately that big of a deal. One or the other of us is home at some point.

No, the biggest issue is his nighttime crying, even though he has everything a little kitty could possibly want, including two parents who adore him (if only he’d let them sleep). Andy and I were taking a walk the other night and I said, “Jeeeeezus, this makes me rethink the whole having a kid thing.”

(But I was only joking.)

If you are a self-proclaimed “Cat Whisperer” and have any advice for how to completely and totally tame nighttime crying, we’d love to hear it!

I wrote a bit ago about “the happy place.” 

For the past week, I have noticed myself existing in “the grumpy place.” 

I used to not understand why these moods would come upon me–why it was that life would suddenly feel negative, pissy, irritable, frustrating, like everything was “happening to” me. Now I get why these times happen–it’s a buildup of negative emotions that I’m not releasing in a healthy way, combined with not enough self-care. It’s also something that can be seriously agitated by not enough sleep and/or being sick.

I am reminded again and again in my life that it is always better to do the daily work than to clean up the mess later. I’ve mentioned this in regards to relationships, before–it’s always better to face those ugly parts, clear the withholds, have the difficult conversations–than it is to clean up resentments later. I’ve had more than one friendship or relationship in my life where, by the time we finally started to clean things up, there was so much to clean up and so much trust had been broken that it was really, really complicated to figure out where to go from there.

The same holds true for self-care. One simply cannot bounce from working on getting an e-course going, to teaching, to grading papers, to moving an entire house and living amongst boxes and chaos, to using all spare time to paint/organize/unpack/unload/sort/buy furniture, completely neglecting yoga and exercise and even eating well (I had brussel sprouts for the first time in quite awhile this past week, and I was SO EXCITED to be getting a green vegetable in my mouth–it has been a “mix up a pack of instant oatmeal for dinner” kind of time).

This lack of self-care has manifested itself in a few ways, the most critical of which was noticing that during my coaching sessions this week, I felt “off,” not as easily able to tune in intuitively to what my clients needed. And that–that–really was a huge wake-up call that things had reached mission critical point. Self-care is not just about me, it’s about the space I hold for others, too.

I don’t do “balance” perfectly–frankly, I don’t believe anyone really does–and yet I honor myself for all that I have learned, especially with my ability to notice, so much faster, where I’m getting out of balance. It is really, really difficult to say no to things I wanted to do, but I am braver about noticing when it’s needed and speaking into that. For instance, I had this whole fantasy of cooking a big Thanksgiving dinner here at the house (our new house, our perfect little house that we searched so long for that is exactly what we have always wanted ever since we moved in together!) with some of Andy’s family, complete with bonding over how to cook a whole turkey and learning new cooking moves and just hanging out around the fireplace (yup, we have a fireplace) as the day slowly tucked away into night. 

And earlier this week, I noticed that every single time I thought of this dinner, I felt completely overwhelmed. I don’t want to cook all day–I want rest. I don’t want to have people in the house all day–I want time with my love and equal parts solitude, to reconnect with me. I feel so very, very stretched and the to-do list is really big. What I really need right now, more than anything, is some time to have absolutely nothing on my plate. Quiet time with my love. A cozy couch and a blanket and a kitty and a pile of movies, good food to munch on, walks outside to stave off the bloat.

The Thanksgiving fantasy of a grand dinner in this house will need to happen next year. I am disappointed and don’t want to disappoint others, and yet I know deep down that if I try to fit onemorething in, I’m not taking care of myself.

This doesn’t mean that the day won’t be meaningful in some way. We were invited to do dinner at someone else’s house and so this means we will get out for a few hours, say hello to others, toast, share what we’re so grateful for (and there’s so, so much).

Between deciding to let go of this big, grand (and energetically consuming Thanksgiving fantasy), as well as finally getting a solid night’s sleep for the first time in a few days, I am feeling better. I am feeling less irritable and snappish. I have taken things really, really slowly this morning. There is still a pile o’ stuff on my office floor–stuff that I’ve left there because I refuse to do anything with it until I know exactly where it will go, what I will keep and what I won’t. I’m making a goal of finishing my office by this evening. It’s a good goal. There is a little sigh of relief that I know comes whenever I have my own little space.

It dawned on me today that one month from today, I’ll be holding my last class sessions. For the past few months, I have struggled greatly with just being here, now, where I am, in THIS life, with THESE circumstances, and not rushing to get to THAT life with THOSE circumstances that I somehow think will be so much better. I am very, very aware that THAT life, the one I’m transitioning into, will still be full of challenges to grow into/past.

I keep thinking to myself, “How different would my life be right now if I completely embraced the idea that every single thing that has ever happened to me, is a gift? What if I embraced the idea that every single thing that is happening in my life right NOW, is a gift?”

When I am in my strongest and most empowered moments, I believe this completely and truly and fully. When I’m not feeling empowered, when I feel like a victim of circumstances, it seems like everything “happens to” me.

I have been thinking of this a lot today because it is one of those days where, despite eight hours of sleep, I am dragging. And it has been a day full of little complaints and critters and “have to” and all of that muckity-muck. Yet I know that there have been times when I’ve been equally as tired, but in a space of pure joy, such that I didn’t even care that I was tired. I was just simply excited about living, and that made all of the difference.

I’ve been fielding phone calls today–still trying to get things squared away with the plumbing issues that we had, little odds and ends–and then in between all of that, trying to get some odds and ends of work done, between teaching two classes. It’s a full day, and the voices in my head today have been whining a lot about all of this work and how the house still isn’t unpacked (!) and it’s not faiiiiiirrrrrr.

That inner little girl wants to go out and play, and is sick of that being put off for another day.

I was driving down the street and was trying to reason it all out in my head. “Okay. I love the saying ‘If you’re not having fun, why are you doing it?’ Yet in life, stuff still needs to be done. These phone calls and repairs still need to be made. I don’t get to just blow it all off; that’s not realistic. How exactly can I marry “Fun” with getting it all done?”

And the very next thing I thought was: “Make it a game.” Right then, my spirits lifted. Of course! Make it a game. Make it a game; challenge myself to see just how much fun I can have, how loving I can be to the people I’m coming into contact with, give myself five points for every time I’m patient, list as many things as I can think of to be grateful for in the next thirty seconds–Ready, Set, Go!

The thing is, none of us get any points for being miserable. We get no kudos for being snarky. We get no life awards for being a victim. Every single synapse in my brain wanted to spend the entire rest of the day complaining about how bad I had it, all the things that were piling up, how tired I was, how grumpy/cranky I felt…at a certain point, after acknowledging and owning those feelings, it was time to shift it. I’m trying to convey how badly I didn’t want to shift it; how badly I just wanted to stay in a comfort zone of complaints.

I chose to challenge myself to come up with thirty things that I’m grateful for in thirty seconds.

I felt amazing afterwards.

This stuff works. We are completely in choice about how we can live our lives and what we’re capable of. If there is anything at the top of my list of gratitude, it’s that I’m in the process and have committed to stay the course in doing work that is about getting really real about all of the negative emotions while simultaneously refusing to stay stuck there.

Okay, then. Now I’m off to arrange for trash disposal service, hit up the post office, take some phone appointments, teach a 3-hour night class, and collapse back in bed at the end of it all. And again the old habits rise up of how I 
“don’t wanna…”

…so I wonder what game I’ll choose to play, next.

This moment, now–ready, set, go!

P.S. The giveaway for Your Courageous Life continues…five winners will be chosen!

When I was doing Mondo Beyondo this past fall, several people put that they would like to meet Oprah on their lists. I totally get it. I love, love, love Oprah. While sick these past few days, I have been re-watching her 20th Anniversary DVD Collection. I love her spirit, her authenticity. It surprises me completely that there are people who dislike her (or even vilify her) because to me she seems so very utterly herself, someone who lives in a multi-dimensional way, someone who is humble about her limits and someone who is also unafraid to express pride about what she has accomplished. At alternate turns while re-watching the collection, I laughed and cried and then laughed and cried again.

And you know what gets me? The moment when she walks out at the beginning of a show and everyone is cheering. Something about that moment can get me all choked up and emotional.

Then I realized that I don’t think I’ve ever told the blogosphere that I have been in Oprah’s physical presence–though we didn’t, technically, “meet.”

It went down like this–I was briefly visiting Chicago after I’d moved to California, and a friend of mine who worked for Harpo had made plans with me to have dinner. She was overseeing a project, and then the project ran over and she realized that she would need to stay on-site to oversee the project. She suggested that instead of going out for dinner, we grab takeout and eat at Harpo so that she could be on-hand in case someone needed her.

I agreed, went and got checked in through security, and it was about 8:00 at night and we were just in the cafeteria, eating our dinner while sitting across the table from one another, when quite suddenly, there was Oprah. Right there. Beside me. Bent down a little bit to look us in the eye.

“Something smells delicious, girls,” she said, warmly.

I wish that I could say that I was cooler than this, but I basically sort of froze up and nodded and managed to say something like, “Oh, it is [good],” and then she left us to our dinner and shuffled over to the microwaves to heat something up. She was wearing her house-slippers with a nice pair of tailored pants and a good sweater. I was afraid to look over while she was heating up her meal, and the conversation that I’d been sharing with my friend was down to some awkward murmurings. My friend had of course met Oprah a few times, but had said that she still found it a little awkward to talk to her, a sentiment I could completely understand in that moment (all the while, some part of me really desperately wanted to say something charming so that Oprah would want to be my new friend).

That’s really it; that’s my Oprah moment. Short and sweet. But still, it seems to me that even in that moment I could sense a genuineness about her. For instance, even though she’s OPRAH, she made an effort to chat briefly with the people who were in the cafeteria, rather than ignoring us. And even though she’s OPRAH, she was heating her own food rather than sending someone else to do it. And even though she’s OPRAH and has more money than god and could just sit back and probably hire out every single thing, she was at work at 8:00 at night, being involved. My friend was staying late at work? Guess what–Oprah was, too.

As I was watching the DVDs again, however, I realized that I think I do have some Mondo Beyondo, “Wildest Dreams” kinds of things–like a Wildest Dream would be to be able to work on the show for a week, help out with stage production, etc. Just to be in that energy for a week would be so cool. I also think it would be the neatest thing ever to go to South Africa as a volunteer if they ever did the Christmas Kindness project again.

The Christmas Kindness project, in case you hadn’t heard of it, happened a few years ago when she went to South Africa and held parties and gave gifts to impoverished children. Skeptics might turn their noses up at this–”What does she think she’s doing, giving a party to kids like this? That’s not what they need! They need…” –but if those skeptics actually watched the entire show, they’d see that the kids got a party…and clothes, and a month’s worth of food, and medical attention, and access to school. And the show exposed the South African government’s lack of response to getting anti-retrovirals for HIV/AIDS patients, and highlighted the work of charitable organizations that are already deeply involved in getting to the heart of the problems that the country faces. Oprah couldn’t possibly solve the HIV/AIDS crisis, but she did something huge nonetheless–giving thousands of children much-needed clothing and food (and yes, gifts and an opportunity to play!) and then turning this in to an opportunity to bring the message home to viewers in the United States.

I watch that episode and feel such sheer gratitude for all that I have in my life, and I am reminded again of the gifts of gratitude–how it transforms everything. I love the saying, “The only prayer you’ll ever need is ‘thank you.’ ”

I’m really thankful that she is in the world. I’m so thankful for all that she is doing to promote worthy causes, while not keeping everything SO SERIOUS that we can’t throw in a show on bras or weight-loss now and again (balance, balance, balance–I think she gets this about the world). 

For her sense of fun, her ability to laugh at herself, her compassion, her authenticity, and the way that she lives life 100% fully alive, I am so grateful.

P.S. A Five-person giveaway will be happening starting Monday at 6:00am Pacific over at Your Courageous Life!

Please right-click and save-as to download this badge if you’d like to put it on your website–direct it back to www.thecourageousyear.com

So, at this point, you wonderful people have pretty much made my day so many times that I can’t quite fathom any of what is happening, and I am so very grateful for all of it, again and again and again.

Yesterday was a record day for the number of signups in one day for The Courageous Year.

I’m sending all participants a little special something in the mail, and those letters are making their way to all corners of the world–today I will send something to Greece (!), I’ve sent packages to Canada, the U.K., and all corners of the United States.

Still more of you have volunteered to pass out Courageous Cards in your area.

What are Courageous Cards?  They’re cards that dare people to dream. You leave them in special places like yoga studios or coffee shops, or (like my mother) in little nooks and crannies of bookstores (I so love the idea that someone would be browsing in a bookstore, which is a favorite activity of mine, and run across one of my cards), and trust that the right person will find it at the right time, and that when they do some little whisper or glimmer inside of them will breathe and go, “Hey. Hey, you. You’re courageous. You can do this thing you want to do. You can make this shift you want to make.”

Today alone, mail is going out to Oregon, Ohio, Florida, San Francisco, Toronto, British Columbia, Missouri, Massachusetts, Edinburgh (!), Colorado, and New Yawk.

That’s not counting the 15 or so packets that I sent out two weeks ago, which also went to places as diverse as Ireland and Chicago.

I needed to order more cards from my printer, yesterday!

So basically, I am giddy and so excited for what this year will bring for myself and the people participating. And the enthusiasm has really made me sit up straighter and put some additional pressure on the pedal to make this good. To check every single detail that I can and to really, truly, bring this course alive because it’s not just about the course or the individual goals of the participants, but I see some larger possibility here, both for connection between people as well as creating the world we want to live in. I see something so bold and beautiful and COURAGEOUS about all of this. 

I want you to know that I still have days, even whole weeks, where fear just runs my ass (I was going to phrase that more delicately, but I figured y’all appreciate honesty!). I mean, I seriously have these moments where my stomach is in knots, and then that goes away and I trust that it’s all going to be okay. 

Then the knots come back and I’m going nuts-o again. I’m riding this wave. I’m just trusting that if I do what I know has worked for me time and time again, things are going to be okay: Feel afraid, do it anyway, transform.

If you would like to get on the list for my next mail out of Courageous Cards to leave in your area, please let me know–email me and send me your address. And if you’re interested in learning more about The Courageous Year, feel free to click on the link and go.

P.S. Several people have emailed me to ask if I’m going to monitor enrollments to make sure that the course isn’t too large and overwhelming. The answer? Absolutely. I’m using a Content Management System (CMS) that will allow me to put the people enrolled into separate groups so that things remain more intimate, and I’ll also have a lot of control over the discussion forums–I can set up categories, for instance, so that things are organized and threads are easier to find.

Earlier this week, we ran the washer for the first time and something criss-crossed somewhere and a sewer line backed up and a toilet in the guest house, out behind the main house, backed up and overflowed. (By the way, I know it sounds all “English countryside” to say “the guest house,” but this is more like a converted garage than it is something fancy-schmancy. But it does have a little cubby with a toilet, and this has been the source of some distress these past few days).

So, okay, the toilet backs up and so we call to get it repaired but this takes a few days and we’re still kinda-sorta in the process of getting the last of it cleaned up, the carpets cleaned, etc.

Well, then this morning I was loading up the dishwasher in the kitchen for the first time (we’ve been in that mode of just dumping stuff on the counters) and was going to run it while I went out for coffee. I pulled out the top tray and the entire dishwasher leaned forward. It isn’t properly settled into the cabinetry and would easily rock out of place if we ran it. 

I had woken up this morning feeling more recovered from being sick–tired, but not so achey and not in such a bad way. And then this frustrating thing happened with the dishwasher–yet another thing needing repair, and this time something that (in my opinion) should have been noticed and taken care of prior to us moving in–and I felt white hot pissed off anger coursing through my veins.

I put in a call to the rental agency for this to be fixed, too, and then headed out for my coffee. I got into the car and noticed that in the past ten minutes since that anger had coursed through my body, I was suddenly feeling really, really run-down and far more sick than I had felt when waking up.

It was this little reminder that ANGER IS TOXIC. 

So this is becoming a theme that I keep repeating, and I think it bears repeating–I don’t believe that it’s healthy for people to just repeat affirmations trying not to feel their anger or frustration or sadness or whatever negative emotion comes up. Anything that we cannot sit with will run us. My ideal for myself and my hope for the world is that we learn to embrace everything that comes into the circle of our existence and to process it out without hurting others.

But it really, really hit me how when I carry around anger and frustration, this stuff is just toxic sludge. 

So as I drove to Peet’s, I played my theme song–the song that is my ring tone, the song that is my life’s theme song–“Golden” by Jill Scott.

I played it twice.

I felt immensely better (and less sick).

Then I had the lucky duck experience of running into my dear friend Laurie Wagner at Peet’s. Laurie is the talented force behind Wild Writing classes. Some of you may know her from Sabrina Ward Harrison’s second book. I know her as someone who I met because we were in a mutual circle of friends and I have been attracted to her honesty and authenticity. She is someone who does not indulge in a lot of idle chit-chat; when I talk with her I always sense that she is going to ask real questions and give me real answers. We sat down at a table and did quick catch-ups on life. She’s hosting a trunk show this upcoming Sunday in Alameda, at which the wares of Andrea Scher and another friend of mine, Amy MacClain, will be featured (among others). Another dear friend, Valerie, had emailed me earlier this week to ask if I wanted to go to that since we would be hanging out this upcoming Sunday. (If you want to support local artists while you do your holiday shopping, please contact me via email ( kate -at- thiscourageouslife -dot- com) and I can send you the deets.)

And the long and short of all of this is that when I started with the conscious choice to shift myself–playing a song that lifts my spirits–that was enough to start digging me out of the hole that had begun. And when I made yet another conscious choice to take some time to connect with another human being, that was another piece.

And not a damned thing has changed–the dishwasher isn’t fixed and the rental agency has yet to call me back–but I don’t feel particularly frustrated by any of it. I just feel ready to get on with my day.

I wonder–if I had not been sick, and had not thus been inclined to check in with my body a lot when I woke up, would I have even noticed how the anger went through me? Would the effect have been too subtle on a basically healthy body for me to have fully “seen” how much of a difference it made that I got angry/frustrated?

I cannot know, but I like how it is sitting in my consciousness, now. I love these little reminders that life brings that everything that comes into my path is an opportunity to open up more or to close up tight like a fist. I like the opening up far better.

And I’m going to play “Golden” again a few more times, just for good measure, while I unpack my office today.

So last weekend, on Saturday, I flew down to LA to see the CORE show. Actually, not just to see the CORE show–I also was craving some time away from moving/teaching/business/appointments…all of the “stuff” that was/is going on. I could feel in my body that I was on the verge of getting sick if I didn’t take it easy, and I could tell that mentally, I was in a very not-grounded place. Little irritations were building up and I was feeling disconnected. Perhaps the biggest sign of seeing that I am out of synch with me is noticing that I have trouble feeling genuinely grateful. Anytime I have difficulty feeling the lightness in my heart that comes with a true felt sense of gratitude, I know that something is very, very off and that it’s time to get back “into” me.

I was so happy to steal away. I arrived at my hotel and just…laid around. I wrote, I watched The Biggest Loser, I ate a Big Mac (I only allow myself McDonald’s when I’m traveling). Then I went to the CORE show and while I was there I saw some wonderful people, people I’d met before but hadn’t seen or been in contact with for ages, and people I’d never met but whom I’ve been chatting up on the info-ma-shun supah highway for awhile. There was this big room full of simply gorgeous artwork, and Anne Carmack did such a lovely job of putting it together. It was inspiring. It was great to connect with people one-on-one. It was even great to have moments of just sitting on a couch on the edge of the room, watching the busy buzz around me, resting.

Rest. It is so, so needed right now. I spent all day on Sunday resting in my hotel room until I headed back to San Francisco. I didn’t see any museums or go anywhere or do anything. I was fine with that. It felt good just to not have any to-do list in front of me, nothing I needed to take care of at that moment.

And then, Sunday afternoon, I could sort of feel it coming on: getting sick.

Ugh! Every frustrated synapse in me gets so, so pissed when I’m sick. I have this bargaining relationship with my body: “Hey, Body, how about this–I do whatever I can to evolve as a person and I will make sacrifices such as only eating Big Macs on special occasions and not seeing or doing anything in LA but resting because I can tell that that’s what you need, and you reward me by not getting sick. Deal? Deal!”

My body, however, does not make deals such as this. Instead, it all becomes an exercise in CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL. I have this idea in my head that if I just do everything right by my body, I’ll have glowing, perfect health. Actually, it does not work that way. I had days where I got sick or felt like crap when I ate a clean, raw foods diet. I had days where I got sick or felt like crap when I ate junk food. It’s sort of all relative, and most of it’s related to stress (in my opinion), so that’s where there’s the weak link. If I’m doing too much, the possibility of getting sick presents itself.

It did not help matters that my hotel room in LA was right above a major street and the hotel had not invested in good windows, so I basically heard all the traffic and noises that were happening below, which meant one bad night of sleep.

It did not help matters more when I arrived home and Sunday night and into Monday morning, Buddha cried at various intervals throughout the night. Andy reported that Buddha did this on his first night in the house as well. No word on whether he did it last night; with me being sick we stuck him in the guest house. I am now genuinely asking myself if it’s going to be possible to keep him. I had not bargained on getting a cat that howls at night (yes, food, litter, all of the essentials are covered–we have no clue what in the hell gets into his head at night, unless it’s just getting adjusted to the place/us).

I canceled everything today. We were completely out of food and I had to go to the grocery store, and this felt like a Herculean effort. I got home, took the refrigerated items out of the bag and put them in the fridge, and then went and collapsed into bed for a few hours. Blecch.

It is at these times–times like being sick, or when something royally shitty happens, that I know I am most called to put it all into perspective and be positive, but it is also at these times when Sarcastic Sally inside is going, “Are you kid-ding me? Positive? now?”

There is such a backlash against positive thinking, trying to see a larger picture, etc. There’s this idea that anyone who tries to do such a thing is woefully inauthentic, that positive thinking is in and of itself bullshit.

I think what I keep trying to find for myself is the space between. I want neither to indulge in being a complete angry pissy Victim–which means a commitment to not getting bogged down into that stuff (aka, thinking positively). At the same time, I’m wary of anyone who tries to convince me that I “shouldn’t” be feeling something negative, or that whatever is a source of pain or discomfort for me is “just an illusion.” 

I agree that it’s an illusion–that the pain/drama that we create doesn’t ultimately matter in the great grand scheme of things. But guess what, Batman? It’s real in this moment, so it needs to be dealt with. Affirmations aren’t going to be enough.

Straddling that line today has looked something like this: outright complaining and just being pissed that I am sick, that I feel like crap, that I’m blowing my nose. You know, the whole “why me?” routine.

It has also looked like reminding myself to be grateful that I have no fears whatsoever that I won’t bounce back completely from this little cold, or that I have health insurance, or that I was able to cancel my coaching appointments today and that I was not teaching today. Then I slipped Oprah’s 20th Anniversary DVD collection into my laptop and hung out on the couch, watching that, and alternately laughing and crying.

And that might not be what the uber-enlightened folk think I should do, or what the snarkity-McSnarkerson’s of the world think is cool, but for me, it was real.

I wrote a few entries ago about how attached I had grown to Poppy, and how sad I was that we would not be able to adopt her. We moved out of the house-sit and began the process of moving into our new place, and I noticed that when I would come home and Poppy wasn’t there to greet me, I’d feel this soreness in my heart, missing her. 

I got up one morning and headed to Peet’s for a latte and for some reason, even though the line wasn’t long and even though I never do this, I picked up the local Alameda Journal while waiting for the barista to finish my drink. I opened the paper, and right there was a picture of a large white cat, so similar to Poppy at a first glance that I blinked. But it was not Poppy, it was another cat, one they had named Merlin. He was the local pet shelter’s “Pet of the Week.”

I immediately got one of those weird “this feels really synchronous” sensations. So later that day, I decided I’d stop by the shelter to check this cat out.

Omigosh. He was just a total sweetheart. Loving attention, completely chill. I asked the volunteers about a bazillion questions. Meanwhile, this little guy (er, “little” is relative here, he’s proably 16-17 pounds) plopped himself on the concrete floor of the shelter, draping himself elegantly on one side, and patiently waited to be petted again. He has clear blue eyes and is pure white without even a single spot of color. The volunteers told me that of all the cats, he was the most chill–very easy to hang out with, very calm. 

I brought Andy back to the shelter later that day to meet him. Still, we didn’t take him home. I just kept feeling that there was something really synchronous about it–opening the paper while I was just grabbing a quick coffee, seeing this cat. We sat on the couch discussing name possibilities. 

“How about White Boy?” I suggested. “Can you imagine? Standing on the stoop of the house. ‘Come here, White Boy! Come on! Come on, White Boy!’ ”

But then the name hit me: Buddha. This cat’s a bit fat lug, and he’s just so, so calm. The next day we went and got him from the shelter.

On the car ride from the shelter to the house, Buddha was very calm. He let me pet him through his kennel door and purred the whole way. At the house, he did the ritual of sniffing everything, and once that was finished, he plopped himself in the middle of the floor as if to say, “Okay, things look good here. I’ll stay.”

I do still miss Poppy. Buddha isn’t a ‘replacement,’ because as anyone who has fallen in love with an animal knows, they have their own personalities and Poppy can’t be ‘replaced’. But I do feel like this guy is it, the balm for my sore little heart–this sweetie who pretty much just follows you from room to room, plops down wherever you are, meows occasionally to be petted (his meow is more of a small lion warbling…we think he’s part Maine Coon, despite the fact that he’s not colored like one, because he’s just seriously part lion or something). 

It’s starting to feel like all of the pieces are coming together, like we are finally home.

I am soooo in my happy place right now. It looks something like this:

I am away from home (traveling).

In a hotel room (not a hostel or staying as a guest with obligations).

I have absolutely no agenda whatsoever.

Even the bad version of a “caffe latte” served up by the hotel lobby isn’t enough to sway my mood when I fully embrace the deliciousness of just having nothing that I need to do. Last night, I indulged in a Big Mac for dinner (mmmm, love those–only allow myself to eat them when I’m traveling, however, due to the  imperial and environmental impacts of that company) and then I sat in my hotel room and watched The Biggest Loser (aaahhhh, trashy reality television) via the internet before heading out to CORE, the show that was produced by Anne Carmack and had contributors such as my lovely friends Christine Mason Miller and Pixie Campbell.

To some, this might sound like the height of loser-dom. I don’t care. To me, being able to get completely and totally away from teaching, starting a new career, and boxes to be unpacked and the umpteenth new item of furniture to be purchased, and to just marinate in a hotel room somewhere with nothing that I have TO DO is incredibly lovely.

I am thinking as I write that in fact, it would probably be really good for me to just take a day to do something like this once a month–it would probably be good for everyone to do this. I was thinking about how I cite not wanting to spend the money or not having the time as reasons not to do it, and how in fact there are inexpensive ways of taking a retreat like this. I was thinking about how when I say I don’t have the time, something’s wrong with that. To say I don’t have the time already means that too much is going on.

I’m not getting down on myself, here–after all, moving takes time. Changing careers takes time. These are not lifestyles; these are temporary demands that do lessen once the boxes are unpacked or once the former job is no longer requiring my time and attention, thus allowing me to put my attention fully on the new path.

The common thread in all of this is paying attention–noticing. I don’t believe that there is a set way to permanently, never-again find challenges around managing time (or money, or relationships, or anything else). What I do believe is that there’s a valuable skill in developing the ability to notice–to feel tightening or constriction in my body, to feel that relaxing when I give myself the gift of nothing to do. Creating that space will allow me the ability to both live better and do more of the things I want to do, in the long run.

Mmmm…time to see what other junk is on the television. Perhaps later today I’ll add in finding a museum or visiting Little Tokyo. For now: rest.

So before you watch the video, I’d like to explain it.

Basically, I was thinking about the New Year, the Courageous Year, New Year’s resolutions, the whole bit. And I was thinking about how something that could be really positive often just becomes a measuring stick for self-hate, for how we could do it better, or as evidence for all the ways we’ve “failed” already.

I was thinking that this is kinda b.s. (because it is). I was thinking that what I really wanted was just to tear up/do away with all of that old negative stuff and instead step into something new.

I feel the need to explain because you’ll see things in this video like, “Lose 10 pounds,” and the thing is, I think that it’s totally fine if someone wants to lose 10 pounds (ever notice how there’s this weird backlash now against working on yourself, like the most evolved place one can be is to be “above” working on themselves? I’m all about accepting myself as-is while also acknowledging that there are spaces where I want to grow, spaces where I default to old habits that no longer serve me). It’s fine if someone wants to lose ten pounds or forgive their mother or find more time to exercise–but I continually like to ask whether there are ways of stepping into a bigger or more authentic vision around this, one that brings into the circle the idea of PLAY, and keeping things loose, and self-care.

The be kinder, be more patient, be more be more be more messages…I just loved tearing it all up. It was deeeeeelicious to tear up those messages–I highly recommend it. Just write down all of the messages that you feel yourself pressured to live up to, and then let them rip!

(don’t worry; I purchase 100% post-consumer content recycled paper, and all of this paper was recycled after I made the video!).

So that’s my explanation for all of that–now I commence with showing you the video!

Hail to the Good Things from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

Getting into the Halloween spirit.

As a house-sitter, I have made a massive mistake. I have made the kind of mistake that would make a seasoned house-sitter say, “Rookie!” with perhaps a trace of disgust. I made the kind of mistake that women are warned about when dating someone new–don’t. get. attached.

I made the mistake of getting attached.

Meet Poppy.

Poppy is the most wonderful cat I think I’ve ever met. I fell in love with her right away, mostly because she would follow me from room to room and curl up in a corner and wait for me to move to another room, where she would again curl up. I thought that that was sweet. I also liked her pragmatic approach to things–when she was hungry, she’d let me know but without that oh-so-annoying warbling and pitiful crying that some cats do. 

Now, I am actually allergic to cats. I was not allergic until I had to give up my beloved Kitty in high school, and the allergy came soon after. As a house-sitter, I’ve been sitting in houses with cats, and the allergy has been sorta-kinda mostly going away. It’s not nearly as severe. Nonetheless, I had no real interest in getting a cat.

Until Poppy.

Lately, she has taken to doing this thing where, when I pick her up, she rests her head against me. A few nights ago she was sitting on my lap, and suddenly she sort of nuzzled her head against my chest and reached out a paw and latched on to my shirt.

For a woman who is entering her prime child-bearing years, and who has recently realized that she in fact does want to be a mother, this sort of gesture is, frankly, more than my ovaries can TAKE.

I said to Andy, “I need something to NURTURE.”

I utterly adore Poppy and since the people we’re house-sitting for are retiring and were interested in traveling, it was brought up that perhaps we could adopt her. This thought filled me with such total and complete happiness. I mean, seriously–the first thing I want to do when I walk in the door is find Poppy and snuggle. Andy has grumbled a few times, “You’re going to pet the cat, first?” I just can’t help myself. I pick up my widdle bug and she starts purring and I’m done–done. She crawls up onto my lap any chance she gets. The only time she’s pissed at me is when I had to give her eye drops (she ignored me for 2 days and it just about broke my heart). Sigh.

Then last week, the owner emailed me and said she thinks they’ll keep Poppy after all.

I’m a wee bit embarrassed to confess to this, but in a coaching session a day after hearing this news, when I was relating to my coach the various things that were causing me to feel just a wee bit overwhelmed these days, on the list was “The owner changed her mind about Poppy,” and then I started to cry. 

I’m hanging in there, and it’s not “for sure” that the owner will keep her, but the owner said that she’s had Poppy since she was a kitten and would like to “see her through to the end.” And you know, I cannot say I fault her for that at all. How could I? I love and freaking adore this cat after only 3 months. The owner certainly has an eleven-year relationship with her. I get it.

I get it and–I’m sad that these are my last few days with “my widdle bug,” as I affectionately call her when she is curled up in a warm little ball on my lap while I read, type, watch television, or do just about anything that involves having me in a stationary position.

If you haven’t already seen my Flickr set, here it is:http://www.flickr.com/photos/kateswoboda/sets/72157622398435607/ 

(image from the Pottery Barn website–ohmigosh, what a great space!)

Growing up, I spent my weekends helping my mother with home improvement projects. After my parents divorced when I was seven, my mother rented a house for a few years while she finished her degree and got her bearings, and then she paid $17,000 for a run-down, three-story Victorian sitting on a corner. By “run down,” I’m talking missing walls, holes in the floor, the whole nine yards. Contractors came in and the house was completely overhauled. My mother used a government loan for single mothers to do the work, and it required that you had to be living in the actual house–so there were winter nights where we holed up in one room with a space heater, and many a winter day where we wore coats in the house, because the work to totally install new electric, heating, plumbing, etc., took several months.

This is what it looks like today (courtesy of Google Maps)–it’s not the same color as when we lived there, and it’s now  run-down, and there’s no longer a picket fence. But you get the idea.

My mother often told me that this was probably “the most interesting house you’ll ever live in.” It was well over 100 years old, probably the first house built in the entire area. See the witch’s cap? When you walked in the front door you entered a grand hallway with a curving staircase up to the second floor, such that you could see all the way up to the ceiling of the second floor (which had a large, massive globe of a light hanging down). Tall ceilings, hardwood floors, iron grates over the heating ducts, a clawfoot bathtub in the bathroom. Without a doubt, it is the most interesting house I have lived in thus far.

My sister and I spent weekends helping my mother work on this house. We did things to speed along the contractors, mostly. They hung drywall, and then we put spackle over the nail holes. We helped to line up wallpaper. We painted trim and painted rooms with rollerbrushes. And of course there was an endless amount of work to be done with the yard–always leaves to be raked, a retaining wall to pull weeds from, a lawn to mow, something to water, something to mulch. My mother was a master at finding creative ways to get things done–for instance, in Kansas City the Parks and Recreation department would cut down trees or trim branches from power lines. What do they do with the branches afterwards? Cut them up into mulch. And then what do they do with all of that mulch? Well, nothing–so if you wanted, they would dump a truckload of mulch in your driveway for free, if you requested it. My mother would have them dump a truckload of mulch and then we’d spend the next three weekends filling the wheelbarrow and putting mulch around all of the appropriate spaces.

And when we weren’t doing that, we were going to antique stores and estate sales. 

At the time, I hated all of this. I hated the gardening, the enforced weekend work, the requirement that I participate in hanging wallpaper evenly. And thank goodness I hated it, right? Because a ten-year-old who genuinely loved that stuff would just not be normal. (smiles)

But now? Now that I’m an adult and putting down roots? Oh my gosh, I cannot get enough. I think I salivate the most over (cringe) Pottery Barn. I just love the style–the mixing of the new and old, the bright and the colorful, the texture. I cringe because, of course, Pottery Barn is an Evil Capitalist Company who probably employs badly-paid sweatshop workers to work in factories that pollute the earth to make over-priced furniture. 

Do I redeem any points if I share that I have never actually bought any furniture from Pottery Barn–I just ogle their catalogue like it’s something illicit? Would you still love me if I bought just ooooonnnneeeee desk from there? Just one?

(also from potterybarn.com)

Anyone remember that episode of Friends where Rachel and Phoebe are living together, and Rachel gets an apothecary table from Pottery Barn and tries to convince Phoebe that it’s an antique? Phoebe is anti-potterybarn and believes everything should be a real antique, and wants a story behind it.

I’m so Phoebe in principal, but then I start looooookiinnnngggg atttttt the cataloooooogggggguuuuueeee and the hypnotic draw of Pottery Barn draws me in.

Okay, I’m only partly joking, here–in fact, Andy and I buy as much as we can via the amazing Alameda Antique Fair, which sells quality antiques for prices that are comparable or cheaper than PB. Also, I don’t take quite such a hard-line about capitalism or sweatshops. Everyone’s gotta buy toothpaste somewhere.

Beyond texture, I’ve been trying to figure out what else it is that is so alluring and this picture helped me figure it out–look at that organization wall! As someone who also confesses to finding it a perfectly good use of time to wander the aisles at office supply stores, examining the hole-punches and paper clips and new ideas for ways to use post-its and planners and (okay, I’ll stop there), the Pottery Barn aesthetic of “everything in a place–a place for everything + organized + beautiful” just sends me completely over the moon. I look at that office and think, “I would not mind hanging out in THAT room all day.”

So, I digress with all of this background. I wanted to write about creating a home. I have never felt as though Andy and I had a real “home.” There’s always been drama! Whether it’s been leaking roof and broken windows and bad electrical drama, or “we’re selling the house” drama, or the neighbors below us act obnoxiously drama, I have not felt like any place we lived has been a place where we could just…ah…walk in the door and…reeeeeelaaaaxxxxx.

We have now found a cute little bungalow house all to ourselves. There is an adorable backyard, and a freakish-looking but affectionate stray cat named Gregory who likes to hang around (we discovered yesterday that he basically thinks the house is his and will walk in and settle himself right down among the boxes). 

After getting everything out of the storage unit and into the house, we commenced with painting. Goodness but I love the owner of this house. I love that she is cool with letting us make the place our own. Love it love it love it.

My office will be YELLOW. I keep feeling this need to type YELLOW because I’m so excited about YELLOW.

Virginia Woolf believes every woman needs a room of one’s own–Kate Swoboda believes every person should have, at some point in their life, a YELLOW office. I am still in the midst of painting it YELLOW, a beautiful Tuscan buttery YELLOW. I will finish the job today.

Before we left our last permanent place of occupancy and started house-sitting, I was trying to figure out other reasons (aside from the chihuahuas, pomeranians, obnoxious downstairs neighbors, dude with the loud muffler, etc.) for why I was not digging the place. Perhaps the design was it, I thought. Andy and I had embarked upon a binge of organizing and getting rid of things and I started reading design books. One that I fell in love with was Apartment Therapy (you can also view its accompanying website). I had felt again and again that I didn’t know what my “style” was in a home office–I didn’t know what I wanted out of it or how to make it a place where I’d like hanging out–and I would get things for the office that I thought looked good, and then once they were in the office it was kind of like, “Hmmmmm. I like it, but I don’t love it. Why? I thought it looked great at the store!”

I did all of the exercises in the Apartment Therapy weeks, and what I discovered was that a.) I wasn’t using a color scheme that appealed to me for the space (I am more of a “warm” person for office space, and a “cool” person for hanging out on a couch reading space), b.)  I wasn’t organizing the rooms with a sense of “flow,” and c.) I was buying cheap substitutes rather than saving up money for what I really wanted, which was a waste of money, which made me hesitant to spend money because I’d be thinking of the last time I spent money and ended up regretting it.

You can see my last office space here– man, when I look at that picture, I think, “How cluttered! Yick!”

It did not help that this house had exactly two closets–yes, two–and they were only 3″ x 3″ and were taken up completely with our clothing! Office supplies were going on baker’s racks in the laundry room, and this was a huge pain in the arse to deal with, and very ugly to look at.

When getting organized, we also really liked products from the company Buttoned Up. My mother had bought me the Life.doc kit, which combines all of your essential information into one handy binder. Andy and I filled all of this out, made an Emergency Preparedness Plan in case of earthquakes or natural disasters, and bought a large tub from Target and filled it with about $130 worth of non-perishable canned goods, instant coffee, and a flashlight that winds and thus never needs batteries. 

I have to say, it surprised me how much more relaxed I felt after taking the steps of getting our vitals together and a stash of food–I had had no idea that it had been weighing on me that we hadn’t done that, until we’d completed it and sent our EPP to our families.

But the last thing I’ll touch on (because man is this getting long!), is that creating a home has been as much about the two of us as about anything else. Creating a home has been about the peace we have here, and that involves cleaning up our messes, our withholds and resentments, all of the “gunk” that can build up in a relationship. It’s amazing to me how we would never let nastiness build up in our bathroom tub, but we can get lazy about letting nastiness build up between us. With that in mind, we’ve been really hitting it hard on our 3x weekly check-ins, processing out issues, and speaking up as soon as any tired, frustrated, or irritated energy comes into the room.

Home = beautiful design + beautiful energy + functional + love.

What does your home look like? I’m so curious to get decorating ideas. The entire photoset from the last home we lived in is here, and in case you hadn’t seen it, I also love and adore Kelly Rae Roberts’ sense of style (if she were not rocking out already with art-making, she’d be a kick-ass interior decorator). 

Feel free to share your Flickr sets or links to home decorating pics in the comments!