Late night gratitude notes

We had a wild last hurrah wild winter storm this weekend, so when I left to head downtown this morning I found myself trudging through more snow just when I thought the last of it had melted. After my morning dog-walking job I headed down to Young Folk & the Kettle Black for a tea date with a new friend who just got back from a whirlwind trip to Italy. One of the commitments I made to myself when I moved back to Prince Edward Island was that I would make extra effort to get to know new people, so today was my first effort in that direction! My friend Natasha told me the incredible story of her grandparents' escape from Nazi labour camps, and their journey across Europe and then migration to Canada. I am always blown away by the stories of people who by some miracle of life managed to survive those dark times and go on to create a new life full of so much joy in a new land.

This afternoon I migrated over to the public library to do some work for my social media clients. I am really excited about the work I am doing right now, and about the season ahead, and all the possibility that it brings to explore and grow and engage both with my clients and with their customers!

Later this afternoon I again migrated, this time to Timothy's Coffee Shop to brainstorm for a meeting I have with a new client tomorrow afternoon. Sitting in the window of Timothy's with the spring afternoon light flooding in over the page of my notebook and my hot cup of tea as I worked I felt intensely content to have some time to myself to reflect and come up with new ideas that I can share with my client tomorrow. It made me realize both how much I love my work, and how happy I am to be where I am doing what I am doing right now.

Later this afternoon I took Chloe, the dog I walk, for her second stroll of the day. Chloe is always full of so much joy. I do not know many other beings who express such complete and utter joy when they see me. Seeing her bounding across the living room floor and sliding to a halt at my feet every day makes me smile--every single time.

This evening I stopped by the apartment of a good friend, Sonjel. She and her husband recently moved back from Israel, and just moved into a new house this week. It is exciting to see how they are creating their new home -- the space they will inhabit for the next few years as they build a life on Prince Edward Island together. It is also exciting to see someone else doing what I hope to be doing too in the next two months....finding a new apartment or house for myself and creating a new home here on the island. Watching my friends settle into their new home I can feel my own yearning for a place to call my own rising steady from somewhere deep inside me.

This evening Sonjel and I walked to the Baha'i Centre for the Nineteen Day Feast together -- the gathering that marks the beginning of a new month. It was a lovely Feast with beautiful, uplifting readings, some great stories, and lovely social time after the formal portion of the evening. Sitting there listening to the voices of people who I love deeply recite such beautiful verses I felt something joyful surge in my chest. I feel so incredibly grateful to be part of a community that is so awesome. And I feel grateful to have a faith that is such a constant source of inspiration and joy.

I am home now, listening to the sound of wind outside and thinking about the remainder of the week, stretching out ahead of me. I cannot wait for the week ahead. For all the work and the moments of play with friends. But in this moment right now I cannot wait for sleep, and for dreams to carry me through the clear starry night.

How about you friends? What are you feeling grateful for today?

Where I hang my heart

Yesterday was Gratitude Monday. Unfortunately it was also the final hurrah for the virus that has been clinging to me for dear life for the last week, so I was not up for my regular blog entry.  Tonight, having enjoyed a delicious home-cooked supper and some gluten free chocolate chip cookies still hot and soft from the oven, I am in much better shape for blogging :-).

The home-cooked meal, the cookies, and the heavenly bed I am lying in as I type this entry are all thanks to my good friends Ann and Stephen, who are, at this point, really more family than friends. It has been dawning on me lately that someone, somewhere in my extended family must have done something very, very right at some point, the effects on which are for some reason unknown to me manifesting themselves in my life in the form of exceptionally good fortune in the friend department. I am certain that Ann and Stephen will be simply thrilled that I have chosen this photo of us to post. Fortunately I am equally certain that they will forgive me by tomorrow morning -- it isn't in their genes to be irritated long.

Since returning to PEI a number of my friends have had me sleeping in their homes so much that it really is a miracle that they haven't had a restraining order taken out against me yet. The friends in the photo above are two such people. Although I did, for the record, move into an apartment a few weeks ago, when I came down with the virus that I have been fighting for the past ten days, Ann and Stephen suggested that I come stay at their place for a few days until I was feeling better. Little did they know that I would still be here five days later. Still.... after five days of good food, a cozy bed, hot baths and lots of hot tea and sleep, I am finally feeling a lot better, and am planning on moving back to my current home tomorrow afternoon.

As I was walking back to Ann and Stephen's house yesterday afternoon that old saying "home is where you hang your heart" came to mind, and I realized that Prince Edward Island is home because of the exceptional people living here who have opened their hearts and homes to me. And then I realized that in reality exceptional people are not exceptional here at all. Since returning to the island everyone I meet has been exceptional. Strangers help me out or offer a kind word on a regular basis. The public bus driver worries when I am not on the bus. People give me discounts or do not charge me knowing that I am living on a tight budget until I find full time work. People offer rides when I am tired. Friends turn up to walk with me when I take the dog that I am currently walking as a job for her daily walk when they can tell I am not feeling well. Friends invite me over to supper. Friends help me get to the doctor. Someone offers me paid work for the day at the farmer's market. Friends invite me into their homes to give me the chance to rest and heal when I am sick. I am surrounded by so many exceptionally kind and loving people that it has become the norm.

Many people have asked me why I moved back to Prince Edward Island after having left two years ago. Many of my friends do not really understand how I could choose this seemingly remote island in the north Atlantic over the sunshine state of California. I love islands because they are small and tightly knit. Everyone knows everyone else. Because there are so few people, every single person is important to the health and well being of the community. This means a greater degree of responsibility  on the one hand, but also a greater sense of mutual support and recognition of interconnectedness on the other. It should be this way everywhere, and some day I am sure it will be. For my part I am just grateful to know what it means to belong to a place and community. To want to be an active, responsible, engaged member of this island family. To love and know, without having to ask, that the love is coming right back at me. And to be certain in my core that I have a place and a valuable role to play on this vast and infinitely beautiful planet earth.

Island girl

As I sit and write this entry, the wind is howling around the house outside. I arrived on Prince Edward Island last night a little after midnight. You know when you were so excited about something as a child that you could not *wait* to get to whatever it was that you were so revved up about? That would have been me when I climbed down the stairs from the plane out onto the island last night, and made like a mad woman for the doors into the arrival area. My dear friends Paul and Alanna were there waiting for me...they had stayed up to come get me from the airport. We bundled into their car and came back to their home for hot tea and a long chat that kept us up into the early hours of the morning.

Last night I lay in bed and watched the sky through the windows--lit up by the brightness of winter. The wind blew and blew, and I lay awake for a long time thinking to myself how good it was to hear the power of the winter wind again.

Eventually I fell asleep, and woke this morning, got ready, and headed out with my dear friend Alanna to get breakfast at a local greasy spoon that was jam-packed with islanders. It was the perfect way to start the day. Alanna is one of those friends who I can talk to for hours and hours, and we somehow never run out of things to share. We share stories, thoughts, ideas, fears, dreams, and most of all lots and lots of laughter. I have been laughing all day long. Our breakfast lasted three hours. When we finally dragged ourselves out of the booth we had taken up residence in, we decided to head out to the house she recently bought in the country to have tea. It was a migrating conversation if you will! We bundled up and headed outside into the icy wind, hobbling across the icy patches of the parking lot and jumping into the car, all giggles and joy. There is something about truly freezing weather that you just have to laugh about. Today it was -18 windchill, which, if you live in California, is bloody cold, but not nearly as cold as it can get here in the middle of winter.

We headed out to her home in the country. The road had ice and snow all along it, so we drove slowly, giddy with the excitement of the day and with our little escape from the reality of the world for a full day. We finally reached the turning for the house, turned in past the little mailbox, and drove up the dirt driveway to the house. The home she and her husband just bought is a rather old house, and has all the charm of a small, storybook house out in the country. It has a barn and a few tiny cottage-like buildings on the property, wood floors, lots of windows that look out across the fields to the west, and a wood-burning stove. Alanna immediately got to work stoking the stove, and got a fire going while I made tea. We brought two chairs in front of the stove and sat down to our steaming mugs of sweet almond tea. The sky through the windows that stretched along the whole western wall stretched out in bands of rose and violet. The earth was dark with shadow and dampness. Reeds outside the window rustled hollowly against the panes of glass. It was so peaceful. Alanna and I talked and laughed, sipped our tea, and warmed our hands by the heat of the fire. It was such a magical evening. As the last light was fading we decided it was time to head back to town to get some groceries and then go back to her house where I had promised to cook Alanna and Paul a hot, belly-filling supper.

I cooked pasta with mushroom red sauce sprinkled with cheese, and salad. It was a simple but hearty meal-- the kind of meal that is perfect on a cold night in December. The company was excellent. The wind howled outside. After supper I made tea, and we sat around the table getting caught up on work that each of us needed to get done. Now I am sitting here alone. Alanna and Paul have headed to bed. The wind is still howling. I find it calming in a familiar sort of way. The sound of an old friend whispering a poem I have heard many times--one that slows my heartbeat and assures me that everything--everything is exactly as it should be in this moment. Such is the song of the PEI wind.

I never thought I would say that I am happy to be home about this island, but that is how I feel. The muscle-relaxing peacefulness even in frigid temperatures, the laughter that has been playing upon my lips all day, and the sense that some sense of rightness has been restored in my world. I am home, and whether it is for an extended stay or a short visit, it feels really, really good, friends!

Wherever you are, I hope you are having a night rich with dreams, wrapped with the sounds of winter, and that joy is bubbling up plentiful in your chest!

My space

I started realizing this morning that I have a morning ritual of sorts that helps ease me into my day instead of entering it in a rushed, stressed manner, my head already filled with must dos and how will I evers? I start my day in the kitchen with my prayer book, some of the Baha'i writings to help focus my day on the spiritual, and my journal to do my morning pages, and jot down my "to do" list, making sure that I include at least one thing that I love to do on my list.

This process lasts anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour, depending on what I have going on in my day. It is almost always accompanied by a hot cup of water with lemon juice, to get my body moving.

Once I am done in the kitchen, I usually go open all the blinds to let the light flood into the living room. We live in a place that has a lot of very beautiful light, and it just feels wrong to me to not open the house to it from every angle, even if it does make the house warmer by afternoon.

Once the house is full of light, I head out back into the garden. I am not sure why I do this, really. I think it is because I like to be out in nature first thing in the morning. Feel the sunshine on my skin. Hear the birds. Feel connected. As usual, the sky is blue again today:

The back garden is looking inviting today. Unfortunately I have a doctor's appointment soon, so I will not be here to enjoy it until later this afternoon. Doesn't this just make you want to make yourself a cool drink and settle in with a book?

Once I had stretched up towards that blue sky, I headed back into my room to get to work. My room has the least light of any room in the house. It feels like a bit of a cave in ways. But it is my place to create, and I cherish it.

I am settled in to work now. I am working on writing and editing poems for a collection to send off to a few different publications. Getting even five or six poems together sounds small, but it is amazing how much effort it takes to get myself focused these days. It does, however, feel really good to be working towards something that has a deadline in October. And to be writing and editing my own poetry is sublime also.

I was thinking today about the space that I live and create in, which is why I wandered around snapping shots of my spaces. What do your spaces look like? If you would like to share, please post links to your images below, or jot me an email. If you write a blog entry about your creative spaces, post a link to your blog in the comments section, below.

I hope you all have a beautiful Wednesday! Here is me, in my space, wishing you a superb day of creativity in yours!

Reverb10, Day 22: No place like home

Prompt: Travel. How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year? 

The author of this prompt is Tara Hunt:
The Whuffie Factor: Using the Power of Social Networks to Build Your Business
@missrogue

"Let not a man glory in that he loves his country; let him rather glory in this, that he loves his kind."
~ Baha'u'llah ~

 I have traveled across the maps of geography this last year. Across snow-covered mountains and prairies and the wide open vistas of desert and agricultural valleys. But I have already said enough about these journeys. I have also embarked on an internal journey of discovery.

My internal journey is very personal, but it extends out into the world around me in very real ways. In trying to figure out who I am, I am also trying to better understand what kind of environment I operate best in; what kind of community do I want to be a part of? How do I contribute to creating the kind of community atmosphere that I do deeply want to be a part of? Until six years ago, I did not think much about my role in creating the kind of community that I am excited to be a part of. I have lived in amazing communities my whole life. I grew up on the island of Cyprus surrounded by a community of people who I consider to be family. People who shaped my values and taught me to love deeply, to serve with everything I have in me, to develop an intimate and powerful relationship with the land and sea that surrounded me. Cyprus taught me loyalty and justice, and that there are very few things I would not do for a friend. It also taught me the importance of a community. Of roots. Of family. Of a strong story. A sense of belonging.

When I went off to Prescott College in Arizona, I was immersed in a community that was supportive, creative, innovative, open-minded, adventurous, inspired, inspiring, energetic...there was a sense that anything was possible in this community. I learned that the natural world was an integral part of my community. I made friends with powerful, strong, graceful women who danced and did yoga and meditated and prayed and sang...women who went hiking and camping with me; women who were fearless and open-hearted and full of laughter and fun and hope and dreams. I met faculty who were humble, and who I respected, and still respect deeply -- who were willing to walk by my side as we learned together instead of looking down on me from the tower of their PhDs. I learned to question, to believe in myself, to explore beyond my comfort zone. My community was dedicated to serving humanity. We wanted to work together. We traveled, we started NGOs to help better integrate the Mexican immigrant community with the mainly white, Caucasian community, we fought for justice and human rights. My friends and faculty became another extension of my family -- my network for experiencing the world; the strong foundation from which I could confidently explore the world.

When I moved to Prince Edward Island, I was integrated into a closely knit, supportive community. PEI has the highest level of volunteerism in all of Canada. Someone is sick, people organize a fundraiser to help pay medical bills; someone needs a new house, people turn up to help build it; when you need food, you can buy it from a farmer who lives relatively nearby. The network is tight, and it is strong. Sometimes stronger than residents would like, but it does have its advantages. For the first number of years that I lived on PEI, I enjoyed the strong sense of community without really thinking much about what it means to be a member of such a community. Once I graduated with my M.A., and started working with a local farmer, I started realizing how much personal energy, love, commitment, time, money, patience, determination, and and selfless service goes into maintaining the community life that I had come to value so much. It is not a culture built upon the freedom and independence of the individual. It is all about connection and mutual support, and therefore sometimes disagreements, struggle, reconciliation, and adaptation. Being a small place, there is very little luxury for not getting along with one's neighbour. Of course this means that people are sometimes pleasant on the surface in order to keep the peace, when underneath they are boiling with anger, but I found that just as often, the close-proximity means that people honestly do learn to work alongside each other even thought their ethics and ideals may differ tremendously.

In addition to my larger community on PEI, I had the community that I built through my Baha'i activities. The Baha'i community did have its struggles, like any community. Sometimes we had personal disagreements, which would boil over, but we would confront them, move through the pain and hurt feelings, and find resolution. There was a level of commitment and willingness...an unspoken acknowledgment that we were invested in wading through the quicksand to get to solid ground. Unity was our goal, and we did not let our personal hurt feelings stop us from always striving for it. Call it idealistic. Call it impossible. It was how we lived, and it created an environment that was loving, supportive, empowering, and inspiring. I could not wait to get to community events. I felt it was an honour to be elected to, and serve on our local administrative body. My community was, and has remained, despite the vast distance separating us now, my immediate family.

Living on PEI helped me to learn that being part of a community like I have just described is not easy. I was hurt many times, frustrated many times, angered many times. But I learned to stay put and grow through these times. When I was insulted; when my feelings were hurt; when I did something that hurt someone else's feelings or angered someone -- I did not walk out of the room and retreat into myself. I stayed right there, swallowed my pride and my hurt, and I grew through it with whoever I was having the interaction with. It was very hard, and sometimes we did not succeed in reconciling our differences on the first try, but we kept trying. I kept trying. I learned that I valued the unity of my community over needing to being right every time. I realized that a community is a reflection of the energy that each member puts into it. Things were not perfect, but I learned that if I remained open and willing to adjusting my perspective -- if I knew deep down that whoever I was experiencing difficulty with was someone who I loved and respected, and who loved and respected me -- that we would get through this and that our community would be stronger as a result. I learned all of this from experiencing it. It was a gift to be a member of a community like this, but it was also a responsibility.

Having moved to a new community, I am having to learn to negotiate new community dynamics. When I first arrived, and for many months after arriving, I simply did not engage with my community. I was critical of the dynamics at play, and did not want to engage with them. As a result, I have been living here for many months now, and I still do not feel that I am a part of a supportive, engaging community. I have been reflecting on this deeply lately. I realize that all communities are different. I am living in a much larger city, so relationships are going to be influenced by the cultural and geographic circumstances that we are living in. The weather here is much milder, so people do not have to band together to get through tough winters. People earn relatively good salaries, so they do not have to support each other as much to make sure that everyone has food on the table, or that medical bills get paid. But I still have neighbours. I still have a community whose energy is influenced by what its individual members are willing to put into it. I still have a role that I can choose to put all of my heart, or only part of my heart, into. If I want to live in a community that is happy and exciting and supportive, I have a role to play in creating such a community. I have a choice about what I surround myself with, and that choice is not just whether I stay or leave. It is also about how I choose to engage with the community that I happen to be in while I am here, however long that might me.

Yes, I have traveled this year. But some of the most important journeys seem to be taking place when I stop moving so much. When I put down some roots. And when I start contributing to building the kinds of relationships with the people who surround me that inspire and energize me. When I start proactively contributing to creating a community that feels like home around me.