Enlightenment Through Insomnia

Alright, I'm up. There's no sense in trying to fight it any longer, so I may as well get out of bed and do something. Although it feels like the loneliest thing in the world, I am sure I'm not alone in suffering the horrible frustration of insomnia. Usually I will just grab the book off my nightstand and read a page or twenty. Unfortunately, I forgot to include A.J. Jacobs' My Life as an Experiment when I packed my bag to spend the weekend at Michael's in the city. I am bookless, and doomed.

Lying in bed from four to six AM, I stared out the windows at the Atlanta skyline, watching the occasional car wind its way up or down the parking deck of a nearby hospital. I looked at the moon. Pretty. But after twenty minutes its beauty started to fade as I grew increasingly irritated at my inability to sleep. Michael's peaceful sleep sounds--the deep, sonorous breathing and the occasional snore--mocked me. The worst part of insomnia, for me anyway, is having to listen to my own mind. If it would just shut the hell up, maybe I could get some sleep.

I suppose it's the stillness and lack of stimulation, coupled with the stark isolation, that make fertile ground for my conscience and my superego to dig and till, planting seeds of doubt and worry. I laid there, letting my thoughts grow darker as I waited for the sky to grow lighter.

"You know your job is only a temporary position. You need to get your act together and find something more secure."

"Your kids are growing up so fast. Are you spending enough quality time with them? Are you teaching them everything you should be?"

"When are you ever going to put together some photo albums of your family life? You won't have anything to remember all these good times when you're old."

"Did you ever make an appointment for your daughter's annual physical?"

"When are you going to rewrite that novel and send out queries?"

"You don't have enough money in the bank right now. One unexpected expense. . ."

"Someday, you're going to grow old and die, just like everyone else. And it's sooner than you think."

Alright, enough already. At this point, I decided to get up. I hate it when my mind gets all existential on me like that. And it doesn't help that we have the condo decorated for an upcoming Halloween party with skulls and bones everywhere. In fact, on the futon directly across from the bed lie two full-sized skeletons, a bride and groom. How apropos.

I am reminded of Thich Nhat Hahn's meditation on one's own corpse. (Sound morbid? Well, what do you expect? It's the middle of the night, and I'm alone, surrounded by skeletons.) He suggests that his students meditate on the image of their own corpse, decomposing stage by stage, until nothing remains. It fosters the ultimate acceptance of impermanence; nothing lasts. Once we embrace our own temporary nature, we can release the suffering that comes along with attachment to our bodies, our health, our youth. This body my spirit presently sports has a shelf life of about 80 some odd years, give or take a few, and that's if I take good care of it. At forty-one, I'm halfway there. In the eerily desolate hours between two and six am, this truth becomes a stark reality.

The Spanish language has a wonderful word for this time of neither day nor night: la madrugada. Probably the best translation we have for it is "the wee hours of the morn," although that sounds frivolous and trite. If we find ourselves alone and awake in this madrugada, we sometimes face our own mortality and the ultimate truth of our aloneness. We all die alone. Yet comfort comes in knowing that all of us are in the same boat, so to speak, on this ocean of isolation. Every one of us alive today, in fact, everyone who has ever lived, has had to face this same truth. And life goes on.

So, I can either lay in bed and think about my inadequate savings account, my job insecurity, my empty photo album, and my eventual, inevitable death, or I can get up and live today, here in the Now. Because none of those things will matter once I roll over and take the big dirt nap. No one will care that my job wasn't secure (I certainly won't need it anymore). No one will give a rat's behind if I scrapbooked every minute of my kids' lives. And unless I can take the balance of my bank account with me to bribe any boatmen or gatekeepers, it doesn't matter if that ends up a big fat zero. (My grandfather used to say, the last check from your account will go to the undertaker, and if you live your life right, it should bounce.)

Here's another truth for you. This is one beautiful world we live in, and I have much to be thankful for. My children bring me a steady stream of love and laughter. (God, I have some funny kids.) It may be unsteady work, but I do have a job that I love and that has flexible hours, so I can spend time with my family. And sleeping noisily in the next room, Michael has managed to become both the love of my life and my new BFF. Right now, this is my reality. And this moment is all that really is. If I stay here, in this moment, I'm content.

Oh look. . . the sun's coming up. The sky is awash in pink, purple, and blue. More cars are circling up into the hospital parking deck. The full moon fades as the sky lightens around it. The night may have been a rough one, but it looks like the start of a beautiful day.

And the skeletons are smiling.

Work It, Girl

"I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy." ~Rabindranath Tagore

This might sound like bourgeois nonsense, something The Man might say to make the proletariat whistle while they work. But I do believe that it is indeed through service that we find our bliss. The Bahai consider work as their worship. In Buddhism, Right Livelihood is is a step on the Eightfold Path to Enlightenment. Work satisfaction is closely tied to our happiness. So instilling a strong work ethic is one of the kindest things we can do for our kids.

But somewhere along the way, I dropped the ball as a parent. I had the ball, at one time. Had that sucker firmly tucked under my arm and was dodging tackles left and right, back when carrying the ball was my full-time occupation and I was Employee of the Month, every month. I ran that house like a fascist cheerleader with OCD. We had memberships to everything from the zoo to the botanical garden to the science museum. We did crafts, and took trips, and had experiences. I filled my children's minds and exposed them to all sorts of cool stuff. We picked blueberries, we saw aquariums, we made pottery, we watched cows get milked, and a slew of other field-trippy things. But I also made them work. The refrigerator was a testimony to my devotion; my mission in life was to Raise Good Kids. If I had my way, they would have good manners, they would know the value of money, and most importantly, they would develop a strong work ethic. With chore charts, allowances, and room inspections, these kids were well on their way.

Then I got divorced, started working full-time, and just got tired. I suppose I dropped the ball somewhere between the courthouse, the university, and the after-school program carpool line. The fridge still has The Family Rules posted on it (among several other spirchul lists, like The Rules for Being Human, and Deepak's Seven Laws of Spiritual Success for Kids), all of which get broken on a daily basis at my abode. Where the hell is that ball? I need it back.

If you read the last post, then you are aware of Wednesday's problems with neatness. Her room is a cross between a Petri dish and a hamper. The child lives like a frat boy, without the beer can tower and posters of naked girls, of course. Yesterday morning, I told her and Max that I plan to reinstate the old system of chore charts and allowances. This way, they will learn that privileges are tied to responsibilities, and that money doesn't grow on trees. (Yes, I was channeling for my grandfather when I said that one.) The plan still needs the kinks worked out, like exactly how much money will be earned for exactly which chores, and how their performances will be evaluated, but I gave them the global idea as I drove the little darlings to school. Wednesday's response just floored me.

"Well, I'm just being honest here, okay? But if it's like, a lot of work for not much money, then I just won't bother."

Huh? Wait...that's not an option.

It occurred to me: that's a pretty good description of many people's jobs, mine included. "A lot of work for not much money." Maybe I can just waltz into the department head's office and proclaim, "Hey, just being honest here, but this is like, too much work for mot much money, so I'm just not gonna bother." Then I'd just sashay outta there and go to the mall to hang out with my friends and talk about boy bands and buy Japanese snacks at Niko Niko. That'd be the life, huh?

Well, that is apparently the life I have set up for my daughter. With no expenses to cover, no mouths to feed, and no mortgage to pay, she doesn't really have to do anything. I'm going to have to up the ante here. From now on, she is cut off from any expenditures aside from food and some very basic clothing. I will buy her some jeans and t-shirts from Target. Any concert tickets or clothes from Hot Topic will have to come out of her funds. (Which she doesn't have yet. Mwah ha ha ha ha!)

At Wednesday's age, I babysat on a regular basis. My boyfriend was delivering papers at age seven! He worked that route until he was fifteen, starting as early as 6 am on Sundays. Why did we do these jobs? Two reasons. One, we wanted money that was ours, that we earned and could therefore spend how we wished. And two, we thought it was cool to "have a job." It made us feel grown up. So it came down to ambition and responsibility, the two components that make up something I see lacking in my daughter: a strong work ethic.

When I was fourteen, I wanted to be a lawyer (a calling for which my brother still claims I was designed). Before that it was a research scientist, and after the lawyer thing, it became an advertising executive, because I could write, be artistic, and make a crap-ton of money all at the same time. (Hey, it was the 80's. Greedy times.) What are Wednesday's ambitions?

"I got it all planned out. Me and Mariela are gonna like, move to Liverpool and be artists. Then, when I get married, I wanna move to Japan."

"Artists, huh?" (Nothing wrong with that, but let's define "artist.")

"Yeah. She's gonna paint, and I'm gonna do photography. But we know that won't pay much, so we're gonna also be like, hairdressers or something like that cuz it's easy."

"Really?" I said. One of my best friends is my hair stylist, and I know for a fact it ain't easy. "Stand like this with your arms in the air for the next eight hours."

I got an eye roll. Shame on me for spoiling such a perfect plan.

This might be a poor transition, but I grew up watching Little House on the Prairie, which was "based on a true story." I also read the books, so I think I got the inside scoop. If Mary and Laura could hold down the farm (which I think caught fire in that episode) for a day while Ma and Pa went into Sleepy Eye to sell eggs, then why can't Wednesday put the dishes in the dishwasher?

Expectations.

We live in an age where the average middle class kid has more goodies than the richest kids a generation ago did. My brother and I had an Atari. Some kids had a Nintendo. You had to pick. My kids have a Wii, an XBOX 360, and a Playstation 2. (And they still want more systems.) Electronics are cheap now, and they make our lives convenient. Kids are already living like grown-ups, so why do they need a job to make them feel adult? They have cell phones and laptops, making them feel pretty damn important already. But guess what. They aren't as happy as we were with our babysitting jobs and paper routes. See, Rabindranath has a point. Without a sense of accomplishment and contribution to the world they live in, our kids are jaded, dissatisfied, and unhappy. The kindest thing I can do for my daughter is to help her see that service is joy.

So, Step One: I unplugged her.

Now time for Step Two: I'm cutting off the ATM. No more money. Period. If she wants it, she'll earn it. even if it's "like, a lotta work for not much money," it'll be more than she has now. And although she doesn't realize it, she will be earning something besides money: happiness.

I'm picking the ball back up.

Pulling the Plug

Ever get the feeling you're missing out on something, somewhere, with someone? Occasionally? My daughter seems to have that feeling anytime there isn't a phone in her hand or she isn't logged onto Facebook seeing what's going on with her 100+ "friends."

Even as recently as fifteen years ago, kids with cell phones were a rarity. Facebook didn't make the scene until 2004, and even then it was just for Harvard students. How soon this generation feels the Universe owes them something that didn't even exist when they were born, let alone "in my day." We parents may not be equipped to handle the lessons these tykes need in proper communication across these media, since we ourselves are new to it. A student of mine admitted to breaking up with her boyfriend over text. Clearly such a conversation warrants a face-to-face meeting, but kids today are increasingly uncomfortable with real-time discourse, in person. I am starting to worry that this generation of kids is growing up completely plugged in, and therefore checked out.

Back to my daughter, "Wednesday," who hasn't been following the rules at my house. She doesn't clean up after herself. She fails to turn off lights when she leaves a room. (One morning I counted seven lights and the television left on overnight.) Although I have a "No eating in your room" rule, I continue to find cups of coffee and tea (still sporting the soppy bag), plastic soda bottles (some half full, some empty), ice cream cartons (some half full, some empty), cereal bowls (mostly empty, but with crusted-on flakes or O's), and even a half-eaten bowl of salad in her room. She steals my clothes, my makeup, my hair care products, my bathroom appliances, my razors, and even my underwear. She also doesn't always say where she will be and when she will be home. In an act of tired desperation, I did what I thought would speak to her the loudest:

I unplugged her.

Used to sending and receiving a staggering 4000-6000 texts a month, she is now without a cell phone. Whereas she once spent every evening huddled in front of an electronic hearth, logged onto Facebook, she is denied access for any more than 20 minutes a night (if she's been good). I have changed all passwords on the laptop and desktop so that she cannot log on without me, so I know she remains unplugged when I'm not there to watch her. How is she taking it? Like she needs a trip to the methadone clinic.

She talks like a coked-up lawyer.

"Howdoyathink I'm s'posed tobeable to planstuff withmyfriends? Huh? WhatamIsposedtodo?" she asked me, wide-eyed and fidgety. "Don't you WANT me to be, like, socializing face-to-face? Howmy gonna do that if I'm, like TOTALLY cut off? Huh? I can't even callem cuz I don'tevenknowtheirNUMBERS."

"I guess you'll do it like I did in the olden days," I deadpanned. "You'll GO to school, talk to your friends THERE, write their phone numbers down on a piece of paper, and then you will CALL them on the home phone and TALK to them." And then for added theatrical emphasis, I added, "And if you lived in my day, you'd do it standing up next to a phone attached to a wall, like, with a curly cord."

This last addition got me an eye roll. Guess I went too far.

A few articles have been going around the online news media lately about the addictive nature of social media, Facebook in particular. Harrisburg University of Science and Technology banned on-campus access to Facebook for a week , to see the effects a little abstinence might have on the plugged-in generation. Reports of anxiety, withdrawal symptoms, and "sneaking" hits of FB on phones and PDA's proved the addiction is far worse than people think. In a related studies, participants are asked to go without a cell phone for a period of time, during which they too experienced symptoms of anxiety and withdrawal for a period (usually about three days) before a calm serenity started to replace it. These studies suggest that we are all pepped up on communication. Like a drug.

I am definitely susceptible to this. I admit it. I traded my blackberry in for a "regular phone" about a year ago. At first, I bitched about the new phone like I worked for Blackberry, Inc.

"This thing is about twice as big and does half as much as my berry used to..." I would say, sighing with fond remembrance.

Like a typical addict, I quickly forgot the negatives, like the CONSTANT buzzing in my pocket and the annoying emails from students while I am, say, strolling down River Street in Savannah on a weekend. The Facebook messages and updates, the BB messaging, the notifications, they were all exhausting to keep up with. And the device disconnected me from whoever was really present.

I can proudly say I have been off the "crack" almost a year now. Totally clean. Of course, I still feel a little prick in my veins when I see someone else's berry, that little telltale red light that says, "Someone messaged you. . ." Don't think for a minute I don't want to go buy myself a Flip (my brand of choice) and take a nice. . . long . . . drag.

But I don't. Because here's the thing: there are twenty-four hours in a day. I need to sleep seven of those, leaving seventeen. I teach and commute a good eight or so, leaving nine. When I'm grading papers, there goes another five (or more). What paltry time I have left, I want to spend on things that matter: my family, my boyfriend, reading, watching a good movie, laughing with friends, petting my cats (or yelling at them to get off the table where I eat for God's sake). I don't have any leftover time to "plug in" and check out.

I admit that I am susceptible, but notice I didn't come out and say I "have a problem." Most of us will readily admit that Facebook and texting can become addictive, but not to "us." Is it a problem for you? This might be the hardest one yet, but I'm going to ask you if you're up to a challenge. Unplug for three days. No texting and no Facebooking for seventy-two hours. If your first reaction to this request is a generalized feeling of anxiety, doubt that you could do it, or a stream of blurted out expletives, then I think you have your answer. Fine, try one day, but remember, in MY day...we didn't even HAVE texting or Facebook, and no one ever died from it. (You can do three.)

These technologies are miraculous, wonderful additions to our world. People can stay in touch an communicate over miles and times zones like never before. Reconnections with long-lost friends and family have been made possible through social media. But we need to be in charge of our use, not ruled by our need to constantly see what's going on "somewhere else."

Unplug, get off the "crack," and breathe. Then face a real live person and have a real-time conversation, complete with inflection, facial expression, and eye contact. There's no substitute for a good, hearty LOL, with a real "friend."

The Gift of Jealousy

"O, beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on."

For those of you who were wondering who first named jealousy a "monster," the Bard wrote this. Yes, good old Will Shakespeare gave her the green eyes, now synonymous with envy. One of the Seven Deadlies. Jealousy, like anger, punishes the possessor more than the one at whom it is aimed. (But more on anger on another post. Today's guest will be the one with the lovely green eyes.)

Jealousy is such a universal emotion, despite its destructive nature. Probably a survival instinct, it must have come in handy when we were still fighting over food supplies and the best mate in our less intelligent incarnations a few hundred millennia ago. But as we have evolved, this vestigial emotion just won't go away. Now we see it surface in our friendships, our careers, and our relationships. And it always comes down to that same basic instinct: someone else has something we want, or is threatening to take something from us. Or so our minds tell us.

I'm reminded of a conversation I had with my friend Jessica a few years ago. I remember it so clearly because she really impressed me with her insight, and because it changed my viewpoint. We always remember those convos, don't we? Jessica was telling me that a mutual girlfriend of ours was now in a relationship, with another woman. I wasn't surprised, but Jessica was a little taken aback at the new girlfriend, since it was someone she knew back in high school and "had no idea." She added, "The funny thing was that she's really tall, too, and I used to think of her as 'competition.'" (Jessica is six feet tall, barefoot.) Then here's the impressive part, even though it was practically in parentheses; I'll never forget it. "Of course," she added, "no one is really ever competition. There's no such thing." She then went on to tell me where and how they met, which I cannot recall. I was still stuck on this new concept.

No one is ever really competition....Wow.

I ruminated on that one for days, and I realized, she's right. If we think of someone else as competition for the opposite sex, we are negating the fact that it is up to an individual to decide if someone else is right for him (or her). Another admirer has absolutely no bearing on that choice. If two people are a match for each other, competition doesn't have any place. It's about making a choice, not winning some contest. If you aren't "chosen" by another, why would you have wanted to "win" through beating out the "competition?" It's insulting to the chooser to assume the choice isn't his (or hers). We aren't still beating each other up for a chance at the best female in the herd anymore. Well. . . okay, maybe you'll see that happening at 3:00am in a honkeytonk parking lot, but most of us have evolved.

Here's another good quote about jealousy, from my fellow Georgia writer Rosemary Daniell:

"Jealousy is the gift that shows you what you want more of in your life."

As a lemons-to-lemonade kinda gal, I like this idea of finding a use for this vitriolic poison we call jealousy, a way to befriend the green-eyed monster and make her my BFF. She's just showing me what I want more of in my life. This is especially useful in my career. I am definitely jealous of published writers, not because I want them to fail or because I think they don't deserve their success. On the contrary, I'm thrilled they have made it, because that means it's possible for me to as well. Plus, I know first hand how hard it is to get where they are. Good for them. Kudos. They deserve it. But my jealousy means that I want it, too.

"Can you guys scoot over just a smidgen and make some room for me on that bestseller's list, please? Thanks much. You're a mensch!"

If I get jealous of my friend Larissa's abs, or Amy's garden, or Awantika's independent nature, it's because I want those things for myself. This outlook really helps me come to terms with the feelings I'm having, and it definitely soothes my new BFF into submission.

As for the opposite sex thing, all of us want to be wanted. If someone else "wins" the one we want. . . well, we are better off free to go find the one who really wants us. Sure it hurts for awhile, but as I always say, "Looking for the right person is still more fun that being with the wrong one." And since everything that didn't work out for me up to this point led me to the relationship I'm in right now, I really can't complain. The Bard also wrote, "All's well that ends well."

So make the green-eyed monster your friend. Let her tell you what you want more of in your life. Then send her on her way. And remember Jessica's Axiom: No one is ever really competition. You are the very best "you" there is. And if someone wants "you," then there's no one better. Competition?

No such thing.

More Dream Stuff

Last night I got the chance to do something ubercool in my dream that I had always read about, but never done. They say that if you have recurring nightmares, say, that you are being chased by someone or something, stop and ask whatever is chasing you, "What are you trying to teach me?" It's a way of addressing your subconscious directly. Supposedly you will get answers.

In my dream last night, not a recurring one, but one that puzzled me nonetheless, I found myself caught in terrible storms. Lightning streaked across the sky, thunder rolled, shaking everything, and tornado-like winds blew leaves and dust all around me in the dark. I was trying to secure myself in a house that wouldn't lock. Then the house disappeared and I was exposed to the elements. In a moment of lucidity, I asked the dream my question.

"What are you trying to teach me?"

Believe it or not, the dream responded.

"What do you think?"

Apparently, even my subconscious is a wise-ass teacher.

I have no idea where my answer came from, but I replied.

"Too much focus on trivial things, like places and things, not enough on people."

When I said this, all at once, the wind stopped. The storms subsided. Everything was calm. A tree towered in front of me, and as its leaves stopped trembling, it leaned way down toward me, and touched me gently with one branch, like a fingertip, to my forehead.

I was right.

Now, you don't have to tell me how weird that sounds. I know. Very Shel Silverstein. But it has been on my mind ever since I woke up. What does that mean? Obviously it's good general advice. "People before things" has always been one of my favorite sayings, reminding me how my priorities should line up. But I don't see the relevance to what's going on in my life at this particular moment that warranted a stormy dream to remind me of this little spirchul gem.

That's how the subconscious works though, isn't it? We suppress things unaware, then they bubble up in our dreams (or in other ways) until we are forced to deal with them. I guess I am too focused on things that don't matter these days. And in the process of overfocusing on these trivial matters, I am neglecting more important things, like people. Hence my stormy, insecure subconscious.

So, if I guessed right in the dream, I should be well on my way to figuring this stuff out in my conscious state and calming those storms, right?

You'd think. . .

I have a few ideas, but no certainty about the shift I need to make right now to change the weather pattern in my mind. What I can tell you is that I will be doing extra meditation today to gain some clarity. Stilling the mind is like letting the dirt in a glass of water settle to the bottom so you can see through the clear liquid. Stillness is the key. So, today, I will sit still, be quiet, and wait.

In the meantime, I have also decided to be mindful of every moment and the choices I make in those moments. What to think about, what to say, and what to do are all choices. Now, when I am faced with a choice involving people versus things, I'm choosing people first.

I tend to listen to my subconscious, even if it is a wise-ass sometimes.

It's All About Balance

Remember teeter-totters? I doubt modern playgrounds even have them anymore, because of their proclivity for busting chins and butts when one "teeterer" got off unannounced to dash over to the merry-go-round or the slide. That's because they relied on a certain concept in order to function properly. A concept that most adults haven't even mastered, let alone your average eight year-old.

Balance.

When things are "equal" on both sides, then everything levels out. (Or goes back and forth evenly, which was the fun part). But if things are not equal, if one person is considerably heavier in the case of the teeter-totter, it just doesn't work. You get a thud, as one person sinks to the ground and the other ends up trapped in mid-air. (Incidentally, I was always the mid-air kid, since I weight about 55 lbs. until I hit puberty.) It's all about balance.

As an adult, I no longer think the teeter-totter analogy works for me, though. I'm not just balancing two things anymore (or was I ever?). In fact, I think my life can be divided into four equal quadrants, all requiring their "fair share" of my time and attention for me to feel. . . well, normal. Here they are in no particular order:

1. My body. It requires me to work out, make healthy food choices, take supplements for my noisy joints, and get enough sleep.

2. My mind. It requires me to read, to work, to play Bananagrams and Scrabble, to do Sudoku, to engage in discussions. And it also likes that sleep thing.

3. My spirit. All this really requires is meditation. But reading and writing nourish it immensely, too.

4. My heart. It requires me simply. . . to love. (And be loved.)

So, instead of the up and down search for balance we used to get as kids on a teeter-totter, now life is more like standing on a square board perched on top of a ball. It can roll in any direction if anything is out of whack. Whenever I have felt depressed in my life (and it really hasn't been too often, thankfully), I know that one (or more) of those things is not getting enough attention. One corner of that board has hit the dirt.

If I am not eating properly and not working out, I will hit a wall. I have no energy, will snap at people, and just "feel gross." In fact, as soon as I post this, I plan to go to the gym for some cardio and a "push day." (All you gym rats out there know what I'm talking about.) My breakfast this morning was Multi-grain Cheerios and a yogurt with hot tea. Safe to say, body is in balance these days.

If I am not reading anything, I feel lost. There are always at least two books on my nightstand at any given time. Usually one fiction and one non-fiction. Right now it's Mishna Wolff's I'm Down, a hilarious memoir, and Elizabeth Gilbert's Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage (more on that later). I also get a good mental workout at my job as a college English instructor. And if you have never played Bananagrams, check it out. I am hooked.

Up until this semester, I had been attending a group meditation every Wednesday night. It was easily the best thing I have done for myself since my divorce. I learned how to quiet the mind and tune into myself on a higher level, and in a group setting which offered a shared energy I couldn't get on my own. It was sort of like Weight Watchers for the soul; knowing you had to weigh in every Wednesday, you meditated all week to stay "in shape." Unfortunately, my schedule this term includes a Monday/Wednesday night class, right smack in the middle of meditation time. I can't help feeling like this is the Universe testing me to see if I can keep it up on my own. Guess what. . . I did 25 minutes this morning already. Check ME out.

So this brings me to the last part: the heart. I think we all know what happens when this is neglected. Literature and the news are filled with examples of it. People become insane, suicidal, even homicidal over a broken heart. Thankfully, I don't go nuts or kill people when my heart is not getting what it needs. But I know what it feels like when this corner of the board hits the dirt. Believe me. Now, I have two children, so I kind of have some built-in love (like an ice-maker in the freezer). It's a pure, unconditional love that is simply unbreakable. But make no mistake, I know this is not the kind of love one can hinge a life on. My goal is to raise these children to go out and have lives of their own, and I am aware that although they will always be a part of mine, they will not share a life with me. Not forever.

For the last year (up until May) I have been growing content with the notion of being on my own. Like Whitney says, "Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all." (Now if she could just do it, poor thing.) Besides, whenever I have been in relationships, I tend to let that part of the board outweigh all others, giving over way too much of my sense of self in the exchange. Maybe I was better off on my own. . .

Then in walked "Michael." Into my life, and into my heart. I was afraid at first, not wanting to teeter on that ball. I thought I pretty much had my life in balance and did not want any corners of the board to hit the dirt. Especially not my heart, which had been dirtied up enough already.

Last night I saw Eat, Pray, Love, reminding me how uncannily similar my life and Liz Gilbert's have matched up. When she met Filipe, she too had just settled comfortably into solitude, and wasn't ready to upset the balance board. She too had issues with dissolving into the Other in relationships. After confiding in her medicine man in Bali about it, he told her something I really needed to hear. Paraphrased, it was something like this: Sometimes getting off balance for love is the way to find balance in life.

After all, balance is about correction. We lean one way to compensate for the other side, and we do this until everything levels out. And you know what? I honestly think I am there now. My life is balanced. And I have never been happier. Now I'm reading Gilbert's book on coming to terms with marriage, so if my life has matched up to hers this closely so far, I wonder if I am looking into my own future. If so, from what I have read so far about her and Filipe, they are very similar to Michael and me. We could do worse than follow a similar path. A life like theirs, well. . . it wouldn't suck.

So, however you define your corners, I hope nothing is hitting the dirt these days. If it is, start correcting. And don't be afraid to let a little imbalance help you out with that. Especially if it's for love. Besides, a little dirt never hurt anyone.

"She Grew Until She Died"

That's what I want on my tombstone. Morbid thought? Maybe. Life is great, but none if us is getting out alive, you know. Might as well write your own exit line. And that's gonna be mine.

At 41, I think I have to face that I am officially middle-aged. And whether or not we do anything about it, all of us (ALL OF US) go through a mid-life transition. (Notice I didn't call it a crisis.) During my transition, I have already made some pretty major life changes, some of them immensely positive, some of them quite painful, but all of it good stuff. I've grown and changed in ways I had never dreamed possible. One thing I'm sure of though...I'm nowhere near done yet.

I still need to do so much more.

I want to learn another language, at least conversationally, if not fluently. I would love to learn how to play an instrument (still deciding which one). I need to hike though Macchu Picchu, a rainforest or two, and Yosemite. I want to see the fruits of my creative efforts displayed in bookstores and art galleries. I still need to swim in the Great Barrier Reef. I look forward to holding a grandchild (perhaps). I absolutely MUST see the pyramids in Egypt. And I wouldn't mind riding an elephant and a camel at some point (someone please take my picture?). I have not been snow skiing or whale-watching yet. I've never been to the opera. I need to see Alaska and Hawaii, as well as many, many tropical islands (both in the Pacific and Caribbean, please). Oh! And I want to swim in bio-luminescent waters, at night, preferably with someone I love. (Yes, I'm talking to you, "Michael.")

By the time I take my last breath, I want to feel like I never wasted a second. I want my life to be an original work of art. In the process, I may piss some people off or disappoint others, but hey, it's my deathbed. Get your own.

No one is really sure what this life is really all about, or why we are here, or if we get more lifetimes, or eternity, or simply become nutrition for worms. We all have our beliefs (and I have mine), but none of us knows. What we do know is this: we have this life. Right now. And we can choose to float through it in some hypnotic stupor, eking out our days as if they'll never quit coming, letting each one be even more ordinary than the last. Or we can wake up, be here Now, and live a self-directed life of experience, learning, and growing.

If this isn't "all there is" (and I happen to think it's not), then why are we here? Deepak claims everyone has a purpose, and it's our job to discover that purpose for ourselves. I agree. But I also think on a larger, more general scale, all of us are here for two reasons: to learn, and to love. Anything else we do in this life should come down to one of those two. The rest is a big fat waste of time. Each of us leaves this world naked and alone, with no checked luggage or carry-on. All we get to take with us is what's in our hearts and our souls.

So make your list, find your purpose, keep learning, loving, and living. Grow until you die.

By the way, you can borrow my epitaph if you like, but if you do...make sure it's the truth.