Heidi Beth

Hi Friends,

I thought now would be a good time to share family news. I figure, why wait for a Holiday when every day is potentially special and relevant.

On Saturday, D, eleven, learned how to finger knit. Since then he can usually be seen with a trail of multicolored yarn stretched out behind him, his head tilted to one side as he concentrates on the work of making his weave tighter or looser. He has his sights set on learning to knit with needles and eventually making scarves for everyone he knows.

M, seven, has developed a surprising and wonderful sense of humor, his wit delivered just so. He is also best friends with my eighteen year old cat who he pets and tends to with the utmost gentleness.

It’s difficult to get a pic of them together as they are both in motion between being pet and petting – Suffice it to say, she’s a more contented cat for his affections

In June, we moved into a 27 foot travel trailer, a complete home. I’ve even baked several batches of cookies and a few cakes since we arrived at the campgrounds. In a few days we are planning on rolling to Texas.

A third term of the Children’s Theater Company is in full swing. I’ve been privileged to teach the virtues class and generally be a part of things the last two Saturdays. Through this I have made three new friends, two little girls, M who is eight, T who is five, and their mother S. It was S who taught D to knit last weekend. During Appreciations right after rehearsal, M looked over at me and said in the most earnest and kind tone, “Heidi, We will really miss you when you move.” (to be so surrounded by love is a true gift – yes, I’m crying just remembering her sweet face)

Our family has officially entered the twenty-first century. We enjoyed our first Skype call with our family who moved to China over the summer. What uproarious laughter across continents! Marcus, the very alive hand puppet got to visit too, at the request of my youngest niece. Marcus just could not figure out how his friends had shrunk enough to fit in that little computer screen. Later that night, D and M were able to help Marcus understand about moving pictures.

My dad has been doing well. He was around the night of the Skype call and was truly awed and delighted. He has been helping around the house, focusing on keeping the dishes washed, litter clean, and garbage taken out. He has been warmed at the outpouring of love he and my mom have received in the last few days.

He just wishes the circumstances were different. My mom’s cancer seems to have returned, after almost five years of being cancer-free. She had a biopsy this morning, but her doctor is certain enough of what he sees on the scan that he has cleared space for his medical team to act fast and get her started with treatment right away. I guess between the pictures available to him, her pain levels, and the fact that she lost weight recently, he is not willing to wait around and see.

That play she wrote back in 1976, the one she and her friend have turned into a musical for the Theater Company to perform this term, is really a message to help the audience see that happiness is a choice. “If you’re not happy in this day, for what other day do you wait?” Now my mom gets to do her best to live the truth of her play’s message. God, Please help her.

My mom and B, co-producers of the Theater Company, enjoying the chaos before fireworks on July 4th

I’m not yet sure how I feel. Sad of course, but there’s so much to do between our own preparations for travel, helping my mom line up all the support her and my dad will need, and the nuts and bolts of daily life that keep needing to be tended; meal preparation, cleaning, laundry – at both residences. I feel tender, that I must move carefully in the world today, so that I may honor the immense new reality we are faced with, regardless of the ultimate outcome.

When I think of writing in letters to friends who want to be informed, “She’s in good spirits,” because my mom truly is, I get an image of her as helpless physically, smiling out at her loved ones from a neatly-made-up bed. But this is not the reality. She is driving, attending rehearsals, meetings, running minimal errands, and keeping up with concerned and loving friends on the computer, cell phone, and in person. She has re-dedicated herself to making nutrition a top priority for the best chance of healing, and her grandsons can often be found being rambunctious, creative, loud, and wonderful right near her comfy chair.

Always an interesting creation or conversation when these kiddos are in the room

Other than moving slowly, adjusting to the positive and negative effects of pain medication, and being in constant pain at some level, things are pretty much the same, except that everything is different.

“Be present” is an immediate and urgent message now. It is not a nice sentiment, good advice to be worked toward, or a thing to meditate on idly. It is what we are doing involuntarily, prompted by all our love for my mother rushing forward within each of us.

On a physical level, I now understand that life is lived in an ocean of love.

We appreciate all prayers for healing for my mom and strength for my dad.

Sincerely,

Our Family

While shopping at Target a few nights ago, my son and I passed the same couple every few minutes, and each time we saw them I was moved nearly to tears. I’m writing today to try and sort out my intense reaction.

The man’s appearance didn’t make much of an impression, so I took few mental notes: thick, straight, brown hair, pale skin, tallish, thin, t-shirt and jeans. He looked happy, but mostly he looked at the young woman beside him. This woman’s external looks were similar to and as ordinary as his: long, curly, light brown hair half way down her back, pulled away from her face with a simple headband, pale skin, she was maybe 5ft 3in in height, wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

By “common” standards, they were both average. Neither one had big beautiful eyes or long lashes, or a face that could launch even one ship. Yet she positively radiated, sort of bounced, floated with every step, a smile like a rainbow playing on her lips seemingly continually, and the way her eyes danced was magic.

I’m inclined to stare at people regardless of their looks or manner or whether their appearance happens to momentarily enchant me (which is not normally the case). I like people. I like to know their stories, fears, hopes, ideas, insights. When I’m out and about, I tend to hold my gaze too long, but really, not long enough if we haven’t said “Hello,” or at least acknowledged each other. Human beings are mysteriously amazing and to simply walk by someone without noticing them is impossible for me. I do exercise wisdom. If I get a creepy vibe from someone, I say a little prayer as I walk past and concentrate on my own thoughts and not their unique potential for beauty. Here’s hoping I have a working radar.

Anyway, this woman absolutely captivated me. I wanted to ask her if we’d met before because I got the feeling that maybe we had, or maybe we should, though most likely I met her in a dream, as I have first encountered so many friends in the black night of my soul’s wandering. But in that moment I was too shy. This hesitance to speak up comes and goes. That evening it was dominant, so I simply appreciated her from afar, scrolling time-past to see if I could locate her in a waking memory. Then they were gone, and my focus turned back to shopping.

Hours later she came to my mind. Again, I went over her purely physical looks. No, nothing noteworthy. Then I was struck by a thought that I still have not been able to fully grasp. That woman probably looks in the mirror and sees average looking back at her or maybe she even dislikes her looks. Not uncommon. Her beauty is so evident, but it emanates from something she will likely never see in a looking glass. Surely she is aware that her company is appreciated, and she no doubt attracts men easily, but there is also a good chance that she compares herself to models and actresses without even knowing it. I’d be happy to be mistaken on this point.

What saddens me is this – So many men and women are average or even unattractive when the criteria is strictly physical (and largely dictated by the media). And this strictly physical face is what meets each of us in the mirror every morning. Unless we have an animated conversation with ourselves right there over a toothpaste-encrusted sink, we’ll likely miss the light in our own eyes, and may even forget it is the larger part of what others witness. We’ll miss the beauty of our own smile in action and the particular way our mouth moves when we talk. We can’t see how well we reflect our friend’s joys and sorrows back to them, or how much we love them. Basically, we cannot see our own beauty, because beauty is a soul in motion, being alive out in the world.

How many of us trust this to be true and give up judging our appearance based on factors that have little or no actual weight in the true balance? I’m not suggesting we should all throw in the towel and forget about being careful to present our physical selves trimmed, made up, well dressed, or whatever one thinks of as important (personally I pluck my eyebrows and try to keep my unruly hair looking somewhat orderly). Rather I’m thinking how lovely it could be if we each knew that our beauty really does emanate from the inside out. Period.

I’ve had more thoughts while meditating on my strong reaction to this woman’s looks, but they are personal. I’ve been reflecting on my own twenty-something days, and how people reacted to me. I begin to wonder if I was, in a way, looking in the mirror when I watched her bounce around Target. To explain why would be to dive into waters I am not ready to explore on paper as there is a lot of pain in that river. I expect I’ll be coming back to this brief non-encounter often, and that within it are many, many gifts.

image found here

I’ve heard people say debting and spending are not real addictions.

If the debtor believes someone, somewhere will take care of her no matter what she chooses to do with her money, even after every living room she has access to has had her bedding in it for weeks at a time while she’s getting back on her feet… again…

If the spender believes lunch out and a big tip are no big deal, even when she has no bank account, a listing in check systems and a job that doesn’t cover living expenses…

If the debtor repeatedly fails to consider utility bills as worthy of consideration (since they’re too damn high anyway) and lets them pile up, moving out before the power company cuts her off…

If the spender smokes two pack of Newports a day, usually at a cafe, huddled over a sanity saving notebook madly writing first thoughts, periodically sipping from a large latte even though she has no food in the fridge, a five in her pocket and doesn’t work for two more days…

If the debtor alienates yet another well meaning friend who failed to see the evidence until $300 of their kind cash has been squandered by the recipient with barely a “Thank you” which was mumbled with a tint of entitlement… and never spoken of again…

If the spender feels anxious with a $100 tip day, thinking only of what she can do with that money today even though yesterday’s obligations are piling up in the closet and tomorrow (if she were to look ahead, but she won’t), looks like a graveyard of buried intentions…

If the debtor can’t (won’t?) hold a job or keep a suitable place to live more than three months at a time even though no one would show up to help her move anymore, though she won’t ask, too proud of her ability to be independent (ironically)…

If the spender one day finds herself with no food, no money, no place to call home save her mother’s living room and no job prospects (local temp agencies no longer trust her to stay on more than a few weeks so have stopped calling back)…

Spending and debting are an addiction, capable of ruining her life.

It’s not that she lacks initiative, intelligence, drive, desire to succeed. Wherever she lives, the rooms are clean due to her effort. Wherever she works, customers appreciate her company and attentiveness (until she begins to crumble, and she always does eventually). She writes nearly every day and her work is appreciated by a wide audience. She even co-produced and hosted two well attended open mics during a period of relative (though not sustainable) stability.

She doesn’t even know what’s going on or that there’s really a problem. Not until she asks for help from a woman who has been where she finds herself. Not until she has to leave the table where her sickening financial numbers (what a pitiful sight they were) are spread out and raked over with brutal honesty, and head for the bathroom again and again when the need to vomit colors everything.

Hanging on for dear life, I walked in to the rooms of DA(Debtors Anonymous). For a while I didn’t speak beyond, “Hi, my name is Heidi, I’m (long pause) a compulsive debtor and spender.” I looked at the swan like neck of a beautiful fellow traveler as she spoke, her words allowing the dawn of my understanding to break over the horizon of hope. For a while, I floated to a safe and fetal space during the opening readings. Eventually I spoke, a river of truth (finally) pouring from my being. That first year, from my wooden seat where I looked out the window as I listened to miracles, setbacks, pain and relief, I was aware of the beauty of seasons changing for the first time in ages.

That was 13 years ago.

At one of my early meetings, I was guided through writing a vision for my life as I would want it to be if time and money were not issues. I was asked to dream big, not hold back. I was given permission to look beyond the chaos around me to a time when I might be wholly engaged in a daily life built on a solid foundation (be what? but I trusted and wrote).

Between then and now, as I neared the repayment of another debt or experienced any kind of prosperity, I fumbled and sank into old patterns (taking my new family into the madness with me) until I learned to slow down, hold onto the painful truth that I’m an addict and so take careful steps to take care of myself (gently and patiently) during these violent inner struggles to keep with this unfamiliar path of solvency and not give in to the security blanket of dysfunction I’m comfortable with.

Today, when my turn comes to introduce myself, I say (with complete honesty and sometimes tears),

“Hi, my name is Heidi. I’m a gratefully recovering debtor and spender, living my vision today.”

This is my story.  Each persons story is different.  In some cases,  millions of dollars are involved and in others, just a few thousand.  It’s not about the money.  It’s about using money or lack of it as a drug. This is different from simply having financial challenges.  To give you a concrete example, each time I mailed in a final payment on a debt, my heart raced, I sweat and I had to focus on regulating my breathing.  Sometimes it took days for my reaction to fade.  Giving up my pacifier was beyond frightening and extremely physical.

For anyone who’s interested in learning more, here’s a link to Debtors Anonymous.

I’m re-posting this piece in honor of another life dream becoming a reality. I was at my first Debtors Anonymous Vision’s Workshop when I wrote down my desire to live full-time in an RV. Today I’m writing from a pull out couch in our 27ft x 8ft home on wheels. If someone told me it would take fourteen years, I might have given up, content to simply hope that with the help of my Higher Power, I might one day be able to pay my rent on time consistently, hold a job for more than three months, and not be consumed with the desire and determination to destroy any stability I may manage to create. Now I see fourteen years as the blink of an eye.

Dear Love of My Life,

You already know how it goes. This is where I fall apart, just as the reality of our efforts begins to bear fruit.

I’m all warrior-like and together in the planning stages and in the beginning steps. I’m a powerhouse through the body of a challenge. I only barely falter as we wind down to the last bits, and then, just as we’re about to cross the finish line…

I sit right down on the road, cross my legs, rest my head in my hands and begin to weep, moaning pathetically, “I can’t, I just… can’t…. go on. What were we thinking?” Then, slowly, once I’ve convinced myself of the validity of my tear-filled testimony, I rise, turn back the way we came, and saunter away, content to quit, give up, remain consistent with a past that threatens to define me (quitter) – ashamed but emotionally safe, for a while.

NOT THIS TIME!

I’m a wobbly, anxious mess, unable to see how we’ll ever tear across the long white tape of victory (staying the course), how we’ll figure out what to do with a few not-even-important things I’m placing too much value on – Argh! How do inatimate objects gain inordinate value! – letting my mind wander to the moment I will hand over our house keys to another family.

I’m walking forward, side by side with my life long mate, with our children, hoping someone will catch me if I falter or wait nearby if I need to lean against a lamp post and catch my breath.

To each his own demons, overwhelming situations, struggles. For me, today, it is being willing to say yes when I want to run away, allowing the finishing touches of our Major Life Changing Plans to be carried through.

I can do this honey. Just hold my hand.

Love,

Your Determined Dear

Windows shades drawn around reverent space
I could dwell here forever
alone, silent
geese fly overhead, I hear the familiar call
picture their perfect V formation

In shadow mind, I wonder when the spell will break
and in that small crack, I see what must be done
as the day unfolds
I notice the rise and fall of my chest quicken
then retreat back into quiet safety

In this perfect womb, I am content to be no one
to be soft music, a few words laid down
inhale, exhale
spirit, yes
a dancing opal mist
within a circle of light

image found here