I would ask them the customary questions: How old are you? What grade are you in? What’s your favorite subject? What do you want to be when you grow up?

(Kinda similar to how I use to talk to adults actually: What do you do? How’s the weather? Time flies huh?)

You know, the kind of questions that you don’t really listen for the answers.

But then I started meeting children who liked to make up their their own age (or name), who didn’t go to school, and who demanded (not with words but with their very presence and the way they experienced life) a whole new kind of interaction.

And it was awkward at first.

I didn’t know what to say or how to say it. It was uncomfortable to be alone with a child I wasn’t related to because there was an expectation of interaction that I didn’t know how to handle (compared to the idea that we don’t have to interact quite as much with children we do know – ack!).

I was realizing today how different that is for me now.

I woke up this morning and immediately upon noticing there was actual SUNSHINE I grabbed my yoga mat and headed out the RV door. I intended to salute the sun all proper like.

We’re camped with our caravan and sitting outside next door was my new friend, whom I call Little Turtle, for we both are learning a lot about our own personal turtle shells. As we greeted I did what I would do with any friend…

I invited her to do yoga by the pond with me.

She grabbed her mat, her brother even came along for a few minutes before he decided he had better things to do, and the two of us saluted the sun together.

Then we laid by the water and just spent time together.

In my past I would’ve felt compelled to ask questions or mentor her in some way (oh the ego!). I would’ve had a different tone in my voice and a direction I felt we should take it (educational no doubt).

But our time together was casual and comfortable instead.

We talked about the water and our favorite colors, and Googled on my phone what different colors mean (she’s all about the happy, creative colors!). We wondered about the weird animal sounds we heard and talked about brothers.

The generations between us didn’t matter. We were just able to BE together, as friends.

And this makes me really happy. I have friends of so many ages and backgrounds and beliefs. And for years I missed out on what these young and wonderful friends bring to my world.

Like the enjoyment of sitting and watching the bugs skimming the surface of the water.

Last night Justin and one of the kids went off to a juggling meetup. An hour driving together, several hours juggling with other adults, and an hour back. As friends. Right now he has a 10 year old friend helping him work on the engine as they talk more about juggling. As friends.

It just makes me smile.

And being authentic has also become easier. Zeb and his new friend (and Little Turtle’s brother) were playing in the RV and I needed to get some work done. They were having fun and talking and I was struggling with overwhelm and feeling distracted.

So I reached out in kindness. “Hey guys, would it be okay if I had the RV to myself for awhile? I’ve got so much work to do.”

“Sure Mom.” “Sure Tara.” And they finished up their game, asked when I thought I’d be done and headed outside with a smile.

In the past I would’ve resorted to demanding they go outside, or just internally huffing and puffing over how I never get what I need until I became resentful. I never would’ve thought I could’ve spoken to them about it in the same way I would speak to my husband. It would’ve been control or martyrdom for me.

I’ve missed out on a lot of time with these incredible friends, especially the incredible friend I have in my 12 year old son. There were lots of things I had to DIG IN to in order to release my own discomfort and fear and superiority: like the emotions or reactions that would come up for me, the old stories about permissiveness, and the kind of connections I really wanted in my life and what had me settling for less.

But most importantly the idea I had learned that only people of the same ages could have real and meaningful friendships together and that adults were meant to lead children, not simply enjoy their presence.

Then I spent the last year growing my business and a multitude of reasons shifted my ideas. I’ve now had blog comments turned off on all posts for about 5 months.

Until today when I turned them back on.

I’m going to speak in this post both as a blogger, a reader and an authentic business owner on my experience and experimentation.

Yes. It’s called “fear”.

The Blog Comment Debate Will Vary

Bloggers will adamantly (and sometimes rudely) insist that to have a blog means you “should” have comments allowed, that those comments should go live instantly so no one has to be “approved” (after perhaps a captcha feature to prevent spam) and that every self-respecting blogger should moderate and answer each and every comment themselves.

This leaves other bloggers – the ones who feel drained or uncertain or pulled – by comments feeling as though they are obligated by some unwritten Blog Code of Conduct to overextend themselves, to make others happy, to be accused of “censorship” (really people?) and maybe even give up their blog because it’s become something they didn’t intend – an outlet for others instead of an outlet for themselves.

Business owners with blogs will often (and sometimes rudely) insist that comments are a waste of time, rarely add anything of value to the conversation, are a breeding ground for trolls, and that no self-respecting business owner would waste their energy on it.

This leaves new, growing and even established entrepreneurs that are still building their traffic to feel as though they are cutting off a means of connection and growth, to question whether they are playing small, and to start thinking more about the marketing rules than their personal style and doubt their own intuition.

After doing it both ways (and even advising each way), here’s what I’ve found:

Opinions are like butt cracks. Everyone has one and is sure their own doesn’t stink.

But “rules” suck.

There is no right or wrong way.

There is only your needs, and your personal experiences, and what works for you.

Judgment, snark and self-righteousness need not apply.

This is my personal experience, why I’ve turned blog comments off and why I’m turning them back on. Your personal milage will vary.

Why I Turned Comments Off

• Time Management: The more my coaching business expanded the more I needed to find ways to balance my time between work, self and family. That meant finding the things that allowed me to spend less time online and more time on the things that made the biggest impact on my life and the life of others.
• Reactions vs Reflections: I love reflective comments, questions, conversations…especially the ones where we’re not afraid to ask the questions that may not have a simple answer or that may stretch us. But reactive comments (and I’m specifically talking about the judgmental, snarky, self-righteous ones) aren’t serving anyone (except maybe giving that person a space to vent their own triggers). It’s not my job to answer every rude person; it’s not my job to filter trolls; it’s not my job to host negativity in my (online) home; it’s not my job to spend my energy on energy vampires. It’s my job to connect on a deep level with the people whom I may be able to support, not the ones who just want to argue.
• Simplifying: With comments spread between several social media sites, the forums, and email my work time was getting overwhelming. I needed to simplify where it was possible, and blog comments were one of those places.
• Deepening Connections: A funny thing happened when I turned off comments. I got more of the most incredible, beautiful emails…deep, authentic, powerful emails for women sharing their Aha moments and thoughts and stories of the amazing things they are doing in the world. Maybe without that immediate ability to leave a simple (public) comment others could sit with their own thoughts longer and therefore share more? Maybe when a personal email was the primary means of connecting it created a safer space to really connect. I don’t know, but it was awesome.
• Writing For Me, Not Stats: I found myself writing with what others might say in the comments (or how many comments I might get), instead of writing from my heart and soul. And that’s bullshit. I’m glad I turned my comments off for the last many months to allow me to get back to writing for myself: releasing the fear of making waves (or making friends) and pouring my real heart and soul into my words without worrying about how popular any of it is. I needed to remember that I’m not going for popularity. I’m going for resonance. And turning off comments helped me get back there.

Why I’m Turning Comments Back On

• Central Hub: It’s not totally central. Comments will still be found on Twitter and Facebook, but at least with the blog there is a somewhat more central hub for sharing reflections and thoughts, and deepening a conversation between more of us. After all, it’s about Tribes and those connections are part of it.
• I Miss The Convo: If there is no immediate place to comment many readers won’t email or comment elsewhere. And I’m missing those connections and the wonderful things such thoughtful comments would inspire in me, or the Wisdom they could share (or the ways they could say it) that add so much more than my words alone.
• Simplifying: Don’t you love how this is in both lists? I can do that because their my lists. Comments make it simple and quick to share in that convo. It may not simplify my job, but it simplifies the process of connecting.
• Readers Miss the Convo: I hear you. Being able to write out your reflections is often more powerful than just thinking to yourself. Reading something impactful and beneficial without the simple ability to join the convo sometimes means less time to really absorb before we click off to our busy days. I’m glad to be in the space to open up comments for those who miss them.
• Making Connections: Knowing the other names, faces and messages of the people reading opens my life up to more ideas, more connections, more possibilities. Those things I love. I’ve missed those connections over the past several months.
• Better Time Management Now: When I turned the comments off my plate was freaking FULL and I was working out kinks in my rhythm and systems of support. Now that I have better rhythms, more systems and the wonderful Jennie as my Organic Support Specialist to help me with many admin tasks, including moderating for trolls, I can still focus on my most important tasks: my personal care, my family and personal life, my clients, my creative work within my businesses and connecting with real women sharing real Wisdom with real heart and soul.
• Resonance over Reputation: Like I mentioned above, I was writing for comments, and not for me. This isn’t an uncommon reason to turn comments off, although on the inverse: the fear of “too few comments” and how that looks to others. Fear of what others think has held a pretty prominent place in my past (meaning it still pokes it’s head in from time to time), but it’s the fear of my inner Little Girl. And even though I don’t quite feel grownup yet (when does one finally feel like a Grown Up?), me and that Little Girl feel pretty damn comfortable with the fact that that fear is no longer serving our own greatest good or the world. Zero comments don’t freak me out. They don’t make nervous someone will judge me. And what others do in their busy lives is only a reflection of me when I’m making it all about me. My job isn’t to put thoughts into someone else’s mind. It’s to share the intention and thoughts in mine.

Like I said, there is NO “right” way. There is only your personal needs as a blogger or entrepreneur and how you might meet those needs. Yes, your readers have needs too, but your own needs come first (think: oxygen mask).

So my advice: Experiment. Evolve. Do what works for you. Maintain the right to change your mind. Keep authenticity and self-care as your touchstones. Examine your fears and ideas of “should” or “have to”. Then release them.

Do you have comments on or off on your blog? How is (or isn’t) that right for you?

I use to write poetry
I use to write it for me
I would climb
To the top of the pine tree
(In front of the house on Powell Street)
With a notebook under one arm
The other barely holding on
And the sap on my feet

And there I’d write words
Words just for me

Whatever happened to that balladry,
The one about the wind wrapping around me?
More importantly
Whatever happened to the pride in me?
The wonder and awe I would see
In the eyes from the mirror
Of a little girl free?
With the scraped knee
And the grand ideas of who I would be?

I use to write poetry
Poetry that was only for me
Words that sang
And excited
And made me love me

I was 10 (or 11 maybe)
What did I know about creativity?
About cocooning my art
My heart
Against unprepared insensitivity?
What did I know about the adult world
of being too busy
too tired
of not taking things personally?

I was 10 (or 11 maybe)
I thought that others would see what I could see
That they would slip into the words I wrote
The wind I felt
The wonder I sensed
That others would celebrate with me

I believed I needed them to see
to feel
to sense
to celebrate
in order for it to be real for me

But the class didn’t see
And Mrs. Whats-Her-Face
That I loved so dearly and now can’t remember her name
Wasn’t even listening

And at 10 (or maybe 11)
I learned to judge me
Only by what others perceive
(Or what I perceive they perceive)
I learned to stop writing poetry
To stop writing it for me
I learned to look for what others might see
I learned to deny me
To call me crazy
To think I’m being weird or silly
To hide me

I unlearned the wind around me
I unlearned the words that whispered softly
I unlearned to shine brightly
For no one else to see but me

For awhile I unlearned how to hug me
And how to celebrate singularly
And how to write according to what I believe
I unlearned that I’m worthy
For no one else but me

I unlearned how to write
My own flavor of poetry
To voice the song within me
To do it for me

But this…
This one is for me

This is the song that’s within me
The words as they speak only to me
The message I seek
That I’m ready to see
The Truth that I know
That I’m ready to be
The voice and the song
That I’m setting free

The practice of my own vulnerability
The practice of my own authenticity
The practice of saying “Fuck it” to the way it “should be”

This…
This is poem for me.

I just want him to stay with me until I can be sure he won’t turn into Norman Nothing.

I want to be sure he’ll know when he’s chickening out on himself. I want him to get to know exactly the special thing he is or else he won’t notice it when it starts to go.

I want him to stay awake and know who the phonies are, I want him to know how to holler and put up an argument, I want a little guts to show before I can let him go.

I want to be sure he sees all the wild possibilities. I want him to know it’s worth all the trouble just to give the world a little goosing when you get the chance.

And I want him to know the subtle, sneaky, important reason why he was born a human being and not a chair.

- A Thousand Clowns, Murray trying to explain why he hasn’t put his nephew in school yet

We live in an adult-centered, anti-child world where mistreatment of children is considered, not just appropriate, but preferred.

At best, kids are considered loud, messy and exhausting.

At worst, they are considered inherently “bad” and in need of training, which is usually doled out in the form of mental, emotional or physical abuse.

It’s true that children are the only group that is still boldly and legally discriminated against. They are the only people who are legally allowed to be hit, stolen from or held against their will. There is even a movement to ban the “brats” from public places based on nothing but their age.

Think about any of these sentiments said about a particular race and you’ll see my point. It is a very anti-child society we live within.

Of course, all of this instills in children a belief that they are less than, broken or bad. And unless they heal that belief, because children are the only oppressed group who will outgrow their oppression, it’s a belief they will continue to carry into their unoppressed adult life and inform every choice they make, including the treatment of the next generation.

So, we are essentially creating an entire culture of broken, hurting human beings for generations to come.

And I keep hearing so many parents complain about this and the so-called “brat bans”.

We are all appalled and offended when someone speaks condescendingly, assumes a child’s guilt or otherwise passes judgment on them based on their size.

But how many are doing anything about it?

Guess what?

If you want the anti-child treatment to change you’ve got to come out of your hiding places and start talking about.

Not just on Facebook.

Not just on your blog.

You need to start speaking up. At family reunions. At the grocery store. With your best friend. With strangers at the park.

You need to grow some cahones and start creating real awareness by speaking your Truth.

You need to live with Integrity.

Last week I got the opportunity to ask an older gentleman to drop some anti-semetic remarks he was making in front of us.

This was a strong, opinionated man who never backs down. He’s the kind of man that constantly makes racist, classist or sexist remarks and is used to winning arguments. The kind of man no one even bothers arguing with anymore.

I knew all of this going in. I’ve seen how people will sit uncomfortably and listen as he makes these remarks and not say a word, because they don’t feel it’ll help. They all looked pained as they shrug their shoulders and ask “What can I do?”

But I live by my own integrity.

And according to my integrity, all people should be treated with honor and respect and compassion. Even this man who was making anti-semetic remarks.

So with respect for him, I clearly stated that I was uncomfortable with his remarks, explained why and stated that I would appreciate them not happening in front of us.

Because I spoke with respect, not anger or fear, he did what no one had ever seen him do before.

He apologized and said he hadn’t looked at it that way.

We then went on to have a nice conversation for several more hours.

The One Rule To Speaking Your Truth

It doesn’t work when you speak from a place of anger or fear.

It doesn’t work when you fight or demand or criticize.

People shut down when they hear your anger, or feel attacked.

But people hear Truth.

Truth is not angry. It’s not fear-based. It’s not judgmental.

It’s just Truth.

And real Truth comes from a place of love. It comes with compassion and acceptance and gentleness. It doesn’t back down or hide.

And it speaks volumes louder than anger.

If we want to change these anti-child views…if we want to promote respect and love, compassion and kindness…we get to speak out while we set an example of what respect, love, compassion and kindness look like.

We get to live our Integrity out loud.

(And really, if you’re speaking with anger, are you really living your integrity?)

Change doesn’t happen by complaining about it.

Keep this in mind: the reason these anti-child (or racist or sexist or any-ist) sentiments make you uncomfortable is because you’re not living according to your own beliefs, your own integrity, when you don’t speak your Truth.

You’re sacrificing your beliefs to “keep the peace” (what peace?). And that’s uncomfortable!

To live with integrity means to take your authenticity and your Truth out of its box and into the world.

What do you know as Truth? What is holding you back from speaking your Truth with compassion and respect for everyone involved?

Because if you see the abuse and hate occurring towards children – or anyone else – and you do nothing about it…or you increase it with abuse and hatred of your own, whose really to blame here?

And it all come to total realization today. Really, it all hit me upside the head until it sunk in.

With two emotional days showing all over my face and no makeup, I made a video about one intense, transformational, connect-the-dots kind of days….one of those days where life wraps up all the answers you’ve been seeking (in more areas than one, since its all ultimately connected anyway), ties it up with a nice, magical bow and sets it in your lap.

And I did with it the best I could; I tried to convey what really can’t be conveyed.

This is raw and emotional and messy. And you know what? I don’t care. It’s here and I’m sharing it with you because it wants to be shared.

A message from the passenger’s seat from Tara Wagner on Vimeo.

“Each day offers us the gift of being a special
occasion if we can simply learn that as well as giving,
it is blessed to receive with grace and a grateful heart.”
- Sarah Ban Breathnach

Don’t miss the beautiful thoughts shared in the comments!

Most people think that shadows follow, precede or surround beings or objects. The truth is that they also surround words, ideas, desires, deeds, impulses and memories. – Elie Wiesel

Have you written or said something and been surprised by how others reacted? Maybe they took offense or took defense, maybe they were hurt or angered.

Or maybe something you read or heard felt like a slap to the face. Maybe it was about you and maybe it wasn’t, but you responded quickly and strongly.

I think we’ve all seen this happen. Dealing with emotions and reactions is a fact of life. We all have opinions and beliefs and that’s usually a good thing. But sometimes the shit hits the fan and those emotions begin flying all over the place. Feelings are hurt or arguments start because we can’t see two simple facts through all the drama.

1. The fanned shit isn’t based on reality; it’s based on our stories, shadows of our perspectives. Stories are the things we’ve come to believe based on our experiences or the experiences of others. They aren’t 100% real because other people don’t always experience them, but they are real to us.
2. It’s not always about you.

It’s Not You, It’s Me (Except When It’s Not Me and Is You)

I live a life based on my own beliefs. These beliefs have been shaped by my experiences and the stories I’ve developed. I speak from what I know, from my own understanding and from my own authenticity, moment to moment. I live, act and react in ways that make sense to me.

It’s about me.

Likewise, I know anything I feel about or however I react to someone else is also about me. It’s based on my own stories, my own beliefs, my own perspective. Even when I feel snappy or defensive or offended, I know it’s about me.

It’s not about you.

Moving from a place of authenticity about our own stories irons out most of the wrinkles in our messier interactions.

But even when we move from our own authenticity, we’re still bound to hurt someone’s feelings at some point, we’re likely to find ourselves within misunderstandings and despite our best intentions, and especially when we’re at our most authentic, we are going to offend others.

This doesn’t mean what you said was about them. It means how they responded isn’t about you.

Reactions are always about the reactor. Even when someone is intentionally trying to hurt or offend us, our feelings speak more about our stories than the facts of the situation. And this is true in regards to every single emotion: love, jealousy, anger, loneliness, excitement.

Beneath every reaction is a story.

Stories aren’t bad until they hold back, keep down or hurt you or others. As soon as someone feels hindered or hurt, it’s time to recognize the stories so that we can overcome them.

I’m constantly overcoming my stories. In fact the more you move toward living an organic life, the more inorganic stories you’ll be challenged to remove. (Seriously. I feel like I’m recognizing and overcoming my stories Every. Freaking. Day.)

Mine is a process with two parts:

1. Recognize Who Owns It

Every time the emotions start flying, the very first step I take is back. Before I can do anything I have to sort out my response from the other components. Walking away or holding onto my response gives me space to understand it.

Then I have to admit that my reaction is mine to own. I can’t blame or point fingers. I can’t play the victim role. I have to own it.

The same applies if someone responds to me with an exaggerated response: I have to recognize it’s not always about me, own my own reaction and allow the other person to have whatever experience they choose (by allowing them to own it or not).

Note to Self: You can’t make them own it. That’s their business. Meaning it’s not about you so butt out!

2. Dig Into It

When something virtually unrelated to me (or maybe totally related to me) rubs me the wrong way I know it’s time to question it and listen to the answers.

I know, even if I’m not ready to admit it, that it’s speaking to me (not about me) and with some truth I’m apparently resisting. Asking myself a few questions always opens me up to what is really going on:

• Why does this bother me?
• What other emotions is this triggering for me?
• What is this reminding me of or what memories are associated with this?
• What do I need to acknowledge in myself here?

Something similar can be done for others: Without judgment or assumptions we can try to understand their perspective and what shapes it. With compassion we can acknowledge where they are, have empathy for their experience and validate their reaction…all without owning it and without allowing it to own us.

Yes, owning our own stuff is uncomfortable. Digging into it can be downright excruciating. It can be a long, sometimes frustrating, process.

But knowing what makes us tick – knowing who we are and why – is crucial to liberating ourselves from the drama that surrounds us.

Keep this in mind the next time you get frustrated by your child’s words or hurt by your partner’s actions or when you read something you perceive as offensive or rude:

Only after we judge our emotions can we judge a situation.

Once you know who owns it, once you have some understanding or empathy for why it exists, only then can you move forward into finding the best way to handle it. (And that’s a process too.)

Join the conversation by subscribing to the comments!

“Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own sunshine.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Welcome back to The Organic Sister!

Things look a little differently over here. I’m nervously excited to show you!

If you’re reading things in a reader, email or other feed I’d love for you to come and see the small changes I’ve made. It isn’t much. In fact, most of the changes you’ll see will be in what you’ll read here in the future.

There are things I’ve been holding back, things I’ve been wanting to say about conventional wisdom but haven’t.

They are things about life, learning, love and our own authenticity.

But like Ralph said up there, I was creating a lot of shadows by standing in my own sunshine. And I’m not doing that anymore.

I’ve given myself permission to live up to my own potential, my own dreams. I’m breathing through fears, foregoing all that “conventional wisdom” and encouraging you to consider the same. I hope you’ll decide to join me as I shift gears here.

Wondering what all this is about?

It’s about being organic.

Being organic is about reconsidering conventional wisdom, following our own organic nature, living authentically and supporting that authenticity in others.

We can live our lives and love and grow in such a natural, organic way that our spirits heal and our relationships thrive and our mutual worlds change.

We can choose to be so organic that our very existence becomes a peaceful protest to the status quo and beautiful testament to our beliefs.

That is an excerpt from my free ebook, Be Organic: An Invitation to Change Your World.

You can access it and read more of what I’m talking about here:

Because conventional wisdom just isn’t natural…

I hope that you’ll read it, think about conventional wisdom in your own life and then come back here and let me know what your thoughts.

I also hope that it inspires you to join me, to share it with others and to use it to change your world.

You’ve been invited. Will you join me?

This is my newest piece of art, a gift from the lovely Mari Dieumegard and I can’t wait to hang it in the new rig (I plan to have a real desk again – this will be above it).

I love this print, called Balance, especially right now. It reminds me to keep moving, to be daring, to go for it. It reminds me to keep my head up and my eyes on the goal but to enjoy the view and the company. It tells me to keep my arms and my heart open. And it feels powerful to me, but also carefree, as if it says “Look what amazing thing I can do on an average Sunday afternoon.”

Life has been a tightrope these past few weeks and through the madness I’ve had to harness that carefree, open-hearted power. I’ve had to remind myself of what I am capable of on any given day. It doesn’t always look like such an amazing daredevil feat but it sure feels like one.

I’m launching my new website on Tuesday with a BIG giveaway here on the blog and having a very real deadline with very cool sponsors can be a little daunting. Add to the mix a deep desire to not sacrifice our personal life, while also handling the emotional upheaval of so many changes and it was enough to elicit concern from loved ones.

It reminds me of this one from StoryPeople:

“Most people she never tells about the tightrope because she doesn’t want
to listen to their helpful comments from the ground.”

Yes, I was on a tightrope, one that looked unnecessary or dangerous at times. But I walked across it. It had its messy moments and moments where I nearly fell, but I took a risk. And for that I’m proud.

I’m also proud that I DO tell people about the tightrope, the challenge, the maddening moments of frustration, the days I want to quit. I’m proud that I have the courage to be vulnerable. It’s uncomfortable (for me and sometimes for others) but it makes my accomplishments all the more real for me.

I look at these two pieces of art and they remind me of what I so often forget: I am open, accepting of a challenge, ready to be daring, push my own envelope, take risks and grow. And as the madness winds down and I have time to lounge, I can look at those personal achievements and hurdles and feel good.

So how did I find this balance through the mad rush of work?

By accepting it wouldn’t look the way I thought it would.

It didn’t look like equaling doled out chunks of time. It didn’t look like me keeping up with my early morning routines or my physical therapy. It didn’t always look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Instead it looked like me passionately devouring my Task List, sometimes for hours on end, several days in a row. A few late nights and hectic days and lots of personal successes and reminders from my husband to eat or take a break. Then, right around the time my eyes went crossed, I’d pull back for days or weeks or even months at a time. I worked went I felt inspired to work, played when I felt inspired to play.

With Zeb immersed in a new computer game, we often sat side-by-side on our laptops, he sharing his accomplishments while I shared mine. And when you make your own schedule you get to do cool things like take your son on a lunch date or curl up in bed with your hubby all morning or stay in your pajamas on laundry day.

When I think of balance, I don’t think of how many hours I spend in each area of my life. I think of how I feel: how much time I spend doing what I love and enjoying it. That feels balanced.

That’s the purpose of life for me: enjoying the hell out of the adventure of living. And I feel balanced.

What’s balance look like in your life?

I know myself. I know that I will be stuck until I have two things: a platform to express and the validation that Where I Am is okay. This blog gives me the first; my husband and all of your deep, thoughtful and soul-dripping comments give me the second.

There are times when we need to mope and be in the thick of it (we can’t get through it without going through it). It’s where I’ve been the past few days. Then there are times when Life snorts at your experience and throws another into the mix and you have little choice but to roll with it.

Yes, just less than 24 hours after the first blow, we were dealt another. And again, in reality, it’s not a really big deal. But when you’re already neck-deep in yuck, it sure feels like a kick in the teeth.

Yesterday we got a notice that we are not allowed to park Benny in front of my parent’s house. We had 72 hours to move. 72 hours to do what we wanted another two weeks to accomplish.

Oh trust me, I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry and throw a fit and curse the neighbor who complained. But I kept my composure…there were people present after all. Instead, I acquiesced to the moment, scraped my heart off the floor and allowed the experience to propel me.

Movement through madness is a healing salve.

As your kind words poured in, we packed up our household and moved it all into my parent’s garage. As your comments brought me to tears, we moved our clothing into their spare room. As I absorbed your love and your Truth, we got Benny ready to move - without us.

I felt a little like a person getting ready to take her dog to the pound. Guilty and apologetic and tearful. We are attached after all, Benny and I. He’s my Dream-maker, my first liberator, and moving on from that grips at my chest.

Last night, with Zeb at a sleepover with his Gramma, Justin and I slept in Benny for the last time. And as we laughed and reminisced, in my heart I started to let go of my fear.

With the threat of entrapment still lingering over my dreams, watching Benny lumbering behind me down the road and leaving him behind at my father-in-law’s home for the time being took a lot of deep breaths. It was scary. On one hand it’s a necessary step. In order to get the new rig, we have to let the old one go.

But in letting Benny go I was relinquishing my freedom. For awhile at least, I have no means of escape. He’s my last tangible tie to life on the road. And that, my friends, takes a large heaping of Trust.

I’m breathing deep. I’m trusting my dreams are real and valid and happening. I’m trusting our perseverance and ingenuity to keep us from stagnancy in this place we so badly don’t want to be. I’m (just barely, mostly unwillingly, hardly contentedly) trusting the timing of it all. And I’m trusting we are loved and not alone in this, too. I’m not alone in this.

Alone is a scary place to be. But I know it’s a place I choose. I push companionship away when I hurt. I hurt myself deeper, really. But I am loved and blessed. Justin knows me. He knows to hold me when I tell him I want to be alone. He gives me the space to Be and the space to grow, a space that just happens to be within his arms. And my once battered heart is reminded again that it’s a safe place to be.

Life is challenging me, offering a long-avoided opportunity to heal. It’s requesting I stretch in order to grow. These are my growing pains. This is my growth spurt. As hard as it is to say at times, I know this place is good.