Be Humble.

Being humble is a big deal for me. Its an integral part of my function in the world.  i can internally hear ‘be humble’ in the background on a regular basis… and its not as if i’m running around boasting about any such thing and/or need ‘correcting’…its not an admonishment, just a gentle reminder of a way to walk in the world. 0212191516

its something i feel pretty steeped in.

it can get confusing.

because, low self-esteem can belong to me sometimes… and that isn’t humility or being humble…. and sometimes i am fooled into thinking that I am ‘supposed’ to be a doormat, or ‘supposed’ to put someone else first, like the kids, the mate, etc.

and being humble is actually recognizing that everything you have is a gift, you’ve been gifted this experience, and you get to ride along and enjoy, but you did not CAUSE this ride. Just like everyone else. 

what i think it engenders is a sense of amazement and gratitude for the gifts of life.

and i don’t think it is just the grotesquely privileged who get to feel this ‘humble’…

like, you don’t have to have a stone wall to stare at in order to feel gifted in life.


i’m not sure this is making sense….

i was married into a family that doesn’t value humility… i don’t mean they are vain.  i do think they, many of them, hold it as a family value that they are somewhat legend-worthy.   its hard to say it like that without needing to explain it down somehow… but i think it is true of them, and i think my need to explain it down is my whole ‘humble’ thing.

no judgement on them, its just their way.  i love them.

and i do think there is some sort of power dynamic to it, in me, because there is so much ‘church’ behind it…looking at the role of women in a patriarchy is not floating my boat these days…

and i’m very aware of needing not to scurry into my humility. it shares space with humiliation.

being humble has its roots in being GROUNDED.

not ground down.

slip and slide between meanings, yes?

and what if my being humble, and recognizing myself in you, and you, in my self, makes me feel that we are all the dirt of possibility and the possibility of stardust?

what if that?

humble stardust, babe.


*being dirtlike and glorying in it… like, the most faithful dirty seedsoil ever.

*are we happy being a breeding ground for beauty? is that enough?

I wrote these two tidbits in another place, and they feel fertile… real potentials for pages and pages…

Its been suggested that humility isn’t a value anymore, that its been phased out. generational.

so, i asked my older kids: My elder child ,13, described it as feeling like everyone is equal, that we’re all at the same level.  (bonus point for him…) my middle child (11) told me a long story about how when you got the last goal that won the game you said, yeah, i’m good, but i wouldn’t be any good without my team…

I think they’re in on it, and its still around, but it has different words now, and it certainly is not mainstream or valued by our larger culture.

anyhow, the beginning of this post was much more interesting than the end.

i love you to pieces for reading, i really do. let me know who you are sometime, would ya?




Business mindset.

one of the things that i’ve been doing lately, besides being huddled in a corner about online dating, is trying to get myself into a business mindset.

i’m not really suited to a business mindset, lets just say… i err on the side of long, hot baths and writing odes to the stonewall out my window, and i spend lots of time trying to figure out how to indent dialogue to make it flow better, in flagrant disregard to the ‘rules’. there are a lot of rules about dialogue, i hope you know.

the boss i have (that i love like a fuzzy bunny) that had me do his company christmas/holiday cards, also asked me to make a list of possible ‘thank you’ gifts to give to his new clients.  . . so psyched…  bath salts, hand creams from sweden, chocolates with bacon bits, a popcorn popper you can use in the microwave, chemical free! ….

he was disgusted with me. (no, he wasn’t. but he did groan a lot.well, maybe he was a little…)

i did not have the proper mindset.

business is different than human. by a long shot.  his new customers eventually got gift cards for a new password security service.  i’m sure that someone was excited.

its why the thank you cards are navy blue and silver, and only say ‘thank you’.

if i am starting to approach my income-earning as something of a business, there are steps i have to take.  like,

  • measuring my office so i can claim it on my taxes…
  • like figuring out my hourly wage and making sure that i actually charge the right people for the actual time i work.  i’m really terrible about that particular part, and you’d think my sheer need for the money would override this problem, but it doesn’t.  even with my fuzzy bunny boss, i don’t charge him for all my time because i feel stupid for working so slowly.

and thats a little bit of bullshit, frankly.

and i don’t really know what to say about that.


but i’m going to deal with it, somehow… that bullshit belief that i’m not good enough.  maybe it has something to d

o with being a stayathome mom for so long? being undervalued by others/society

/mate? undervaluing mySELF for it all, because it wasn’t from a book, or in a martha video…. and it was hard and just kept being hard when they were little? and i was in an unhappy relationship that only took from me and never fed me and so i forgot to feed myself? i just forgot about myself? yeah, yeah i did.

this, THIS RIGHT HERE is the business I have any business dealing with.

this word, this space, this body and my understandings of it.  my world is super small, and blooming. tiny. trembling. curious anyways.

that is not bullshit. and i am sticking to it.


Friday Freewrite. first.

I remember was the prompt. Put it first.



I remember the stone wall out my window, the purple of the metal decoration flashes itself daily amidst the grey greens of the winter wall.  

I remember the first child being born, though not the moment i first saw him, the relief, the relief that he had come out and the end was nigh. And then it wasn’t… but that moment. I remember . he’s out! And i’m alive and he’s alive and we are a love.

I remember the way i felt this week, crying by the unfixable sofa and wanting to rage and break things.  

I remember my feeling of inability, not enoughness, i remember being mad at all the people that i don’t even know, that aren’t here, the potentials that aren’t materializing. The block i must have on moving through to intimacy, or a desire for intimacy. . .

I remember intimacy, and how it takes so much longer than i think .  i remember less doubt, somehow, I remember what it is like to tuck my head into someone’s chest, and rest there. And feel warmth there.

I remember that the practice of accepting them helps me accept myself.

And i remember when i was better at that.

I remember the birth of the second and the speed and novelty and relief and flood of him. I remember the irritation at the men for chatting while i was laboring.  Paha, now. But still, i remember. I remember my sister struggling so with watching my labor.

I remember myself in the window of my marriage, looking out at the cars passing by, wishful. Thats how i remember myself.  Slowly drooping.

I remember the birth of my last. Hopeful for the home birth. So tired. Riding along to the hospital. So quick, with a little relaxation, to resolve. To spin, to arrive.

I remember.  

I remember to snack in the middle of free writes, the green bowl beside me a testament to my powers of distraction.  

I remember that i have a date tonight. I remember the feeling of futility and utility … the need to keep in practice.

I remember this is why i am here. A life of practice. Practice that becomes the substance.

I remember liking what i write.

I remember stopping when i feel like it.




i’m no nancy kerrigan, i will tell you that.


i should just stop there and have that be my funniest post ever.

but i never know whats good for me, so on i go.

… so i read a lot, i think sometimes, i like to stare out the window, i do strange work online for people i don’t know… and somehow in many of the circles and floats i have done, i’ve been bumping into this same question again and again, and in all the directions. specifically, why…  finding, sliding, crashing into this need to question everything, to satisfy the curiosity about WHY i am thinking a thing, WHY i am desiring a thing… WHY am i going backwards in my mental gymnastics about strangers, etc… (and i think i’m done again, btw)  …

i want to live this way.  i WANT to.  i want to question myself as i flit from room to room avoiding writing… WHY am i getting up right now? WHY am i not writing? WHy am i so uncomfortable TRYING something? WHY does my brain skitter away from the hard questions?

deeper:  WHY do i want to write? WHY do i think there will be so much failure? WHY do i think i’m not smart enough? WHY? What am i so scared of?

even working my brain into a corner makes my skin hot, and i can feel my ears.




Its always there though.

and ultimately, we, who are as important as the trees, we just need to open up to it.

I wrote this in response to a gorgeous list my friend Heather made, of what she needs to be in the beauty of her moments…have since added and expanded… like Heather’s babe in belly… swelling in potential every day…

What do I need to be receptive to the beauty around me?

*ground..dirt and warmth of sunlight…

*quiet, strainfree time to ‘not listen’ but just be…


*hands at the small of my back, of any size, age or gender…

*variety…of color,shape, texture, action…

*green… proof of something growing and changing…

*my people…my kids, my laugh-makers…

*bare hardwood floors…

*words, fluid…


*schedulefree time…

*a story I can’t wait to get back to…

*someone to check on me…

*windy days, to remind me how connected I am to whats happening out there….

*curiosity about some distinct thing, a man, an issue, a color…

*a list.



Heather has a group she’s starting once she has her babe in arms, and once I check in with her that she wants it broadcast further, I’ll tell you about it.  I imagine being in her arms for a group would feel like coming home.  Its called Tether and Tend... which just makes me want to roll around on velvet.


red and orange maple leaves on tree
Photo by Dariusz Grosa on