Truth.

We have been going quite often of late to a local Unitarian Universalist congregation. More on the entirety of the experience later, but for today I want to focus on something I learned one of our first weeks there. A buddhist monk spoke about some of his journeys and experiences, and led a guided meditation with the following simple mantra:

"I am well. I am happy. I am peaceful."

There is truth in this for me. When my grief and my anxiety over what I have been through lately threatens to overwhelm me, I grab onto this mantra. I let it pour into me and fill my soul, and I embrace the truth of it. No matter what is happening around me, no matter that so many things in life are beyond my control, in that moment I can recognize the truth of that simple mantra.

It's not that I am free from the grief at the loss of the pregnancy. It has been over a month now, but it still feels like it just happened -- as fresh as the sting of a slap on the cheek. But I am walking on a tightrope, a narrow bridge that holds me above the chasm, and I refuse to look down. You don't get over something like this, but you do get through it. The only way out is through.

I spend a lot of time feeling anxious. Mostly I am anxious over financial matters - it's the number one worry of my life, because I know how quickly one horrible twist of fate can ruin a family and leave them destitute. We've been close to that before, when I was pregnant with Jack and Trip got laid off, and I never want to be there again. But when the anxiety threatens to be too much, I realize that even if we lost every dime we would find a way to provide the basic needs for our family. We would find a way through, because that is what we do.

When a grief, a fear, an anger, or a hurt begins to seem too big to face, I think of this mantra and force my mind and heart to open to the truth of it.

I am well. I am happy. I am peaceful.

And, wouldn't you know it, despite all the things swirling around outside the tiny bubble of this truth, the fragile and incandescent edges remain intact and I am safe, inside, where these things remain true.

By Definition

I often wish I was more organized.

This desire applies to all areas of my life, really, but when it comes to writing I often wish I was as crazy-organized and "defined" as some of the blogs I heart the most. Blogs like Dooce and Girls Gone Child and Mighty Girl.

I am not that organized, and this blog doesn't have so clear a purpose. It remains a place to simply vent out some of what is in my head and my heart and my life. I think I'm learning to accept that.

I wish I could post photos of cute outfits I put together, but the truth is that - while I own a fairly impressive shoe collection (which lately includes a pair of vintage cow-girl boots) - most of the time I can be found wearing some variation of jeans, shirt from Kohls (hey, we have but one department store here in the sticks, and we are grateful for that much) and sneakers.

And by sneakers, I probably mean the Hanna Montana brand slip-on black canvas sneakers that had rivet hearts on them, which I removed with plyers after purchasing them at Walmart. A fashion plate I am not these days.

But there are the rare and glorious occasions that call for breaking out the clothes that remind me that once upon a time I felt like a Pretty Girl. So once in a while I'll try to post a picture of those moments. If I remember -- since, as we have established, I am not so organized or good at remembering to "Do Things".

Trip and I also love to cook -- when we have time. That second part is the trick. Tonight, for example, I got back from soccer practice with the boys and stared blearily into the depths of our refrigerator, past mushy strawberries and wilted spinach. With a limited window before Cub Scouts, I finally opted for deli roast beef sandwiches and potato chips. It wasn't gourmet, but it was fast, cheap, and easy. (There's a joke about my character in there somewhere, but I'll leave it for the gatherers of such low-hanging fruit...)

On the nights we manage to pull it together enough to work out dishes like peruvian chicken, or homemade sushi, or lamb rogan josh with saffron rice, though... I will attempt to share that with you.

Basically, rather than a steady diet of brilliant and interesting things happening in my life, this is more like a buffet line of rants about laundry and wondering when my muffin top earned its own zip code. I may wish I could define it as something more cohesive... something with more of a purpose... but, let's be real, people. It is what it is, and filled with flaws... pretty much just like me. In both cases, I am working on learning to be just fine with that.