My new life starts tomorrow (!)

It's finally here! 

Tomorrow, I get on an airplane (well, actually two airplanes) and travel to my new home on Vancouver Island. Weeks, months and years of plotting, scheming, dreaming and preparation culminate in tomorrow's transition from "old life" to "new life."

Our family will live under one roof again! We can unpack our boxes and crates and suitcases! I can let go of the logistical lists in my brain -- What's packed where? What still needs to be sold/given away? What needs to be shipped when and by what method? What keys need to be returned? Accounts closed? Thank-yous delivered? Good-byes said? Hugs hugged? How will we fit all these end-of-the-school-year items in our suitcases? -- and maybe relax for a day, or thirty, or a hundred-and-sixty-three.

This dream of moving to BC started with Marc's first motorcycle trip out there, and grew during our first family vacation to Nelson. The climate, the lushness, the opportunities to be outdoors without our faces hurting or being bitten by a bazillion bugs, the slow and gentle pace of life, the lack of harshness, of mere survival through several months of the year...it all called to us.

The whole drive home from the Kootenays that summer, we planned how we could move...what would need to sell/unload/downsize, what kind of work we could do, where Chloe would go to school...and by the time we got home to the farm two days later, practicalities set in and we stayed put. We had good jobs. We just built our forever farm house. Our families are close by. Our friends and doctors and vet and massage therapists and hair stylists and favourite restaurants are here. We have a good life. 

Then the next summer, it started again. And the next. Until we decided this was really a thing we wanted to do. So, Marc aggressively pursued employment, turned down a few offers that didn't quite get us where we wanted to be, until the perfect opportunity landed in his lap. He moved and started his new gig mid-September, while Chloe, Morris and I listed the house and farm for sale, purged the stuff, kept the house clean for showings and potential showings, and carried on with school and work and normal life stuff.

Then the farm sold (huzzah!) and things got real. Marc and our awesome, patient, knowledgeable realtor looked at many, many houses in Victoria, and once the cash cleared from the sale, we started putting in offers. We were disappointed when our "aggressive" offer on a great place in a great neighbourhood was outbid. That house went for $101,500 over asking. Yikes. Then, a place that worked for us appeared. Marc looked at it and Facetimed me through it. Then he drove back to the farm to help pack the house up. Through the magic of the interwebs and our awesome, patient, knowledgeable realtor, we put in an offer and had the winning bid. Huzzah again! 

I gave notice at my corporate gig. We had a big house-cooling party. We packed. We purged. We sold. We shipped. Morris and Marc returned to the Island. Chloe and I and four suitcases moved in with family to finish out the school year.

And that brings us to today. Last day of school. Last (full) day of Saskatchewan. It's fitting our move comes on a full moon, the Strawberry Moon. Full moons are times of release and cleansing; times of acknowledging what was with gratitude and then letting go to make way for the new; times of completion and creative closure. 

And so I reflect on my many years living on the Prairies, and how they've made me who I am.

Wide open spaces and endless skies ripe with possibility informed my sense of wonder, of I-can-do-and-be-anything-ness.

The strength of community coming together in times of sorrow, struggle and celebration is a given -- I know I will be caught if I fall or falter, and will create the community I need.

Practicality, hard work and perseverance engrained traits that will serve me well in figuring out a new city and province and what's next.

Connection to and respect for the land and the weather and all nature has to offer will provide me a lovely contrast for learning a new topography and climate and appreciation for the differences. 

This will always be the place I am from. It will remain my definition of home. Its beauty will fill my memories. Its people, MY people, will continue to fill my heart. I hope to be a proud and honourable representative of this place and people in my new chosen community and province. 

And I promise to visit. But probably not during winter. I don't like it when my face hurts. 

How to Feel Joy

Something I've noticed with some of my clients, and in my own life, is that some of us struggle to feel joy when it shows up in our lives. We tend to glance over it without even acknowledging it because we are on to the next thing on the to do list.

It's like we don't know how to be with good feelings. Weird, huh?

You'd think that people would LOVE to feel happy, excited, even blissful and ecstatic, but many of us skip right through it, over it, around it without actually spending any time revelling in it. 

With all the sadness, injustice and other bad shit happening in the world, I thought I'd write a little how-to on feeling joy. That way, when something good happens to us, we can squeeze all the goodness out of that occasion, which will serve to bolster us for the sad/bad/scary/unfair stuff that is bound to show up later. 

How to Feel Joy in 5 Easy-ish Steps

1. Notice it.

Some of us don't even notice when we are happy. We don't pay attention to our bodies, which send us information ALL THE TIME. Your body won't lie to you -- when you feel joyful, happy or any other flavour on the joy continuum, your body will give you signals. For me, everything rises: my eyebrows and eyelids, the corners of my mouth, my chest as my lungs fill, the tone and volume of my voice, my hands to wildly animate what I'm saying.

Your body may do something different -- tingles in your fingers and toes, flippity-flopping in your tummy, rapid breathing, giddy laughter. You get the idea. So, start noticing the messages your body is sending your mind. Notice your posture, temperature, pace of breathing, your energy level, and begin to recognize where joy lives in your body. You might begin to name the level or degree or type of joy you are experiencing: is it calm contentedness, or absolute ecstasy, or something in between? 

2. Be with it. 

Put down your device. Turn off other distractions. Be with the joy. Even if it feels uncomfortable at first. Joy is an emotion. Emotions are energy in motion. They bring us information that we can turn into thoughts, then actions, then behaviours. Joy asks us, "What wants to be celebrated or appreciated?" Let yourself sit in the emotion of joy as you listen for the answer.  

3. Stay in it.

Many of us have the next three (or 15) things to do lined up in our minds while we're doing the current thing. Allow yourself to put the to do's or other future thoughts (including worries about the joy disappearing) aside. Don't talk yourself out of feeling joy! Invite it in. Let it fill you up, or wash over you, or take up all your field of vision, or close your eyes and feel it surge through your body. Ask it to stay. And savour it for as long as it lasts. 

4. Thank it.

Offer your appreciation for the experience of feeling joy. You may want to thank the cause of the joy -- the event, person or other situation that allowed the joy to show up. Cultivating gratitude for what is will prime your body and mind to experience more joy in the future. You'll be better able to notice small moments of joy when you practice gratitude regularly.

5. Share it.

After you've lived your joy fully, tell someone else about your experience. This action will help the joy carry forward in your life, and it will spread to someone else's. Telling stories expands our experiences and helps embed them in our memories. We get to relive the joy -- in our bodies and minds -- each time we tell the story of it. So do! Imagine the awesome conversations we'd have if we all shared our most joyful moments with each other!

That's it. I'm hoping you find something to be joyful about today, and give yourself the gift of experiencing it fully. Then notice how things might shift in your life, and let me know how it goes. 

In love and light,

Jilly

Farewell Amy, and Thank You

My favourite children's author died today. And it hit me like a tonne of bricks, for some reason.

I was introduced to the incredible craft and beauty of Amy Krouse Rosenthal after our daughter entered our lives. We received a box set of Little Pea, Little Hoot and Little Oink from my brother. As soon as I read these gems, I was in love with her voice. You know when you read something and it sounds like the voice inside your head, and you think, I wish I had written this? Yeah, that. I was connected to the simple structure, humour and universality from the get-go. 

I'm slightly embarrassed to say that I had never visited her website until today. I felt I knew her through her work. I had never sought out more about her; her work speaks for itself. Imagine my delight to find reams of videos and other creative endeavours waiting to be discovered there, and the chance to know her more deeply! 

As I explored her site a little today, I found this, among other things. (I would make one edit, near the end, from "mankind" to "humankind"...otherwise, it makes my heart sing!) It was written and created several years ago, but I connected with her words and message immediately. They reflect my personal journey toward and into a meaningful life for the past several years, and especially lately.  

I was puzzled why I was so upset about her death today. I'd never met her. I wasn't stalking her every move on social media. I hadn't even been aware she was unwell. I haven't read everything she's every written or seen everything she's ever created. So what was up? I sat with it through most of the day, and came to this:

I realize I'm sad that she won't produce any more amazing work to add to the collection of kindness, beauty and delight she brought into this world.

She was only 51. I'm sad that her husband and children and extended family and friends and colleagues will miss her presence. Having recently been through the what-ifs, and the writing good-byes and capturing life advice and making videos as last mementos for my loved ones, I know her reality could have been mine a couple weeks ago. And that hits close to home. I imagine she felt the same things I was feeling about leaving too soon. And my heart breaks for her and her family. 

I'm sad because I will never have the chance to attend a writing class or a book signing or other event and meet her. I realize now, as I look at my vision board about my creativity and writing, which features two of my favourite of her books (Little Pea and Uni the Unicorn), that she really was who I was hoping to become, as a writer, anyway. And now she's gone. 

And yet, I am so grateful that she was here, and that she created, and inspired others to create. And that she left such a gorgeous legacy in her work, which I get to keep exploring. 

And so, because of Amy, I am motivated to Always Trust Magic, Beckon the Lovely, Connect, Do, Embrace the Empty Space, Figure It Out As I Go, and Go To It (from Amy's 7 Notes on Life TEDxWaterloo talk). 

In love and light,

Jilly

Birthday celebrations

Today is my 42nd birthday.

I was treated to beautiful Indian food with friends last night, and this morning, to sleeping in, thick coffee, bacon and eggs, handmade cards and love notes, calls and texts from extended family, belly rubs with Morris, and an otherwise leisurely morning. Simple and perfect. 

The older I get, the less fuss there is about my birthday. This year I found myself almost forgetting my birthday was coming, and as a result, it is the least fussy ever. I think with so much energy directed toward myself over the past two months, I was eager for a quiet weekend of not-much-ed-ness. 

I've been craving normal. I had wanted to experience the full moon fully, and I had options to attend a number of full moon workshops today and tonight, but I've felt drawn to stay home. To introvert. To reflect. Pause. Be. 

I'm thankful that I get to see this birthday. It was touch and go there for awhile. While I still need a second surgery in the coming weeks, my doctors are confident that will be the end of my journey with cervical cancer. 

So, I'm setting up my reclaimed home office, grooving to this song while I do it, researching chicken coop plans and laying hen breeds in preparation for spring, and watching the clock to pick up C from her second school friend's birthday party of the weekend.

And then maybe some sushi for supper. 

My gift to you:

If you're looking for a treat for yourself, here are my recommendations from my days binge-watching Netflix and other sources while I recovered from surgery:

Captain Fantastic. Simply gorgeous. Beautiful script. Brilliant performances, especially Viggo Mortensen and all the kids. Funny. Sad. Thought-provoking. My kinda movie. 

The OA. Just watch it. Mesmerizing. Can't wait for season two.

13th. Now I understand more so why America is the way it is. Wow. And I have a deeper understand of why #BlackLivesMatter.  

Abstract: The Art of Design. If you have any interest in any kind of design at all, check this series out. 

Be Here Now. A beautiful tribute to a beautiful life. Andy Whitfield, who played Spartacus and soared to Hollywood fame, chronicles his family's journey with lymphoma. It's a love story. You'll never look at butterflies the same way again. 

Enjoy.

In love and light,

Jilly

What to do if you might live next Tuesday: another list

After my last post, I also got to thinking there are lots of things I can be looking forward to when I wake up from surgery. So, here's my list for that!

• Being alive.
• After-drugs. What colourful pharmaceutical adventures await me???
• Binge watching Netflix guilt-free.
• Sleeping in. On a Thursday. Maybe on TWO Thursdays. 
• Ooh and naps! Afternoon naps!
• I will be several ounces lighter than when I went in for surgery. Possibly pounds if they have to remove more than they expect. 
• Wearing pajamas, yoga pants and other not-safe-for-work bottoms EVERY DAY!
• I will get to keep working with my AMAZING clients who are doing and being AMAZING. Have I mentioned how AMAZING they are?! 
• I will eventually be back at work with my AWESOME team to do AWESOME stuff. Mwhahahahaaa!
• Experiencing the beauty of spring in the country, and then summer (flax fields!), and then fall...
• I'll get to keep cheering on my American sisters and brothers as they rise and unite in love and decency to overcome the hatefulness, bigotry, misogyny and fear that is being stoked by the decoy-Trump and REAL-scary-man-Pence in their nation.
• More SNL sketches. 
• I might treat myself to a new pair of rubber boots.
• Marc and I will get to celebrate our 10th wedding/15th dating anniversary. 
• I'll get to see my sister-in-law signed to a label (come ON, Universe!)
• Goat-sharing with our neighbours. 
• All of the coffee. All of the cheese. All of the wine. 
• Maybe adopt another dog. Maybe. 
• Start teaching/leading meditation classes.
• More travel. 
• More star-gazing. 
• And, I'll get to watch this kid become even more herself.

In love and light,

Jilly

What to do if you might die next Tuesday: a list

My surgery is scheduled for next Tuesday. There is a small but very real risk that I may not wake up from the anesthetic, or there may be other complications that cause me to die on the operating table.

Small, but real. 

So, I've thought about how I want to spend my last few days, if that's what they end up being. 

Here's my list, in no particular order; I do hope it won't be my last. 

• Get my taxes in order. I mean, that stuff is just a royal pain at the best of times, so I don't want to leave a complete mess for Marc to figure out. And, I'll need to get them together anyway and I probably won't feel like it when I'm recovering, so...I'll just do it.
• Love my kid. Spend as much time with her as possible doing ordinary and mundane and magical things. Have breakfast in bed; watch a movie; make a snowperson; throw the ball for Morris; walk in the country; create art; read stories; whisper in the darkness; look at the moon and stars; eat ice cream; laugh and hug and cry and snuggle and watch her sleep. I told her this morning that there is a chance something could go wrong during surgery. "And then I won't have a mom," she said, matter-of-factly. I'll still be your mom, I told her, I just won't be in my body anymore. And you'll be alright, kiddo. You'll have daddy and your aunts and uncles and cousins and friends. "I know mom. Do you need a hug?" This child. 
• Finalize my celebration of life plans. Hint: buy or polish up your most fun pair of rubber boots! 
• Create videos for my loved ones. Attempt to boil down all the life lessons I want to pass along to Chloe, and parenting and partnership thoughts for Marc, and gratitude for my family and extended family and friends. 
• Drink some good wine. 
• Give Morris belly rubs and soak up his doggy-goodness. 
• Sit in the sunlight and the moonlight and wonder at the magic and chaos and randomness of it all.
• Connect with Marc and say the things that need to be said. Reminisce about the amazing life we've built and shared. 
• Make soup. Red lentil coconut. Italian peasant. Miso ginger noodle with crisp winter vegetables. Then my family will be nourished by my love, and if I survive, I'll have lots of healthy food for recovery. Win win. 
• Listen to all my favourite songs. Like this. And this. And this. And this. And this. And this. 
• Deliver Chloe to her grandparents' to have a sleepover with her cousins. Hug and kiss her more. Never let go.
• Drop the dog off at the kennel.
• Drive to the hospital. 
• Count backwards from 10...9...8...

See you on the flipside!

With love and light,

Jilly