I'm Off My Monetary Mo-Jo. Shit.

At what age do you start seriously talking to kids about money? I'm not talking about $15 monthly allowances, and "Well, you'll just have to save up for that Lord of the Rings Lego set," or even the generic, "We can't afford to play miniature golf and order pizza, I'm sorry. What about some homemade soup?" I'm thinking more along the lines of I have $106 in my checking account until the end of the month, and that's not paying my child care bill, or my daughter's school tuition this month. Not to mention gasoline and, you know, food.

I don't want my sensitive fourteen year old to worry and feel guilty for going to the school that she does. Her father and I picked that school because it was the best place for her. It was where we wanted her to go. (The fact that her father refuses to pay any portion of that tuition bill is frankly appalling and really shitty timing for me right now. Also something I'll never tell her.) (Equally annoying is that I don't qualify for any more than $60-$70/month tuition assistance because I make "too much money.")

I am not frivolous with money. I don't have much credit card debt ($2K). I do often splurge on organic produce, chocolate and olives, though -- totally unnecessary purchases -- and when my daughter comes home from school with tears streaming down her face due to homework overwhelm, I am known to cave and volunteer pad thai from Chao Pra Ya and Doctor Who on Netflix. (I haven't decided if that qualifies as an unnecessary purchase at this point. Therapy is therapy. However it works.)

When I was a kid, I knew that our family didn't have as much money as the next one. We always had everything we needed though: Hamburger Helper, Tuna Fish Casserole, hand-me-down clothes, and family dinners at the table. I watched my mom pay bills every month, peripherally, and knew that every month she very carefully chose which ones to pay, and which ones to only send a partial payment to -- knowing that with a partial payment they couldn't turn off services or repossess.

I don't remember my mom and dad ever discussing finances with us kids. And I don't recall ever worrying about food or a roof over our heads. And strangely, I don't remember ever feeling that my friends had it better than me. I just knew that was the way our family was. I didn't begrudge my friends their wardrobes, or big bedrooms. After all, I did get Keds, and huarachees, and Levis. I just got them six months later. When they weren't quite so cool. Nevertheless, I felt well-adjusted, socialized with my friends, and had money in my pocket for after-school chocolate bars. Life was good.

And when I got married at seventeen to my first love, I didn't mess around with a honeymoon or new living room furniture. I knew how it was. We shopped at garage sales, ate our share of Top Ramen, and borrowed family friends' futons, and worked full time.

So how about now? How much is too much information? Do my children understand monetary reality? Do they know we only have a hundred bucks to live on for the next two and a half weeks? (I'm sure they don't, nor do I know if that is the kind of information that 11 year olds and 14 year olds need to know.) Do they see the difference between their father's house and mine? (I'm sure they do.) And while it bothers me a little to see so much money spent on electronics for the kids -- especially when it seems through actions that new laptops and a PS3 are more important than education -- I am grateful that the children are seeing different lifestyles.

What I ultimately want is for them to be prepared for life after school -- when they have their own jobs and apartments. What I ultimately want is for them to understand that our choices around money have consequences. What I ultimately want is for them to know what to do when they only have a hundred bucks in the bank and a lot more month to go.

'Cuz I sure don't.

Homesteading Nostalgia

I was feeling nostalgic for my suburban homesteading days, so I thought I'd put up a few pictures I'd taken a couple years back.

I just put some of my meager savings into a deposit on some land in Costa Rica. (!!!!) Current plan is still to move there after the kids are out of school. Will start practicing self-sustainable practices now in anticipation. :)

Experiential Dance

Today I danced uncertainty, frustration, willingness, openness, letting go, surrendering, joy, concentration, trust, grounding, symbiosis, nurturing (receiving it), and connection with both the Divine and also my peers ALL IN ONE DANCE.

That's pretty amazing. Most days I only dance one thing.

At the beginning of dance "church" today, I felt the not-quite-frantic feeling I get when I think about life purpose. I danced "What's my calling?" "Is this my calling?" "What's my calling?" "I'm trying to find my calling." Calling, calling, calling. Like an echo, unanswered.

Then I sunk into the music and let go. Let go of the control I so mistakenly think I have. I surrendered to the Divine. "Use me as you will. Use me as your instrument in this glorious orchestra, to make beautiful music -- to dance and live my joy." I knew this was the only way to find that calling. Dance, let go, and surrender. Rinse and repeat.

See, now I'll know what it feels like to be joyful and living my purpose and answering my call, because I danced it already, today.

Giving myself up to the Divine Universe is scary, and I said to It today while dancing, "If you want me to open myself up -- to show up for work and play and calling, and more importantly, to stop being in charge -- You'll have to hold me up, be my strength, and guide me."

And it became clear through my dance, or through the portals of dance -- those shamanic dream gates -- that this was a dance all in itself -- this giving up control and letting go, the awkwardness and fear around that, the surrendering again (or despite that), the Universe's promise of support, but then my need to let go and trust that the support will be there when I leap. Like the flyers in Acroyoga who need to trust their bases. The bases can only do their job when the flyers are confident in their base's ability to do their job and hold the flyers in safety.

Today I was gently reminded that there will be dark places in the room/life where I dance, and in those places I'll need to make sure I'm paying extra close attention to staying connected to Source. Are my feet and hands touching the ground? Am I dancing the two halves (the upper and lower) of my body together? 

My two halves of my body don't need to be doing the same thing. They can be dancing the dance of one supporting the other, they can be dancing to complement the other, they can be dancing continuation of the other. So, 'No' to having to dance the same dance, but 'Yes' to being in synch with one another. Or, in this case, one half of the other.

The last two or three songs of today's dance set were (for me) about HOW to connect to Source, and to being nurtured. After I danced receiving nourishment, someone brushed against me by "accident" and I had a brief and lovely moment of connection, and then went back to receiving from the Universe.

Today, everything I needed, I received.

I'm still convinced, over and over, that things happen for a reason. I went in to Dance today with expectations and a specific desire to talk to a particular person, but that individual was not there. Had he been, perhaps my dance would've been far different. Maybe I would've been distracted by him and not have danced so much meaning in this one dance set.

In gratitude, I bow to the Universe. Namascar.

Why I Write And What Happens When I Do

I write to quiet the demons. The pesky ants that bite me and tickle my skin with their feet.
I write to capture dreams. To recall faces and emotions and what ifs.
I write to know myself.
I write to explore.
Myself.
And the world around me.But mostly myself.

When I write I feel luxurious. Like I have all the time in the world. Like I'm important and what I'm saying is so important I have to drop everything that needs to be done in that moment to write those specific words down. Or they'll be lost. Which, ironically, is true.

When I write I feel like I have something to say. Like I AM important. But sometimes I feel that what comes out of my mouth or onto the page is not helpful, not worth saying or reading. Ultimately I want to make a difference in someone's life, and I want my words to make a difference in their lives, but .... it doesn't have to. My actions can do that, too. Like yesterday. I had friends over, and I actually didn't interact much with them at all. But I provided the space for them to be able to connect and relax and feel safe. And THAT made a difference to them.

When I write I see birds, taking flight "to the world that is invisible and is sure of bliss." (from the movie Lady Jane) Promises, echoes, memories, callings. I see imaginary animals and dreams and thoughts barely constructed. I see the past and the future, but rarely the present. I need to remind myself to see the present. Because that's where all the parallels are. That's where the meat of it is. THAT'S where I should be writing from. From the present. Write what I see in front of me. That's what can help people.

And myself.

When I write I discover who I am. Whom I'm meant to be. I discover forgotten dreams. I discover stories in the leaves and hear whispers in the foliage. When I write I discover charm and grace and wit that I don't have in my speaking world.

And THAT is why I love to write.

To access that graceful and creative place that isn't quite so apparent in me otherwise. To reclaim all of me. To remember stories of other lives. Other meanings to things. A new perspective.




Why do YOU write?
And what happens when you do?

Now ... If I Just Knew What My Life's Purpose Was.

A few weeks ago, a neighbor of mine said something like, "I try to think about what I want in my life, not necessarily about the money it will take to get it there." The idea being that sometimes, if you are very clear about what you want to manifest, it shows up. Money or not.


So this morning I took some time to ask myself, "What is it that I want in my life?"


And what showed up in my journal was .... a personal mission statement. 


TOTALLY not what I set out to do this morning, but I'm surprised and delighted it showed up.


It is safe to evolve and I have the emotional courage to do so. I have patience and compassion for myself and others, and I surround myself with people that extend those qualities to me.

I have a strong sense of purpose, fed by my intuition.

I live in a place where I am grounded to the Earth, feel kinship with the People, and am connected to Source.

I have friends that nurture and support me -- some of which I can see socially a couple of times a week. My friends are emotionally courageous people, too, and my relationship with my children includes joy, respect, unconditional love, and nurturing supportive availability.

My life is filled with curiosity, vitality, variety, zest, and writing inspiration. I have financial safety.

I have an artistic and attentive lover and partner that I feel passion and respect and love love love for; and he for me. He evolves and grows with me, alongside me. We challenge and encourage each other.

I have meaningful work that exists in symbiotic support of my life's purpose.

I feed my soul everyday.

What do YOU need?

Yesterday I think I had a very quiet, very short, mini mental breakdown.
But only for an hour and a half.

I totally lost perspective -- worrying about my cluttered house, my overwhelming life, Costa Rica angst, working my multiple jobs, and still needing more clients.  N. calls it "Paralysis by Analysis." Whatever it is, it sure makes me sleepy.

I basically ran to my bed. Except, run is too energetic of a word. It was more like, I don't know how, but I just appeared at my bed and I fell into it -- and completely covered my head and body with pillows and covers and slept for an hour. And then, when I awoke, I didn't feel so panicky, but I sort of felt afraid to get up. It just sounded so exhausting.

My back door was open and flies were buzzing around but I didn't have the energy to get out of bed to shut the door. I felt like crying. I felt achey and despondent and I didn't want to go to work the next day. I just wanted to write and blog and move away. Maybe sleep some more.

I wanted to buy camping gear with the remaining money I had in my checking account and get plane tickets for the kids and myself and just go camping on our Costa Rica lot for the month before school started.

But when I finally did get up, I moved a bunch of furniture around. So I'm pretty sure the breakdown is over, or it never really happened and I was just tired.

Whatever it was, it had me thinking what it is we really need in life, and, of course, prompted me to move that furniture.

We need:

Within a home:

~A place to sleep
~A place to prepare food and eat it
~A place to poop
~A place to read/entertain/work
~A place to get away

In life:


~Opportunities to connect with friends and loved ones
~A way to meet our other needs (like chopping wood, weeding the garden, or help with homework) that may or may not actually require money. (Note: Access the gift economy.)
~Work that is meaningful and contributes to a feeling of purpose and delight.

That's all I need.
And I bet it's all you need, too.

So, as I said, I moved my furniture around.

I was trying to simulate living in a small space. Could I prepare and eat food, rest, work, entertain, and sleep all in the same room? Yes.

I don't know if I like it yet. And I'm not actually sleeping here, but I COULD.
And that's the point.

My next five year plan includes slowly getting rid of furniture and things that just clutter up my life. Eventually I want to move into consecutively smaller and smaller homes, until I am only living a tiny footprint. Smaller house equals smaller utility bills, less housework, and less headache.

However, it also means less family heirloom furniture. And less emotional attachments to inanimate objects. Which is great, but will probably take me a few years to let go of.

But that's okay; I've got FIVE YEARS to do it!



What do YOU need? 
What is your five-year plan?

Abdul's Taxi to Kalighat -- a book review

Title: Abdul's Taxi to Kalighat: A celebration of Calcutta
Author: Joe Roberts
Published: 1999
Genre: Memoir (Sort of. I got suckered in again.)
Rating: 2 out of 5

Summary: Joe and his wife, Emma, and their baby live in Calcutta for five months because they love it. They only stay five months because that's how much money they have. When it ran out, they went back to England.

Review: What I loved about this book was the idea, first and foremost. I mean, who wouldn't? Rambling about India just for the fun of it? Sign me up! The next most loved thing about the book was Roberts' portrayal of the people he met. Great characters. And one's I could see. With my own eyes. All the way in Oregon, U.S.A.

But that's where my love affair ends.

There was tons of history thrown in and around the narrative, and while some of it was interesting ... it mostly turned me off. Because, you know, I purchased a memoir. Not a history book. (This has happened to me before.) It's one thing to make reference (historical or otherwise) to whatever it is you are writing about, but that could be summarized in a paragraph or two -- not pages.

Also, I really wanted to know WHY? Why they chose to go to India and why they chose such a cool travel experiment in the first place and how they made it work in their assumably routine and work-filled lives back home? I mean, I know he's British, but SOME emotion would've been nice to read.

And then the book just ends.

Which was weird. And slightly irritating. I say slightly because I was kinda skimming at that point.