Compassion

Over the last several months, I have learned a lot about myself. I have learned that sometimes being messy is a beautiful thing. I learned that sometimes when I do not want to stop, my body will stop for me... and I learned that I really can only control so much about myself.



After almost a decade of managing the most important job of my life and working with the most inspiring youth I have ever had the honor of knowing, the program needed to close. Although my goal was to leave with a long six month notice and hire my replacement, that powers that be had something else in mind. When one pours their heart and soul into anything for a long duration of time it becomes more than a daily function, it becomes your heart beat... and it did mine. Three years ago, I finally mourned a dead marriage and thought I would never love again. I decided I would never fully understand love, be ok not having children, and simply refocus on me.



Instead, I met the love of my life.. and learned what un conditional love is.



I trained for my first triathlon, and I kicked ass, then became exceedingly ready and eager to take on a higher level of athleticism, but my body was not ready to do so.



In July, upon the closing of the youth center and upon having free time for the first time in my life... I crashed.. and hard. My body began having mild seizures, passed out a few times, had immune disorder problems, I developed panic disorder, and had a full out nervous break down.. Considering I was newly married, had just accepted a phenomenal new position, and was at the strongest point in my life... I "thought" my ship was sailing... What I did not know was that, sometimes... I just needed to stop.... and my God did it for me.

This summer was filled with countless tests... brain scans, blood work, ER visits, PT visits, and lots of medication... It had seemed that my body was waiting for me to slow down so I could listen to what it was trying to tell me... and apparently it was still broken, and needed to be fixed.



Throughout the last few months, I hit periods of raw anger... I was unable to cycle independently, drive, run, or even walk at times.... All I could do was sleep, read, meditate, and seek counsel. Apparently my body understood that it was safe.. I was with a man who finally loved me unconditional of my health, and it just let go. I even gave up swimming since I could no longer pull myself out of the pool with my arms anymore and kept collapsing on the deck. As the summer went on, I began getting answers.. I learned what true gentleness meant. I also discovered that people are ashamed to talk... to truly talk about who they truly are... and that I no longer wanted to be a part of that "surface" level of life



I accepted a job in another state. I lost a few close friends through my divorce, and gained a few new old friends again. I found myself being in complete awe of the smallest things like the wings of a bumble bee, and the way a cob web collects morning dew. I use to hate to sit still... yoga was always good in theory for me but holding a pose for two minutes was torturous.. as an adult with ADD and the need to be an overachiever... stillness was waste. I now spend every morning sitting still... sometimes I just hold my sweet hearts hand and gaze into his eyes as an hour slips by...



Today, I had the honor of leading a workshop on suicide... something near to my heart. The workshop began with a simple "Get to know you" exercise... and it went like this..



"Hi, My name is Colleen.. you don't know me.. but if you did know me you would know I have panic disorder". The youth gazed at me with wide eyes, and the next one went.. "Hi, my name is Chris.. thank you Colleen.. you don't know me.. but if you did know me you would know that I battle depression... and on and on they went. Some said domestic abuse, others faced bi-polar disorder, anxiety, low self esteem, body image problems, gender problems, medical conditions... As the circle of youth completed the exercise they all exhaled.. Everyone had gone below the surface, and we were ready to tackle the issue of suicide..



I was finally able to understand why... after such a long summer... that went nothing like I planned... and why... I wound up in CT... accepted a job with PeaceJam.... and had gone through the summer of what I called.. hell... but it wasn't hell.. it was a beautiful mess.



A mess that created the most beautiful painting.. one that is still in progress... and one that I will encourage each of you who read this to pick up your own brush and paint. Work on breaking down barriers.

Sometimes in life we just need to stop.. sometimes we just need to open up and share.. because all of us struggle.. and that is precisely why we all need each other.



Namaste.

Colleen

Image and Beauty

Image-

At one point in my life, I lived and breathed by my Cover Girl compact, brush, lip gloss, and miniature purse size hair spray. Every opportunity to pass by a reflection had me adjusting my hair or smacking my lips together. Beauty was a superficial thing in my mind, yet so powerful that it had the ability to often consume me. I would spend a solid hour “primping” in the bathroom equipped with a hair dryer, and brush.. my hair needed to be “just so”, and when I say “Just so” I mean stiff as a board and HIGH.

In Junior High, a few key elements were imperative to reach the “beauty image” status and they included the following; tight horrible acid washed jeans, frosty lipstick, hard hair, frosty eyeshadow, large earrings, high waist-ed pants, short skirts, and of course, the need to be thin.

In High School, some of those key elements remained... The “thin” piece always seemed to be the most prominent, then the need to be tan came next. For whatever reason, Daytona girls loved to have bathing suit strap lines- If you were tan, but could not show a good “strap line” it was almost as if you failed the “tanning experience”.

As I look through old photos of junior high and high school I am amazed by the similarity of what girls go through now. Image is powerful. As I entered my mid twenties I did away with a compact, I discovered I no longer wanted to see myself that close up. I retired hair spray all together as I simply could not handle having hard hair anymore, and I learned that sunscreen was actually a good thing.

Now in the mid thirties, I giggle when I attempt to where nice large dangling earrings because my earlier years in junior high and high school have stretched my holes so much that I could probably get away with wearing plugs now. I still love “lip stuff”, but now it has taken on the “natural” look. I slather Spf 40 sunscreen on whenever I go outside, and sometimes I turn away when I look at my reflection. External beauty is fleeting, it will never stay. Some choose to have surgery and try to prolong their “beauty” and others decide that their beauty is within that makes their outward “image” shine.

Each decade we are forced to re-evaluate ourselves, and our bodies. We come to a point of learning what is important, what is needed, and what is beautiful. This year, I am looking forward to being the “most beautiful” woman I have ever been, because I am focusing on my inner self, my core. I will never again have skin that excitedly welcomes the Cover Girl Compact, or will I? Perhaps as my wrinkles set in around my mouth, I will embrace them and know that I have laughed many times... perhaps when I see the lines deepen around my eyes I will embrace them as I know I have been to many wondrous places, and squinted into the sunshine while looking over the seas... I will welcome the smiling my eyes have done when I watch someone I love succeed. Perhaps I will welcome my hands as they become less supple and show lines as I know that I have farmed some land, done hard laboring work, and played hard. Perhaps I will welcome my frame as I “fill” into a woman no longer in her teens and twenties, and welcome my hips, my legs, and my arms as they prepare to be a healthy mother some day. Most importantly, that my soul will be beautiful.

Then I will open my compact one day on my eightieth birthday and I will smile and love each new line, each new wrinkle, and age spot, and know that I have truly lived. Maybe I will even powder my nose and forehead and break out the hairspray again...Perhaps I will even be as beautiful as my sweet grandmother was, a wrinkled woman with a huge smile, a bit heafty (she could arm wrestle you), and full of life.

"Thank you Mr. Turkey, or were you a chick? no pun intended.."

I loved flesh.... lots of it. I use to eat chicken wings by the dozen, sometimes two dozen... Make them spicy and crispy, and PLEASE give me extra hot sauce. I wanted my wings to be so spicy that the only relief would be an ice cold beer that I could submerse my lips into... and then wash down the burn that was being spread throughout my stomach, creating heartburn with precious hop and barley bliss.

Steak? Why yes! May I have drawn butter with that? Perhaps some blue cheese? Then give me a glass of scotch that I might sip as I embrace those tender strands of flesh.

Pork? SURE! I really dug it with sauerkraut, some mashed potatoes.. and green beans... **shudder""... Good Ole' Pennsylvania delight.

Turkey? Heck yea! That was always my "go-to", when I was feeling "healthy". It not only made for one amazing Thanksgiving meal, but pair it with a left-over biscuit and some mayonnaise, and I was thrilled.

So, there I was Colleen... the girl that dug meat, loved animals... and hated hunters. hmmm.... One day, I had the honor of traveling to one of the most pristine places left in the world.. Guyana. Guyana was a dream come true. Thousands of acres of primary rain forest, beautiful indigenous people with rich culture and traditions. I had begun to scale back my meat consumption a bit prior to the trip simply because I was struggling with my own moral and ethical views of eating meat. I lived down at the Lake and watched the algal blooms every summer from the cattle farm run-off, and I began realizing that we were wasting so many of our earths natural resources on eating MEAT! On Christmas day in Guyana, the village slaughtered a cow for us to feast upon, I witnessed some of the bleeding and pain that was endured and I could not eat any meat that night.. two days later, I got out of my tent in the morning and heard the crying sounds of a cow being slaughtered. This time I saw it, the animal was being dismembered while still alive.. they needed to keep the flesh as fresh as possible since we were on the equator, which meant if the heart could keep beating the flies would not land so quickly. The animal screamed until it finally dropped.

Now, I must say... the villagers did nothing barbaric, they prayed and thanked the animal, they fed their entire village, and the only way to save all of the meat was to cut and salt as fast as they could. That day will always be frozen in my memory. I decided that day, I lived in America.. Food was abundant, and flesh was a luxury.. one I could do without. So I began my life as a vegetarian rather abruptly.. No meat, never again. Meat is murder.. and on my bandwagon I went.

The vegetarian label became my identity. I held Strong for nearly eight years. I went vegetarian two years prior for about two years also. This time, it was for real... no going back. Then my sweet father had open heart surgery, and I was diagnosed with an Auto-immune disorder, all the more reason to go veg. I farmed an acre and a half of organic produce.. then got even more sick and needed brain surgery... still staying veg...

About two years ago, I decided to introduce scallops into my diet, I justified that they were like a mushroom of the sea... I had my strength back up to work out and wanted to continue road biking and running, so my body was craving more protein- and no amount of edamame that I could grow and eat, or Vega shake worked for me. I would eat the veg meal and still remain hungry.
I finally broke entirely and watched a fish get caught, gutted, and prepared, and decided.. ok.. time to eat fish.. my body needs it.. I was 112 pounds, with a whirling metabolism, and although my body was looking buff at points, I felt fatigued and weak.

Recently I fell ill, this time I could not seem to snap out of it. Despite all efforts, I felt weak. My muscles had constant spasms, I could not regain muscle control of my legs, dizziness took over, and nutrients left my body as quickly as they went in..I was back to 113 pounds, and frustrated. I was getting sick again, and this time... I knew I needed to go back.

It was a funny day, I sat in the parking lot of the health food store with a death grip on an organic turkey wrap with fresh avocado, veggies, some killer cheese, and a fabulous spread. My sweet husband shared my tears as he felt my sadness that I needed to eat more protein. We both cried about it. Finally I apologized to the turkey, I apologized for our society, I apologized for giving in. Then I found peace in knowing (after making three mobile support shout outs), that my turkey was raised humanely and with care given towards the environment. Then I did it, I bit the wrap and sobbed like a baby for about five minutes.

It is now almost a week later, and I have eaten turkey or tuna daily. My body seems to be getting stronger, although I certainly have some roads to travel down ahead. Yesterday was the three year anniversary of my brain surgery. We drove around VT holding hands with heavy hearts. Having the realization that more tests are down the pike and another trip to NYC is in the near future, so we decided we would celebrate by "joy riding", Sean had never been to an organic farm before and never eaten fresh eggs so we decided to pull into a local farm.

Smiling blue eyes peered out from the dark barn. We were welcomed with hearty hand shakes and kindness. As we introduced ourselves Sean took everything in with awe. They told us they had just harvested some fresh organic chickens and eggs about their CSA. They asked us if we ate meat. Sean quickly responded, "YES, we do.. only she just eats lean white meat, mostly turkey.. she was a vegetarian for almost nine years and just started eating meat last week". The farmed almost looked delightfully challenged.. "Well, here now.. look at these birds.. they were just processed this morning! They are all natural".. My heart sank with familiarity.. We listened for awhile and decided to get going. We simply could not afford $ 5.00 for a carton of eggs.

As we were leaving the farmer outstretched his hand and said "Here, please take these..you have never had fresh farm eggs.. try them, they are good.. it will be on us".. We were shocked and thankful. Then he opened the cooler, pulled out an entire chicken and handed it to me "And for you, try this. It is as fresh and natural as anything you could buy and we raised it right here on this farm". I felt my eyes swell up.. (I have been a bit emotional lately). "Thank you I said, you are so very generous".
We walked to the car hand in hand holding a carton of eggs and a "murdered" chicken.. smiling and silent.. As we turned on the ignition, Sean said "I don't know what to say, that was so giving". I said "This is when my mom would say to thank God.. because he was watching out for you."- and so we did.. and tomorrow, I will probably cry a little more, but I will cook a chicken.. and then.. we will eat it, but your damn straight we will have it with a side of Kale, some broccoli, and maybe even a salad.

The Draft

When the thoughts of a "draft" come to mind, the mind often thinks of that old window where the seal is cracked. Perhaps you might think of the door that no longer tightly closes. For me, the word "draft" use to relate to the old farm house I lived in. The Lake Champlain Islands boasted a wonderland of rural pastures, rolling dirt roads, apple orchards, vineyards, and small town charm. The Champlain islands were also my home, and I resided in an 1890 farm house.

The islands are also home to "breezes", or in my language.. "wind gusts".

The Islands are situated in the middle of Lake Champlain. The waters to the right are towards the Vermont shores with phenomenal views of the Green Mountains. The waters to the left lapped up to Upper State New York shores. The little islands are nestled in the middle of two mountain ranges.. thus the "draft" that was felt while making breakfast in my kitchen, sitting in my living room, laying in bed... or just walking through the house....

"Draft" became a funny word that just meant "normalcy" while living in this beautiful old five bedroom farm house... It also meant... "Crap, here is another heating bill...".

As one who adores cycling, I have loved riding Vermont roads. The terrain is far from flat, and each turn provides a challenge. Over the last year and a half, I have had the joy of rekindling with my high school sweet heart. He is a six foot five mountain biker (gone road biker) from Colorado. He effortlessly pedals at high speeds, and "hill climbs" are far too easy. He resembles Kermit the frog from behind while cycling, (A hot Kermie).

Today, I had the joy of "drafting" Kermit, a new thing I have learned to not be afraid of while cycling. You know the feeling when your car gets in the "draft" of a tractor trailer truck? My little Toyota gets sucked right in...

Well, the same draft happens when a 120 pound woman on a carbon fiber bike rides behind a 205 pound man that is 6 foot five. I enjoy drafting, the feeling that my legs get when I fall behind at close proximity to his wheel and get sucked uphill.

Upon finishing a road ride today, we got off our bikes and he asked how I liked it.. to which I replied.. "drafts rock"...

I know longer live in that old 1890 farm house.. and I hope I never know the word "draft" on quite that same level... For now, I am pretty happy for the "draft" of My Kermie.

Need.

What do we really need?

After a recent and freakish snow storm, (Global warming, what??) We lost all power. When I say we lost all power, I mean no water, no heat, and no electricity. With two feet of fresh slushy wet snow outside and a "balmy" temperature of 32, I began wondering why I needed these "comforts"?

We had plenty of candles. My handsome love and I found body heat to keep us toasty warm in bed, and we purchased water at the store. A gym membership allowed us to shower, and pour flushing DOES work. My dog did not seem to mind... and the cat just enjoyed snuggling that much more...Bread does not spoil, nor does peanut butter.

Head lamps provided excellent indoor navigational abilities, and their was always lots to talk about. Upon the third day of waking with no power, I looked out the bed room window and exhaled. My breath felt chilled, and my arms and hands felt numb. Ten thousand Vermonters were experiencing the same thing. Then, I felt a thankful heart, that we had shelter.. a roof over our heads. We had peace. No bombs. No crying children. No gun fire. That morning we joined several other cold Vermonters at a local bakery. The tables were full of families eating warm meals, and drinking hot tea.. Everyone was a cold and dark shelter at night.. But everyone was still together.

Children were not crying, and mothers were not stressed. Although clothing was disheveled, and everyone look un-showered, smiles were present. What joy.

Then the lights went on.

Ode to Childhood.

The sway of the willow branches


The Great old willow tree swayed carelessly in the back yard of Aunt Thelma and Uncle Howards' House. I am sure that as a baby, I looked at the tree when my parents would walk me out back, but my first memories were as a little girl running barefoot in the shade of the giants' branches. Beside the tree was a little stream. In my mind, it was a fairy tale garden. I envisioned unicorns galloping through the yard, and I was princess Colleen, basking in the glory of the willows sweeping limbs. Year after year, I went back to visit my birth state of Pennsylvania where that beautiful tree was strongly rooted in Aunt Thelma and Uncle Howards' yard. As my Aunt and Uncle began to change through time, this beautiful willow remained steadfast. The limbs swayed through the various seasons in life, only to change by getting new leaves each season. Their gentle grace and beauty was under shadowed by their strong, and sprawling roots. It is rare that one sees a downed limb from a willow tree.

This willow tree was a grounding symbol for me, and one that I excitedly went to whenever I visited my family. I longed to adapt the traits of the willow, and learn to sway with the seasons of life, shed my leaves as needed, and embrace new growth. I longed to root my soul, and drink from the waters of knowledge. Now, as an adult... My favorite tree is still a willow. I often stop while cycling, or running and just simply watch them.

There is certainly the tie to innocence, childhood, family, and my beloved Aunt Thelma and Uncle Howard to the lure of the Willow Tree, but the meaning of the tree has taken on a life of its' own in my book of life.

I hope we all continue to sway through the seasons, grow fresh leaves, and nourish our roots with new experiences and knowledge in this life.
Slainte!