Ease Up

A bad mood curls around your neck and shoulders. You become prickly, agitated, and pressured like a summer storm. How did it develop? Gray clouds of overly critical self judgement, frustration at perception of self limitations you feel you should be long past, the internal evaluation where the interactions with others are distorted by past scars.
You catch yourself running tight circles in a ring, snorting like an angry bull tired of being led and used, ready for a tranquil grass carpeted field. Then someone reminds you to breathe. You look around and realize the arena is in your own mind. You are surrounded by love and kindness, people who encourage problem solving, goal setting, positive motivation. The people around you mirror what you feel and how you deal.
Relearning the shape of relaxation, easing up and letting healing and life happen at their pace. Relieved to be in a place where I can Ease up.
No matter how strong you are, if you live constantly tense and exhausting yourself, then you run out of strength and you fall. Pushes forward are frustrating wrestling matches with yourself, even where we blame someone else: it always comes down to us. The choices we make, how we perceive, how we react. Us.
A good friend said recently "You knew your choice in the relationship you were last in was not healthy: it's why you never asked any of us closest to you about it. You dealt with what you needed to, you're talking again, so you are making healthier choices."
Silence means there is a raging inner dialogue, where analysis and emotion are trying to reconcile with perceived reality. Neither one is particularly good at driving, both certain they are, and unfortunately, life tattered their road map. Instead of pushing them to figure it out, I am learning to work on figuring out a better map for them, letting it be easy like a sunny summer day. Blue skies, no rumbles and no unexpected rain.

Freedom is Gold

The Superstition Mountains are best known for the Legend of the Lost Dutchman's gold. A miner came to town boasting of a big find, with a chunk of gold to lend credence to his words. He died before anyone could get the exact location of the hidden gold mine. People have searched for over a hundred years, some dying on their quest for the lost gold. There are tourist sites in Apache Junction that recount the legend and offer the actual history. You can visit Goldfield, a ghost town that used to be an active mine. The Superstition Mountain Museum, Lost Dutchman State Park, Peralta Trail, Weaver's Needle, Apache Trail, Canyon and Apache Lakes, and Tortilla Flats are some of the golden nuggets you can enjoy as you explore history and desert.
The Superstition Mountains tower about four thousand feet above the desert valley. I have hiked to the highest point, I have hiked them in rain, snow, and at night by flashlight. I have watched lizards, seen petroglyphs,  and marveled at the forests of cacti. Sat in the night watching traffic at night in Phoenix. So close to the city but remote.
This year I arrived lost in my heart, soul heavy with sorrow, searching for myself and a direction. I went with the wind, except the aspects of my life that were burdensome stayed with me despite hopping planes and changing names and lives. I kept coming back to the desert. I kept going back to the mountains. There is an ancient indian myth of a white lightening woman who came from the sky and toppled the enemies attacking the tribe from the mountain. A spirit of a woman protecting a peaceful farming tribe, her legend set in my heart. She was their freedom.
I watched sunsets. My thoughts and feelings were the loudest sounds I heard, overpowering the night calls of crickets and coyotes. I was not happy. I felt diminished, stressed, helpless. I did not feel valued by the person closest to me and when I expressed this it was to receive ridicule and rants. Like the desert scavengers, I was surviving. I felt a kinship with the bold coyotes and the ranging ravens. If they could survive I could too. My choices were not helping me heal but they seemed to help my significant other. He needed help to live- I could be strong enough to survive that, couldn't I?
Golden light setting the cholla on fire, the fierce warrior  becoming desert royalty wearing a crown of sunset with robes of peach, rose, and wine colored clouds. Each night the clouds silently danced in different colors and patterns. Would you miss the beauty in their graceful performance? Many evenings I watched their performance and it gave me heart even when my emotions were drowning me. The sunsets circle the sky rather than only occupying the western side. It is impossible to avoid exclamation at times, the beauty stretching to see if it can outdo prior exhibitions. The best antidepressant is a moment of gentle beauty.

At Fish Creek Canyon, I played in a waterfall that would be gone in a day, just a black mark trailing down hundreds of feet of mountain.  I felt the ice cold water and wondered about the choices I made.
Listening to the wind, I felt it move through the canyons. Life is a series of paths, sometimes we reach a point where we find our best, healthiest option is change.
Wind, rain and ice wear the mountains down gradually. I have camped on primitive land in the Superstitions in years past, the mountains quietly stand. They've let me lean on them before when my life was heavy with change.  They call me to climb and explore, or was it the Lightening woman calling me? Was it her nudging me to chase myself down trails, around cacti and through washes? Such an irresistible curiosity, renewing my energy and spirit. More trails, sunset vistas, my feet kept going forward. Swimming in ice cold Canyon Lake, I realized life was a path and the one I was on wasn't right for me. I could change. I could be free!
I could stop letting someone dictate my life. Each of us is responsible for ourselves. I was surrounded by beauty, and if I chose to stop letting a toxic person paint my world I could heal. I became myself on the morning I drove away, freshly reborn east of Phoenix.
To me, the Superstition Mountains are freedom. Many die lost in the Superstitions, some fruitlessly searching for gold even now. I found myself there, found the audacity to pursue my heart, to reach past anxiety to strive for my dreams. I call that gold. 

Shaping Yourself Whole

Think about your beliefs, judgments, interaction styles. Who shaped them? Are they healthy? Do they ease your journey toward your goals or do they contribute by placing barriers, conflicts and negativity in your path?
Wander back into your childhood memories, good and bad.
"This place better be clean when I get home." The "or else" unspoken but likely a combination of psychological, physical and emotional abuse.
Respond quickly to questions with offers of information and assistance. If no one responds quick enough the negative comes like a thunderstorm.

Often, my childhood was being a mine detector learning tools to defuse emotional mines and suffering the scars of failures.

A lifetime later, I still find the programming of my youth winding around my emotional feet tripping me up and stressing loved ones.

I look forward to the day when my mind and heart finally acknowledge Stand Down.  I look forward to the day that I am not scanning constantly, feeling obliged to calm and prevent the emotional storms of others. I look forward to the day the anxiety gets laid to rest for good. Not buried waiting to rise from the ground like a horror movie monster, gone.

The combat Vets I worked with at the VAMC always asked where I served in combat. I didn't. We didn't talk about it. They nodded. They understood. We each have our scars and demons to fight.

I sit thinking about mental and emotional architecture within each of us. The importance of stability as we address the pillars of who we are and how we interact with the world. The words of others that impact who we become, the sorrow that often the wrong words and voices etch deeper than the healthy ones.

I look at what I need to address. The anxiety has been with me since before I could speak. My words came out a smeared mess of consonants and vowels. I have a strong will and years of practice at preventing it from disabling me. It is past time I confront it fully. I can confront it with the present, with truth, with breathing. In the past, this diminished the influence.

I am allowed to choose whether or not to communicate. Other people are responsible for their actions, choices. My thoughts, feelings, actions and choices are my own to have and make without someone lurking with an emotional or psychological bomb.
If an old trigger gets hit, I can choose to pause. To walk away and let it go rather than fall into a defense pattern.

What old patterns are in your architecture that hold you back? What excuses do you use to shore them up? What motivates you to move forward and shift into healthier ways of thinking and feeling?

No one will ever be perfect. We learn from our mistakes, sometimes, we learn from the mistakes made by those who shaped us. We do not need to choose to hurt ourselves or others now because someone thought it best then.

Setting the Mood: Or How Red Jello in Chocolate Sauce can be Terrifying

Remember the old phrase "set the mood?" When I created scenes and coached character creation at haunted houses, murder mysteries, even work training classes it was important to set the mood. What atmosphere? What appearance? What did you want the people you engaged to feel?

 How do you want them to perceive you? What can you do to engineer the sights, sounds, scents, even tastes to create the ambiance you need to make your event a success? Notice the shift: past to present, these considerations are important every day. Consider the difference in the unedited and edited gargoyle pictures below. Quite a difference a little time and effort makes when you approach considering the perceptual outcome you aim to create. 

A local fire department held a halloween party of the town children about thirteen years ago. A safe, free event for the community where they offered halloween themed activities. They wanted to do a free haunted house for the kids. They had costumes and a budget of less than fifty dollars after the candy was bought. They asked me if I could work with them to make it happen. I could use anything in their fire department supplies. Fifty dollars. Why not?
I walked through the fire hall. Picked my entrance and exits. Did we have heavy rope? Yes. Did we have huge heavy canvases to create walls and areas? Yes. We had some tables, weird white christmas lights, gourds, and big pieces of cardboard. It was a farm town so hay bales and heavy gloves were no cost as long as we returned them. Someone gave us several bags of cobwebs with black plastic spiders. Volunteers turned up silver and black and red spray paint. No sound system. No crazy noises. Simple. When it was set up the firemen looked at me. "You sure this is going to work?" I think the guy wielding the chainsaw in a hockey mask said it. It is easier to ask intimidating questions in a mask. The others nodded: the vampire, the gypsy fortune teller, the teenage zombie duo, the crazed coroner who would later be coated with chocolate syrup and red clotted chucks of jello he would randomly wipe off his shirt and eat cackling. He was the hardest one to coach because he did not see how that could be scary while he pulled the bits out of a plastic bag concealed in a scarecrow with a mannequin head.
I knew this question was coming. It is important. It has to be tested. Would my ideas work? The kids were gathered waiting. We went through places and roles, cues and guidelines. Mind you this mismatched group of fiends was getting a pep talk from a gray faced, sharp nosed witch with a scowl that could cut a sword in half. My pointy hat stood tall, the kitchen broom became a magic wand. I called for lights. Darkness fell. Anticipation and anxiety warred in the waiting kids and the questioning volunteers.

The first group of six teens were allowed to enter the narrow black hallway lined with tall oxygen tanks and cobwebs. A heavy gloved hand reached out and touched a shoulder unseen and another. It was a dozen paces. They made it ten. The fifth shoulder got touched and maniacal laugh to trigger the next volunteer was done. The chainsaw revved. The teens turned around and ran back out! The next three groups fared no better. I went from being a roving villain to a terrifying guide. I led the fourth group, that now had a chant. If you are terrified, if you want to push the monsters back so that perhaps you survive long enough for me to steal your soul, then call out "deliver us from evil." The louder you shout, the more of you shout, the more likely it will slow the monsters long enough for you to outrun them. Perhaps." They nodded. They ran through the words, lips moving, making sure they knew them. They entered.
Success! There was a break after all the kids and many adults had gone through several times. They wanted back through, the music of the night was the endless screaming and shouting chant "deliver us from evil." The volunteers gathered, amazed at themselves, amazed at the experience they created together.
Every day we deal with other people and situations. My story was of an external event. Why not apply the same practice to internal perceived events and situations? Do you have to choose to look at a situation or individual as negative? Do you have to be dramatic or antagonistic? Can you change your mood and approach? Instead of approaching with hostility or defensiveness, can you focus on goals and outcomes? Assume the people or situation you are dealing with is not out to get you. Assume instead that if you find the right tact, body language, and approach it will be easier to reach open communication, problem solving, and outcomes that open more doors. The chance for adventure, new friends, new experiences, new foods, different perspectives, new or improved skills could be how you motivate your paradigm shift.
How do you set your mood? What mood and persona do you project out to those around you?

Insert Catchy Motivational Phrase Here

There are easily a thousand motivational phrases. All right and all wrong. What you need to hear may not make it through the radio static of life. Stress comes and goes like a tide. How we perceive and feel regarding events impacts our well-being.

We learn more from our mistakes than we do from our successes.
Last night I stared under the hood of our van staring at the parts. I know some of their names, can monitor fluid levels and jump batteries. I felt frustration well up. I grew up in a mechanic shop. I spent my time spreading sand on oils spills, taping windows for paint jobs, handing tools to my father and the other alcohol sodden mechanics. They were the best babysitters. I behaved for them because I liked the intricate puzzles of metal they labored over. I asked questions until I fully grasped that I wasn't going to get answers. I was a girl. I wasn't supposed to like engines. I wasn't supposed to learn and being a four year old I respected my elders. I feared getting sent to more sitters who yelled, ignored or bullied me. I should have remembered: I ended up at work with my father because the babysitters kept losing me. I hid from them, escaped from them, made a regular mockery of their attempts to supervise me. I still feared being sent to another mind numbing trailer with moronic shows blaring on a cheap television.
If only minds had been open. If only generations of gender roles had not been so strong in that small town. When I got older I worked at a different tree farm. My family wouldn't hire me as "What would people think of we had women on our construction crew?" At the Cooperative, they thought I was a highly skilled, knowledgeable, hard working member of their propagation team. My rooting rates were remarked on. No one blinked at my gender. They did remark on my colorful vocabulary.
My mistake was acquiescence. I grew out of that. Mostly.

I am not comfortable feeling helpless. I am not comfortable feeling like I'm failing. Is anyone really, or do some just put a better mask? My best and worst attributes come out. My demons circle and whisper louder than thunder. It seems like I'm arguing when I'm listening and arguing to get more detail to better equip myself to deal with myself and situations more effectively.

I've been learning. When these situations arise to stop. Focus forward. Problem solve. Think about past lessons. Think about specific friends and situations that remind you to maintain perspective. Find something to ground with, something to work toward.
Who are your supports? Whether they know it or not, take a moment to reach out of your head to check in on friends. Be there in their moment. Give their voices and conversation a chance to work it's magic. There really is nothing like a smile, friendly voice, a gentle hand on your shoulder, or a focused hug.

Many challenges I navigate through are never expressed aloud. Most come from within. It is humbling to realize you are your best support and worst enemy.

This year I had to face the reality that I cared too much for someone who echoed the worst voices in my head. I let their words enhance the destructiveness of my own shadows. I reached a point where I faced myself. I chose to heal. To grow and to listen to the healing, growing, positive voices instead. I chose to invest in myself. If you don't invest in you, if you do not value you, why would others?

I prepared for Shades of Faerie, nervous about my stories and the event. Taylor Grant and Joshua Safford are amazing storytellers. Would My stories be up to muster? Would my character? Preparing for the event, dealing with last minute details the unexpected happened.

I've spent a lifetime mastering flexibility and acceptance. Make do could be my motto. The guy who was going to do video capture couldn't do it. Omar and I were running errands in Tulsa. He broached the idea of picking up equipment and doing video. It would cost us, but it would be an investment. Initially, an investment in my character and career development; also offering us the option of being able to do video work and other projects. Investing in me, investing in him, investing in us.

The show went well. Compliments and performance awards were given to all three of us for the show.

I think about that often. I've been the one investing in me. My great grandmothers, my grandfathers did before they died. Their investments were emotional. This was a financial investment. From the time I got out of sixth grade, I worked. I made my own money. I bought my own clothes, books, toys. I paid my bills and expenses and played every sport well, got top grades. My parents focused on my siblings. They invested in them.

Having someone invest in you gives you a profound feeling if it's something you are not used to.

Who invests in you? What do you acquiese to? Should you?

Each day is a new day, life is challenges and triumphs. Tragedies and comedies in situations and circumstance that chain from second to second. Finding a way to learn from both in part of being human.

The Fireworks and Follow Through

Starting a new project is exciting. Your mind lights up with fireworks of sparkling potentials. Somewhere along the process of walking through each step from idea to actual achievement the lights may fade or other ideas may explode. You find yourself lost in distractions or realizing time has slipped by and that you have to work harder and faster to move along towards your goals.
Writing goals and grocery lists may help, or you may find them later hidden in a random page in a mostly empty notebook like a child waiting at a bus stop for a bus that will never come.
Focus comes with practice. Life is juggling goals with needs and wants. How do you stay focused? Are you working toward something, anything? If you do it halfway, does it count or does it just end up an awkward memory?
Life is change. Part of growing is letting go of the excuses and barriers we carry around and block ourselves with. Where do you want to go? What do you want to see yourself doing and how do you want to feel about yourself? Who do you choose to put around you? Do you choose people who encourage problem solving or drama wallowing? Do you choose friends who are just the people closest to you who are just waiting, doing time in a routine, waiting for their expiration? Do you choose people who are genuine and caring? What do you offer them?
Change is life. This has been a year of change. I've let go of my car. It's now heading to San Diego with a young man starting his education and basketball career. He's a serious young man who has studied hard in school and I'm cheering for him.
I don't need this proverbial safety blanket. We bought a van, together. It is our van, our home. The first home I've ever bought. Good change.
I'm entertaining on a stage. Working hard to spread word and draw crowds. Working on getting a sound amplification wireless set up so I can still use nuances in storytelling that get lost when you have to shout the stories. Problem, research and network, then solutions. Emotions have their place in preparing for or doing a stage show, they don't belong second guessing the crowd or taking things personally. They belong as emphasis, as an accent on your garb. On stage I become a cartoon when I am the Painted Lady. Change is life. It is a relief to no longer feel like a cartoon in my real life. It is a relief to solidly be myself rather than a collection of characteristics loosely labelled human.
What are you doing to stay abreast of time? Are you moving forward in your life or are you investing all your energy into someone else's agenda? Where are you going? Where do you want to go? Who do you put around you?
I'm working on communication, planning ahead, and preparing. It feels great to look away from the fireworks and to take time to build my future. To be ready for more change and more life.

Words Have Power

Each of us has words we associate with experiences and feelings. Rain can bring rainbows or thick mud and brown days. The scent of an Apple pie cooking can be soothing. The sound of peepers at sunset singing for rain may lull you to sleep.

I've lived with words I avoid. Words who bring dark boxes I've put in locked corners of my mind back to the forefront. Like venomous snakes slithering somehow through cracks back out along the edge of perception until an unknowing person innocently drops one like a grenade into the conversation. I physically wince like ice cream hit a nerve in a broken tooth.

The word Joy. It means happiness, exuberance. It was my mother's name. She had a wonderful public mask she strived to be believed as being. She still does. She chased and earned the adoration of the community and my siblings. I was the unwanted child. She had wanted a divorce and an abortion. Face and public opinion were more important. I paid. Those who got close enough saw through her and were there for me. When her bipolar symptoms went unmedicated and she used child protective services as my childhood boogyman, it was my great grandmothers who intervened. She screamed in an empty house as I cried outside hugging reluctant kittens and wondering why life was like this. Joy. Joy screaming. Joy hostile hitting where it would not leave a bruise. Joy threatening to kick me out, so I'd live in a barn or have to pay rent at my own home as a teen. Joy screaming threats when I was asked out by a boy at age 16. Joy intensely telling me how stupid and worthless almost daily for most of my childhood. Joy that my siblings were wanted and oblivious and my father was spineless. I was alone in an unreal reality. No matter how much I achieved I couldn't become valued. The word Love was a weapon wielded just before an emotional net would be dropped and tormenting psychological games would ensue. I learned to hide. I learned to survive. I learned psychology. I learned avoidance. I learned to strive. I learned to ensure. I learned I wanted more than to exist in a world with that kind of Joy. 

That is what Joy was. 

Not anymore. I disowned my parents years ago. I ran. I've crossed the country dropping baggage at each beautiful place and with each achievement. The shadow of the past always had a feeling of dread. These horrible unhealthy people would force their way back into my head. Then I realized they cannot. I pick who is in my heart and in my head. I'm not running anymore. Their baggage is gone. There's no feeling left. Joy doesn't hurt anymore. 

Joy is a beautiful day with friends. Joy is a feeling of happiness after a great achievement. Joy is a purring kitten held close, the sound of bluebird on a sunny day, the shared shenanigans of silly side jokes. Joy is what I make it. Its my choice.

I'm digging through the old boxes, I'm releasing the snakes out of my head. They were not anything to be afraid of.
The part of me that gave them power was and it's long past time for me to own that.

What do you have locked in your head? Have you taken the time to look again and reassess? Take the power out of the larger than life villains, see how pathetic they become in the light of grown up life.
Leave the baggage in the past and see where tomorrow takes you.