I’m also afraid that I won’t be able to capture all my ideas, or that if I attempt it, I’ll get stuck somehow, and then it will feel like I’ve failed, and I will hate myself for it. Or, what if I don’t get stuck at all, but write something truly terrible, and then I’ll feel like I’ve failed, and I will hate myself for it. Or maybe I won’t realize that it’s terrible and present it to the class to widespread horror, and then I’ll feel like I’ve failed, and I will hate myself for it. (Detecting any themes?) Then there’s the tiny detail that we just moved on Saturday, and we’re welcoming 6 house guests 3 (!) days from now. For once, I have real excuses for not practicing my writing, and it’s exactly the time I least want them.

That was the Hell part, in case you missed it.

Of course, as with many things I long to do, even when given the opportunity to write today, I piddled around putting out fires instead of sitting at my desk. Where is that closet organizer? I’d wonder. And that led to a search for the magical sock drawers, which put me in a room with yet another bag of canned food that I’d missed earlier and now desperately needed to be put away. Or, I’d start walking toward my studio and realize that those boxes need to be broken down – stat. Ah, living with myself.

I’m giving myself some credit, though. I’ve come a long, long way over the past couple of years in putting first things first. I wouldn’t have been able to sustain a meditation practice without it. I notice that certain kinds of self-discipline, the constructive, nurturing kind, gets easier with practice. And after all, here I sit at my keyboard, typing all self-nurturing-like. I may not be typing those sparkly ideas swirling about in the little grey cells, not this very instant anyway, but I am writing. And relieving some tension. And maybe, just maybe, I’m having a little fun.

Ridiculous in my HELLO-WORLD orange two-piece, so very unsuited for lap swimming.

I had tried to find a real swimsuit, you know. For 30 minutes yesterday I squeezed and teased and finessed myself into sausage casings, only to behold spare bits of me oozing out in all kinds of undesirable ways — in a suit 3 sizes bigger than my street size. So fun. And after all that trauma, I never did find a suit long enough in the torso, which means I have to order online. Thus, I crouch in the shallow end of the pool, water up to my neck to hide my shame, watching enviously as women clad oh-so-appropriately in Speedos dive in and start crawling.

Ridiculous because — inexplicably — I ripped the foam suction stuff on my brand-new-out-of-the-box goggles on the way to the pool for my first lap session. This means I’ll have to swim one-eyed.

More sadness.

Ridiculous because I’m sure I can’t swim, and whodoIthinkIam showing up like this and pretending I’m going to do something hard like swimming. I mean, I won’t drown; I’ll flounder across the pool, I’m sure. (There was the 1 year stint on swim team at 8 years old.) But I’ll be a laughing stock.

My pride does not appreciate Laughing Stock Status.

At last, my friend/savior/volunteer-swim-coach arrives. I explain to her what I’ve been doing for the last 15 minutes. She takes pity on me, bless her, and starts me off holding onto the wall and practicing breathing. Okay, this is too remedial, so she tells me to try swimming a lap while she watches. My pride has something to say about this.

OH MY GOD!! THE HORROR!! MY WORST NIGHTMARE!! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME??

But I set my jaw, grit my teeth, and push off. Right, left, right left. Wait, how straight are my arms supposed to be? I know my hand is supposed to be angled, but am I doing it right?? Am I splashing too much with my feet? I get to the other side and slowly, oh so slowly, lift my head out of the water and look at her.

She laughs. “Alison! There’s nothing wrong with your swimming! Your entry’s good, your arm position’s good. You have NOTHING to worry about. You’re a great swimmer.”

Huh?

The next 40 minutes passed comfortably enough, in between the panting sessions every 50 yards. Swimming is, indeed, hard, very hard, but at least I have the basic skills I need to develop my endurance. Small victory #1.

It is simply amazing how afraid I am of doing something badly — so afraid that sometimes I won’t try it at all, or at least not without big fear and trembling sessions. Perfectionism at its finest. Don’t you want some?

Lesson learned, I’m heading back tomorrow, solo, with my HELLO-WORLD orange bikini. Gulp.

I begin next week with a 4 day, 3 night personal silent retreat at Villa de Matel’s Ruah Center here in Houston. Last fall, I attended a 48 hour silent meditation retreat there led by my meditation instructor. I can’t even describe the deep rest I experienced. This time I’ll be on my own and for a longer time period. I’m looking forward to lots of meditation and prayer, stillness, naps, and no technology. I was going to say “no distractions,” but the truth is that I take myself everywhere  I go, and there is a reason I sought out meditation instruction in the first place. I generate plenty of distractions all by myself.

I look forward to seeing what this experience is like. Who knows? Instead of letting go in the care of God and the nuns, I might be climbing the walls, ready to pull out my hair. I might feel like God is 10 million miles away. I might cry myself to sleep every night. These things are so unpredictable. It’s good for me to remember that. I am going as a way to explore and to seek connection, but I do not know what I will find–in myself, in God, or in the world around me–so it’s important not to get attached to a certain outcome, which is, of course, my specialty. I need these experiences in my life to pry my fingers loose over and over and over. I want to go with gentle curiosity and openness.

After that, I have a few exciting projects to look forward to!

1. The Artist’s Way —  a 12-week creativity program I discovered on the freebie table at J’s family reunion campout last August. A few family members and friends have jumped on board, and we meet for the first time (via Skype) on Saturday morning. I’m doing my homework faithfully so far (of course–have I ever in my entire life not done my homework faithfully?). I’m excited. And scared. I’m not in love with a lot of Julia Cameron’s ideas as presented in the book, but I’m refitting them to suit my own needs. Who says I can’t be creative with my creativity course? I look forward to sharing what I learn here.

2. Spanish! I’m going to work with a tutor in Ecuador via Skype over the summer. I hope to do 10 hours of tutoring per week. It’s only $7.50 an hour. Isn’t that amazing??? I plan to try this company first. If I don’t like them, then I’ll switch to NuLengua. I did one free intro lesson with NuLengua and really liked it, but it’s about $15 per hour, which is still a super deal, but I’d only be able to afford half the lessons in that case. My ultimate goal is to attend language school for 4 to 6 weeks in Antigua, Guatemala next spring (best website I’ve found on the subject so far), then meet up with my husband and various family members in Nicaragua at this fabulous eco-farm.

3. Mythology. My mother-in-law pointed me toward an online college mythology course that one of her Classics professors used to offer. The university discontinued the course, but Dr. Gibbs left all of the course materials–syllabus, writing assignments, and readings–online for public use. What generosity! I had intended to start this project in January, but Karis Fellowships work really took off and became a part-time (pro bono) job.

So, that’s what I’m up to for now. Welcome, dear summer!

1. I need a Mini Cooper. Oh my gorgeous.

How have I never realized this before?

Shall I test drive one tomorrow? Just for fun?

2. Brie-proscuitto-basil-honey panini sandwiches will be the death of me.

Especially in lovely patio settings.

It’s the best sandwich I’ve had since France. (Check out Bowl Cafe in Houston if you’re interested.)

3. If I don’t go grocery shopping tomorrow, I will starve.

My refrigerator now offers nothing but 3 eggs, 1/8 carton of grapefruit juice, pinto beans, and condiments. I know. I keep checking.

7 p.m. Open door. Nothing to eat. Sigh.

8 p.m. Open door. Still nothing to eat. Grumble.

9 p.m. Open door. Really, there’s nothing to eat. Rebellion.

10 p.m. Open door. Slam door in disgust. The nerve!

I’m officially in the danger zone.

Moral of this story: My husband is out of town.

Isn’t it adorable? I originally bought a different fabric for the apron, but it never felt right, so I went back to Jo-Ann’s and after a little digging, pounced on this cheery, chirpy summery print. I love it!

Can you tell I put the lemon print upside down? Oops. I don’t think it’s very obvious, but I’ve certainly learned my lesson.

I don’t need another apron, though, which is a shame because not only do I love this apron, I’d like to make more. It was time consuming — that is one loooooong piece of fabric to press and hem for the ruffle — but not difficult, and the reward is great. Maybe someone will get married? An apron would make a good shower gift, right? (Alongside something the bride registered for, of course.) Or, I can make a Christmas apron, maybe with little candy canes on the body and a candy cane stripe on the ruffles. SO cute!

Oh, and project #3 was this little drawstring bag, made from an old tablecloth and leftover homemade bias tape from the tool roll-up project.

The bag’s awkward dimensions had me stumped for a while; I couldn’t find a way to use it. If it was only a little shorter and narrower, it would be perfect for a wine bottle. Eventually, I found my bag of velcro hair rollers.

Lumpy, but better than the plastic bag:

I think I’d like to make these as re-usable gift bags for wrapping small presents.

Not only do you discover that Egg Foo Yung is your soul mate (who is that dark-haired stranger sitting across the table? Wasn’t he here last night too?), when you’ve devoured much more than your fair share, you uncover that cheerful, wise little bird. And that is a most excellent way to end the day.

(I know, I’m obsessed. I promise no more posts about the bird bowl. I can’t make any promises about Egg Foo Yung, though. It rocked my world.)

It is perfect for me in every way. I love it. I play with it almost every day. It’s wide, shallow, gently curving — it cradles everything from salads to Slow Cooker Asian Short Ribs (fabulous recipe, highly recommended!) to Chicken Cutlets with Tomatoes Saute (quick and easy) to charred-to-death poblanos and overcooked steak. Who knew I’ve had a bird-bowl-sized hole in my kitchen equipment all this time?

The bowl came with a lesson too, as all the best bowls do.

I spotted it in a little shop off the main square and loved it right away, but then I started second-guessing myself. Another bowl, a more finely crafted, sophisticated bowl with delicate little brush strokes and no bird, rested on the next shelf down, and I began to think that I should buy the sophisticated bowl. The bird bowl was a little crude, a little silly. It did not say, “My owner is a connoisseur of fine earthenware, and it is an honor to be in her exquisitely curated collection.” I wavered, stalled, walked away.

But a special someone saw through my youthful idiocy, someone who appreciates about me what I often can’t appreciate about myself, and said in the sweetest voice, “But, Alison, the bird looks like you! The way he looks up out of the bowl, it’s like he’s saying, ‘Here I am! And what are you going to do about it?’”

So I bought it, and it became a little gift to myself. Not only is it perfect for looking at and perfect for using, that little bird peeks up at me at our dinner table to remind me that it’s okay to be a little playful at heart, and that I don’t need to cramp who I really am to be whoever it is I think I should be.

Step 1. Narrow down your choice to 2 colors, then freak out because you really can’t choose your favorite.

Green?

Or blue?

(both images from Amazon; click on a photo to go to its source)

Step 2. Obsess. As you tuck in to your morning eggs, Green or blue? As you blast breakfast away with your WaterPik, Green or blue? As you subdue your hair, Green or blue? While you’re trying to meditate, Green or blue? In the middle of the Pilates 100s, Green or blue?

Step 3. Face it: you’re in over your head. It’s time to enlist help from someone who is even more interested in the color avidly devoted to your happiness than you are: the Husband. So call him at work.

You: I can’t decide on a color. Green or blue?

Him: Ummm…

You: No, really, what do you think? Which do you prefer?

Him: I, uh……I like both. Whatever you want. Green is nice. Blue is nice. We don’t have anything green, do we?

You: No, but we could. I think about buying green things a lot.

Him: Oh.

Step 4. Plan B: Realize that Weber grills resemble M&Ms. Now you’re getting somewhere! Do you like green or blue M&Ms better? When you’re strategically eating your M&Ms by color (everyone does this, right?), which do you leave for last?

Step 5. Armed with your brilliant M&M analogy, re-consult the husband. Now he’s bound to be helpful!

Or not.

Step 6. Visualization. Close your eyes. Picture yourself balancing a platter of steaks in one hand with tongs tightly clenched underneath, tripping out of your kitchen, out of your apartment, down the stairs, and outside to your beautiful, shiny grill. Set down your tray, wipe your hands, open the lid, throw on the steaks, close the lid, and dawdle. Do this with the green grill, then the blue grill. Then the green grill, then the blue grill.

Step 7. Fret.

Step 8. Order the blue grill already!

Step 9. Congratulate yourself on your ever-impeccable taste and come up with 101 reasons you’re really glad you picked the blue instead of the green. Share at least 50 of these reasons with the Husband; he’ll appreciate it.

Step 10. Invite family over for your inaugural grilling session, terribly overcook the steaks, char the poblano peppers into oblivion, have a great time anyway, and fall in love with that shiny blue M&M that offers so much smoky goodness.

P.S. Don’t forget to offer moral support during assembly. (Beer and kisses are a nice touch for superior service.)

He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water,
Which yields its fruit in its season
And its leaf does not wither;
And in whatever he does, he prospers.
Psalm 1:3

That line, “which yields its fruit in its season,” brings me such comfort today. That season is not yet, and I do not know what my fruit will look like, but I can rest in the knowledge that it will come when I am ready and the Creation is ready, and — look! — I have abundant provision today.

I’m acutely aware right now that my life is a construction zone, with demolition, cleanup, and building happening all at the same time. It’s chaotic and noisy and not a little bewildering. Meditation helps; indeed, pursuing silence and stillness daily makes an extraordinary difference. Prayer helps too, and so does Christian community and energy work and Karis Fellowships and all the other tools and resources I’ve discovered over the past few years.

But at the end of the day, it’s still a suffering. It’s still uncomfortable. And I am still called to endure and even to rejoice. I don’t yet understand what it means, really, to rejoice in the truth, but it is stirring in my heart, and I catch glimpses of it here and there.

One thing I can clearly see growing in my life, though, is joy. It has a way of sneaking up on me. I read Psalm 1:3, and it floods my being. My spirit quivers with the joy of the promise. It is something worth enduring for, something worth suffering for, to be that glorious tree, bearing its own unique fruit in its own kairos, its fullness of time. Growing is hard work, but I know I’m becoming.

Actually, I think that’s why I haven’t written much on this blog over the past year. It’s been a really intense period for me — emotionally, physically, spiritually, developmentally — and I need so much energy to process it all that there’s not much left over to use for writing about it. I’m barely keeping up as it is!

So in lieu of my deepest, most confusing experiences and revelations of the week, I offer some simpler fare, like sewing project #2, the Tool Roll-Up, because maybe what I need right now isn’t to express my inner reality but to get a break from it.

The Tool Roll-Up it is, then.

Now, it’s supposed to have channel-stitching in that bottom portion (it’s a pocket) to create special compartments for each tool, but I haven’t decided yet which tools to put in it. The instructor suggested everything from sewing essentials to makeup brushes. I dunno. I’m waiting for inspiration to strike. In the meantime, I’m admiring the fabric.

Things I love:

• The combination of fabrics. Isn’t that owl print adorable? I think it would be great for a nursery. Both it and the polka dot trim fabric (yes, I had to make my own bias tape) are from High Fashion here in Houston, which while overpriced, has a great selection. The ribbon is a relic from a bridal shower I threw years ago.
• That I bought fabric in the first place. I’ve been terrified of buying fabric for years. I wander the aisles of fabric stores and never buy anything. It’s sad. One of the best things about taking a sewing class is being forced to make a decision. I’ve always stopped short of committing to fabric, but I’m discovering that it’s not that big a deal, and it’s a lot of fun besides. I’ve even managed not to panic that I bought 4 times too much fabric for that beach tote. I’ll find a use for it — eventually.
• That I finished this project at all, because I made a lot of mistakes along the way, starting with the bias tape, and I had to do a lot of creative adapting to make it work.
• That the “invisible stitches” on the front side are pretty invisible. It was my first time to Stitch the Ditch, and it was hard.

See? All but invisible:

What I don’t love: the other side.

Like I said, Stitching the Ditch was hard.

And led to all kinds of strange stitching on the opposite side.

Then I committed this crime.

Ouch.

Oh well. I’m trying not to take it too hard. I should be thankful that my first project, ye old beach tote, turned out as well as it did, and accept the problems with this project as part of the learning process. And, boy, did I learn a lot! — a lot of don’ts, particularly about making bias tape. Sigh. Somehow, Don’t Lessons are particularly effective when learned the hard way, so maybe I’m just taking the efficient path?

In any case, it looks very pretty when rolled up and tied.

Now I need to find something to store inside! Ideas??