Shhhh, It's Me... Strength!!

Several days ago someone said to me "you know, that little girl thing that you do!? VERY unattractive!" OUCH!!! And then I thought back a few weeks to a conversation I had with another friend wherein I was telling him that I just felt that my self-esteem had plummeted into the basement and I didn't know if I could regain my footing. He looked at me a little quizzically and said "you shouldn't feel like that!" Which, if i can digress for a moment is EXACTLY what a man says when he doesn't "get" you. But I have to say, those two things really made me think. What has been going on with me? Well, it's true that life has had more than its share of regular stresses lately, but HEY, I'm good at those, aren't I?

I began to try to think logically about the nature of my current insecurities. I was looking for the last time I felt tethered to something that I truly believed in and the memory of that was vague, but I could almost make out the shape floating in the fog of the past few months. Little by little, I had begun to dim my own light (in direct contradiction to Marianne Williamson's sage advice). Only the problem is that it didn't FEEL like I was dimming my light. It seemed that I was trying as hard as I could to hide the fact that in order to have self-esteem, you most certainly had to have some measurable dose of confidence.

One of the fashion gods -- maybe Coco Chanel or Armani -- has suggested that the most important accessory you can put on is Confidence. The problem with this for me, is that in my family of origin confidence was the slightly less offensive cousin of conceit and both were to be avoided at all cost. I've gone through life trying to substitute other qualities for that ever elusive confidence. For many years I have been fairly successful with compassion and empathy, and also struggled with the miserable outcomes of rescuing and hostage-taking, but true confidence has not been easy to find.

So I went back to the "X" that typically marks the spot for me -- fables, childrens' stories and metaphors. I, of course, started with The Wizard of Oz, which always has some rich tidbit for me, but then, as I usually do, I got sidetracked and decided to look at the tarot cards. And there it was the strength card. The traditional depiction of Strength in the tarot is that of a monk draped in a white robe leaning over a full grown lion and gently petting his beautiful mane. The lion is sitting at peace with the monk. And then immediately I got a vision of the ruby red slippers.

Now, you might think these two images have nothing to do with one another, but for me --- BRILLIANCE!! I realized that for months I have been trying to mimic strength or confidence as I saw it demonstrated by others. I had been wildly attracted to genuine confidence lately, but in the face of that, I recess deeply into oblivion because I recognize that the person exuding confidence NEEDS to feel confident and I just don't want to get in the way of that. It is another form of self-denial for me. My first desire is to make sure that you are feeling ok and I can feel ok later. But here's the thing --- when the universe gives you ruby red, jewel encrusted, 5" stilettos, you had better WEAR them. And I don't mean put a big hemline over them so that only the tips show, I mean I need to build my outfits around the shoes. The ruby red slippers that the Universe has bestowed upon me is quiet, gentle strength. I KNOW I have it.

Astrologically, I'm a textbook Pisces, which means that my personal credo is "Water fixes everything ... tears, a bath or the sea." That was the good news when I started to sort through the events and feelings of the past months. My fluid self IS strong, and brave, and when I lean into that I am genuinely confident. Trying to be someone else's version of confident was the emotional equivalent of competing in a curling match in a pair of baseball cleats. I am soft, but also insistent on moving forward. When circumstances try to constrain me I'm likely to swell over until I can be set free to roam again.

So this week I ran back to my Ruby Red Stilettos, because when I'm in my own shoes the truth that the Universe chose ME for the job of being ME is impossible to deny... and that, my friends, is Confidence a'la Me!!

Wait?! Did I Get It Wrong?

I don't think I actually have ANYTHING left from the time that I was six years old, except maybe a few core beliefs. Hmmmmmm. A couple of new wounds to my tender heart have caused me to back up and take stock of some of the things that "I know for sure." Sounds easy, doesn't it? Just look at the belief, try it on (like an ancient pair of spectator pumps), shine it up a bit and put it back into the rotation as a "classic." The problem is, that some of my beliefs are permanently outdated.

Being raised in very Catholic surroundings, I realize today that there was barely any discernable difference between the messages that I got from my parents, the clergy and/or God. In fact, I first came into contact with what I call "The Voice," when I was very young -- maybe 4 or 6. What I'm sure I heard was "do everything for everyone else and ask for nothing for yourself." Ok -- not that fair, but after all, it was The Voice, so what real choice did I have? Comply or be smited. I know that I also grew up with the idea that there was NEVER going to be enough. In particular, love. Never enough love.

Maybe, just maybe, these two thoughts collided in the stratosphere and I adopted the idea that there would simply never be enough love for ME. Years have passed and I have been willing to accept that in fact there is always enough. Love feeds on itself and creates more of the same. Love inhabits and multiplies through all who travel in faith, in service, in wonderment, and in quandry. One of my mentors once said "love is not a pie" and another declared "there's enough 'like' for everyone." What I stayed with was that none of it was earmarked for me. Clearly, the current lifetime that I had assumed here was to be one of great sacrifice. I have to say here, that I became secretly enamored with the idea that I would be the poster child for the "unloved." Somehow, maybe being specifically "unloved" made me more loveable. If not more loveable, then most certainly I was on the right path to redemption and the ultimate earning of love. But love, as it turns out, is the original renewable resource.

Here is the spiritual closet cleaning, then. What if The Divine really called on me at a very young age to be a bearer of love to those who could not hear it through traditional sources? What if my special calling in this life was to hear those who cried out in ways that were not scooped up easily. Because, truly, as I review my life, those have been some of the most sacred experiences in my life. I never feel more myself than when I am mirroring for an injured soul that amazing part of them that is obscured by their current pain and confusion. I always feel absolutely CERTAIN that I am right about their magnificence and I am equally sure in those tender moments that the clarity I see is not of my making or even of my uncovering, but rather I have been given a VIP pass to one of God's most precious creatures. And in that moment, I too, feel love and affirmation and comfort.

So many people want to talk to me of what "little cathy" might need. I rebuff such musings given the fact that she has seemingly been at the root of all this spiritual whining for all these years. In this moment, though, I am going to publicly acknowledge her. I have only a glimpse of her. She is wide-eyed, wispy haired and spinning fast enough to feel her pink cotton skirt float gently with her rotations. She has tipped her head back to feel the full warmth of the sun on her face and she is certain that the music playing is hers and hers alone. As she tilts her head back to center and opens her eyes, it is me again, but i can feel that her little spirit is settling a little deeper in my soul. Along with her is the very palpable gift of having some insight into how to love individuals in his or her own language.

One of my favorite quotes as a teenager was "If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space." As my life has unfolded that quote started to mean whatever you do don't take up too much space. And today I humbly concede that the space that has been assigned to me will go unattended if I do not take it up. Little Cathy has trundled off to find more fields in which to twirl and I am here with the magical, mystical Divine, decoding my own personal rosetta stone and fine tuning my spiritual ear to The Voice.

A writer writes, right?

So this whole little experiment has been to see or rather explore the bounds of my personal creativity. To determine what, how and where I would like to share myself with the world, or at least my little part of it. The woman who encouraged me in this direction (a blog IS the baby step in this instance) said to figure out WHY you are pulled to this. She said that it would be important to know WHY so that when obstacles came, it would be easy to stay the course. I politely acknowledged what she had to say. After all, it certainly sounds wise. But to tell the truth, I thought, "Really? Think about WHY you want to write? A writer writes, right? And what could possibly deter a writer from writing, except maybe sloth or poor time management."

As with most things, the Universe is always ready with an answer. I had been waiting for a very long time to tell the story of my beloved Frankie. Such a remarkable experience in my life to have been blessed with this amazing animal when it was never on my radar in the first place. So -- I did just that -- wrote the tender love story of my heart.

This must be the IT, I thought. The message that I will share with other people: The way to develop and use unconditional love to make our lives more meaningful.

I have learned from my pets that the gift of unconditional love is not necessarily evident to those who receive it, but it is completely life changing to us when we give it. People have shared for years that they received unconditional love from their pets. That was not really my experience. My sweet girl came to me pretty aloof. I would catch the occasional connection in her eyes, but mostly she kept to herself. She started out very compliant and as I had never been a pet owner, I thought that this was how it would always be. One day, though, after she got her footing in our family, I came home to what can only be described as a scene from a Disney movie gone bad. The down cushion from one of our "special" chairs had been torn to shreds. Down feathers were EVERYWHERE and even as the remnants of the good chair were poofing from her mouth, she looked at me with innocent eyes that said "Mama, where have you been? You should have seen what happened here!" I was devastated. I felt so personally injured and wondered how she could do this "to" me? I had learned so little about how to have a long term relationship with an animal and I was left confused, frustrated and desperate. What I did know was that everything had been cemented between the two of us with a leash and a pair of running shoes so that's what we did. I put on my shoes, pulled my hair back, put Frankie on her pink lead and left the house sobbing. I walked and cried and talked. She was completely unaffected. I wanted with ever fiber of my being to "understand" why she had done this. As I walked and cried and talked, I got more and more angry. As we came around another corner, I was certain that there was some drastic outcome for the chair incident and was working on what to tell my husband, what I was going to be willing to accept and actually starting to think that he might not want to keep her in our family. Only to hear a woman screaming at and wailing on her dog. The tears of anger quickly gave way to complete and total acceptance. I slipped down to the nearest curb, wrapped my arms around my pup and sobbed. I knew in that moment that she was not going anywhere -- down cushions be damned.

I had, for a most dramatic moment in my life come into acceptance and unconditional love of another living being. And nothing that has ever happened since has changed the way I feel about my girl. Even two weeks ago when the "hunter" instinct in her took over and a small fluffy neighborhood pet was the unfortunate victim.

What it has done, however, is change the way I see myself. I am back to needing to define or identify the WHY. I had such lofty thoughts about why and how I would begin to craft and share a "message." It was intended to be a message of hope and comfort and now I am seeing that the only way I can possibly do that is to take in all these lessons that come to me from the Universe. I am struck today by the amount of grace it takes to heal a broken or wounded heart. The wonderous thing for me is that Grace really is an unlimited resource available to each of us simply by receiving.

Throughout the past two weeks as I have struggled with my family to come to terms with a truly awful thing, my message today is that this spiritual quest did not arrive on the angel wings I expected, but in a very Chop Wood, Carry Water way. By being present here and now, I feel aligned with a much greater global suffering and am humbled by the miraculous way this suffering is healing my soul. Amen.

She Belongs to Me, and I to Her

In honor of my friend, Simone, who is picking up her newly adopted pup, Winnie, this week I thought I would take this opportunity to share my story.

The Beatles have a song “I’ve Just Seen a Face,” and I can’t think of a more succinct description of my little girl. Her name is Frankie and our story is still unfolding, but first I need take you back. Suffice it to say that the story my husband and I settled on was that we just lived a lifestyle that was not conducive to pets. So for more than 26 years that we shared a home we simply did not have pets. I would even go so far as to say that we were officially NOT animal people. Now let me say that in my travels I had experienced many, many occasions where I could literally SEE the connection between my friends and their pets. I watched and felt the connection with the same curiosity that I watch a classically trained ballerina. Beautiful, but not something that I would EVER experience.

I have sat with friends in deep grief over the loss of their furry friends. I have cried with them. Not because I mourned the loss but because my friends were in such palpable grief. I would listen with a detached distance as friends compared pet stories, but always knew it was not something that was personal to me, nor did I ever think it would be.

Fast forward to a Tuesday night in December of 2006. My friend has always taken up the slack that I left in not being an animal person. Always a menagerie of horses, dogs, birds and the occasional hamster (I think). It’s a regular stop in my weekly calendar – Tuesday evenings with the girls. We go to the same house every week and I’m sure I heard “the story,” or at least parts of it. She had yet another dog which she had “rescued” from a home that could no longer handle her. She came with a name, Frankie, a persistent ear infection and, as I later found out, some definite personality “issues.” It’s almost Christmas, the weather is ugly and my spirit is waning. In fact, it has been months since I have been able to do anything from a place of joy. I feel as though I am in utter despair. I’m sitting at the dining table which has been our regular meeting spot. I maintain the same consistent relationships and over time you can hide from anyone, even yourself. I was having trouble getting off the couch or out of bed if I wasn’t actually required to be somewhere – like work. So it was in this space, on this otherwise non-descript Tuesday evening that SHE appeared. This beautiful creature ran through the house, straight to my knee, placed her beautiful two-toned muzzle on my knee, looked at me with her caramel-colored eyes and literally unlocked a new wing of my heart. Now, no one who knew me then would have described me as a Grinch, but I actually felt my heart change. I left that house that night – without saying a word – a changed woman. I was genuinely awe-struck and when I woke the next morning the only thing I could think was “how am I going to get that dog.” The story about how I negotiated bringing this creature is much more a story about our marriage than about her, so I’ll save that for another time.

“I’ve Just Seen A Face”
By: The Beatles

I've just seen a face,
I can't forget the time or place
Where we just met.
She's just the girl for me
And want all the world to see
We’ve met …

I knew NOTHING about being a dog mom. We brought home this amazing creature and she jumpstarted a life that felt like it was circling the drain. All I really knew (or had been told) was that she NEEDED exercise. Now, the truth is that I should have been doing this all along, but I could not get off the couch to save my life. For Frankie, though, ANYTHING. We started walking. In fact, I’m convinced that I became a local Forrest Gump. We walked, we went to behavior classes (turns out that was for me, too), and I learned about my girl. If you’re still with me, I’ll say it right out loud – Frankie Saved My Life. From the day that I met her, up to and including today, a wing of my heart has been unlocked and continues to grow that did not exist in me BF (Before Frankie). You will come to know more about me because of her, but for today I will simply close with profound love and deep gratitude for My Girl.

Into Little Pieces

Sometimes, when life feels a little too big for me to handle, I start to think about who will play me in the movie of my life. I wonder in great detail. Of course, all the actresses that originally came to mind when I first started to engage in this little fantasy many years ago were not quite right. They were too, too. I'll tell you who I've decided on later. First let me tell you who it's not. It's most certainly not Katharine Hepburn (too confident), or Audrey Hepburn for that matter (too dainty). It's not Emma Thompson (too English) or Catherine Deneuve (too French).

You are probably thinking – Really, Cath? You need a Hepburn or a Deneuve? But here’s the thing, and it’s a pretty big thing, she has to be able to really sell the profound gratitude I have for one of my most precious gifts. The gift of a broken heart. I know, cue the violins, but truthfully, I would not be the woman I am without it. For years, I felt like I was holding my breath trying NOT to get a broken heart. But that gave me only partial human experiences.

I could start to feel the cracks under the surface. Love that I gave needing to have something in return, so disappointment. The heartache and then a quick re-marshalling of my resources so that I could steel my heart before the actual break happened. And then multiple attempts to lean back in, but only far enough to place stress on an ever weakening heart center. Ultimately, it happened. There was a moment, or a person or some combination that I could no longer resist. Maybe I got older, maybe I just got softer or maybe my heart finally burst into a million pieces because it was actually too hard or possibly too small. I like to think that the little cracks along the way were the spaces where the spark of the Divine started to leak in. What I know today is that I will never go back to loving half way, even though loving wholly means that my broken heart will never truly be mended again. I like to think of the pieces of my broken heart as sparkling pieces of fairy dust that somehow get scattered easily as I move through this life. I hope that as I lean all the way into my life and the people whose paths are crossed with mine, that those microscopic pieces of my broken heart are actually dusting each and every interaction. I hope that people walk away and feel differently because the Divine has been planted in a fertile space like the dandelion snowflakes on a warm breezy spring day.

Yes, in the movie of my life, the fantastic Susan Sarandon will have to convey with a wink or a smile or a well-placed tear that my life is its richest BECAUSE of my broken heart.

Grace On Demand

This weekend I saw the play "33 Variations." Knew nothing about it heading over to the Ahmanson on a beautiful Los Angeles Saturday afternoon, but open and excited to be spending the day with my dear friend, Chris. Funny little side note about my friend Chris. Her last name starts with the letter "T," so frequently she appears in lists as ChrisT -- Love That!! So this play gets sort of a slow start, but finishes big and when I say big I mean that three days later I'm still discovering what I liked about it. Today, it seems that the theme that has stayed with me is that no matter what hypothesis begins my day, I will end up where I am meant to be.

Today I will publish this, my first public blog!! I have tossed e-mails back and forth with my friends and I love the feelings that come from lobbing in a few well placed loving thoughts to those in need. But this idea of publishing the random thoughts of an angel who is traversing rather clumsily across this expansive life is a whole new idea for me. I revel in the thoughts and feelings of others and feel, at least today, as though I am willing to have others know me just a little better. So this is me -- constantly trying to adjust the crooked halo and wondering where the bluetooth attachment is so that I can receive the messages that I'm sure must be coming from the Divine while I'm experiencing cosmic dropped calls.

I heard myself saying to someone today that I believe that the Divine sort of picks up the slack for those who simply do not have the resources for the task at hand. This makes me wonder where I am ill-equipped and where I simply need to ask for Grace. Contrary to the title of this particular posting, I do not actually believe that Grace is something to be demanded, but rather something which is simply available for the asking and receiving by the much needed, overly tired, dragged too long through the mud, angel with a slightly crooked halo and cosmic hearing that needs a little fine tuning. This weekend someone used the term "dear ones" to describe everyone in a particular room. Today is one of those days where I will simply, as one of the divine dear ones, humbly request and gratefull receive just a smidgen of Grace.