Dear Universe, What does it mean to be free?

The answer is as individual to each of us as our fingerprints.

I sent a short story to a friend to critique. He came back with “What does it mean to be free?”A question, of course, posed in direct relation to the story. However, it is a question that has set off in me a firestorm of questions, ideas, thoughts. It is a question burning through each breath desperately seeking an answer.
Freedom is something I have been struggling to achieve. I have been yearning for more than money. Yet, I have more freedom this most. I know this. I am single. No kids.
But it is my freedom I seek.
My own fingerprint of freedom.

We ask for things. We pray for that which will deliver us from the current state or situation we’re in. And that’s it. There’s never a definitive solution we ask for. We just ask. Please help. Take me from this. Therefore, the universe doesn’t know where to take us, to guide us. It just picks us up and drops us somewhere. Anywhere out of that situation.
My ask for freedom from a situation was indeed at last granted. I was liberated.  Only to find myself  bound in another situation. What is my idea of freedom? To create the life I want. What is the life I want?

I’m not a planner. At all. I’ve never laid out the  steps to my life, my future  like a compass to my perfect reality. But, I’m learning I need to at least define what I want without simply tossing ambiguous words out into the world. What you give, you get. It’s as simple as that.

What frightens me is that money has such a grip on our ‘freedom.’ It’s what helps us eat, have a warm place to sleep. Without, what? How can money possibly equal freedom?

Job. It’s why we live? Money. Freedom? That just doesn’t sound right. Do we belong to ourselves? Or are we traipsing through a life belonging to someone else? Are we in a waking dream belonging to someone else?

What does it mean to me to be free. Maybe the answer is far simpler than I realize. Or just as complicated. For some, the answer is clear, simple. Others, not so much.

Dear Universe, Love. That is my new story.

We grow up. Then after we’ve grown up, we age. I’ve learned now aging is crawling through that same tunnel as growing up.
For as long as I remember I’ve been more lost than found.
I graduated high school with bright eyes and hurried feet carrying me fast toward – what I didn’t want to be. That was what I wanted. To be what I didn’t want to be. Mostly, because, I didn’t know what I wanted to be. What I didn’t want to be was right there in front of me, a garish neon sign of depression and unhappiness, blinding me. So, for the next decade or so I ran furiously away from what I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to be like my mother.  I feared that as my mother’s daughter, my bones were infused with the certainty of following the same ill-fated path.
Why? I have no idea. That was all I knew. That was my goal. To not be. An ass-backwards way to live life, I think. Little did I realize, I was running toward the negativity, not away from it. Perhaps like putting on sunglasses then continuing marching toward the sun.

Don’t get me wrong. My mother isn’t a bad person. She has wonderful qualities; kind, honest. She instilled in me a love of reading from a young age. She tries. Growing up, though, she suffered from the darkness of depression. Still does. She struggled with life in general. Jobs were difficult to maintain, social relations harder still. That also remains true today. There’s worse out there. I know that. And comparison is the thief of joy.

I  felt as though I grew up in a family with two religions. I had a father who knew how to love, and a mother that wasn’t quite so well-versed in that emotion. My father, however, worked. A lot. Therefore, it was my mother who I had the most contact with, positive or not. Many times, not.
While my friends grew up with mothers who nurtured them when sick, had their own circle of friends and social relations, and generally tried to provide guidance to their budding children, it was I who did all of that for my mother. Not the other way around.

I was eighteen when my father divorced my mother. Having previously cut off her father, sister and only friend she had, my mother was alone. Unsuccessful. Unhappy.

So, I set out to leave my footprints on that shiny yellow-brick road  thought everyone was supposed to follow the moment we take our first breaths on this earth. I graduated high school, had friends, went out partying. Dancing several nights a week. Creating memories – that to this day my friends and I still reminisce about – my mother never did.  All the while flitting like a butterfly through community college trying to land on a career path. At last, I did and went to an actual university. I was on the right track, right? I had set the trajectory toward a successful career. Right? Then my beloved dad died. A couple years after that, the economy violently shook and cracked that trajectory. Leaving me lost once again. I found yoga. again. I found words. Writing. Hope. But not love. Not marriage.

Now, I have a good corporate job. At a company I vowed I would work for when I was a little girl. I have health insurance, a steady paycheck, and entrance to my favorite theme park whenever I want.
And I’m unhappy. My work environment is negative. I’m pressured to be someone I’m not. To do something I don’t enjoy. What the hell! I’m not a planner. I don’t enjoy updating spreadsheets.

This sounds like a broken record (an analogy lost on today’s generations, yet still stands) from my previous posts. It is all limbs of the same broken body, broken spirit. Broken heart.
Following instagram more religiously than the world news, I come across messages of love. Follow love. Move toward love. Give with love. Live with love. I had a doctor’s appointment the other day. With my cardiologist. My doctor, upon confession of being unhappy with my co-workers, told me, everyday send them love. Things will change. Tell the universe to send them love. Maybe not at first, things will change. That will be my new life story. Love.

Dear Universe, I’m learning to walk again.

Baby booties. Crawling. Supple shoes. Hard shoes. One foot in front of the other. Sneakers. Hard surfaces. Stiletto’s. Going. Stepping. Walking. Running. Grass. Sidewalk. Down the hill. Up the hill. Walking to school. To your neighbors house. Visiting your friend across the street. Skipping to your friend’s house three blocks away. Traipsing to the market to buy a gallon of milk. Sauntering down the aisle at graduation. Walking to buy your first car. Crossing the threshold of your new home. Strolling in the sunlight. Dancing in the rain. Reaching a road. Split. Dropping to your knees. Confusion. Which path. Sitting there. Stopped. Frustration. Fatigue. Rising moon. Remove your shoes. Temperature drops. The sun yawns. The day warms. The road is there. Solid. Calling. Choose. Choose. Choose. You put your shoes on. You stand up. Tall. The sun burns. Bright and blind. Which road to choose. A new beginning. The road lined with trees. Luscious. The road deserted. Desolate, open. Blank. You take a step. Then another. One foot in front of the other.

Dear Universe, I see you.

You are here. I see you. Masked, cleverly camouflaged. A recurring obstacle. Always reappearing, until perhaps one day I at last see through you. Until your raging fire is just a flame, which one day I will extinguish in a single, strong breath. For now, it’s about practice. A new day. A new lesson. Sometimes, new tears. Other times, new smiles. A reminder of gratitude. A reminder of choice. No matter how much we feel trapped. Dear Universe, I see you. You are there, an obstacle unyielding. You are there, to make me the person I want to be. In my dreams, in my prayers I have asked for you.

….And the teacher shall appear.

Stillness

The cool wind whispered its way through my open window. Pushing aside the sheer white curtain. Touching down on my bare arms in the form of goosebumps. And I, I sat there. Silent. Cross-legged. Submissive. Days like these are welcome. When the anxiety of an upcoming work day takes over, and my stillness knocks the anxiety back into oblivion. We all have those days. When oranges taste like onions and the crying siren of emergency vehicles is the soundtrack to life. But, I am here now. Grateful to see the light and feel the wind. Whole within my millions of pieces. Without fear.
I know you are out there. I am here. In my stillness. Waiting.

Dear Universe, Change the Unchanged.

Yesterday, after I parked my car in the lot and walked toward the pay station I caught site of a stenciled Ganesh painted on the ground. There it was, staring back up at me. Ganesh, a revered deity. Remover of obstacles. A reminder.

There is a saying I came up with, “change the unchanged.”  Maybe it already exists out there in the vast world of the internet, who knows.

It’s been said a million times. Start small. Change something small. It’s the little rocks tumbling down the side of the massive, craggy mountain pushing the larger rocks forward to create the avalanche.
Take a moment. Examine your day. What is that small, absolutely insignificant thing you can change?

Change it. Then, the following week, or following day even, change another thing.  Start small. Keep on, keeping on. Be that little rock tumbling down moving the larger rocks.

Maybe it’s waking up 5 minutes earlier. Those 5 minutes, can be 5 minutes more to yourself. Maybe it’s getting dressed before you put on your make-up, or shaving. Will this minute detail change anything? Probably not. At least not immediately. The change is that little rock tumbling down.

It is a decision to give a sense of empowerment. A feeling of control over the rush of life. Changing that insignificant detail will change our mindset. A mindset that has probably been on auto-pilot for longer than we realize. There’s a reason Gandhi said, “Be the change you want to see.” I know I’ve struggled with feeling like I have little to know control over my own life.

Of course, the question is there. If the universe is the one putting us where we are, then we don’t have control. Our control is relinquished.

I believe our relationship with the universe is a team effort. A collaboration. A marriage of two beings – visible and invisible. Hence the URL name of this blog; Spark the Universe. We all need to do our part to spark the universe into giving us what we need. Or maybe even, what we want.

Remember the universe knows what we need. It is an invisible, omnipresent doctor there to mend our broken souls. Opening us up and looking into our souls/lives with perfect acumen. Prescribing that individual remedy, customized just for us.
Whether or not this is all true, I don’t know. No one knows. But, I need to believe that is true. If we believe, then it is true. No matter what anyone else says. This is your life. Your truth.
Believe the universe plops you down, in that very spot in the line of life, in that very moment, because you need to be. Be open. Listen. Observe. Trust. And smile. And with each small, seemingly insignificant choice made, be grateful to have been able to make that choice. Be grateful.

Tomorrow begins the work week. What will I change?

Dear Universe! Help!

I woke this Saturday morning feeling the lightness of Spring and starting out Saturdays as I always do; wake up, trudge to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, pick up my laptop, trudge back to bed, get under the covers, begin writing. I’m trying to finish writing a book. Well, a re-write of a book.  I’ve found Mornings are the best for writing. A night’s rest leaves my mind fresh, energized, and wiped clean from the intrusive goings-on that are part of a long day at the office.
That’s where the title of this post comes in…

Lately, I’ve been experiencing what is traditionally referred to as a mid-life crisis. Though, I’m not quite in mid-life. So, maybe it’s only a crisis. A personal crisis. A life crisis.  I’d like to refer to it as, maybe, a growth spurt.

As children, we experience growth spurts. Seemingly over night some of us shoot upward like a giant redwood. Growing taller, stretching toward the sky, leaving  hems of pants resting at awkward lengths against legs that now belong to someone else. I feel as though I’ve experienced a growth spurt, in the metaphorical sense of course. I’m living a life that no longer goes along with who I am. It’s like I’m wearing those pants that are too short, and no longer fit properly. I can only imagine how many people have experienced, or are experiencing this right now.

THE QUESTION IS…What can I do about it and WHAT do I WANT to do about it?

I’ve come to believe we are divided into two selves. Our current self. Our former self. As children that division is much more obvious. Our former self, age 1 year, only crawled and babbled gibberish. Our current self,  age 7, walks upright and speaks in full sentences.

As adults, that line is  blurred. Possibly ignored. We no longer see our former self. We are simply adults. Leading adult lives. Experiencing adult situations.  Those interested in personal growth know what I’m talking about.

An interview with me, myself, and I.

Describe your dream job.

ME: What, like a detailed description of what I would be doing for work? How would I make a living?
We all need to work I suppose.

I: Yes.

ME: Hmm, it’s hard to attach a solid description to what my dream job would be.

I: You were never someone who knew what they wanted to be when they ‘grew-up?’

ME: no. Well, it kept changing. Which is normal, I suppose.

MY FORMER SELF: A job in a creative field. I need to be creative.
A place where my ideas and creativity will be successful. I want to be creatively successful.
Graphic design? Product Development? Marketing even?

MY CURRENT SELF:  I want to inspire. To create a lifestyle that brings about good and positivity in this world. Inspiring others to live better lives. I was never like that. It’s crazy. I was always selfish. Materialistic. I’m an only child, for crying out loud! The idea of a lifestyle is a new concept to me. I grew up living day-to-day with what you get. Not forging a certain way of being, living. A lifestyle, I think, is a way of being true to yourself. A lack of lifestyle can even be a lifestyle.
I still want to be creatively successful. That never changed. But, I love to write. Always have in fact.
Stories are a amazing. Necessary. Words are more than a string of letters and sentences. They are powerful. Words can create life. They can even take it away. I want to travel. Experience a life outside of my own. Tell stories. I want my office to be where I choose. I want my office hours to be when I choose. I want to be who I am. Not who I should be in a work environment to hold a job, and do a job well done. Then again, isn’t that what everyone wants? Maybe I still need to be more specific.
I want to meet new people. Learn their stories. To remind myself that there is. so. much. out. there.  I want to create. To feel energized, and satisfied. I feel I’m meant for something more. Bigger.

In my new life, i want to write. I want to maybe become a yoga teacher! But, I don’t practice even regularly enough to say I do yoga. And maybe even start a non-profit organization that brings the arts/creativity to under-privileged kids.

Currently, I feel like I’m trapped. A day job at my dream company leaves me drained. Unfulfilled. Perhaps, I need to channel some of those wants into that day job. I need to stop being aimless and be more consistent.

Now, I just to need to spark the universe to help me out…

What’s my next step?