Create Your Own Adventure

A few weeks ago I had a weekend free of obligations. No chores, no visits with friends, no meet-up with like-minded writers – simply me and my space. My first reaction was to strip down naked and run around my fledgling apartment bellowing, “WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” The sense of expanding freedom lifted my spirits to where I wanted to flame on and SOAR.

But soar where? Where would I go? What would I do?

Quickly my sense of freedom morphed into a daunting sense of dread. I had to do something, right? I couldn’t have a day free and simply not accomplish anything. Productivity was in order! I needed to embrace that Effort Engine and chug-chug-choo-choo to something wonderful or I’d feel guilty!

Whoa there, Nelly. Who said it had to be productive? Why not just get your ass out of the house?

So I did. For one day I pretended my life was one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books. Want to explore that cave — turn to page 23. Say yes to the handsome man offering you coffee — turn to page 17. Save the dragon from the army horde — turn to page 5. I changed my perspective from Getting Shit Done, to “How many cool experiences can I rack up today?”

I did some journal writing at my favourite coffee shop. I treated myself to an awesome lunch of awesomeness (with bacon!). I walked spontaneously into a salon where they were able to fit me in for a much needed hair cut and then I walked out thirty minutes later lighter on my feet. I knitted in public. When the day was slowly drawing to a close, I found myself at the neighborhood pub having a pint and a devilish dessert (regardless of the fact I didn’t finish my dinner. What would mother think??). Jotting some last thoughts in my journal, a bell went off in my head.

*Ding!*

“Create your own adventure,” I wrote, “don’t wait for someone to offer you one.”

How amazingly simple. So simple, we tend to forget it in this age of RIGHT THE FUCK NOW and TWEET ALL THE THINGS and FB POKE ALL THE FRIENDS. The best way to connect to the World is to disconnect. I had conversations with real people in real reality. I interacted. I watched birds bouncing around for muffin crumbs. I laughed with a nearby toddler. I smiled at the sun. I thanked the Gods for a truly satisfying day and the delicious stout I was drinking.

Lately that has become my motto. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it’s partly due to one of my best friends dying back in October and then having my 42nd birthday. One could call it a Mid-Life Crisis, but I don’t believe it’s anything that shallow. I’m not dating a younger man or driving suped up classic muscle car. I believe the PTB (Powers That Be) are reminding me how fucking lucky I am to have a body that works, a mind that’s still sharp, a heart that’s strong, and a sense of child-like wonder and play that has not diminished over the years. Lift is too short to simply sit around and wait for someone to offer you an amazing experience. You have the power to create it all on your own.

So go do it.

What is a Priestess?

This question has been occupying my thoughts as of late. I’m not exactly sure why. Perhaps it is because my most connected time of year, the Autumnal Equinox, is right around the corner. Or it could be my guilty conscience reminding me of how my greatest intention to be more introspective, more communal with the Divine have fallen embarrassingly short this year. Or maybe, just maybe, after all this time I’m still trying to figure out what kind of Priestess I want to be.

I am a Priestess. A legal, card-carrying priestess who rightfully earned her 3rd degree in the Wiccan tradition she was taught in. Back then I was so focused, so intent on becoming a legitimate Priestess, it was all I could think and work towards for three years. When I received my degree, when I received my Certificate of Ordination, and when I hand-fasted a fellow priestess to her love, I cried. I was so undilutedly happy. I had found my calling.

But what kind of calling? Hence my question, what is a Priestess?

Getaway. Get. Away.

I was invited to go camping this holiday weekend with my very cool and very eclectic group of friends. As fun as it has been in the past, this time around my body cringed and my spirit rejected the idea. “No thanks,” I said. It was nothing personal (and they know this), but after spending four days at Beltane between rain showers, down pours, sky breaks, and drizzle, I was officially done with feeling cold and damp.

Besides, my taste for large groups has dwindled as of late.

Rather than waste this holiday weekend stuck at home, it was suggested I house-sit at my good friends house while they camped. Brrrrrrrriiiiiilliant, I say! It would ease their minds knowing someone they trusted was around to keep an eye on the furrkids, plus it would give me a much needed getaway to be ALONE. Just me, myself, and my shiny I.

A chance to stretch my wings and EXHALE.

A cozy abode that doesn’t remind me of home, but is still familiar and comforting. A place where I can let go and not be distracted so I can write, journal, process, and meditate. A weekend retreat for my Soul.

Also, the kick-ass entertainment system, Xbox 360, and Playstation 3 doesn’t hurt a geek girl either.

When I walked through the front door, I unloaded my bag and put away the groceries I purchased. But more importantly, I set up “Introspection Station” on their pub square dining room table. On one end is my laptop and going clockwise are my journals / tarot deck, a mini-shrine to my goddess, and my current knitting projects.

This will NOT be a weekend of distractions (that’s what home is for). No, this will be a working weekend of inner construction (watch out for those chakra pot holes!) and outer exhaling.

Time to rise up.

Some Who Wander Are Lost

Have you ever felt lost? Or have the gnawing inkling at the back of your mind that you’ve forgotten something important? Did you turn off the faucet? Was the stove left on? You drive to your daily grind knowing something is amiss but you simply cannot place your finger on it?

Welcome to my world.

I’ve been feeling exactly like this and it was all triggered, ironically, when I got laid off from my extremely stressful job over a year ago. With no stress or mundanity to distract me any more, I could feel my spirit squirming to get out from underneath the debris I allowed it to be buried under. When it broke the surface, a marvelous exhale could be heard through-out my life and then a simple, lulling question.

“How in the hell did I get here and what do I do now?”

Alright, technically that’s two questions. For months I’ve been floating aimlessly, barely skimming my dreams of becoming a published author, a respected spiritual teacher, a darn creative soul simply because I’m afraid to plug my nose and dive deep. I’m fearful of failure and, yes, I am fully aware of how unproductive that is. How will I know how successful and fulfilling my life can be if I don’t takes risks and TRY?

I never used to be like this — lazy, unsure, procrastinating. As a child and teen I always had the verve to go the extra mile and then some. I relished at a challenge and soared when I accomplished a goal. Yet the older I had become, the more I got sucked into what society and what They, Inc. declared should be my priorities: get married, buy a home, have kids, have a career, retire.

Honestly, it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be because I’ve witnessed friends divorce, lose their homes to foreclosure, get laid off, and in the process get screwed out of their retirement. THE OLD RULES NO LONGER APPLY. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Who feels the urge to break the outdated mold and dare to try something different. So, the time has come for new rules and personally, I want my damn drive back. No more brainless, zombie corporate jobs for me. No more of trying it “their way”. It’s time for MY WAY. I want to surge with unlimited creativity. I want to live a fulfilling, prosperous life in body, mind, and spirit. I want to seek within, find my inner divine spark, and toss a bunch of kerosene on it to get the light roaring again.

I want to have FUN. Remember that? Fun? Not sarcastic jokes, not jackass tricks, not shallow entertainment of regurgitated ideas (don’t get me started on Lady Gaga), and definitely not partying until you blackout. I’m talking about the JOY in having FUN. The JOY in doing what you do. To be able to have the biggest, silliest grin plastered on your face while you do the work of your inner flame / spark / child / caffeinated squirrel / what have you.

This is what I seek. This is what I want.