The Stories, Oh The Stories

I just got off the phone with someone whom I call for spiritual guidance and marveling at how when the stories that are in my head come out of my mouth, my world breathes a little easier with a little friendlier light and structure.  Especially the stories that separate me from other human beings - so... most of them... ahhh... reminders that the truth lies in the unity of the human spirit and on the most beautiful days I can see, feel, touch and taste it.  The times when the light within others and myself is so incredibly obvious, so awesomely apparent so tragically opposed to the fear I can propel myself on that tears group behind my eyes and I see the truth.  Gorgeous, insane, connected unity with all things.  Feeling grateful for both the light and the dark, the sunshine and the judgment.  I choose to radiate today. 

"He Hid In a Closet"

"Don't worry, he's safe. He hid in a closet." That's what my family friend said when she was keeping everyone updated about her son's status at the STEM school shooting yesterday. I don't know why but this particular phrase has been haunting me. A well spring of tears and few words, my chest feels heavy like a steel girder was placed there thoughtfully. "Don't worry, he's safe. He hid in a closet." The pain and terror emanating in those last five words - not steeling myself to the sadness and anger has been refreshing. My jaw feels like it could pop off, like it's a separate part of my body and moves as if it were a rusty hinge. "he hid in a closet." For an eleven year old to hide in a closet at school because his school is under siege by one of its own... it's beyond unfair. It's unconscionable. As I breathe, I am trying to milk words from my body, for my brain to form a thought based on my current experience and all I can think is "he hid in a closet."

Opening to What Is

I've been writing the word "opening" a lot recently. It's in my prayers, it's in my journal, it's coming up as my intention for the day as I commune in the morning. And I wonder about what it really means to me. To open is be fully exposed, right? That's what happens in my head - to be totally available as a human being to what's happening in front of me. The last few days have been filled with a sense of heavy sadness deep in my chest and throat. The kind that makes me feel anchored, nay more tethered than anchored. Anchored feels like more of a grounded word. These sensations that I relate to sadness are very familiar and even a year ago, I would have called this state "debilitating" and a feeling of drowning deep to the heart of me. Typing that out feels deadening. Like the buzzy vibrance of my morning has been pushed aside for a veil much like a dusty curtain that smells like moth balls. But these last couple of days, I'm walking as if with an old friend. Would I rather be open? Would I prefer laughing and my internal sense of connected purpose constantly? Sure, but that's not what's happening and I can even be open to that. This morning as I returned home form spin class and went to cut the brisket I made in the Instant Pot (on the slow cooker setting), I opened (there's that word again) my heart for a split second. "What would I be doing if I weren't fascinated by the knot embedded in my throat? What would I be doing with my time?" The thought came instantly - learning. Learning and teaching. Which today, I view as a very similar verb.

The quarter-life crisis that turned into a third

So, months and years of failing to find my purpose in life (and thinking a couple of times to have found it), I had the nervous breakdown. I had the moment of total despair. I didn't think it fun so much so I came up with my own ideas of what life should be and how I want to achieve that. Life should be happy. Unfortunately (and fortunately), we are one of the only societies on the planet has this much time to invest in being fulfilled. Honestly, my version is pretty simple (even though it can feel really large); smile and remember that you are only an animal like any other on this big planet of ours. Yep, I said it, you're just like a squirrel. Live a life, go for a walk, enjoy a meal. Life is so much less complicated than we make it. Strive for excellence, yes, but not at the expense of mental health. Without sanity, excellence is a lot harder to achieve anyway.

So, yeah, I'm a genius, I know. Regardless, adopt a smile for the day because your life truly isn't bad. Unless your name is Precious and you've had three of your father's children. Then complain away.

New paleo recipe that I love.

So, I made a recipe on my own that I'm pretty proud of that I wanted to share. Even boyfriend liked it (and he doesn't like much).

Lindsey's Super-Delicious Paleo Meatball Soup

Meatballs:
1 total pound of both ground pork and ground beef (I bought stuff on the cheap so I had to mix my own)
1/2 a white onion, chopped very fine or grated into the meat mixture
1 egg
1 tablespoon fresh chopped (or grated) garlic
1/2 cup fresh chopped flat leaf parsley
*1/3 cup grated parmesan cheese (not paleo so the*)

Soup
1/3 pound pancetta cut into lardons (thin strips)
2 large shallots, diced
1 cup sliced button mushrooms
1 qt beef stock
1 qt chicken stock
2 cups fresh chopped kale

Preheat the oven to 350.

Mix the meatball mixture until everything is sufficiently combined and not longer. Roll meatballs in hands at about 1 inch size (or use a melon baller - cheater). Place on foil-lined cookie sheet and bake 20 or so minutes (depends on how big the balls - ha ha, balls).

While the meatballs are cooking, place a soup pot on medium and heat up. Once you can feel the heat four inches or so off the surface of the pan, render the fat from the pancetta keeping it from burning yet still rendering. Once the fat from the pancetta is rendered and the meaty portion is cooked, add the shallots. Cook until translucent. Add the broth. Bring up to a boil and add the mushrooms. Adding the mushrooms now adds this earthy quality to the soup.

Add the meatballs to the soup. Let them simmer about a half hour and add kale. Eat. Delicious.

Life is, well, life. As is death, apparently.

Some days, you just wish for the unattainable; a new pair of shoes out of your price-range to go on sale, a job that may be very out-of-reach, to marry a Pro football player (Jay Cutler, I love you). For me today (and for the last few months), I have desperately wished to speak with my grandmother who passed away in July. The woman was hip, fun, trendy, sweet, loyal, loving, strong (amongst many other things - and at the age of 76). Can we really sum up a person in a few words? No. Can I talk to her out-loud like I did when I was picking out her clothing for a funeral? Of course. Do I sound like I'm batty when I do speak to her out loud? Duh.

Thank (god, friends, family) that I can speak freely about missing her. I wonder, though, if my one-day children and grandchildren will have to go through what I am and long for me and the comfort that I give. Bottom line: amazing people are missed in an amazing way.

Merry Christmas, all, and Amma, you know.

Today is the first day of the rest of your... week.

Is it ever good to settle for second best? When comfortable works and it always feels like happiness is just around the next corner so you can't enjoy the day in which you live? A wise woman once reminded me in my quest for the right job: baby, you just gotta love the one you're with.

So, today, I have enjoyed the beauty of the Colorado scenery. I have cuddled with my puppy and told select people that I love them. I cooked dinner for a deserving few. I went grocery shopping, watched a movie and wore my favorite sunglasses. Today, I loved the one I'm with.