It’s a Long Long Way to Ferragudo!

13 Feb 2025 8 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in food, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , ,

I didn’t know what to expect, but Portugal is beyond. Way beyond.

I’ll start from the beginning…

After the 3-hour drive from my home in the frigid deep north (my sister informed me that it was -35°F yesterday morning), I spent the night in Minneapolis. The next day, my daughter took me to the airport to catch my 1:15 p.m. flight to Philadelphia.

I cleared the checkpoints and was at my gate. It was a smaller plane for the domestic flight and definitely no frills. But we landed in Philadelphia safely and on time.

I was in terminal F and my next flight left from Terminal A. Meanwhile, I had a 4 1/2-hour layover, so I asked at the information desk which way to Terminal A. She pointed then said, “It’s a 25-minute walk.”

“Twenty-five?” I repeated.

She nodded. “But, there’s a shuttle right through those doors.”

I thanked her and took the shuttle.

Somehow, my flights always seem to be at the farthest gate possible. I found it, bought a roasted turkey wrap and bottled water, and settled in to wait.

They started the boarding process an hour before departure, which was a good thing because this dreamliner plane has the capacity for 240 passengers. Boarding that many takes a while. 

Once on the plane, we taxied for about 5 minutes, then sat for another hour on the tarmac while the plane was de-iced.

I had a window seat with a perfect view of the left wing.

At last, all traces of ice and snow removed, we were off to Lisbon.

Six plus hours later, the coast of Portugal came into view, a sight for tired eyes.

My friend, who has been here 5 times, had sent explicit instructions. Before leaving the airport, go to Vodaphone for an eSim.

I found the Vodaphone booth and got in line behind 8 others. I stood there…and stood there…while each person’s process took at least 20 minutes. At that rate, I’d miss the bus to Ferragudo. I connected to the airport internet and put in a quick WhatsApp call to my friend. Her advice: Forget the eSim, just get to the bus.

OK, will do. So, I pulled up my Uber app.

Where are you going?

Bus Station.

Now or later?

Now.

Your visa is being charged. Your driver, Lucido, is 4 minutes away. White Nissan, license plate….

He arrived. He spoke no English, and my Potuguese contains approximately four words. I was whisked to the bus station and dropped at the curb. Obrigado, thank you, that’s one of the 4.

I asked a woman lined up in a queue for one of the 20 or so buses where the ticket office was. Found it. Went to the wrong window. A woman asked me where I was going.

“Portimao.”

“Follow me.” I followed her and discovered that she was the ticket agent. “Your bus leaves in 5 minutes,” she said.  She printed the ticket then, again, “Follow me.” She led me to the bus.

From that bus window, I photographed the ever-changing Portuguese countryside.

Lisbon

I don’t know the names or the history of what I saw through that window leaving Lisbon, but it was magical.

Then we were in the country.

Cranes in their nests.

What a tour! Olive orchards, sheep, cork trees, figs, I had planned to sleep on the bus. Who can sleep in Wonderland?

My friend was waiting when we pulled into the station at Portimao. Twenty minutes later, we were at her house. She gave me a quick tour, then showed me my private suite (bedroom, bath, and balcony). By then, I’d had 2 hours of sleep in the past 40 hours.

“We’ll go out to dinner,” she said.

“If I’m awake,” I replied.

In a heartbeat, I was dead to the world. At around 5 p.m. she knocked.

Who? What? Where am I?

“Come downstairs when you’re ready. There’s wine and cheese. Then we’ll go to dinner.”

If you aren’t familiar with Portuguese wines, you should be. She had a bottle of red and a white, mixed cheeses, a baguette… Who needs dinner? I thought.

But an hour later, we were out the door and on our way to Restaurant Aria for A) more wine, B) an appetizer of marinated olives, and then…

Baked Octopus.

It was DIVINE.

When our engaging, single, middle-aged waiter with two cats told us there was one slice of raspberry cheesecake left, we decided dessert was essential. My friend had the cheesecake. I ordered a carob, fig, almond cake that was…well…you remember the scene with Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally? It was THAT good.

We got back to the house – a very short walk – and I slept so well…!

I can not tell you how happy I am to be far, far away from ice and snow exploring this Portuguese fishing village. The journey was so worth it! I sunned stretched out in a lounge chair on the upper terrace amid cacti and palms today. Ahhhh…bliss!

In An Airport Somewhere

25 Jan 2025 8 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in food, The Farm, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , ,

I’ve been in airports. Lots of airports. And quite a number of them many times. Singapore’s Changi began to feel like my second home since I almost always had a long layover there on my trips to and from Bali.

Changi Airport

So, when I try to remember where I had my first taste of liver pâté, all I can say is that it was in an airport somewhere. Charles DeGaulle in Paris would make sense since a French chef in Normandy is credited with creating that robustly earthy treat. But maybe it was Heathrow. Best guess, it was somewhere in Europe.

I’ve intentionally purchased liverwurst a few times, just for that memorable flavor. But it’s a shabby substitute.

My cousin with a PhD. from the University of Minnesota raises cows, pigs, llamas, chickens, goats, and sheep on her farm nearby. My sister recently bought the meat of a whole lamb from her. I overheard Gwen saying that she was going to cook the liver for her dog. 

“You’re what? No way! May I have it? Please?” I begged.

“Really? Sure. Take the kidneys, too.”

At home, I googled liver recipes, and there it was, Old World Lamb Liver Pâté.

So today I made the most mouth-wateringly delicious pâté…no, really, it’s divine! I only had to substitute Greek yogurt for cream and dried herbs for fresh ones. It was ridiculously easy.

I served it with crackers when the Codgers arrived for 5 o’clock social hour. As finicky and judgmental as they are (all of them are gourmet cooks) they agreed it was edible, even tasty in small doses. At 250 calories per serving, small is the sensible portion!

The 1.4-pound liver made a large batch. But Google said it freezes well. So that’s where it is now,  a year’s supply of Old World Lamb Liver Pâté, frozen in my fridge. Every guest that passes through my doorway will get a taste. But don’t let that deter you. I do want visitors…really, I do! 🤢

One Big Idea – Part 3

29 Dec 2024 11 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in vision board, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , , , , ,

You blew me away with your responses! What great suggestions you all made! I’ve taken your advice and have been busy rewriting and expanding to the next few chapters. Once again, critics have at it! Please!

I do have a few specific questions.

1) I’ve written in a very informal style, incorporating comments from my everyday life. Is that working?

2) The information isn’t new, but my goal is to present it in an engaging way. Is that working?

If you could respond to those and then freely voice all other thoughts, criticisms, and advice, I’d be thrilled! Here goes round two!

Don’t Hold On To What You Can’t Have

CHAPTER 1

Grasping, clinging, and telling myself lies compromised my happiness long past the use-by date. So where do I get off asking you not to hold on to what you can’t have? How do I dare offer advice when I personally screwed up so brilliantly?

If I had an imposter syndrome, that would shut me down. But impostering isn’t one of my issues. How do you measure what has been learned over decades? Here I am, a seventy-something who fudging knows a bit from living it. I’ve laughed, loved, failed, and yet come out on the other side vigorous and vim-full of…well…you decide. 

I want to talk about letting go because it’s sticky, and tricky, and one of the most important keys to happiness. There are times when it’s necessary to sever all bonds, and other times when subtly loosening the grip does the job. 

But it’s knowing, isn’t it? Knowing who we are, what we need, what we want. Knowing when enough is enough and too little is too painful.

Socrates, one of the great philosophers of all time, is credited with saying, Know thyself. He also said that self-knowledge is a philosophical commandment that can help people avoid mistakes in their relationships and careers. 

Philosophical commandment! Holy ravioli! What does that even mean?

Ravioli – I’m starving. Time for lunch. More later.

CHAPTER 2

Okay, I’ve given it some thought. Let’s reduce philosophical commandment, to a less lofty-sounding but equally valid expression. Let’s call it the guiding rule. Self-knowledge is the guiding rule that helps people avoid mistakes in their relationships and careers. When it’s spelled out that way…so logical…right?

Until I read the iconic book by Kathleen A. Brehony, Awakening at Midlife, I had not devoted one iota of bandwidth to pondering those essential questions about myself. I was living on autopilot, numb, checked out. 

Sadly, we can’t flick a button to light up our awareness. Learning who we are is a process; if it hasn’t been part of the daily regimen to date, there’ll be some catching up to do. 

I was in my fifties with four failed marriages and a felony conviction to my credit (or debit) when I began to ask Who am I? Fortunately, the conviction was overturned on appeal, but I’m just saying, I was a late bloomer at the awareness table. And, I hate to admit this, but even after I began the process of self-discovery, I married and divorced one more time. Breaking old patterns is a bitch. 

 On the flip side, my transformation is a testimony to the fact that it’s never too late. Are you listening? It   is   never   ever   too   late.

Uncovering who we are is an exciting journey. I didn’t know I was a writer. Didn’t know I loved solitude. Didn’t know how much I needed adventures, challenges, experiences, and an out-of-the-box reality. It gives me goosebumps to write this, to remember how lost to myself I was.

When we don’t know ourselves, we’re vulnerable. Instead of choosing what will feed and nurture us in healthy ways, we run the risk of falling prey to opposite energies. That’s what I meant when I said I was on autopilot. I let life happen to me rather than making informed choices to determine my fate. Self-knowledge = informed choices = a higher potential for happiness and success.

What does all this have to do with holding on or letting go? Everything. Yup. Absolutely everything. 

Okay, it’s 32 degrees Fahrenheit, as warm as it’s going to get today, and it’s already closing in on 2 p.m. I need to get my walk in before dark. In the frozen tundra of northern Minnesota, winter brings nighttime virtually on the heels of sunrise. I need to catch while catch can – back soon!

CHAPTER 3

It’s a quarter to eight in the morning and still dark. In honor of all that’s true and holy, I’m letting go of my need for sunlight and embracing the gloom. To my point – I’m choosing not to hold onto what I can’t have right now. I’ll practice patience. That’s a good place to start. I’ll loosen my vise-like grip on the desire for a bright and beautiful day knowing that if I’m patient, that day will come. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, and if I check my weather app, maybe not for a week. But it will come. So, Sherry, give up your infantile whining already! 

Patience isn’t always a virtue. It’s good to have patience for something over which you have no control. Like the weather, for instance. But in circumstances where your needs aren’t getting met…. Here’s where you have to know yourself. If you don’t know what you need, you don’t know when you’re not getting it. To be a healthy human, you must know when action is required to make a change for your well-being. 

So let’s help you get to know you.

After I read that life-changing  Awakening book, I set out on my journey of self-knowing. I made a list of things I love. Not people. Not pets. Things. One of them was sunlight through French doors. Really! That’s random. But it’s something I love. My list went on for pages and pages. I found myself returning to it throughout the days as another ‘love’ popped to mind. 

What a simple task, right? But, by becoming aware of the things I loved, I was able to give myself more of that. I immediately weeded out of my life the things I didn’t love. Itchy clothing, stinky candles, lumpy pillows…. You get the drift!

#1 – Make a list of the things you love

When I well and truly couldn’t think of another thing I loved, I asked myself, What do you want that you don’t have? I quickly realized I’d opened Pandora’s Box – a real can of worms. My day-to-day was a shallow shell of shoulds. I was trying to fit into a mold of imagined expectations – what I thought others wanted of me – that had no resemblance to the life I desired. I remember thinking, I’m just marking time, waiting to die.

I panicked. I’m not kidding. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. My breath came fast and shallow. The room faded in and out of focus. I was cemented into a job, a house, a marriage, a community, an entire life that belonged to someone else.

We stuff this information so deep…we tell ourselves stories to support the lies…we deny, deny, deny, that anything’s wrong and put on a show of the perfect family, the perfect marriage, the perfect employee, the perfect wife, when all the while we are perfectly miserable.

If our reality is dreadfully out of alignment with our heart, it will require great courage to take the steps necessary to shift it. As I viewed my list of woes, my first thought was, no way. There is no way out. My second thought was, But this is unsustainable. I’m just marking time. I have to find a way.

According to the Constitution of the United States, the pursuit of happiness is our inalienable right. Deep down I felt that. I hated what I had to do yet I knew I deserved better than a robotic, disengaged existence. But, Oh! My! Where to begin?

And there are times, like now, when my heart says, Keep writing, and my body says, It’s noon! For god’s love, stop and eat breakfast!

‐———-

After breakfast, I did a new vision board.

After lunch, I walked with my sister in a marshmallow world.

After the walk, I worked on chapter 4! Now I await your feedback!

In Defense of Wrinkles

30 Nov 2024 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Italy, Mexico, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , , , ,

Stay out of the sun, they said. It causes wrinkles. Protect your skin. But tropical beaches beckoned, and I stretched on warm sands soaking in radiance, not caring about a distant future I may not survive to see.

“The single engine Cessna crashed in the mountains surrounding Oaxaca. The pilot and passenger were killed instantly.”

“A motorbike skidded off the cliff on Mount Batur. Neither driver nor passenger survived.”

“A woman walking the blind curves on the Amalfi coast highway was hit and killed by a speeding car.”

None of that happened. It could have because I was the passenger in both scenarios, and I was the woman walking.  But the plane didn’t crash. The motorbike didn’t skid. And the car didn’t even come close.

Instead, I survived to grow wrinkles with memories of a life lived to the brim, adventures, risks, and wondrous moments of sheer magic because the exciting present was far more important to me than an unknown future.

Had I avoided Waikiki beach, the intercontinental flights in that small plane, the exhilarating motorbike rides through the mountains of Bali, and the enchantment of the Amalfi coast, what would I have now?

Wrinkles, because they would have come with age whether I’d lived my wild or not. And what are wrinkles without memories to accompany them?

Just wrinkles.

However, my advice to my daughters:

●Wear sunscreen.

●Avoid tropical beaches.

●Fly only in large commercial aircraft.

●Don’t ever get on the back of a motorbike,

and…

●In Praiano on the Amalfi coast, stick to the stairs!

All the Yesterdays

21 Nov 2024 8 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , , ,

There are immediate yesterdays and distant yesterdays.

I’ve been immersed in the distant yesterdays of the 1700s. Maria Theresa succeeded King Charles, her father, when he died in 1740 and became queen of  Hungary and Bohemia and the Archduchess of Austria at 23 years old. Fredrick the Great, ruler of Prussia, was her fierce adversary.

I’m riveted to Nancy Goldstone’s book, In the Shadow of the Empress. It has taught me more about the players in the history of that period than any schoolroom class ever did.

The story causes me to reflect back on who I was at 23 years old. It’s an embarrassing journey. At that age, I was no more capable of ruling a vast kingdom than I was of making good decisions for my own life.

The painful years of early adulthood bled over into my 30s and 40s until I finally refused to do it that way anymore. At 42, I took control, sent myself back to college, and finished a Bachelor-of-Science degree.

That was a major turning point. I gained confidence, self-respect, and a path to financial independence.

In Paul McCartney’s hit song, Yesterday, he acknowledges that his troubles seemed so far away. In the second verse, he admits that yesterday came suddenly, and in the third, he longs for yesterday. The song culminates as he needs a place to hide away. That place, of course, is yesterday. There was a soul stuck in the past.

It’s easy, as I age, to lose myself in remembering. I mean, after 74 years, there’s a lot of water under the bridge. Oceans, in fact. There was much turbulence, and at times, I nearly drowned. But I recall best the stretches of fair winds and blue skies. Joyous days. Epic adventures. Love and belonging.

The challenge now is to keep the story moving forward, to continue to dream and believe those dreams into being. The vision has to be big enough and juicy enough to excite me, like building my house did, because, frankly, there’s not enough energy for smallness.

Without a dream, I’m caught in saṃsāra, the five realms of hell the soul travels through after death. I could be a happy Buddhist if it weren’t for the final scenario of that belief system!

So…

It’s time for a new plan, a project. I have no clarity as to what that looks like, but I’m leaning toward adventure. However, I do know with certainty that I’m nowhere near ready to dwell in the past, no matter how glorious. Yesterdays belong to yesterday.

Feeding the Demon

15 Nov 2024 6 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Holidays, Shopping, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , ,

I know it’s way, way too early, but I’ve been bitten by the Christmas bug and have started a frenzied accumulation of holiday decor.

Why now, I ask myself. Why at this particular point in my life have I suddenly become obsessed with Christmas? It has nothing to do with religion – I am far more Buddhist in my practices than anything else. But as darkness descends earlier, and daylight hides under a pallor of gray clouds, I’ve developed a voracious hunger for color and sparkle.

I blame this early obsession partly on the closure of Highway 169 through Aitkin, my familiar trail to the Twin Cities, and partly on Family Pathways Thrift Stores. On my recent trips to Minneapolis to see grandsons, I was forced to take Highway 65. Who knew that route was litered with golden thrifting opportunities right on the road in plain sight? 

Bargain shopping is an addiction and I will not, under any circumstances, resist the urge to stop and peruse for treasures. The fact that I always find something wonderful feeds the demon.

I wasn’t familiar with Family Pathways Thrift, so when the sign appeared requiring a simple left turn at the light, my pulse quickened.

Just inside the door was a winter wonderland. Oh, my! Wreaths and garlands, baubles, trees, and ribbons, elves, candles, reindeer, strings of lights…a Cornucopia of Christmas paraphernalia, and I was hooked. Doomed. Thrilled!

I made a haul, got in the car, and twenty miles down the road, there! Could it be? Another Family Pathways!

Of course, I stopped and spent two more hours of sheer shopping bliss. If anything, there was even more abundance at that location.

I’m almost embarrassed to say, but I made a third stop. Heritage Thrift. I mean…it was RIGHT THERE! I could not in good conscience bypass it. I found a pair of beautiful leather boots, a sweater, scarf, and gloves.

What is usually a 3-hour trip from my house to my daughter’s, that day took 7 hours.

I never shop retail. Boring! I much prefer to be surprised. And I always get 3 or 4 times more for the dollars spent. Plus, the items I find are unique and special, like I said, treasures.

Thrifting isn’t for everyone. My daughters have made that perfectly clear. But it’s a harmless hobby, and I like the idea that I’m part of the recycling circle. When I’ve finished with the things I aquire that others have donated, I turn around and donate them again.

This last trip back from the Cities, 169 was open. Before I started home, I Googled Family Pathways and, sure enough, two of the towns I’d pass through had stores. Unlike my Hwy 65 route, I’d have to leave the highway. Did I care? Is the Pope Catholic?

Needless to say, I’m set for the holidays. As of today, my lighted, 6′ tree stands sentinel on the deck.

Is it terribly gauche of me not to wait until after Thanksgiving? Or at least until it snows?

My sister says her cilantro plants are starting to grow again. They’re outside! Who knows, snow may be a thing of the past. I’m not waiting.

Turn Life Inside Out

03 Nov 2024 4 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Renovating the Hunting Shack, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , , , , ,

When did the lights go on? The tectonic plates shift? When did the things that mattered so much yesterday become unimportant but everything else intensified? When did life turn inside out?

There were decades when I lived from the outside in.

When I obsessed about makeup, clothes, body shape, the color of my nail polish…

…when my legs and armpits still grew hair and I shaved it off…

…when I braided my girls’ long locks, chose their clothes, monitored their behavior so it reflected positively on me…

When I remember those times, I sigh and shake my head.

I spent years looking toward a future where things would be easier, better, safer, and numbed out to the present because most of it was either too mundane or too hard.

That changed when I turned sixty-two, took early retirement, and moved to Indonesia. I had to leave to save the only life I could save, as Mary Oliver so eloquently states in her poem, The Journey.

Every day was new, utterly different, and unpredictable. The present was a glorious place to be. I plunged in headfirst and submerged myself in the culture, the language, the food, and the kindness. I’d never known such joy.

I learned Indonesian by writing the English word on one side of an ice cream stick and the corresponding Indonesian word on the other. Then memorized. Memorized. Memorized.

But, the day I jumped on the back of the motorbike and wound up the mountain to AbangSongan to meet Ketut’s family, I was blindsided by the unfathomable poverty of his mountain village. It shocked me into awareness of the incredible privilege I took for granted as an American white woman.

And yet, those people were happy. They had their tight-knit family compounds, their hectares of land bestowed upon them by the king, and their Hindu rituals of daily prayers and offerings. Walking among them in humility that bordered on grief, a burning determination to make a difference bloomed in my conscience.

Gratitude for the Bali years knows no bounds. That’s where I became who I am. That’s where I began to live from the inside out, making choices from my heart that would benefit those less fortunate. I built a B&B and paid Ketut and his family to manage it. Ruamh Jelita – Beautiful House. When I left Bali, I gave it to them. They’re doing well.

I had become proactive in the moment rather than wasting time waiting for some unknown better place. I’d arrived. I was occupying my better place.

Even though I’m back in Minnesota now, I haven’t reverted to the old patterns of numbing out to the present and hoping for a better future. (Who knows how much future is left?) I’ve been on the mountaintop. The path slopes downhill from here. There will be stunning sunrises and joyous times along the way. I’m in excellent health so the end probably isn’t imminent. But I’ve learned how to inhabit my life. Engage with intention. Ponder the knottier questions, daring to dive into dreams trusting that I can manifest them because I have.

Envisioning a home

Living from the outside, from the shallow illusions of conformity to social norms, expectations (usually self-inflicted) and preconceptions of what should be, is a slow and tortuous soul-death. I would remind you, whoever you are, whether you’re in the prime of life or closing in on old age, we get one shot at this. As far as we know, nobody has returned from the Great Beyond for a re-do.

I urge you, make the necessary corrections now. Don’t waste another minute. Grab hold of your own life and become who you are…from the inside out.

The Politics of Bluey and Bingo vs. Angry Birds

24 Oct 2024 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in election, technology, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , ,

In 2009, a new cartoon game for kids featured colorful angry birds trying to save their eggs from malicious green pigs. According to the web, the red bird developed his anger issues from being deserted by his parents before he hatched. Then, he was bullied by other birds. It was a popular game, and kids who played it would be in their late teens or twenties by now.

But those cartoonish games were benign compared with what is available to my grandchildren. It’s terrifying…truly terrifying.

I was babysitting one evening and we’d been watching Bluey. I love Bluey! For my purposes, let’s pretend Bluey is Bingo’s brother, even though in the show they are sisters. They’re Australian cattle dogs with the sweetest accents. Of course, there’s mischief but it’s harmlessly playful and fun.

I could watch Bluey all day, but the kids had seen enough and were clamoring for something else. So, unsuspecting Granny started flipping through kid channels looking for an alternative. Ah! There was one with trains. I’d seen numerous episodes of Thomas the Train and thought that’s what I’d found. We cuddled in to watch.

I have to admit, sometimes my mind drifts when the storyline doesn’t engage me. Such was the case when, in the midst of my daydream I heard, I’ll kill you, you little bastard, coming from the TV. HUH? My attention was riveted to those big bad engines running over defenseless baby trains with language that curdled my blood. This was not Thomas the Train!

The TV went off with only a few minor complaints from the kids. They knew better.

Who creates those atrocities, and why? Why the violence? The language? What about those children who have unmonitored access, the ones who watch those creepy cartoons and play killing games? They’re being programmed in ways pre-tech generations never were. Perhaps most disturbing is the fact that cartoon and gaming evil seem to go unpunished, or worse, rewarded. There are no consequences,

It’s not just a kid thing, either. What news media gets noticed, especially now with the heated political climate? What’s more entertaining? Is it the smiling face of Kamala Harris and the unpolished charm of Tim Walz? Or are we mesmerized by the toxic vitriol from the Trump/Vance team? Don’t we all wait with morbid curiosity to see who they’ll disparage and mock next?

It’s a little like Bluey and Bingo vs. The Angry Birds and I’m so over it – so ready to change the channel.

We don’t have much longer to wait. Out here in the wilderness, my ballot is mailed to me. I’ve already voted. I know all my readers aren’t of the same persuasion as I, but voting is one of our most cherished rights, especially for women and people of color who weren’t always granted that privilege. It’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly.

So, dear friends, even if what it boils down to for you is an attempt to determine the lesser of two evils, please choose and vote. Then sit down and watch an episode or two of Bluey. But unless you’re equally as tech-savvy as a 7-year-old, and want to double-up on your blood pressure meds, don’t even try to play Angry Birds.

The Inner Goblin

19 Oct 2024 16 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in vision board, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , ,

There’s a section of the vision board I haven’t dealt with. Upper left quadrant. There it is. I can’t move on to create a new board until this one has fulfilled its mission, until I’ve done the deep dive into the subconscious messages represented here that are running my show. This is the last one. It’s daunting and I’ve avoided it, especially the part about the inner goblin. Who wants to face that?

Here’s the magic. As I sat down to write, I had no clue what my inner goblin might be. But as soon as I isolated the image posted at the top of this page, I laughed out loud. In my face was the reality that, at this point in my life, I’m experiencing resistance to New Possibilities and New Ideas – new anything for that matter.

That isn’t who I’ve always been. I’m adventurous, up for anything, raring to go, right? Suggesting that might have changed makes me think I’m getting old. Please don’t laugh and say, “You ARE OLD!” Age is a state of mind. You’re as old as you believe you are, and I believe myself to be approximately forty-ish, at least in measurable energy if not in looks…that ship has sailed. I just took a selfie to see how many wrinkles I could make. Unfit for publication. Too much truth.

To suggest I’m satisfied with the status quo is an understatement. To imply I’m stuck there might be true. But when you’ve got it so good that you can hardly believe you’re that fortunate, why wish for anything else? I’m close to family yet independent. I have a vibrant community. My house is everything I ever wanted. I look out my windows at peaceful fields and magnificent trees.

I could go on and bore you to tears, so I won’t, but the message is clear. I’m happy.

The catch, then, is OPEN-NESS. Despite deep contentment, am I willing to fall into something new? Do I need to be? The goblin would suggest that, yes, I do. But, if I’m perfectly honest, I don’t even want to be presented with the possibility of something new. There’s been so much change in my life. I’m ready to settle, ready for stability, ready to plant myself in this safe place and just be.

So perhaps the inner goblin is the feeling that I SHOULDN’T be content with that. I never have been before. I’ve needed adventure, challenge, change. Distractions. From what? Probably, from knowing that life is finite. There’s an end and let’s not get there with regrets, things left undone, sights unseen, adventures unexplored.

Well, that end is in sight. Not imminent, but clearly on the horizon. I’ve gone where I wanted to go, seen what I’ve wanted to see, had adventures enough for two lifetimes. The itches have been scratched. So, inner goblin, wither and die you bothersome fiend! I am where I am, what I am, who I am, and until I say otherwise, I’m unrepentantly delighted.

The Friendship Challenge

06 Oct 2024 6 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Mexico, The Farm, vision board, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , , ,

My Vision Board strikes again!

We need special people in our lives. When I moved to Bali, I didn’t know a soul. After a few inquiries online, I located a writers group (Steve Castley, Ubud Writers) and was invited to join their exclusive circle. I lived and breathed for those bi-monthly get-togethers.

I loved the comradery, but as writing critics, they were ‘Minnesota nice’ to the extreme. Coming from the brutally honest cutthroat feedback I was used to,  I had to choke down their compliments like too-sweet cough syrup. But I was the newbie trying to fit in.

After several meetings, I spoke up. “I know you have a rule that only positive feedback is allowed, and I respect that. But I want to grow as a writer. You have my permission to rip my work to shreds. Give me some real help, please!”

Silence fell like doom over the group. Then someone said, “Same for me.” Then, “Me too!”

Looking back, I wonder if I was the catalyst for the transformation that took place. One-by-one, people dropped out. Those who remained were hard-core and committed to the craft. I’d found my tribe.

When I moved to San Miguel de Allende, I knew one person, ReAnn Scott. She happened to be the connector-type with hundreds of contacts. There was no writers group, but there were rooftop parties, happy-hour meet-ups, and rumicub game days. Friendships bloomed.

Then, I landed here in the heart of the Midwest. Two years passed as I focused every ounce of energy on creating a place to live. I had my sister and brother-in-law and a smattering of relatives nearby. Bear, an old family friend, moved in next door. There was no lack of social interaction. But every-so-often, I’d find myself wondering how I could make new acquaintances. Everyone had been here for generations. As I recalled, they were good for a brief ‘hello’ before turning back to their comfortable familiars.

I’m not remarkably outgoing. I can summon up the necessary mojo when circumstances warrant it. But I’m quite thrilled with my own company most of the time.

And yet, when wind whistles across barren fields and clouds race each other in a frenzy to block the sun, nothing feels cheerier than a pot of steaming coffee with a friend.

When I learned that a traveling library visited the nearby community center every other Thursday, I was curious. Don’t get me wrong. There is no shortage of reading material in the codger community. Gwen and W’s library is a cornucopia of murder, mystery, and sci-fi. I have full access.

Bear’s new bookshelves bristle with war, history, and philosophy.

It would take several lifetimes to wade through all that literature.

So, books aside, I mostly wanted to know who would show up for a literary event.

My sister agreed to go with me that first time. As we entered, we were greeted with warm Hellos and Good mornings. There was a long table holding bins of books. Beyond that were two more tables. Around one, eight men chatted and drank coffee. A cluster of women were seated at the other, also deep in conversation. One of them pointed us to the coffee pot and gathered two more chairs so we could join them. Books, obviously, were an afterthought, an excuse for a neighborhood meetup.

The Bookmobile has become an important entry on my calendar. It holds great promise as a source of friendships. The challenge to find like-minded people no longer feels daunting. Oh! And there’s an added bonus: I can go online and order any book I want. It will be delivered to me via the Bookmobile on the following Thursday.

There is something about the ease of that service that feels luxurious. Indulgent. And the genuine inclusivity of the women, so unexpected, sends warmth radiating straight to my heart.

I should have known when the Universe whispered, the Farm, just as years before it had whispered, Bali, then, San Miguel, I could proceed with confidence. Friendships would come, the path would appear, and I could trust the unfolding.

Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries