One of those years

I haven't posted anything in a long time. And it's not that I didn't want to or didn't have anything to muse about. It's rather that the clock doesn't seem to stop these days. I blink and it's Friday. I blink again and it's Monday. And so forth and so forth and so forth…
I can hardly remember a time in my life when things have smoothly sailed along, journeying across the calm sea, with time to smell the roses. Right, there are no roses out on the ocean (except on fancy ocean cruise ships), but you get my gist. Time. To breathe and think and be. Time to enjoy the moment. Yes, I do experience those times occasionally (usually when I am away on a holiday that lasts longer than a week) and yes, I also love change and movement. So, most days it doesn't bother me that my life isn't anywhere near to this (alien) concept of smooth sailing. I love my life and I love that I hardly ever know what's around the next corner. But sometimes, just sometimes, I so wish for a break from all this.

Today has been one of those days. Don't get me wrong. I do have good people in my life. I practice gratitude on an almost daily basis. When I write ‘one of these days’, my definition is that life is tricky. And trickier. And even more tricky. So, in that sense of the word, it was one of those days. And you know what? I would be happy if it would have just been one of those days. Or even one of those weeks. But it feels to me like this is one of those months, one of those years even. I have had rough years in my life, years that I don't want to repeat. I don't want to forget about them either (there has always been too much good in them), but some years are just ‘one of those years’.
2006 was one of those years when Stefan and I were preparing our move across the world. And then…
We had to put one of our cats to sleep.
Two of our very close friends experienced deep emotional struggles.
Stefan lost his job.
We had a huge marriage crisis that almost ripped us apart.
In the midst of this, we tried to come to terms with the grief that accompanies leaving a place called home in hope of finding another home.

And now? We have found a home in New Zealand. And as difficult as those days were, they are part of my story now and they have shaped who I am. They have opened my eyes and deepened my relationships. They have brought me so much more in touch with myself and with others. Would I want to go back and relive 2006? Hell no.

It turns out that 2014 is one of those years as well. A lot of wonderful stuff has happened and yet, life is tricky. And trickier. And even more tricky. Since we have first arrived in New Zealand in the beautiful January of 2007, life has constantly moved on the fast lane. But: There have been occasional rest spots along the way. Time to fill up the car. Time to get some lunch before moving on. We have never managed to stop for long (metaphorically), but that's fine with me. But this year… This year is different. Life has moved from the fast lane to Formula One. Rest stops don't exist. You get fuel within a matter of seconds and then you're off again. And if you need to pee… Well, let's not go there. And today was one of those days that has been so characteristic for this year: Good stuff and challenging stuff and somewhere, in this confusing mix, there am I. Tightly gripping the steering wheel. Hoping that I won't crash. That at the end of this race, there will be a rest stop. One day.

Once again: Don't get me wrong, I do have people in my life. Good people. Sometimes I think the best of people. But at the end of the day, we are still holding the steering wheel of our own lives. And at one point or other, we get tired. And this is where I find myself at the moment. I am tired. So very tired. I can't keep holding on. So I release you. Into the wild. Be safe.

Miss Perfect or What the heck does it matter what I look like?

“I've gone through stages where I hate my body so much
that I won't even wear shorts and a bra in my house
because if I pass a mirror, that's the end of my day.”
~ Fiona Apple ~

Fiona Apple is completely unaware of this, but this is my story, too. I hate walking around naked. I get changed as quickly as I can. I don't particularly like swimming – which is great because I actually don't like walking around in swimwear. I don't like wearing pants that end above my knees because my knees are ugly. I hate shopping for pants (and dresses and skirts) because my upper legs are actually wider than my hips (and this makes it a nightmare to find pants that fit over my legs and then also fit my comparably small waist).

“But… you are beautiful, your husband adores you, you really don't know how gorgeous you are.” Oh yes, I have heard things like that. Can I believe them? No. Because I have also heard many other things: “You have sturdy legs, you've grown pretty big hips, you're boobs are quite small, you look like you've gained some weight.” Do I believe those things? Happily. Because they are supported by today's fucking stupid what-people-are-supposed-to-look-like-standards, they are proclaimed from every billboard and TV and cinema screen. Women are supposed to be perfect. Perfect in every respect. I am not perfect, full stop. I am actually far from it. It is impossible for me to measure up to these standards. And actually, it is impossible for every single person. Women AND men.

Back in the day it was hip to be big. Being big spoke of prosperity and health. Nowadays it is hip to be athletic and skinny. Being skinny speaks of discipline and health. Funny, that. I yearn for the day when we are able to look at each other and don't see prosperity or discipline or health. When we look at a person and see just that: A person. A human being with a story. A human being worthy of love and respect and honour.

Steve Maraboli once said: “There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty.” I wholeheartedly agree and yet, I still don't dare to walk around my house naked. On the outside I pretend that I am (mostly) ok with my body. But when I look into the mirror, I see only what is wrong with my body. I am yearning for the day where I am able to look into the mirror and tell myself:

“Hello, fellow human being.
You are beautiful. Every single bit.
I love and respect and honour you.
And now: Get undressed and marvel at your unique beauty.
With love from a fellow human being.

Choices

Alice came to a fork in the road. ‘Which road do I take?’ she asked.
‘Where do you want to go?’ responded the Cheshire Cat.
‘I don't know,’ Alice answered.
‘Then,’ said the Cat, ‘it doesn't matter.’

Choices. We are surrounded by choices. We constantly face them, little ones and big ones. Significant, life-changing ones, and the numerous fun choices like buying milk or dark chocolate (or both)? Sometimes, we are not even aware of the choices we make on a daily basis. We just make them, as if we were going through the motions. But sometimes, sometimes there are choices that have the potential of completely turning our lives around. Which are full of excitement and risk and potential. And full of change.

When we are confronted with those choices, everyone responds in their own individual way:

• Some take one look at those choices and then just run at them, tackling them to the ground and running with the last option standing.
• Some transform into an ostrich, burying their head in the sand, hoping the choice will make itself somehow. Or just go away already.
• Some sit down with the choice, look at it from all angles, examine it, talk with it, and then walk into the most enticing direction.
• Some take the choice along when they have coffee with friends or family, mulling it over while soaking in each others comforting presence.
• Some people have been known to even kill the choices in a desperate effort to avoid them altogether.

I am not sure what my response is to the tough choices life throws at me from time to time. I sometimes happily go for a run with them, while I am also known for having hearty debates with them which sometimes leave me sitting on the ground, weeping like a blubbery mess as one of my friends would say. Choices, those really tough life-changing choices, excite me and scare the living daylights out of me at the same time. I yearn for them as much as I want to hide from them.

Still, there will always be times when those choices enter our lives. I am sitting here with one at the moment. I quite like the choice or rather its potential. Yep, it still freaking scares me, but we are quite happily drinking tea together, Black Tea Liquorice to be more precise. There is a lot of risk involved in making this choice. Not life or death risk, but still pretty high in the scheme of things. What makes me feel more comfortable to be around this particular choice is thinking about who I am, what I stand for, what is important to me in life. My identity, in short. Sitting here with the choice, drinking tea at this crossroad in my life, I can look up at my identity and use it as a signpost. Your choice: This way. And that's what helps me most in making those hard choices. Thank you, Ruth Chang, for helping me figure this one out. Because sometimes, it does matter where we go.

Talking about or being with?

She had been coming for a while now. She liked it here, liked the friendly atmosphere, the people, the journey. She felt safe, seen. She enjoyed being free to talk about whatever had been going on her life. About what wasn't working for her – again. She never felt judged, no matter what mood she came in or what language she used or what stories she shared. She was free to talk about what was on her heart and mind. And still, she seemed to go around in endless circles, bringing up the same old struggles, unable to see a way forward. She felt frustrated and yet, she had no idea what she could do about this…

This story could be anyone's story. I see this pattern in the clients I work with, I see it in my friends, I see it in myself. Talking about something comes easily to many people. ‘Talking about’ is not really a question of avoiding to take responsibility or rather, that's not the full story. Yes, it is sometimes (often? always?) easier to talk about other people and how unfair a situation might be rather than looking at our own piece of the puzzle. But I have found that people do this for a good reason. They might want to protect themselves or they might want to protect someone else. They might have all these feelings that are living behind the steel bars that make up their hearts, serving a life sentence. People also might be scared of what would happen if they would change tactics and step into the unknown.
The unknown. Some people are known for their passion for the unknown. They seek it out, they travel to the South Pole by foot, they climb unclimbed peaks, they travel to the Amazon to study plants, hoping to find a cure for a disease. But for most people, the unknown speaks of unforeseen dangers. Of a risk not worth taking. So they live life as they always have. Their hearts may be full of dreams, ideas, hopes, but the fear of the unknown is just too great.
When these people come into therapy, they are talking about many things. It helps them to feel safe. It makes sure that their life doesn't really change even though change is what they desire most. But there, in the corner, sits the unknown. Always hiding. Always menacing. Always preventing the person from moving forward.

She had been coming for a while now. She liked it here, liked the friendly atmosphere, the people, the journey. She felt safe, seen. Then, one day, when she came in at her usual time, she looked into the other person's eyes. Trusting and yet, still wary. The woman looked at her and gently, carefully, spoke to her:
“I feel like you are running away from me. That we have been going in circles for a while. I would love to meet you. See you. What do you think?”
She took these words with her. Pondered them. Fought them. Ran away from them, too. But wherever she went, the words would be already waiting for her. And eventually, she stayed with those words.

Parker J. Palmer once wrote: “Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am.” Moving forward, breaking the cycles we feel trapped in happens when we cease to talk about things we can't change and instead choose to be with ourselves – our feelings, our thoughts, our fears, our dreams. When we get to know the unknown. See it for what it is and become friends with it. When we are being with…

Fitting out

“I think fitting in is highly overrated. I’d rather just fit out…
Fitting out means
being who you are,
even when people insist that you have to change.
Fitting out means
taking up space,
not apologizing for yourself, and not agreeing with those
who seek to label you with stereotypes.”
~ Golda Poretsky ~

So-called ‘firsts’ happen all the time, we are often just not aware of them. I had a first this week that threw me a bit – well, more than a bit, to be honest. I went to a study group that had been recommended to me, after a full-on day at work. I brought a whole load of un-processed stuff to the group, sitting with it without being able to sort through and make sense of it. Probably not a good start, but hey, life happens, right? ‘It will be fine.’ Well, at least that's what I kept telling myself. ‘It will be fine. You'll find your place.’
Well, I didn't. I sat there, overwhelmed by the day. Overwhelmed by the people, the topic, the pace of the conversation, the flood of emotions that was raising up within me. And I felt that there is no place for me. That I am this type of person who searches and searches and searches and never fully arrives. Fully arriving… What the heck does that mean anyway? What's the goal? I have searched high and low, in the most likely and most unlikely places. There must be a place where I fit in. A place I can call home. There just has to be.

I haven't found it yet. And still, there is a gentle voice that tells me that that's not entirely true. It's just that I have found it in more than one place. I have found in the quiet moments where I meet with a person's soul, without judgements or fears. I have found it in breath of mountains, the energy of beaches, the peace of lakes. I have found it in tears and laughter and silence shared with friends. I have found it in a cup of tea. In a cat curled up on my lap. And I have found it in myself. In the space between spaces, that space that is just mine and yet yearning to be discovered and loved and accepted for who she is. I have found it. It just looks different than I thought it would. And that's OK. Because ultimately, it's OK to fit out. As long as I have places where fitting out means that I am fitting in.

Good-byes

“Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea
comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-earth.
Go in peace!
I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.”
~ J.R.R. Tolkien ~

Yesterday, it was time for another good-bye. Together with a group of friends, I drove to the airport in the wee hours of the morning to farewell two precious people. I have known them only for the past six months, but some people you meet and it's love at first sight. So it was with Dave and Greta. And now they're gone. Hopefully I will see them again. But even in this day and age, Indiana (USA)-Auckland (New Zealand) is a long way. There is hope. There will always be hope. But there is also the thing called realistic which sometimes translates to pessimistic.

From a young age, my life has been riddled with good-byes, be it people or places or animals or dreams. There came a time when I became practically numb to it. Where I began to expect good-byes around every corner. As a result, I became cautious, very cautious. Why enter into a relationship with someone: They might leave anyway. Why trust someone: Disappointment was already waiting in the wings.
So, inevitably life became very lonely. Predictable, yes, but also very very lonely. At some point in my life I finally allowed the grief over all these good-byes back in. And in it came. It rushed in, almost drowning me at times. I remember gasping for breath in particular strong waves. I remember learning to surf the waves rather than being constantly swept away by them. I remember fighting the urges to go back to a life without grief. A life that appears to be so much easier to bear at times. And then I remember why I want to feel. Why it's all worth it. Because ultimately, there is no joy without tears.

“Every meeting led to a parting, and so it would, as long as life was mortal.
In every meeting there was some of the sorrow of parting,
but in everything parting there was some of the joy of meeting as well.”
~ Cassandra Clare ~

Quiet silence

“Quiet people have the loudest minds.”
~ Stephen Hawking ~

I am a quiet person. I am married to a quiet person. Some of my friends are quiet people. And so are some of my clients. Being quiet is fine, me thinks. There is nothing wrong with it. Some people are just more quiet than others and that doesn't mean that there is nothing going on in their minds. Far from it. Quiet people have feelings and thoughts just like everybody else. There it is again – quiet people are people, too. They are just a bit more cautious when it comes to sharing what is happening in their busy minds. They wait for the right person, the right moment to come by and then, only then, they might share. Maybe.
This is what I have been doing for most of my life. I might come across quite extroverted at times, easy to be around, talking, laughing, having fun. But (and this is the important part), you won't meet the real me. Or rather, you will meet a part of me, but most of it, the part that sits in the corner, watching life's every move, the part that never takes it chances, that is cautious and shy, THAT you won't meet. It takes a long time until it dares to come out of its corner and it can be gone in an instant, in that brief moment when you laugh about something and look at it in a funny way (or at least that's what the part thinks). And then, the whole cycle starts again.

Over the years, I have learned to accept myself for who I am and to slowly step out of my comfort zone at the same time. I have had some wonderful experiences and I have also gone back into hiding, licking my wounds, time and time again. And overall, my cave has become less of a prison, but rather something I can dance in and out of, just as I need it. I have come to like my quietness while being able to choose it more freely.
Still, there is also a different type of silence. A silence that slowly sneaks up on you. A silence that is jealous, that isolates you, that wants you all to itself. That promises you that you don't need anything else. Anyone else. That tells you that silence is enough. And before you know it, you are trapped in its web. No way out.

Trapped by silence is where I find myself at the moment. I have no idea when it all started, but here I am, sitting in the spider's web. I have been finding it incredibly hard to share my heart for quite a while now. And not only with people I don't know too well/don't feel too safe with, but increasingly also with the closest people in my life. When I realised that this was happening, I initially tried to prevent the door from closing, but eventually I gave up. It's too hard right now. Too much effort. Where to begin? How to end? No idea, so better leave it as it is. The thing is that it gets very lonely after a while. It separates me from connection with my friends. From entering into a heart space. From meeting myself in others. And the mind? It never stops. It keeps going and going and going. And…

“Silence is so freaking loud.”
~ Sarah Dessen ~