Filling my soul and scaring myself wild

Death is actually a pretty permanent state, just in case you have not noticed. That probably sounds profoundly silly, but there is something about the way we think about death that does not capture the essence of “forever” in our experience. Sometimes over the past year I felt like a vacuum cleaner entered my soul and emptied it of any sense of beauty or love.

Everyone told me that nature abhors a void and the time would fill the emptiness. But nature and time seemed to be busy elsewhere. 

It was an old friend who told me that I need to find my Mojo and, as the Mad Hatter said to Alice, my “muchness.” He told me his memory of me with a pack on my back, looking over my shoulder at him saying “come on, we can do this” even though we both knew I was afraid. He remembered my wildness, even if I did not.

That sounded amazing, and challenging, and terrifying. But honesty, emptiness was getting boring, and filling me with the fear that I would never be full of love and laughter and light and wonder. I had been feeling like a ship at sea with no navigational information. All I could do was steer away from the danger buoys and warning lights. It seemed like a safe and perhaps even wise choice. But I was headed nowhere and steering based on my fears.

So I changed my sailing plan, and steered towards the warnings and lights and all that I feared. I breathed in the wind and danced to the rhythm of the waves, and followed my fears where ever they led. My soul began to fill with wonder and desire and passion and laughter. My adventures started so very small, but quickly expanded. My soul not only filled, but it also expanded, as I sailed into the adventure and away from the safety of the shore.

Amazingly, I discovered a new type of navigational tool…scaring myself wild. I highly recommend it, and would love hear about your adventures.

Be your own Valentine

On a day that seems to be defined by cards, flowers, candy and expressions of love, do not sink into a sense of loneliness. We often are caught up in defining love by actions on this one day, rather than seeing the ongoing support and love that surround us. Want flowers? Send yourself some and tell the world they are from a secret lover. And guess what, you won't be lying. 

Saying you love yourself might have the world try to define you as a narcissist, so keep it secret. But yes, love yourself, embrace yourself, be kind to yourself. This is often the first step in attracting love and kindness into our own lives.

And life starts again. It has been a wild year. My mother and husband died exactly 2 months apart at the end of 2016. As you can imagine, 2017 was a year of healing, but also wild adventures, gratitude, blessings, love and new beginnings. My adventure continues...please share it with me.

Honoring

I am not really sure how to best honor those who have gone into that good night, that dark night that we hope is a doorway to light. In Jewish tradition we light a candle and say a prayer on the anniversary of their passing. But that ritual, while comforting, does not seem to build a legacy, or add meaning, or celebrate the richness of a life.

So, another Jewish tradition is to do something, to take on a Mitzvah (commandment) or to pledge something in their name. This is known as an "allyah for the person's Nashama" a raising up of their soul. 

And so last week, in honor of a woman who I meet over cough drops in an anthropology course when I was 17, I pirated the Colfax 10 mile run. I signed up and donated in her honor to a charity and picked up my packet. But late in the night when I should have been resting for the early morning run, I realized that running with over 10,000 strangers was no way to remember her. I needed to do something to make her laugh, which she did often and freely. 

So, with my T-shirt and bib I ran the miles at home, after a leisurely cup of coffee. No fighting traffic and searching for parking...no long lines at the port-a-potties...no stampede of well trained feet pushing to get in front. Just me and the sky and the wind and the mountains and my memories of a life well lived.

I miss you Gina, and I pledge to light a candle for you each year. But more importantly I pledge to remember our private jokes and to continue to laugh at rich-people-dressing-badly as we always did. Oh, and the rich-people-designing-badly. And the graphic designers who love to use light green on menus to be read in dim restaurants. And all the other ways we found humor in the confusion of life. 

I honor you with my laughter and my tears and a private run each year.  My your name be a blessing. Amen. 

So what happens when a Pirate meets a Harley? Love? Wild joy? Dreams of freedom? Yep.

This was a trip to a serious academic meeting at Marquette University in Milwaukee. The topics were serious, the attendees did not quite understand "business casual" and the conversations were full of multi-syllabic words. I took notes and tried to look like a Dean in my turquoise scarves and boots.

And then we took a break and had a private tour of the Harley-Davidson motorcycle museum where I found my favorite colors and inspiration for another life adventure. The story of Harley is amazing. Success followed by failure followed by success over and over again, with the company re-inventing itself  with every cycle. 

The last exhibit is a motorcycle recovered in Canada after the tsunami in Japan. Harley found the owner and offered to replace it, but the owner said no, I will be like a blade of grass standing in a mowed field. Put it in the museum to people remember that together we can be strong and recover. Wow. Somehow I did not expect such inspiration from motorcycles

And at the very end of the museum were the motorcycle we could try out. Right color, right size, and not a bad price. I texted my husband who told me to pull out my credit card and ride it home...to Colorado. In the rain. Alone. 

Tempting...a wild road trip through the wilds of the US on a bike looking like a female Steve McQueen escaping from the repressive academic regime, or at least from the trauma drama of being a Jewish dean in a Jesuit institution in the middle of radical transition. From trying to be a good daughter and "honoring my parents" by making sure my passive-aggressive mother is warm and safe and dry. From helping random family members who seem to thrive on dramatic overtures worthy of a Don Giovanni finale. Or perhaps just the regularity and predictability of stability. Or just maybe because I still have adventures inside of me calling out for expression. Maybe. Probably. 

I know that the sense of wonder that comes from wildness and wilderness and feeling G-d's touch is still out there and in my. And I know that I am in hot pursuit. 

 

On the path again

Life and I have been dancing to a fugue in E minor, repeating themes rising to haunt me and then retreating into darkness. And the darkness calls to me, reminding how great longing challenges us to surrender to path before us. 

I have to admit I wondered if I could feel that depth of longing again, the craving that led me to spiritual adventures deep in wild forests. Could I find the clearing in the tumble and tangle of daily life to yearn so deeply I thought i would tear in two? Or had I left that behind as I lifted the responsibilities of jobs and family and commitments? 
  
For the past several months the answer has been inserting itself in such odd places. While lifting weights or running a 1/2 marathon I can see a world full of options before me. I can choose to leave or to stay, i can run away or embrace. i can move toward something as soon as I move away from illusions and scars that never did really define me.
My family often told me i would "out-grow" my craving for life and my longing for the touch of G-d on my heart. They said the fire that drove me would be tamed and my wildness would be trimmed. And i wold be safe so they would not be frightened. 

But yesterday, for no reason, without fan-fare or fuss, there it was, that deep hollow in my heart that called and chanted and sang and drummed and danced and whispered. That still small voice invited me back on the journey. Without an fuss. Without any rules. Just a door that opened before me, a wind that blew through me, a scent that captivated me, and a sense that this journey has been waiting for me all along. And i am beyond delighted.   

#adventure60

So I don't have a great deal to say here, except that I just turned 60 and barely have time to blog! This year is going to be one of great adventure and I hope the dress that keep up. 

Someone asked why I was so wildly happy about this birthday, and I guess I have to say that after almost dying several times, and three major surgeries, that fact that I am still here and still a bit wild is beyond wonderful.

My staff filled my office with balloons and the surprised me with a Jimmy Buffet style party. The wedding dress joined in and we had a great time! So while I do not have much to say in this post, I am on #adventure60 for the rest of the year. Check me on twitter at shssdean and join the fun. We can make everyday wild and fun and full of powerful magical moments if we choose to. Or we can live lives of quiet desperation. For this 60 year old Aquarian...the choice is clear. Stay tuned.