You Won!
Yep, I hit 50,117 today. I won. I'm done.
Except not. I've easily got another 10K to write before the first draft is done. Maybe I'll finish that this weekend.
But for now, I'm done. Yeah!
11.28.2007
11.27.2007
Nanowrimo
Almost done.
No blogging when you've put in as many words as I have in the past three days. I've gone from 22, 700ish to where I am now.
46, 173.
I'm technically ahead of schedule. I'm ready to be done. It's exhausting. And the book may not be neatly finished at 50,000 words. I think it might end up being 60,000 or so before the first draft is all said and done.
No blogging when you've put in as many words as I have in the past three days. I've gone from 22, 700ish to where I am now.
46, 173.
I'm technically ahead of schedule. I'm ready to be done. It's exhausting. And the book may not be neatly finished at 50,000 words. I think it might end up being 60,000 or so before the first draft is all said and done.
11.26.2007
Happiness, Joy and Thankfulness: Part II
This thinking about happiness has also led me to thoughts about joy. For me, happiness and joy are not the same.
Dictionary.com gives these synonyms for joy: rapture, bliss, pleasure. It gives these for happiness: pleasure, joy, exhilaration, bliss, contentedness, delight, enjoyment, satisfaction.
It continues to say: “Happiness . . . implies an active or passive state of pleasure or pleasurable satisfaction. Happiness results from the possession or attainment of what one considers good.”
This seems to sum up my thoughts on the differences of happiness and joy quite well: happiness is something attained, realized, sought and achieved. Happiness is a result of something. You are happy because something happened.
Joy, on the other hand, is organic. It just happens. It may spring from happiness, but it is not caused by anything. Joy is a blessing. Joy is the purer form of emotion. Joy is happiness to the 3,000th power – and then some.
Joy is the rarer of the two emotions; at least it is for me. In fact, I’d say that’s the case for most people. To experience anything on such a level requires being on such a level more often than I am. Don’t get me wrong; there are some people who reside on the “joy” level all the time. (One of my girlfriends in college was this way; she bubbled over with joy all the time. When she was having an “off” day, she was still obviously happy. Her joy always returned to her quickly.)
The question becomes: by allowing yourself to be happy more often, do you open yourself to experiencing the thrill of joy more often? Do you raise yourself to a new level, where perhaps the jump to joy is less difficult than perhaps your current, normal, everyday mental state?
During the holiday, I’ve been very thankful for the joy and the happiness I’ve been experiencing over the past week. I’ve been thankful for the house I own, for the car I drive (that continues to be in great shape despite almost 190K miles), for the job I have, for so many wonderful people in my life, for the journey that I’m on.
I hope you’ve taken the time to recognize that for which you are thankful recently. I hope that you’re thankful for certain people being in your life and that you’ve had the guts and taken the opportunity to tell them. I hope that you find happiness in sharing that thankfulness, and maybe, just maybe, find joy in such an act.
I know I do.
Dictionary.com gives these synonyms for joy: rapture, bliss, pleasure. It gives these for happiness: pleasure, joy, exhilaration, bliss, contentedness, delight, enjoyment, satisfaction.
It continues to say: “Happiness . . . implies an active or passive state of pleasure or pleasurable satisfaction. Happiness results from the possession or attainment of what one considers good.”
This seems to sum up my thoughts on the differences of happiness and joy quite well: happiness is something attained, realized, sought and achieved. Happiness is a result of something. You are happy because something happened.
Joy, on the other hand, is organic. It just happens. It may spring from happiness, but it is not caused by anything. Joy is a blessing. Joy is the purer form of emotion. Joy is happiness to the 3,000th power – and then some.
Joy is the rarer of the two emotions; at least it is for me. In fact, I’d say that’s the case for most people. To experience anything on such a level requires being on such a level more often than I am. Don’t get me wrong; there are some people who reside on the “joy” level all the time. (One of my girlfriends in college was this way; she bubbled over with joy all the time. When she was having an “off” day, she was still obviously happy. Her joy always returned to her quickly.)
The question becomes: by allowing yourself to be happy more often, do you open yourself to experiencing the thrill of joy more often? Do you raise yourself to a new level, where perhaps the jump to joy is less difficult than perhaps your current, normal, everyday mental state?
During the holiday, I’ve been very thankful for the joy and the happiness I’ve been experiencing over the past week. I’ve been thankful for the house I own, for the car I drive (that continues to be in great shape despite almost 190K miles), for the job I have, for so many wonderful people in my life, for the journey that I’m on.
I hope you’ve taken the time to recognize that for which you are thankful recently. I hope that you’re thankful for certain people being in your life and that you’ve had the guts and taken the opportunity to tell them. I hope that you find happiness in sharing that thankfulness, and maybe, just maybe, find joy in such an act.
I know I do.
11.24.2007
Happiness, Joy and Thankfulness: Part I
It has turned out to be a great week (regardless of my stagnant NaNo count: 22,700ish). It didn’t necessarily start that way, but it certainly has become one that I really am happy about. It’s given me a lot of reason to think about happiness, joy and thankfulness.
Deciding what makes me happy (or at least adding to that list) has been a large part of what I’ve been trying to accomplish over the past several months. I’ve always known some things make me happy: sunsets, flowers, the smell of dew on a spring morning, a walk in the fog by the creek, spending time with friends, the birdsong that wakes me in the morning. But the journey of trying to figure out what makes one happy, I think, might be simply about accepting the feeling of happiness from those moments in life.
Not so surprisingly, the fact that I’ve been thinking about what makes me happy got me into a conversation about such with a good friend of mine. We’re a lot alike; the synchronicity that results from that is scary sometimes, but in this case it gave me a bit of perspective about my happiness that I didn’t have yet. That perspective has helped me begin to realize more of what I am happy about – or perhaps more correctly, that which would make me happy if I allowed it.
This conversation devolved into a list, as I’d venture to say such conversations are wont to do. Here’s a smattering of that list; of course, it’s an agglomeration of the conversation and I certainly can’t take all the credit for the part of list that appears here:
Family, good friends, seeing your breath in the morning's first light as the sun just starts to peak over the horizon, the stars, the low rumble of a kitty purr on your chest. The Annual Yarborough Chicken Stew. A good book. Beethoven. Mozart, to some degree, but certainly Ella Fitzgerald. Good concerts. Knowing that somewhere, somehow, someday, someone loves you more than you will ever know or will ever deserve. Love. Holidays. Finally having a clean house. Real hugs. Not the hugs that casual friends give when meeting, but the hugs that feel as if they are trying to hold in all of the good feelings while squeezing out all of the bad ones. Cajun crab dip and water crackers. Mexican food. Pizza. The smell of summer. The ocean. The mountains. Camp fires. Cookouts. Massages. Being alone. Being with everyone who loves you. Sitting in the hot tub. Playing in the rain. The smell of star-gazer lilies. Pictures of friends and family. Finding a great piece of art. Being able to afford that piece of art. Coffee. Good pancakes. The smell of pumpkin candles in the fall, cinnamon candles in the winter. Getting drunk with your friends and knowing they won't hold it against you. Good wine. Most parties. Long phone conversations with your siblings. Fixing the computer. Fixing stuff around the house without needing help. Knowing you can do that without needing help. Being able to negotiate well. Singing your favorite hymns. Singing in the car. Wake Forest's Annual Community Lovefeast, after they cut the lights off at the end and everyone sings "Morning Star." Knowing what a Moravian Star is and having one because you appreciate its meaning. An old typewriter that works. Watching families reunite at the end of the concourse at the airport. Real conversations. Appreciating the bad because it brings out the good. Finally settling into a really difficult yoga pose after months of working on it. Achieving your goals. Finishing the triathlon. Swimming. Realizing you solved a pretty serious problem while you were swimming. Libraries. Book sales. A genuine smile from a stranger. Knowing that your in-laws (the ones you got from your siblings) like you, even if they do think you're weird. Being a little weird. Loving it because it makes you, you.
That list of things that makes me happy got even longer this week. Yes, I’d say it’s a direct result of Thanksgiving (and a few other things that happened). I can now add this to it:
Happening upon a dear old friend in Best Buy. Finding something you’ve been looking for. Finding something you’d lost. Celebrating the return of something that was lost. Making a hard decision and knowing you’re right about it, the second after it’s made. Hearing this, upon entering the house at which you’re celebrating thanksgiving, because it’s so darn funny: “Happy Thanksgiving! And what type of alcohol would you like to start with?” Doing something to be able to say you’ve done it. Helping out. The Salvation Army bell ringers. Movies (but not scary ones) . . .
What would you add to the list?
Deciding what makes me happy (or at least adding to that list) has been a large part of what I’ve been trying to accomplish over the past several months. I’ve always known some things make me happy: sunsets, flowers, the smell of dew on a spring morning, a walk in the fog by the creek, spending time with friends, the birdsong that wakes me in the morning. But the journey of trying to figure out what makes one happy, I think, might be simply about accepting the feeling of happiness from those moments in life.
Not so surprisingly, the fact that I’ve been thinking about what makes me happy got me into a conversation about such with a good friend of mine. We’re a lot alike; the synchronicity that results from that is scary sometimes, but in this case it gave me a bit of perspective about my happiness that I didn’t have yet. That perspective has helped me begin to realize more of what I am happy about – or perhaps more correctly, that which would make me happy if I allowed it.
This conversation devolved into a list, as I’d venture to say such conversations are wont to do. Here’s a smattering of that list; of course, it’s an agglomeration of the conversation and I certainly can’t take all the credit for the part of list that appears here:
Family, good friends, seeing your breath in the morning's first light as the sun just starts to peak over the horizon, the stars, the low rumble of a kitty purr on your chest. The Annual Yarborough Chicken Stew. A good book. Beethoven. Mozart, to some degree, but certainly Ella Fitzgerald. Good concerts. Knowing that somewhere, somehow, someday, someone loves you more than you will ever know or will ever deserve. Love. Holidays. Finally having a clean house. Real hugs. Not the hugs that casual friends give when meeting, but the hugs that feel as if they are trying to hold in all of the good feelings while squeezing out all of the bad ones. Cajun crab dip and water crackers. Mexican food. Pizza. The smell of summer. The ocean. The mountains. Camp fires. Cookouts. Massages. Being alone. Being with everyone who loves you. Sitting in the hot tub. Playing in the rain. The smell of star-gazer lilies. Pictures of friends and family. Finding a great piece of art. Being able to afford that piece of art. Coffee. Good pancakes. The smell of pumpkin candles in the fall, cinnamon candles in the winter. Getting drunk with your friends and knowing they won't hold it against you. Good wine. Most parties. Long phone conversations with your siblings. Fixing the computer. Fixing stuff around the house without needing help. Knowing you can do that without needing help. Being able to negotiate well. Singing your favorite hymns. Singing in the car. Wake Forest's Annual Community Lovefeast, after they cut the lights off at the end and everyone sings "Morning Star." Knowing what a Moravian Star is and having one because you appreciate its meaning. An old typewriter that works. Watching families reunite at the end of the concourse at the airport. Real conversations. Appreciating the bad because it brings out the good. Finally settling into a really difficult yoga pose after months of working on it. Achieving your goals. Finishing the triathlon. Swimming. Realizing you solved a pretty serious problem while you were swimming. Libraries. Book sales. A genuine smile from a stranger. Knowing that your in-laws (the ones you got from your siblings) like you, even if they do think you're weird. Being a little weird. Loving it because it makes you, you.
That list of things that makes me happy got even longer this week. Yes, I’d say it’s a direct result of Thanksgiving (and a few other things that happened). I can now add this to it:
Happening upon a dear old friend in Best Buy. Finding something you’ve been looking for. Finding something you’d lost. Celebrating the return of something that was lost. Making a hard decision and knowing you’re right about it, the second after it’s made. Hearing this, upon entering the house at which you’re celebrating thanksgiving, because it’s so darn funny: “Happy Thanksgiving! And what type of alcohol would you like to start with?” Doing something to be able to say you’ve done it. Helping out. The Salvation Army bell ringers. Movies (but not scary ones) . . .
What would you add to the list?
11.20.2007
11.19.2007
Life
(January 24, 1999)
New life comes only when we turn loose the old. There must be a place for what we want or need. If there is not a place prepared, the new life flows on by--and we are left with the same things we have always had. If we think we cannot bear to part with the old way of life, we are not ready to accept anything new.
Instead, we can make a personal decision to forget what is behind and push forward to what is ahead. Our mental and spiritual attitudes make room for a new life when we set them in motion with our words. Nothing will overtake us, not love, not prosperity, not peace and joy - until we make a place for them and ask them to come in.
Hope, alone, does not do it, but a firm decision for a new life will clear the way.
Peace,
Tawanka
New life comes only when we turn loose the old. There must be a place for what we want or need. If there is not a place prepared, the new life flows on by--and we are left with the same things we have always had. If we think we cannot bear to part with the old way of life, we are not ready to accept anything new.
Instead, we can make a personal decision to forget what is behind and push forward to what is ahead. Our mental and spiritual attitudes make room for a new life when we set them in motion with our words. Nothing will overtake us, not love, not prosperity, not peace and joy - until we make a place for them and ask them to come in.
Hope, alone, does not do it, but a firm decision for a new life will clear the way.
Peace,
Tawanka
11.18.2007
Waiting and Joy
(January 24, 1999)
Waiting tests our faith, and anything else we have on the line. We activate every nerve in us to move, to do something - and then we wait. But if we wait a little longer with patience and endurance, we will know what to do.
During this time, we can stir up the gifts that are in us, encourage ourselves to be strong and calm, to find a quiet center in the midst of all the debris around us.
When we can wait with joy, it connects us to the right things, puts us in the right place to receive. Joy is not of the emotions but of the spirit, and it can bubble up and grow in our weakest moments.
Peace,
Tawanka
P.S. Tom is holding his own in the hospital . . . fighting off his infected kidney with lots of antibiotics. Still need the prayers, tho. Thanks. Mom
Waiting tests our faith, and anything else we have on the line. We activate every nerve in us to move, to do something - and then we wait. But if we wait a little longer with patience and endurance, we will know what to do.
During this time, we can stir up the gifts that are in us, encourage ourselves to be strong and calm, to find a quiet center in the midst of all the debris around us.
When we can wait with joy, it connects us to the right things, puts us in the right place to receive. Joy is not of the emotions but of the spirit, and it can bubble up and grow in our weakest moments.
Peace,
Tawanka
P.S. Tom is holding his own in the hospital . . . fighting off his infected kidney with lots of antibiotics. Still need the prayers, tho. Thanks. Mom
11.17.2007
Regrets
My profound thought of the day:
"If I had known that I'd go through all of this, I never would have gotten involved."
*Sigh.*
"If I had known that I'd go through all of this, I never would have gotten involved."
*Sigh.*
11.16.2007
For the coming week of thanks . . .
I recently got into a discussion with a friend about what makes me happy. Ok, technically, what makes us happy. If it was a conversation about me, it would have been pretty one-sided and therefore, not a conversation.
Regardless, it's a topic about which I've been thinking lots recently. Significant change tends to do that: put you into a very introspective mood and make you really question what you know about yourself. It makes for a great time of self-discovery, a trend most readers of this blog will recognize is happening here (see the posts on Finding My Focus, Echoes of Friendship, Personal Branding, These Days, and Winter).
Less than a week from today, those of us in America celebrate Thanksgiving. A festival of thanks. A chance to be introspective and to be grateful. A chance to realize how beholden you are to people around you. A time to sit back and really look at what pleases you in your life. And to figure out what would really please you in your life. And to figure out how to get there.
So here's your challenge. Begin to reflect. Think. Pause. Ask.
Yes, such actions can bring up unwanted feelings. Yes, they can bring up sore points. Yes, they can resurrect problems thought resolved.
But, realize that doing this thinking, pausing, reflecting and asking will allow you to realize more deeply who you are.
Then embrace it. And be thankful.
Regardless, it's a topic about which I've been thinking lots recently. Significant change tends to do that: put you into a very introspective mood and make you really question what you know about yourself. It makes for a great time of self-discovery, a trend most readers of this blog will recognize is happening here (see the posts on Finding My Focus, Echoes of Friendship, Personal Branding, These Days, and Winter).
Less than a week from today, those of us in America celebrate Thanksgiving. A festival of thanks. A chance to be introspective and to be grateful. A chance to realize how beholden you are to people around you. A time to sit back and really look at what pleases you in your life. And to figure out what would really please you in your life. And to figure out how to get there.
So here's your challenge. Begin to reflect. Think. Pause. Ask.
Yes, such actions can bring up unwanted feelings. Yes, they can bring up sore points. Yes, they can resurrect problems thought resolved.
But, realize that doing this thinking, pausing, reflecting and asking will allow you to realize more deeply who you are.
Then embrace it. And be thankful.
11.10.2007
Word of the Day
Courtesy of Dictionary.com:
"pro·cras·ti·nate /proʊˈkræstəˌneɪt, prə-/ [proh-kras-tuh-neyt, pruh-]verb, -nat·ed, -nat·ing.
–verb (used without object)
1. to defer action; delay: to procrastinate until an opportunity is lost.
–verb (used with object)
2. to put off till another day or time; defer; delay.
Origin: 1580–90; pro-1 + -crāstināre, deriv. of crāstinus of tomorrow; crās tomorrow + -tinus suffix forming adjs. from temporal advs.)]"
Yeah, I might get back to my novel this evening. Ok, I will. I just want to clean out my email first. And maybe try to find my lost memory card for my camera and the card reader. And put away the clean clothes. And fill up the new purse. And do the dishes. And go paint the shelf on the shed (Oh, wait, it's dark. Darn . . . hmm, I could just take the ever-so-useful headlamp out to paint . . .).
I could just camp on the lottery website and refresh the screen until they update the winning number for this week. Or take the recycling out. Or put the dead houseplant in the composter. Or make brownies. Ooh, or pumpkin bread. Or empty my Google reader. Or blog more. Or call my brother and my sister and my other sister. Or . . .
"pro·cras·ti·nate /proʊˈkræstəˌneɪt, prə-/ [proh-kras-tuh-neyt, pruh-]verb, -nat·ed, -nat·ing.
–verb (used without object)
1. to defer action; delay: to procrastinate until an opportunity is lost.
–verb (used with object)
2. to put off till another day or time; defer; delay.
Origin: 1580–90; pro-1 + -crāstināre, deriv. of crāstinus of tomorrow; crās tomorrow + -tinus suffix forming adjs. from temporal advs.)]"
Yeah, I might get back to my novel this evening. Ok, I will. I just want to clean out my email first. And maybe try to find my lost memory card for my camera and the card reader. And put away the clean clothes. And fill up the new purse. And do the dishes. And go paint the shelf on the shed (Oh, wait, it's dark. Darn . . . hmm, I could just take the ever-so-useful headlamp out to paint . . .).
I could just camp on the lottery website and refresh the screen until they update the winning number for this week. Or take the recycling out. Or put the dead houseplant in the composter. Or make brownies. Ooh, or pumpkin bread. Or empty my Google reader. Or blog more. Or call my brother and my sister and my other sister. Or . . .
11.07.2007
Peace
(January 23, 1999)
Speak to me of serenity, of treasures yet to be found, of peace that flows like a river. Tell me of a tranquil place that no hand has marred, no storm has scarred. 
Give me visions of standing in sunlight or the feeling of spring mist against my cheek as I live and move and breathe. Show me paths that wind through wild lilies and beds of buttercups. Sing me songs like the mingled voices of wrens and meadowlarks, the lowing of gentle cows, the soft mother-call of a mare to her colt.
Lead me past a glass smooth pond where frogs croak of their coming-out parties, their graduation from frisky tadpoles to squat green frogs.
Find me a place in the sunlight to sit and think and listen to the inner voice that says quietly, "Peace, be still."
If you've had a rough day (or night) re-read, then close your eyes and let peace flow over you.
Peace,
Tawanka
11.06.2007
Winter
I work until 5:30, which I think works perfectly for me.
Until today.
Today, around 5:10 or so, I walked out of my office to get something off the printer, and when I walked back in, I was surprised not to see trees outside of my window. In fact, I didn't see anything except a perfect reflection of myself. I was surprised because I had, in fact, painted my kitchen stools on the back porch last night AFTER I got home. Granted, I had the porch light on, so perhaps that's skewed my perception some, but I could have sworn that it wasn't pitch black outside at or before 5:30 yesterday.
*Sigh.*
Although I miss the light of spring and summer - both the quantity and the quality - I also do appreciate the changing of the seasons. The trees are quite beautiful; I'll occasionally come upon one that really makes me stop and think about the automatic response of living things on the earth to the earth's revolution. It's usually the maples that have turned so fiery red, all at once, so no other color appears to remain on the leaves. Or the tulips, which turn such a ethereal gold.
I love the crispness of the night this time of year. This phenomenon is what gives all of those holiday songs about twinkling their basis. You can see forever, yet the refraction of the light in the atmosphere still creates a "twinkle." I've always thought that this weather makes the tradition of holiday lights just fabulous. (Aside: Ever wanted to walk through the Festival of Lights, instead of having to drive through it? There's a 5K this year, December 31, at midnight. And, while I'm sure the race organizers would much prefer that you run, I plan on walking. What better way to ring in the new year.)
From my vantage point, in my little house in the Krispy Kreme Capital of the World, the buildings of downtown come into sharp focus. The edges which normally blur in the summer's humidity are now present, allowing you to see exactly how impressive a 34 story building is.
I love that, even in the light-polluted city, you can clearly see Orion over the Northern horizon early at night. I love that you can catch a glimpse of the milky way here and that you can occasionally catch a glimpse of several bright stars in the milky way. I long to drive out to the mountains, sit by a lake or in a clearing, far from the lights of the city, and stare at the stars in the sky.
It's overwhelming when I can do that. The sheer number of stars that I can finally see that cover the sky, from the north horizon to the south, from the east horizon to the west. The complete enormity of the creation overcomes me and I realize how small a part of this world I actually am. At no time is Psalm 46:10 more true for me than at that time, in those moments: "Be still, and know that I am God."
The cold of the season also makes me very thankful - for everything. That I've got a warm cat asleep on my lap right now is one of those things for which I'm thankful. That my stinky dog sits and naps behind me as I write this. That a smile of a friend or an acquaintance warms that which heat simply cannot: the heart and soul. That hot chocolate is free in my office. That I've got a fire pit on my back porch, which begs for a fire, even though we're still in a drought. That I can afford to pay my heating bill, when so many others cannot.
That I can let a crock pot sit all day with yummy, warm goodness, ready for me when I walk in the door. That I appreciate the strong smells of the seasons: pumpkin and cinnamon. That the music which feels so cold and sad earlier in the year, feels surprisingly peaceful and sometimes, cheerful in contrast to the weather.
And so, although I'll bemoan the cold and the lack of light and the curse of having to ever change out of shorts and flip flops, I realize the change makes me appreciate that which I love dearly even more - be it in summer or in winter.
Until today.
Today, around 5:10 or so, I walked out of my office to get something off the printer, and when I walked back in, I was surprised not to see trees outside of my window. In fact, I didn't see anything except a perfect reflection of myself. I was surprised because I had, in fact, painted my kitchen stools on the back porch last night AFTER I got home. Granted, I had the porch light on, so perhaps that's skewed my perception some, but I could have sworn that it wasn't pitch black outside at or before 5:30 yesterday.
*Sigh.*
Although I miss the light of spring and summer - both the quantity and the quality - I also do appreciate the changing of the seasons. The trees are quite beautiful; I'll occasionally come upon one that really makes me stop and think about the automatic response of living things on the earth to the earth's revolution. It's usually the maples that have turned so fiery red, all at once, so no other color appears to remain on the leaves. Or the tulips, which turn such a ethereal gold.
I love the crispness of the night this time of year. This phenomenon is what gives all of those holiday songs about twinkling their basis. You can see forever, yet the refraction of the light in the atmosphere still creates a "twinkle." I've always thought that this weather makes the tradition of holiday lights just fabulous. (Aside: Ever wanted to walk through the Festival of Lights, instead of having to drive through it? There's a 5K this year, December 31, at midnight. And, while I'm sure the race organizers would much prefer that you run, I plan on walking. What better way to ring in the new year.)
From my vantage point, in my little house in the Krispy Kreme Capital of the World, the buildings of downtown come into sharp focus. The edges which normally blur in the summer's humidity are now present, allowing you to see exactly how impressive a 34 story building is.
I love that, even in the light-polluted city, you can clearly see Orion over the Northern horizon early at night. I love that you can catch a glimpse of the milky way here and that you can occasionally catch a glimpse of several bright stars in the milky way. I long to drive out to the mountains, sit by a lake or in a clearing, far from the lights of the city, and stare at the stars in the sky.
It's overwhelming when I can do that. The sheer number of stars that I can finally see that cover the sky, from the north horizon to the south, from the east horizon to the west. The complete enormity of the creation overcomes me and I realize how small a part of this world I actually am. At no time is Psalm 46:10 more true for me than at that time, in those moments: "Be still, and know that I am God."
The cold of the season also makes me very thankful - for everything. That I've got a warm cat asleep on my lap right now is one of those things for which I'm thankful. That my stinky dog sits and naps behind me as I write this. That a smile of a friend or an acquaintance warms that which heat simply cannot: the heart and soul. That hot chocolate is free in my office. That I've got a fire pit on my back porch, which begs for a fire, even though we're still in a drought. That I can afford to pay my heating bill, when so many others cannot.
That I can let a crock pot sit all day with yummy, warm goodness, ready for me when I walk in the door. That I appreciate the strong smells of the seasons: pumpkin and cinnamon. That the music which feels so cold and sad earlier in the year, feels surprisingly peaceful and sometimes, cheerful in contrast to the weather.
And so, although I'll bemoan the cold and the lack of light and the curse of having to ever change out of shorts and flip flops, I realize the change makes me appreciate that which I love dearly even more - be it in summer or in winter.
11.05.2007
Habits (a.k.a., Addictions)
(January 23, 1999)
Habit has its beginning in thought. What becomes second nature to us has first caught on in our thinking - only to operate, in time, without thinking at all.
Breaking with deeply ingrained addictions is something else again. Since we were old enough to understand, we have been bent to a certain thought, molded to act and to react until we follow through habitually. If what we did gave us comfort or made us feel good, we did it again.
We have to fight habit with habit, deliberately changing one thought, one action, for another. If we simply try to remove a habit without filling the vacuum, we are opening the door for more and worse to come in. It's harder when we let thought drift back to remember how we were comforted.
There is more than one comfort, more than one joy in forming a new habit.
Peace,
Tawanka
Habit has its beginning in thought. What becomes second nature to us has first caught on in our thinking - only to operate, in time, without thinking at all.
Breaking with deeply ingrained addictions is something else again. Since we were old enough to understand, we have been bent to a certain thought, molded to act and to react until we follow through habitually. If what we did gave us comfort or made us feel good, we did it again.
We have to fight habit with habit, deliberately changing one thought, one action, for another. If we simply try to remove a habit without filling the vacuum, we are opening the door for more and worse to come in. It's harder when we let thought drift back to remember how we were comforted.
There is more than one comfort, more than one joy in forming a new habit.
Peace,
Tawanka
11.04.2007
Some of you are already there.11.02.2007
Party knowledge
A) Try a chocolate cake shot. It won't look like there's anyway it will taste like chocolate cake, especially when you're holding a lemon in your hand, but it will.
B) Sam's sells mini tacos. Cute, although not a fave.
C) Buy a copy of this book: Book of Questions. It's got great conversation starters, such as this one: "If you could spend one year in perfect happiness but afterward would remember nothing of the experience would you do so? If not, why not?"
Or this one: "If you woke on a warm morning alone, how long would you stay in bed?"
If you can guess what my answer to that was (Brian, don't tell Jess; Jess, don't ask Brian), you'll win a prize.
B) Sam's sells mini tacos. Cute, although not a fave.
C) Buy a copy of this book: Book of Questions. It's got great conversation starters, such as this one: "If you could spend one year in perfect happiness but afterward would remember nothing of the experience would you do so? If not, why not?"
Or this one: "If you woke on a warm morning alone, how long would you stay in bed?"
If you can guess what my answer to that was (Brian, don't tell Jess; Jess, don't ask Brian), you'll win a prize.
11.01.2007
Persistence
(January 21, 1999)
Giving up robs us of drawing up gold from our own depths. Imagine having a well, a very deep well, that is topped off with several feet of tainted water. But deeper down, the water is clear, and even farther down it is a spring, a spring that bubbles cold and pure through deposits of gold.
Should we give up because of what we saw in the beginning? Or would we want to tap the depths and clear away the polluted water and get down to the very best?
If it is true that we only know five percent of who and what we are---then, it is possible that we have untapped depths, where our being is pure and free of contamination.
Should we give up such a rich experience because of what we've seen on the surface?
Peace,
Tawanka
Giving up robs us of drawing up gold from our own depths. Imagine having a well, a very deep well, that is topped off with several feet of tainted water. But deeper down, the water is clear, and even farther down it is a spring, a spring that bubbles cold and pure through deposits of gold.
Should we give up because of what we saw in the beginning? Or would we want to tap the depths and clear away the polluted water and get down to the very best?
If it is true that we only know five percent of who and what we are---then, it is possible that we have untapped depths, where our being is pure and free of contamination.
Should we give up such a rich experience because of what we've seen on the surface?
Peace,
Tawanka
The Madness Begins
Today is day one of NaNoWriMo. I'm done for today and looking for a widget that shows my word count on the side of the blog. 1671 words. Just 48,329 to go. Wow, that's a big number.
Otherwise, life is trucking along, except for the $1400 bill I got for the hoity-toity frou-frou doctor's exam that I had in APRIL. Yeah, I said APRIL. I got the bill yesterday. Let's see, that's, hmm, SEVEN MONTHS. *&^% who don't know how to do things in a timely manner. I'm going to try to figure out several things about this tomorrow:
- WHY did it take SEVEN MONTHS to send a bill?
- WHY it wasn't a covered expense. I understood - as did all parties around me - that it would be.
- WHY I wasn't told it wasn't a covered expense AT THE TIME.
- WHO'S going to pay it. If I've got to, I will, but the hoity-toity frou-frou exam wasn't worth $1400. They couldn't even tell me if my osteoporosis was improving.
Grr . . .
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