Today

It's chilly this morning after a hard frost. The mesa is starting to close up, contract. There was a flurry of bird activity a few days ago; I may have even seen a small flock of bluebirds resting on the yucca branches before continuing their migration. Just a fleeting flash of blue in the corner of my eyes, then faded into the grassland again. And the meadowlarks were full of song a few days ago. Mark thinks that they never left but it seems to me that they disappeared during the hot summer months and came back only a few days ago, also on their migratory path to somewhere else. It's always a surprise to be walking along the path and hear the clear trill of the meadowlark coming from what sounds like only a couple of feet from where you are. But they're clever ventriloquists and if you look hard into the grasses you can usually spot them sitting high on a stem, 100 feet away. When I was a new mesa-dweller I would stop walking and peer into the grass near the path, convinced that the bird was right there. Now I know better and it still thrills me.

Yesterday I took part in a 2-hour meditation practice at Naropa, one in a series of happenings during Community Practice Day. All regular university business stops and people come together to experience various types of contemplative practice. The meditation happened in a big room with about 100 mats and cushions arranged on the floor. People were called to the room by a gong and found their seat. The 10-15 minute seated meditation sessions were interspersed with walking meditations, led by a soft-spoken woman who sounded like an NPR commentator. Once I discovered how to arrange my legs so as not to develop cramps I was able to sit still for the duration. But my mind...how my mind loves to go into overdrive when it's quiet. I know this is common among new meditators so I tried hard to not go to a judgmental place. Breathe in, breathe out. Sooooo....hummmm.

During the walking meditation we walked slowly and deliberately, hands at waist, eyes softly down. Let the thoughts go, just be here now. Two circles of walkers snaked around the room, passing each other in the middle. I kept thinking about the security lines at Denver International, where you walk slowly and deliberately back and forth in the corrals, gaze diverted. You pass the same people again and again but you rarely acknowledge them or even make eye contact. Maybe I'll try to meditate in line next time I'm there.

I should be

I should be running right now. Loping, really...lumbering is more like it. I think I want to be a runner, you know, one of those people who glide along across a surface, light-footed, breeze in their hair...they say that running relieves their stress. "I'm going to go for a run." I think I want to run the Hartford half marathon in October with Jodi, Mark and some other Harris folks. But. But. I put myself on the C25K program (couch to 5K, which isn't really accurate because I'm not really a couch potato, but fine, it's the couch to 5k program) which is supposed to get me in shape to run a slow 5k in 6 weeks or so. And I'm on week 3, which has me alternating jogging with walking for about half an hour 3 times a week. So a couple days ago I was out there on the mesa path, walking and jogging, feeling not quite as miserable as I had in the near past and I decided to speed it up just a teeny bit during the final 90 second jog. I mean, I probably went from 4.5 miles an hour to 5 miles an hour. Nothing drastic, nothing fancy. And about a minute in I felt this sharp twinge on the inside of my left knee. Really? I slowed to a walk, fighting the impulse to validate that this is why I'm not a runner. Runners have pain, right? And now, two days later I'm confused about whether it would be better for me to buck up, grit my teeth and get back out there for my 2nd run/walk of the week, or just fuck it, take some ibuprofen and rest my tweeky knee. And then what? This seems to regularly happen, so I'm not entirely sure what to do. I'm not intrinsically opposed to experiencing pain, but I don't want to do anything stupid to my almost 52-year old body.

But the upside is that I'm writing a blog post. I took the part-time job at Naropa as assistant to the dean of graduate education. I start on Monday. I also had an offer from the molecular biology department of CU, a full-time gig supporting the brainy faculty. In the quest for life-balance, the Naropa job is the way to go. Remember, I went from flat-out, exhausted, stressed, way too engaged in my job at Odyssey to having too little to engage in here in Boulder. It took me a few months of down-time to get here, but I had begun to long for meaningful work, for a means of engagement with a wider community. Taking the job at Naropa is part of my path toward a balanced life, for the first time in...forever? It will put my in the company of other seekers, students of the university and of life, people who seem to be open, gentle.

And tonight's my last training session with Hospice, and then I can begin to volunteer with a family that's going through the dying process with a loved one. I'm a little trepidatious about jumping in, but also feel that I will be ok with just being there, just being a loving, caring presence for others. I've been thinking that my work with Hospice will afford me a more acute awareness of the beauty of now, the fleeting present. I'll have to revisit that notion down the road and see how it's going.

The last thing I'll share today is that I decided that I'll spend my first few hundred bucks earned at my new job on a 3-day intensive writing course given by a local author in Boulder. It's called The Heroine's Journey, about writing memoir. I already sent my deposit in. Mid-November and I get to spend this time in the company of other writer-seekers. It will be my birthday present to myself. I'm gonna go take a run.

Late September

...and a month went by, whoosh. In between moments of stillness, the rush of time, the rush of flood water. Mom was here to witness the 1000 year flood in and around Boulder. It was surreal to be here in our warm, dry house up on the mesa while destruction flowed down from the canyons and onto the plains. We watched it on TV, removed but still feeling the sense of loss for our new community. Even now, a week later there isn't much to see when I drive around; a barrier here, sandbags there, debris forced into the rails of an overpass. There are opportunities to help and I intend to. Then a rather whirlwind trip back east to give and get some hugs, share some laughs and wine with friends, check in with a few of those we love. We drove through the verdant tree-tunnels of Rhode Island and Connecticut roads feeling the remarkable distinction between there and Colorado where very little comes between your eyes and the jagged horizon. So green, so close, so damp with life. So many trees. We got into the Atlantic for a couple of minutes, baptised once again in the salty coolness. Its never a mistake to get into the ocean...you can always warm up. I feel compelled to get in whenever I can now...who knows how long it will be until the next time? Oysters, clam cakes, lobster rolls, chowdah, butter & sugar corn, September sun. Mmmm, east coast living. And now all of a sudden I have 4 interviews on the horizon. Today is with Hospice to become a volunteer. Friday is with Colorado University to see about becoming a program assistant. To be scheduled is one with Naropa University, assistant to the dean of graduate admissions; one with Walden University, supervisor for principal candidates doing their internship in schools; one with an agency in Boulder that provides subs to private schools. The job with CU is full time, the others are part time or per diem. I am going to go through with any interview that comes my way, if only for the practice of using my professional voice in an articulate manner. It's not the everyday voice I use when I talk to the dog so I'm a little out of practice. Through it all I'm keenly aware of my mandate to slow down, stay present. I admit, it feels really good to have someone--anyone--validate my resume and want to talk with me. But that can't be enough to compel me into a job. I have some work to do on being good with just being...being me, just being. It would be soooo easy (assuming I got an offer) to jump into something because it would necessitate shifting my attention from now/here/the present to "what's next." Busy, busy. I'm good at busy. I've made progress in being here in Boulder without schedule, without direction. I think a happy medium is what I'm longing for. A professional life involving interesting, happy and thoughtful colleagues, meaningful work to do, a sense of accomplishment and values...plus a social life involving a few good friends who like to climb to high places and eat good food... plus a home live involving a loving partner, peaceful togetherness, fun & laughter, good food and great wine...plus a family life involving those who have loved us longest and best (this includes old friends who are not physically near us but so close in our hearts)...plus a spiritual life involving worship in nature's cathedral and opportunities to collectively work to make the world a better place...plus health, wealth and wisdom...wait, does this mean I want it all? I'm gonna start by taking a run. 46 degrees, abundant sunshine, let's go.

Whoa, I'm here.

I put myself on a train. For the past 5 months I've been on a metaphorical train, more like a thought train really. There's a lifetime of momentum behind this train, driving it, pushing it onward. I had this realization today in yoga, at the very end. I actually started to cry a little because of the rush of emotions that hit me when I said the word "surrender." In my head of course, this was savasana after all. See, there are a couple forces at work right now. First is that it's late August and for the first time in a very long time I'm not at school preparing for the new school year. I'm not greeting teachers as they cart in their new supplies and dust of their rooms, full of stories of summertime bliss. I'm not setting goals, crossing T's and dotting i's. I'm not in charge of anything and that is...scary. Because if I'm not in charge of anything, what's my purpose? And the second force at work inside me is that I'm nearly 9 months into my sabbatical and I feel like I might just be beginning to understand what it's all about. Like a gestational period for my psyche. Maybe I'll give birth to reason and rationality. That's why this blog...writing in general...is good for me, because in order to do it I need to articulate the swirl of thought clouds in my head, and in order to do that I need to sit quietly and be. So I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself about Getting A Job. Ask Mark, it's been fun for him. I really think it has to do with the school year starting and me being here, just being here. On the train again, I've been obsessing about what I can do...what I should do. I've spent hours applying to the University of Colorado in Boulder for jobs that I'm either overqualified for or don't meet a minimum requirement which is actually kind of funny considering all the various skills I have after decades of challenging and varied work in the education field. I've spent additional hours applying to the Boulder Valley School District and simultaneously navigating the glorious bureaucracy of the Colorado Department of Education to apply for reciprocity for my Connecticut administrator license. And underlying all of this flurry of effort is a panicked sense of unknowing which is uncomfortably familiar to me. My challenge is to live with this unknowing and trust that when the time is right I'll know what it is I should do next with my time, my energy and skills. Not just to live with it, but to look right at it, to be with it without trying to run away or mask it. As you know, my modus operandi is to DO, take action, git 'er done. Which is also rather funny because I'm not averse to being alone in solitude. I spent the months of January, February, March and April looking for a new home and enjoying down time in our new town. I spent the months of May, June, July and August getting settled in our new home, three weeks of which were shared with good friends and family who came to visit. Doing, doing. Lots of doing. All good. But somehow I feel as though the real work of my time off is just starting and I could easily sabatoge it by jumping too quickly into another job that demands my time, energy and lifeforce. What an extraordinary problem to have. Anyway, it's good to be back.

Extraordinary love

A couple weeks back, in the midst of putting an offer on our new home in Boulder I looked out of our living room window on a scene of extraordinary tenderness and love. A young man, maybe 30 years old was walking up our street toward the mountains with his black lab. Suddenly the lab stumbled, her back feet and legs collapsed under her and she listed sideways toward the gutter. I got up and stood at the edge of the window. The man caught the dog and steadied her with his knees. After a few minutes they started walking but before long she faltered again. This time she went down all the way to the sidewalk. The man stood over her then squatted beside her, stroking her as she lay on the cold concrete. A woman who lives nearby came out and bent down to stroke the dog too. They stayed like that for a while, exchanging soft words between them, gently caressing the lab as she lay so still. The two people seemed to be peaceful, not in distress, maybe just acutely aware that there was nothing they could do now but provide some comfort. The woman went back to her house after a time and the man coaxed his dog back to her feet. She took one or two halting steps...fewer than a dozen and she went down again. I held my breath as he tried to get her to walk. He was gentle and patient and I could see that he wasn't ready to accept that she simply could not walk any more. At last the dog just fell and lay down on the sidewalk, head down, very still. The young man walked around to her feet side and tenderly, carefully put his hands under her body to lift her up. He scooped the dog into his arms and turned to walk down the street, pain and disbelief in his expression, knowing that this day had finally come. I think--I hope-- he was going to bring her home and lay her down on a warm bed and talk with her about the hundreds of hikes they took together, the games of frisbee catch, the years of devoted friendship. He loved her very much, and she, him.

On coyotes

We saw our first coyote yesterday. We were walking with our little dog Enzo in the hills above Wonderland Lake in north Boulder. It was a blue sky day, blustery but not cold and we had just begun to climb when Mark noticed the animal loping across the path 100 feet from where we were. We drew back the retractable leash to keep Enzo close to us (recalling every trail head warning sign) and for a few minutes became hypervigilant in case the coyote was the lead dog in a hungry pack. It was a thrilling sensation--we're really in the wild west!--and also scary to feel so vulnerable and tender in the wilderness. We're new to these western mountains and are still getting our footing, still getting oriented to the vast wildness of the place. The coyote was solo, it turned out, in fact it disappeared as suddenly as it appeared, dissolving into the grey-green landscape. We climbed on, reflecting on the probability that any time we walk in the mountains we're being monitored by wary wild animals that tend to keep tabs on humans in their territory. Three months into my Colorado life I have a healthy respect for the mountains and a hyperbolic fear of the creatures that live in them; I hope that with enough time spent in the western woods my fear of the animals will evolve into a healthy respect for them as well. I believe that they could easily kill or hurt me but I also believe that if I'm aware of their habits and habitat and give them a wide berth that the odds are in my favor. The end result of being respectful but not afraid of the woods and its inhabitants is that I get to be out there, up high, breathing the thin, cool air, feeling the radiant heat that comes from being a mile closer to the sun, feeling at peace in the world.

The weight

It's a feather-weight anxiety and anticipation concerning whether we will in fact live in this house we wish to buy. As my friend Lesley referenced in a recent blog, it's an embarrassment of riches, not just the material kind, but for me, right now, it's also the wealth of time. I feel like an ordinary citizen who is suddenly wealthy after striking it big in Powerball. I've been handed an enormous (literally and value-wise) check and am now deep into spending my riches. What shall I do today? The sun is out, my belly is full from breakfast and the day stretches in front of me. Today I'll reach out to old friends to let them know how much I value their presence in my life. An exercise class to keep my body strong, a walk outside with the dog, a trip for provisions and gratitude that this is my life today.