Mindful

*A Small Note: This post was written last night but due to a temporary issue with my internet I was unable to post it until just now* 

Mindful
by Mary Oliver

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for -
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant -
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these -
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

I remember the very first time my eyes alighted on these words. I was housesitting, and taped to the mirror of the bathroom was this poem. Certain words had been underlined, others circled, I read them all marveling at their truth. I understood completely why, out of the millions out there, these people had placed this poem in such a place that they would be reminded of it's message every day. The message that in all things, no matter how small, there is beauty and room for miracles.

When I first moved into my own apartment I hung a copy in a frame by my bathroom mirror for a daily visual reminder, but in truth I had committed these words to memory long before. I can honestly say that in the past four years there have only been a few days where I have not seen something that has caused those first few lines to run skittering through my thoughts. Often I grab hold of them and carry on silently repeated each word coming to rest only after that last syllable's echo. And as the poem says, it is normally something most consider mundane and often fail to even see that sparks this little ritual.

Like the silver cobweb in the corner of my building shining in sunrise as I stepped outside this morning, or the fluttering air encircling a flock of birds rising suddenly in unison into the blue afternoon sky. There were the early fall leaves that glowed red fire as the sun began setting, and the fall air full of that crisp freshness that only exists this time of year.

Normally it is only the comings and goings of nature that bring me time and again back to these verses. But I know that it's message can be found in all aspects of life, those small daily blessings that we all sometimes take for granted. Like the way Faelina was curled up in the crook of my neck this morning, her purrs the first sound to welcome back from a night lost in dreams. Or steam from my beloved cinnamon apple spice tea floating upward in soft swirls quietly beckoning with it's sweet scent. It's in the warm comfort that came with pulling on my favorite sweater after a walk in the cold air, the delight delivered at the feel of a book in my hand and the rustling of each new page I turned. And it was the rush of simple bliss that filled me when I took that first sip of my most favorite coffee.

Life lately often has me feeling frazzled and full of unanswered questions. I am more than a little overwhelmed as I work to get everything done for my move, and when trying to reconcile my ever growing pile of bills with a bank account that shrinks daily. But for all that I still know, and am reminded daily, that I live a life filled with immeasurable blessings. I continue to be one of the luckiest people on the planet. I hope that is something I never forget. 

~~~~

Two other things happened today that I do not consider to be common, ordinary, or very drab. In fact I view them as rather extraordinary. The first was getting to see, after 10 months, a friend that I made while at Mercy. I have been told by many people this year that I have been brave and strong and an inspiration in my efforts to fight this eating disorder. Compared to this young woman though, I am nothing. From the beginning she has wowed me by the way she has fought to pull herself out from the hell she has been through and I continue to be in awe the strength and commitment to her recovery she shows each and every day. She is the very epitome of real inspiration and I am so proud to know her; beyond thankful I can call her a friend. And I think it was seeing her again that made the second extraordinary thing possible.

She lives in New Hampshire, so I had driven down to Portsmouth to meet her. On a recommendation from her friend we walked into the doors of Breaking New Grounds in search of coffee and after some deliberation ordered a maple americano (for me) and a pumpkin spice cappuccino (for her). We each also picked out one of their cookies. I'd gone with the classic chocolate chip (after pointing out they were missing the all important peanut butter cookie) and broke off small pieces sometimes dipping them in my coffee before taking a bite while at other times enjoying the plain deliciousness of just the cookie itself. We finished our cookies and coffee, talked, laughed, walked around Portsmouth for a bit, and then stopped into Breaking New Grounds before parting so I could get another coffee for the road. It wasn't until I was back on the highway, with my music blasting and the cold air from my open window raising goosebumps of happiness on my arms that I realized I had eaten that entire cookie without an ounce of regret or a single drop of guilt from her. For most of you reading this experiencing such a thing might seen incredibly common and ordinary, I hope so at least. But for me, most days, second guessing myself for eating even a piece of bread, an extra tablespoon of oats, or the addition of an apple to a meal is commonplace. For me eating a chocolate chip cookie and feeling nothing but joy and pleasure hasn't happened in more than two years. This doesn't mean that I am not cured of my fear of cookies, but it was an giant sized step in that direction and I am so grateful for it.

As I sit here writing this now, a third rather spectacular event took place. When I started the night was dark and a a clear, pearl, glowing moon was rising upward. Every few minutes though I peeked out my window and saw it slowly transform into a dark red orb before blending into the midnight darkness. You all know how much I love the moon – full, new, or otherwise, and this was a completely new experience for me. One that was thrilling, exciting, and the perfect end to day filled with beautiful miracles. 

Sometimes the Hardest Goodbyes Bring the Best Adventures

For me 2011 was a year full of happiness, joy, excitement, hope, confusion, terror, sadness, heartache, and a whole lot of doubt. I'd known since January 1st that with college behind me I wanted to move, to have an adventure somewhere else. That was the extent of my knowledge though, the answer to the question of where I would go eluded me faster than a midnight dream slips from memory upon waking. My confusion was worsened by my love of Alaska and the tears that filled my eyes at the mere thought of saying goodbye. I spent months trudging through days flooded with the sense I was wandering lost through life and only walking further down into dark unhappiness. I was desperate for a sign, a nudge from the universe, that would direct me where to go.

My silent plea was answered when I woke one morning to an e-mail from a close family friend inviting me to come stay with their family. They were living in Lisbon Falls, Maine and my friend said they would be happy to help me to get settled in Maine and find my own place and was welcome to live with them for as long as I needed in the meantime. After a few days thought I e-mailed her back accepting her very generous offer`and began preparing for the journey ahead of me.

However while my decision had been made my mind was not, and while I was relieved to finally have a plan I wasn't entirely thrilled about it. Each day my departure came even closer I was plagued the question of whether I'd chosen right and filled with a wish for something different. You see, Maine had long been on my list of places that I had thought would be nice to live, but at that particular moment in my life part of me, most of me, wanted to be driving in a different direction, wished I was moving somewhere else.

Those emotions did not disappear once I got to Maine but at some point without my realizing it they did fade. In fact, they vanished so completely that not even an imprint was left in my memory. I had forgotten entirely, and it wasn't until last week that a jolting shock of remembrance last week allowed me to recall them at all. I take that as a I sign I'd chosen right despite my doubts at the time. Back then I was meant for Maine, I know that now, and over my four years here I have come to love this place deeply.

~~~

Which is why when last week I looked my landlord in the eye and told her I was leaving my own eyes filled with unexpected tears and my heart made a small cry of pain as I spoke the words promising a definite goodbye.

~~~

I came back from Norway utterly lost in regards to what I wanted next. So many places and possibilities floated just beyond reach in front of me it was beyond me to figure out which I should grasp. I asked for a sign, a nudge from the universe, to help me sort it all out. And it came, in the form of my best friend. She knew I was struggling and offered me a home to stay in for as long as I needed and daily love and support while I figured everything out. This time it took me longer than a few days to make up my mind. There was so much I was scared of, I felt like by saying yes I would be slamming the doors to so many opportunities. But in a moment of total honesty with myself I admitted that I truly have no idea what I want right now and maybe, while I am trying to sort that out, it might be a good idea to have my best friend close by.

So I'm moving to Utah. After much consideration I have decided to drive as I know I will need a car in my new home. I am incredibly nervous about how this will turn out. I wish that no radio reception, broken AC, and a dent on the passenger side were the only things wrong with my car. But it is old, I've put it through a lot, and it's not in the greatest shape. Visions of it deciding that it has run it's course leaving me stranded on some highway in Nebraska late at night cause my pulse to race and heart to start skidding. I don't really have any other option though since no money and no job prevents me from buying a new one, so I'll just be crossing my fingers and hoping for the best. I will have Synge and Faelina with me which will make the whole excursion a bit tricky, I've never driven long distances with a cat before, but I will somehow figure that out - hopefully without any major mishaps.

Stephanie and her husband have told me I can stay with them indefinitely but my goal is to find a job and then a place of my own as soon as possible. Apart from not wanting to wear out my welcome in their home, I am also motivated to make this happen for three additional reasons. The first is that while living at Steph's, the cats will be confined to my bedroom so that they don't get underfoot in the home, cause unfixable mischief (Faelina would mainly do this), or accidentally escape outside. I feel bad that I will be disrupting their quiet calm lives in this way and want to find a home where they have free reign of the place quickly. My second reason is that that majority of what money I have now will be used for this trip and I am anxious to reverse the downward trend my bank account balance has been in since July. I also just like knowing that, for at least five days a week, I have to work everyday. It makes me feel like I'm living up to the responsibilities and requirements for being a responsible adult and I like not having to rely on others for everything to get by on life. My last reason for needing a place of my own is just that, I need a place of my own. The introvert in me is panicking that I am leaving behind a home where I can control what happens. Where I know no one will mess up a room I've just cleaned or conversely where if I make a mess I will be the one that has to clean up. Where I can where what I want, do what I want, where I can just be alone. I need a space where I can just be me and I hope beyond hope that it won't take me very long before I can get that.

Right now I am filled with a whole lot of doubt, heartache, sadness, terror, confusion, hope, excitement, joy and happiness. I feel tears threatening whenever I focus on leaving Maine behind; I am going to miss so much Brunswick and everything in it, the food that is hands down the best in the country (not even an eating disorder could make me blind to that fact), and all the old city buildings and farmhouses that practically sing with the history of all the lives they've touched. Knowing that soon I won't be here any longer makes my heart ache. But I left Alaska, an act that just about tore my heart out, and if I left then, I can leave now too.

To boost my spirits, I have been trying to focus on the positives about Utah. There's the obvious, that after 20 years my best friend and I will finally be living in the same state once more. Not only that but I will also get to experience the lives and joys of her children. Up until now all I've been witness to is mere snapshots of who they are, now I will get to watch them grow. Utah has mountains - real mountains, some beautiful National Parks, hiking trails galore, no humidity, beautiful winters, and magical places where the scent of sage fills the air. I will be able to meet new people and hear their stories. And perhaps most important, whatever great or horrible things may come, I will be given a chance to learn and discover more about myself and what I am capable of.

So that is where I'm at. I don't feel entirely certain about Utah, part of me wants something else, but again that was the case with Maine too. I leave October 16th, giving me a month to check off all the things on my ever growing 'Move To-Do' list. It's ridikulous-ly long and seemingly impossible to get through in just four weeks, but I will. Even more important is my intention to soak up and enjoy as much of Maine as possible so when that Friday morning inevitably arrives, I am able to wake up and say goodbye to this home before I drive off searching for my new one.

Brave Girl Eating

A few weeks ago a friend I met while at Mercy recommended a book she had found helpful. "Brave Girl Eating" by Harriet Brown is the authors experience of her teenage daughters battle with anorexia and their family's exhausting, heartbreaking, efforts to help her. I checked the book out from the library the next day, but as I was reading multiple other books at the time, it sat on my bookshelf untouched until this morning.

Though I only just started reading today, I am writing about the book now because the first two pages contain the authors attempt to describe what it is like to live in the middle of this disease. I have not been shy about sharing my experiences, there are few events and details I have held back, but something that I have struggled to accurately portray are the exact thoughts, voices and emotions that take place inside my head daily. Browns attempt to capture the day in the life of an anorexic is scarily accurate.

With each new paragraph of Brown's writing, I found myself spiraling further down into the memories of when I was at my worst. How I'd wake in the pre-dawn hours after only a few hours sleep because I just had to work out and hours later so tired, knees buckling with every step, my stomach screaming with it's emptiness, I'd fight with myself to just have a spoonful of peanut butter to appease frantic needs of my starved body. I never could though, my mind was to strong and jumping off a cliff seemed less dangerous. The days I'd spend hours online looking at site after site after site of recipes for creamy pasta dishes, sandwiches of delicious breads topped with all sorts of delights, and chocolate desserts that made my heart dream, knowing I would never ever be allowed to taste them. The nights where my the voice in my head and pining of my hallow stomach filled me with fear and desperation so deep not even tears could come. Today as I read those last few sentences, my eyes shook with those hidden tears.

I've said before that the only way one can fully understand the power and terror of an eating disorder is for them to have one themselves. But there are some people who are able to use words in such a way that those untouched by this disease are able to get a glimpse into the torturous world the disorder creates. Brown's words struck a nerve, rang a bell of truth. I ask that you read them and take their message to heart so that one day, if you find yourself looking into the face of a person whose mind and life is no longer in their control, you are able grasp the pain they are dealing with and offer help. 

"     Close your eyes. Imagine that you're standing in a bakery. Not just any bakery - the best bakery in Paris, its windows fogged, crowded with people who jostle for space in front of its long glass cases. The room is fragrant and you can't take your eyes off the rows of cinnamon rolls and croissants, iced petits fours, flaky napoleons and elephant ears. Every counter holds at least one basket of crusty baguettes, still warm from the oven.
      And you're hungry. In fact, you're starving. Hunger is a tornado whirling in your chest, a bottomless vortex at your core. Hunger is a tiger sharpening its claws on your tender insides. You stand in front of the glass cases, trying to swallow, but your throat is dry and your stomach clenches and contracts.
      You want more than anything to lick the side of an eclair, swirl the custard and chocolate against your tongue. You dream about biting off the end of a cruller, feeling the give of the spongy dough, the brief molecular friction of the glaze against your teeth, flooding your mouth with sweetness. The woman beside you reaches into a white paper bag, pulls out a hunk of sourdough roll. You see the little puff of steam that flares from its soft center, breathe in its warm yeasty smell. She pops it into her mouth and chews and you chew along with her. You can almost taste the bread she's eating. Almost.
     But you can't, not really, because how long has it been since you've tasted bread? A month? A year? And though your stomach grinds against your backbone and your cheeks are hollow, though the tiger flays your belly, you can't eat. You want to, you have to, but your fear is greater than your hunger. Because when you do - when you choke down a spoonful of plain yogurt, five pretzel sticks, a grape - that's when the voice in your head starts up, a whisper, a cajoling sigh: You don't need to eat, you're strong, so strong. That's right. Good girl.
     Soon the whisper is a hiss filling the center of your head: You don't deserve to eat. You're weak, unworthy. You are disgusting. You don't deserve to live.  You, you, you. The voice is a drumbeat, a howl, a knife sunk in your gut, twisting. It knows what you're thinking. It knows everything you do. The more you try to block it out, the louder it becomes, until it's screaming in your ear: You're fat. You're a pig. You make everyone sick. No one loves you and no one ever will. You don't deserve to be loved. You've sinned and now you must be punished.
     So you don't eat, though food is all you think about. Though all day long, wherever you are - doing homework, sitting with friends, trying to sleep - part of you is standing in the bakery, mesmerized with hunger and with fear, the voice growling and rumbling. You have to stand there, your insides in shreds, empty of everything but your own longing. There will be no bread for you, no warm buttery pastries. There's only the pitiless voice inside your head, high-pitched, insistent, insidious. There's only you, more alone than you've ever been. You, growing smaller and frailer. You, with nowhere else to go.
     The voice is part of you now, your friend and your tormentor. You can't fight it and you don't want to. You're not so strong, after all. You can't take it and you cant get away. You don't deserve to live. You want to die.
     This is what it feels like to have anorexia.    "

Book Love

I'd mentioned a couple of posts ago that unemployement has allowed me to read much more than I am used to. This new found freedom to pick up and dive into a book whenever I please is something I have truly cherished this last month. I have been lucky in that I've thoroughly enjoyed all of the books I've read, but I do of course have my favorites and without further ado here they are...



"Time is malleable. Memory fails. Memory changes."

On a recent library visit I wandered over to the shelf dedicated to the 2015 Maine Readers' Choice Award books. One immediately attracted my attention with it's cover being a picture that reminded me strongly of the buildings at Bowdoin. I picked it up and was to intrigued by the shadowed mystery hinted at inside the front cover to not take it home with me.

'The Headmaster's Wife' by Thomas Christopher Greene starts off seemingly to be another book about an individual in the midst of a mid-life crisis complete with a marriage slowly dying, a barrage of bad decisions, and a career heading towards destruction. Instead though, it is a novel where the reader learns that no detail can be taken at face value. A story of stunning twists where love, loss and grief have taken over and in so doing turn their victims into an echo of their former selves. I went through this book as fast as water flows through open fingers and without doubt it was time well spent.

~~~~~~~~

“I felt like a cobweb strung across the doorway, trembling in the draft and about to tear if I moved. If I had just waited one more day, tried one ounce harder in all the days before, maybe he would have dared the darkness and already remembered. Maybe he would have found a way to save us all. But now I was oath bound to destroy him”

Walking into the Young Adult section at the library in search of 'Splintered' (see below) 'Cruel Beauty' by Rosamund Hodge, caught my eye simply by the title. Picking it up hoping to find it was a new telling of my beloved Beauty and the Beast I smiled once I'd confirmed it was. The story opens to an introduction of our female heroine Nyx preparing to say goodbye to her life and all she knows on the eve of her wedding. Promised before birth to wed the demon who rules her kingdom she was raised being trained by her father to take down their evil ruler and rid the land of his influence forever. But once in the enchanted castle, Nyx realizes that such plans are easier said then done, that nothing is black and white, pure good or evil, especially her husband.

I quite enjoyed taking in the pages of this book. While the outline of the classic tale has clear echoes throughout, Hodge has definitely gone farther, brought in new elements, to create a world full of history unique to itself and characters that are infinitely her own.

~~~~~~~~

“I’ve been collecting bugs since I was ten; it’s the only way I can stop their whispers.”
I owe my discovery of this next book to an impromptu, last minute visit to Barnes and Noble on the last day of my Utah visit this past May. On special display, the cover had me instantly fascinated and the story description inside only added to my interest. I held back from buying it though and it was not until I'd returned from Norway that I was able to borrow it from my library.

Inspired by Lewis Carroll's 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland', 'Splintered' by A.G. Howard is different from other retellings in that it is not another version of Alice's tale. It is instead the life is about Alyssa Garner, Alice's great-grandaughter. Haunted from a young age by the curse that seems to befall all of the women in her family's line, and threatened with a decision that promises to destroy her family forever, Alyssa finds her way down into the same rabbit hole that her ancestor had fallen into so many years before determined to break the curse and set her family free. 

Each page of this book had me absolutely transfixed, and I found myself completely in love with this new interpretation of Wonderland, both it's horrors and delights. Howard's vision of this world full of breathtaking descriptions of Wonderland and the hearts of her characters make this a tale impossible to turn away from.
 

~~~~~~~~

"And if you were a spirit, and time did not bind you, and patience and love were all you knew, then there you would wait for someone to return, and the story to unfold."

Last year I wrote a post about my complete entrancement with 'A Winter's Tale' by Mark Helprin. My excitement over that book was apparently so strong, and my frustration that I was reading from a library book (and therefore could not underline my favorite parts) so great, that some wonderful someone left a copy of that book for me at my door later that same day.  I have refrained from attempting to read more of Helprin's books since I knew that I would once again fall in love with the beauty of his writing and that because the book would come from the library (I'm not allowed to buy books any more!) and and that taking a pen to their pages would not be allowed. Lucky for me a Barnes and Noble gift card was bestowed upon me which allowed me to become the excited owner of 'In Sunlight and in Shadow'.

I began reading it during my last days in Norway and still have yet to finish. There are a few reasons why it has taken me longer to get through this book then is normal for me. Part of this is just that Helprin writes in a style that one cannot just speed through. It is also over 700 pages. I have also lately been reading two books simultaneously alternating each book every other day. Lately though it has been by choice. At one point, about halfway through, I came to some chapters whose relevance to the story I questioned. I thought they made the book unnecessarily long and I wondered how much I would enjoy the rest of it. Now with only 100 pages left, I understand the importance of those previous chapters; they were necessary, they were needed. And it is partly because I understand that I have deliberately slowed the pace of my reading.

The reason for this is that I am scared. Scared to find out what is coming. Scared to reach the end. Scared for the characters involved and for the horrible loss that I sense may be coming. I don't know if I will read the last page wrapped safe in a story where love has conquered time itself or if I'll be utterly devastated - or both.

It is a story of love lost inside the magic of New York City, the echoing despair of a world ravaged by war, and the utter injustice of the right forced into unequal battle good versus evil. Through it all, Helprin infuses each character, each place, each moment with the most beautiful language, clearest truths, and undying hopes. I am in awe and completely in love with his ability to do this. And so, because I just can't resist, this post will go out with just a few of the passages that captivated my heart as I read them...

"There is an echo to people's passing, a wake in the air that says more about them than can be said in speech"

"...he would love her indelibly, catastrophically, and forever."

"...the only thing that's really true, that lasts, and makes life worthwhile is the truth that's fixed in the heart. That's what we live and die for. It comes in epiphanies, and it comes in love, an don't ever let frightened people turn you away from it."

"Insane and guaranteed to break hearts into eternity, there it was nonetheless, war inescapable, elevating the sense of being alive like nothing else but love."

"...but most of all she wanted this - to be able to project her soul outside herself for those moments, enchanted and free..."

"He had never known whether the few perfect moments in his life had occurred because the walls between past and present had fallen, or if those walls fall in deference to perfection. But he did know that perfection and the defeat of time ran together, and that they brought love, calm, and resolution as solid as the granite on which he now stood."

"What he saw, imagined, and remembered was the convergence of immortal souls. These were more powerful than armies or empires and more radiant than sunlight. He could not see their faces, because they were swirling like dances, having risen wildly from the darkness and been shot into the air in spark and flame."

"..in the reading rooms of libraries, where the world could open quietly to infinity and she could visit and consult remnant souls in traces of themselves...she felt strongly that nothing was ever lost, that the world was so full of faint echoes that the air was almost solid."

"She was too interested in the truth of things to waste time stammering even slightly with her soul."

"When I was born, my soul took shape in the promises I would keep."

"I won't last forever, and anyone who won't last forever has to live courageously and well, or she's left with, and leaves behind, nothing."