Just Say Thank You

Yesterday was a mite sketchy up in the ol’ brain tower of doom. Managed—and right properly—to think myself into a tizz. This morning promised more of the same; the hamsters in my head woke up scant moments before I did and already had a ruckus going before I even got my coffee.

And then one of my angels stopped by (this loving spirit happens to have chosen a particularly splendid skinsuit and along with the grace she brings I get a hottie to look at. The Universe is indeed kind).

We chat; an impeding visit, perhaps? Timing’s the thing. Whenever a visit might occur, she says, I must be accompanied by some sort of speech-prohibiting device. Ball gag was the specific she mentioned, but I rather prefer good old fashioned panties and duct tape. She whips off her pants and transforms, by their removal, the panties she’s wearing into a future gag for me.

They’re blue, like an early summer sky. They have a satin bow.

Ever obliging, I put the panties in my mouth (after a hearty inhale, of course). Nice, that they smell like her. Not as nice that they also smell like laundry soap of the variety that makes me choke. I decide a token of the panties, as a reminder to silence, will do. I grab my nearby thread snips and go to remove the bow only to realize that I can’t really see it (and they are cute little panties that I’d hate to damage accidentally). I then reach for my glasses. I can’t find them. I begin to freak just the teensiest bit, starting to tell stories like, “Oh no! Without my glasses, I can’t read a thing and I have work to do today! I must have my glasses! What if I can’t find them?!? Oh no! Ack!” And so on.

Sparklingly perky, she says, “Just say, ‘Thank you!’”

I did. I said, “Thank you for the nice, soft fuzzy experience I’ll have without my glasses. I dunno why I get to have this experience, but thanks!”

I felt lighter instantly. I figured if it worked for missing glasses, it’d work for other things. So I said thank you for the fear I had yesterday that led me inward. Thank you for the haze of not knowing that surrounds our moving adventure. Thank you for the anxiety I get whenever I think about moving. Thank you for the sorrow I feel at being far from tribe and friends. Thank you for the lessons I haven’t even seen yet. Thank you.

This isn’t over yet. Move Day is a only month away and nothing on the surface, in the Maya, has changed. I still don’t know where we’ll be living or how we’re going to get there. But I am now firmly reminded (I put the satin panty bow above my desk) that I can say thank you to anything, thereby initiating transformation like my angel, who can transform panties to a gag at the drop of a pants. Thank you.

Writing Adventures in Terror

I’m scared shitless and the only thing I know to do is to write my way through it. I’m facing one of the biggest adventures of my adult life: I’m leaving my home of twenty years to move to the Bay Area and start grad school.

Last year I got accepted to the Graduate Theological Union at Berkeley to work on my MDiv; after those three years, I’ll do another two for the PhD. I couldn’t go; funding fell through 2 weeks before we were slated to move. Had a house lined up and everything, and the Universe said, “No. I need you to stay in Humboldt a while longer.”

Okay, I can live with that. I applied for and got a deferral. I started a Coaching practice, which has been one of the most wonderful things I’ve ever done. It deepened my service and my skills. I believe I have helped some people with their goals. And now it’s time to move.

And I’m terrified.

Our moving budget is skinny, but we have one. No known place to stay while we look for a place or an actual place to live yet. Hard to househunt from a distance, but doable.

Lolo & I had a meeting today. We talked about dates, a Plan, and how to go about this Big Adventure. That part was good, but it scared me more. See, I have no idea how any of this is going to play out. All I know is that we need to be living down there, preferably in the Easy Bay and preferably as close to Holy Hill as possible. We can’t afford a lot of rent, and neither of us have jobs in the Bay lined up. Fortunately, I do have some steady, passive income; we should be able to get by until we find work.

By all conventional rules, this looks to be a very challenging adventure. On the other hand, according to my beliefs, sometimes we get called to act without knowing for sure what the outcome will be (which is really true of life in general, but humans are excellent at creating & getting attached to the illusions of comfort and security). I also choose to believe that the Universe is constantly conspiring on my behalf and that I am held in ways I cannot even begin to imagine. That’s generally a place of joy for me, but right now, I’m frightened.

I’ve said all along that I’ll do whatever needs doing to manifest my dream of grad school. I mean that. Right now, though, I’m scared of what that might mean. Will I be called on to do things that physically hurt? That make me seriously uncomfortable? That would make one of those really heart-wrenching tales of personal sacrifice and overcoming obstacles to reach a dream? I can’t know. What I do know is that I said I’d do anything, and I fucking mean it. I’ll sleep in the back of our truck with the dog and cat if I have to. Funny, but right now all of my solutions to my adventure dilemma are even scarier than the dilemma itself. I suspect my saboteur is working overtime just now.

My training tells me to sit with my fear, to be fully in it. Mustn’t fight it; must go all the way in, see what I’m really afraid of, use my tools, move forward. Right now, that’s daunting. I asked myself what was the least I could do, and writing my way through it came to mind. So here I am.

We like to watch RuPaul’s Drag Race. We both love drag, drag queens, fabulosity, spirit and courage. It comes down to the last round with the last 2 contestants. They have to lip synch for their lives. One of them gets down off the stage and does her thing right in front of the judges’ table. The judges are looking at here, while the poor girl up on stage muddles through. Our theory was that the one who got offstage wanted it more. She was willing to go that extra bit because she really, REALLY wanted to win her dream.

And she won.

I wanna be like that. I wanna be someone who figures out how to go that extra step for my dream—works those extra hours, makes that extra sacrifice, whatever. I shout loudly in the silence of my head to the Universe: THIS IS MY DREAM! I AM DOING THIS!

…and I hear crickets. No specific guidance at this time. “If you are calling from a rotary brain, please stay on the line and the next available representative of the Divine will be….” >*click*<.

Okay. To me, this means that I have what I need in order to do the next thing I need to do while staying fully present in this moment. Apparently, I need to clarify for myself what it is we’re after so that we can create it. That’s progress, anyway—having something to do that moves me closer to my goals helps ameliorate the fear that paralyzes me.

Stay tuned: more tomorrow as the story unfolds. I’m on an adventure and I invite you to join me as I write my way through it.