I like the sound of a sweet solitude...

...and that is exactly what I am having right now: a little time on my own.

Last night I found that I am really tired with they way the world goes round these days. Its almost like I have had too much. Too much noise, too many lies, too much forced laughter. Just too much of everything except for one: my very own inner peace.

So I made a very quick decision, turned my back on everything and listened to my heart.

Surprisingly, what my heart said was quite the opposite of what I have believed to be true these past few days. So I cried...

Because I don't listen to my heart anymore and I felt as though I have been betrayed by myself. And as a result, I have been running from my own shadow only to realize that I was trying to run from my past... that one thing that is unescapable. I will never escape and nor should I strive to do so...

Besides, running cannot solve problems, can it?

Then, in the midst of all those darken thoughts, I found I was jealous of people; of those who love, of whom they love. Because I found it hard to believe that finding true love in this messed up World IS possible. Well, call me pessimistic or a realist, but in my mind, that is what you get when you let your brain wander and leave your heart behind.

Its frustrating and yet beautiful the way my mind can take over in an absolute instant and save my heart from experiencing heartache. The frustrating part is obvious, but their is this rather ironic beauty that accompanies a protected heart... And yet, there is beauty in the breakdown... the absolute emotional breakdown, the kind that rolls over you again and again... the kind that makes you feel as though you have been hit by a truck... yea, that is the kind. Destructive, yet absolutely beautiful!

...and the sound is still buzzing around me. Only, I know the familiar sound this time. That sound? It is the pure noise of my heart calling ME.

Cities I love

I was asked to post this to my blog so forgive me if you have already read it... It was written at the conclusion of my weekend trip to Portland last October. Enjoy!

This past weekend I visited one of my favorite cities… Portland. While there, I realized there are a lot of things I miss about this great city. I miss living in the city and walking everywhere I need to go. I miss all my favorite coffee shops; especially at those I had become a regular. I miss the green yards, crisp air and cloudy skies. I miss the “Portland mist” and sipping coffee on rainy days while looking out the window in Vivace at various passersby on NW 23^rd. I value my time spent there this past year and believe the personal growth I have experienced has changed me into a person I am proud to be.

But it wasn’t until after I got on the plane to go back to Denver that I realize I truly miss elements of my life in Portland. In the past, I have found myself always missing places in which I was not currently living. While in New York, I missed Portland and then once I moved back to Portland, I missed New York. Now that I am in Denver, I find I miss both Portland and New York. However, I do not think it is a matter of “always wanting to be somewhere I am not”, but rather missing key elements of my life from specific places. I would argue that as we spend our lives living in different places, we adapt to specific habits/routines and learn to expect certain things. When we relocate from these places, we miss the comfort these elements of our lives used to provide.

Therefore, my question is… is there an optimal amount of comfort one place can offer? And, by traveling, does one find significant characteristics of places/people in hopes of incorporating them into their “final destination”. For me, I have found that the quality of people and authenticity of those closest to me (proximity) rank highest among the characteristics of where I want to live. Additionally, at this stage in my life, being close to a city center that offers personal autonomy, allows for an independent expression of my soul. Though these are all things found in many cities, but are they possible in all cities?

Airport chaos!

In the past three weeks, I have flown in and out of Denver 5 times. Though it is not unusual for me to fly often, this has been an absurd amount of flights. On the way home from my recent flight to San Diego, I decided I should blog about the unique characteristics of time spent leading up to the airport, the airport terminal and the flight itself.

First of all, you must decide if you are going to check a bag (and risk not eating for a week due to baggage fees) or if you want to squeeze all liquids in small containers that are less than 3 oz. and must fit into a quart sized baggie. Once you decide you would rather squish everything you own into a bag that is slightly bigger than recommended, you are ready to begin your journey.

Next comes security! This is where you must decide which line looks shorter (veer to the left because 90% of right handed people chose to go to the right). Next, you reach over the duffle bag of the boy in front of you, grab two tubs, quickly take out your lap top-place it in a tub by itself, rip off your belt, pull off your shoes-trying not to trip over them as you pull them off without untying them to save time, take off your coat-throwing your earings, watch and cell phone in the pockets all attempting to save time. Finally, as you go to take off your coat, you realize you need a third tub just for your purse (why, I have yet to figure out). So in the attempt to save time, you have actually created a mess because you now have to fight through the six people who have tried to squeeze their belongings on the conveyer belt to get one more tub.

Finally, you have made it through the scanner and now it is time to collect everything off the cascade of small rolling cylinders that has now smashed your belongings into the belongs of your fellow travelers. As you sort through your tubs to get to the things that are easiest to put on, you experience more items smashing into yours and the heavy sighs of the people whose lives have now been delayed by 2.5 minutes because of you.

The saga does not end here, however. As you head down the jetway to the plane, it is imperative to begin to strategize how you will go about putting your suitcase in the overhead bin (the same one that was slightly bigger than recommended), put your backpack on your seat, climb over the lap of the overweight passenger who occupies the middle seat AND put your backpack under the “seat in front of you” as not to be yelled at by the flight attendant or the passengers impatiently waiting for you to sit down. Once you are seated, you realize your overweight seat-companion is sitting on your seatbelt. And, they are the type of person who wants to know everything about your life-beyond the basic questions of “where are you from?” “where are you going?” “what do you do in life?”. She begins to ask you questions even your close friends do not know and since you cannot put your iPod headphones (not approved electronics) in at this time, you are stuck answering myriad of invasive questions.

Finally, you are midflight and you realize there is no way you can reach the bathroom (your overweight seatmate has fallen asleep and the man occupying the aisle seat has his lap top, iPod, book and lunch all on his tray). The best thing to do at this point is just close your eyes and pretend to fall asleep.

Finally, the flight has landed, your seatmate has removed the left 1/3 of her body from your seat and you can breath. Now, you must formulate a way to remove your suitcase from the overhead compartment (careful as items may have shifted during take off or landing) without hitting the small child behind you, put on your backpack and try and propel your suitcase down the aisle without stumbling into the seats on either side of you.

After the completion of all of that, you have arrived at your destination. If you’re lucky, you are now beginning your vacation. Now, the anxious search for a Starbucks begins as you begin pondering whether a quad shot of espresso is too much for a tall cup. J

Falling in love with my shadow...

Every year, Valentine’s Day elicits different responses. If you are spending the day with the one you love, then you may experience feelings of love, affection and happiness. If you have recently broken up with the one you love, you may experience feelings of confusion, rejection or loneliness. And if you are single and have been for a while, you may experience a myriad of feelings such as depression or frustration, or on the other end of the spectrum feelings such as confidence and acceptance. So, on this Hallmark holiday, I have chose to find ways to find acceptance and confidence within myself.

We all have insecurities that bring out the worst in us. For me, I struggle with accepting that I have inherent worth and do not need morph myself into being like someone else to find approval and/or love. Every day, I am learning how to “fall in love with my shadow”. When I see my shadow, I see a confident woman who has been liberated by the sun that casts down on the pavement. I see an attractive figure with no physical aliments. I see a strength inside and out and appreciate the vulnerability exposed by the sun. I see energy and optimism, honesty and value.

So on this day, where we run around appreciating the ones we love, I am challenging myself with the task of learning how to receive love. It sounds silly and trite, but I truly believe the key to everything rests in the ability to receive love. I have also come to understand that strength, inner strength comes from receiving love as much as it comes from giving it.

Happy Valentines Day!

A Tribute to my Great Grandmother

It is nearly impossible to pay tribute to a woman who truly lived every second of her 95 ½ years of life. This woman had class. She had style. She was an all American farm girl who grew up in North Central Montana. She was not rich, but what she lacked in money, she more than made up in her love for her three children, ten grandchildren, twenty-three great grandchildren and thirteen great great grandchildren. She was a beautiful woman- a hero and a model citizen. Lucille Marrie Nash lived a legacy and I am blessed to call her my great grandmother.

This past August, Grandma and I sat on her porch swing and talked about her life. I asked her about life growing up on the farm and about her siblings. Her face would light up when recalling these memories- memories that had not faded one bit over the course of her life. She told me about her childhood and the heartache she experienced having been born with a clef palate. She told me about her brothers Ray and Roy and all of the trouble they would get into. She told me about when she met her husband and their life on a farm where she raised her three children: Diane, Walline and Bill. I asked her what it was like to run the liquor store in Chinook and she told me all kinds of funny stories! She recalled how grateful she was to have a Democrat as a president as she was provided the opportunity to work as she watched her country struggle following WWII. She told me about her travels throughout our great country and how those trips always gave her an appreciation for what she had.

This woman has seen it all! She was born on the eve of the first Great War, and grew up during the Great Depression and the Stock Market Crash. She went to work during the first recession American citizens would experience, and endured the uncertainty the first attack on American soil, followed by World War II. She lived through the Cold War, the Vietnam War as well as the most recent wars of the 20^th Century. She endured loss on the most personal and intimate level. In 1963 she lost her husband. Five years later her brother Ray passed away and in 2001 and 2003 she lost her daughter Diane and son Bill, respectively.

And so, I will always remember my grandma as a survivor. She was a woman of strength and courage. A fighter for what she believed in. I remember spending a portion of the summers of my childhood at her house where she taught me how to make “new peas and potatoes”, lefsa, and rhubarb jelly- to go on the ice cream she loved so much. I remember her beautiful dresses and high-heel shoes that she would go dancing in. I remember all those summers when my cousin Andi, my brother Burk and myself would go down to the city pool and swim for hours and she would still be tending to her garden when we returned. She had some of the most beautiful flowers in town.

And that is why we are all gathered her today. We are gathered to celebrate the life of one extraordinary woman. She was the glue that held our family together. And now as we forge on without her, we must remember what she stood for. She stood for love and for peace. She stood for an honest day of hard work. I am forever grateful for the sacrifices she made for the family she loved. I am confident in saying she will forever be remembered as the lady in the high-heel shoes.