The last two weeks (and two months! and two years!) have been a real roller coaster for me and not necessarily the good kind. I’ve witnessed once-in-a-lifetime moments of dignity, humility and grace and have at the same time been breathless in the face of foolishness, hardness and a kind of collapsed down capacity to love, some of it my own. The funny thing about moments like these is that they serve as a mirror because in everyone else’s raw, unedited data, you can see yourself crystal clear–looking back, doing the exact same things, with the same degree of remarkable courage and hard-to-watch immaturity, all in the name of love and “what’s right.”
This new wave of clarity I’m experiencing is hard to hold, but it is necessary. I asked for it by picking CLEAR for my word this year, and now I’m swimming in new realizations that are shifting the ground right under my feet, giving me a new foundation where it is essential I learn to stand.
Most of the time, I play hard on both sides of the continuum–all right or all wrong, but these days, with everything under the microscope, I’m learning the grace of the messy middle. The messy middle where no one gets it right even 50% of the time, where risks are taken and mistakes are made, where love twists and turns until it finds a way to surface wherever it will be most powerful, wherever it cannot fail to make a difference.
Here in the messy middle, I continue to berate myself for gross errors and congratulate myself for noble triumphs, but I’m starting to see that the real gift in all of it is the way I’m learning to be present to my life. So much is “all wrong” now, but I’m here and awake and alive to people I love (my kids especially) in a way I never was before when I was trying to do it “all right”. So much is irreparable and lost, but I’m here and awake and alive to the ways I was fast asleep when I was hoping that no one would get hurt if I avoided conflict or tried to keep the peace by claiming everything is always fine with me or tried to resolve some key issues without the key players. (untrue, of course)
Those tiny things–to be present for my kids and awake to my responsibility to speak up are making me think the messy middle isn’t so bad after all. I’m starting to see a way through where I don’t have a hundred lives divided up in a million different places. I’m starting to see a way where I can be truly myself no matter who I’m with or what’s required or where I am. It’s still a mess–trust me, an unspeakable mess that would send anyone over the edge–but I’m hoping to love it anyway–along with all the people and choices that helped me arrive here just on time.
What’s the hardest part for you about being in the messy middle? How are you kind to yourself in that space? I’d like to hear what you’ve learned about this in the comments below.
a white bedspread on a freshly made bed in a light blue room
sitting with my mother when we’re both old and full of forgiveness and grace
a bouncy baby on my lap
a desk handmade by someone i love, wood burned with my line art and painted with care
a wide open field in a faraway land
street art made by my hands wheatpasted late in the night
to stand on a stage surrounded by my friends, telling stories and singing songs
my girl Madeleine tall and willowy, wizened by love and adventure
a fire on a beach, clad in a long sweater, surrounded by kindness and laughter
a simple film that leaves you quiet in the theater, weeping and transformed
a long talk under the tree that puts old conflicts to rest
planting a garden with a four year old friend
total acceptance of the fact that i’m in the big girl panties phase of my life
a decent bra that i can buy five of
the dress i’m wearing in a deep rich moss colored green
a room with a view
a clawfoot tub
a nap in the sunshine
someone to play with my hair while i rest my head in their lap
boldness for a new miracle
courage for a new plan
firmness to say what i want, need and must have
grace to accept the fallout
the kind of wrinkles you get from smiling too much
a long walk up a grassy hill
a clean house
a love of laundry
humility to accept my woundedness and shortcomings
willingness to bear the weight of my own life
an unexpected hug from a stranger
a gentle night’s sleep
enough compassion to hold those i love without judgment or hurry
how about you, dear friends? i’ve been in a cave this week, attending to major life events. emerging now, getting ready to travel. what are you longing for?
we send out little love letters from the Universe tuesdays and thursdays in the Dream Lab
I’m getting ready to do a little talk on how to make a difference with your photography here at the EVO conference in Park City, Utah, and I’m starting to feel really excited. I have been in such a long space of being unable to share freely about my travels or the people in my photographs, it feels really good to feel truly ready to have something meaningful to say. In ways I never expected, picking up a camera has completely changed my life. I don’t think of it this way often, I’ll never be the same because of the things I’ve seen through my lens.
The other thing that is bringing me some rest and relief is the magic of getting Dream Lab messages in my inbox every morning–even though I myself wrote at least half of them and already know what they say. It’s always been magic for me the way the words come back around and help me when I get a chance to read them as if they were written by somebody else just for me. It’s not too late at all to join me there, so c’mon. I promise not to ask you again and again like this all summer. Swear.
Being alone and having some downtime over the last twenty-four hours has been so good for me. I realize I’m carrying more than I probably should in some areas of my life, and it feels good to let down and just be. Okay, I’m going to take a nap before my session. Wish me luck!
Here are my thoughts this morning from 30,000 feet as I fly to Utah for the Evo Conference. It’s been a whirlwind last few days, and I miss you.
On your heart being a reliable source. I had a flash yesterday where I remembered a particular phrase and couldn’t remember where I had heard it. At first, I got excited, because I thought maybe it was some other verse to erase the bad effects of that old hurtful one that says your heart is deceitful about all things, but then I remembered it was from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. Do you know it?
And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.
I don’t know why, but remembering this little line gave me such a rush of hope. Like I had the antidote to the snake bite all along in my backpack, I just forgot it was there. I know my heart sees rightly, everything good that is invisible to the eye.
This video, too, showed up in the comments of Dream Lab this week, and I remembered how much I loved it and how this sweet song completely captures my dilemma not so much about art (art and i are friends now) but about following my heart. I listened to it on repeat while getting ready for my little talk for the conference.
On your heart leading you into trust. It’s funny, this business of trying to follow your heart. I think I’ve been confused about this because lately I’ve been following my heart and it seems as if it’s leading me down a path where deep grief is waiting. I’ve been avoiding this particular grief for a long time, but as I follow my heart I’m starting to be able to feel all the love I have and consequently all the loss I’m facing in my life right now. I was hoping following my heart would mean endless bliss, but I have to admit my heart is waking me up to a deep sadness. The kind of sadness that demands a surrender and a trust.
Trust that something greater is holding me.
Trust in my instincts and intuition.
Trust in the unknown.
Trust in the future.
None of this is easy, but I can feel my heart softening in this suffering and I can feel my capacity for connection and kindness growing.
On the heart’s capacity to hold on. Getting ready for this trip, I needed to prepare a little talk for my session about how photography can make a difference. Sifting through 50GBs of images, I was struck by how much my friends around the world have taught me about life and love and how to be a real human being. I felt this incredible wave of gratitude, seeing their faces, knowing the ways they suffer, even right this second (sometimes without the most basic things they need) and yet they have this deep capacity for love just the same. I don’t know what to say about that other than it will be an honor to tell their stories this weekend and to know that there’s a way that their hearts continue to shape and soften my own.
Here’s a photo from yesterday. I feel about the same today. How are you? How’s your heart?
After a whirlwind weekend, I’m finally back home in my house, and I’m so, so glad.
One blustery January day, the wind slammed the screen door so hard that the storm glass fell right out and shattered in a thousand pieces on the front porch. We swept up the glass (which had miraculously fallen out into a perfect rectangle) and at my insistence never replaced it. For years after that, I called it our magic door, and loved the way the kids paraded in and out of my house, making the neighbors across the street wonder if they were losing their minds to see these children enter as if walking through glass.
The door is still like this now, and our guests neatly fall into two categories–the people who walk through the magic door, and the ones who open the door properly, pretending the glass is still magically there. I love them all so much.
For a long time I wondered if maybe I should replace the storm glass, fearing the magic of this house had faded along with the ties that have held us all together, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I love this house and this family and every person who walks through this door so completely. I have learned so much about what it means to love deeply in this house, and I have felt things here that have both broken my heart in a million little pieces and also put it back together again.
This house has always had a strong presence to me and contains so many amazing stories, not just from me and my dear ones, but from the people who have lived here before for several generations. I will be grateful for everything this house has taught me for as long as I live.
Here are a few scenes from inside my house. All of the important players are not in these images, but this is what was in my camera yesterday when I cleared my card.
Stephanie has some great images of life in my house here, here and here.
How do you feel in your house? Does your house have room for your spirit and your particular way of being in the world? Mine hasn’t always, but more and more I am learning how to let myself be seen here, and I think that is so, so important and good.
Today was one of those days where on the outside everything looks great, but inside you still feel a little wobbly. I’m not sure exactly what’s up with me, but here are a few things that I’m holding today. Maybe after I finish my list, you can add yours, too.
Booking flights to Nepal. I don’t know why, but the very idea of this trip has left me feeling a little bit fragile. I think I’m still smarting from some of the events in Uganda in May–I was stretched so thin on that trip and had so many moments where everything (including my safety) felt so tenuous. Not sure what to do about that, but I can tell my soul furniture was severely rattled and that I haven’t quite settled yet.
Dealing with Paypal. I totally lost it on the phone with PayPal today when (for the umpteenth time) my account privileges were suspended because my purchases (i.e. international plane tickets) activated the fraud detection systems. The last time this happened I was standing on the side of the road outside a small Ugandan town and had ten dollars left to my name after insisting on kind and reasonable treatment from some pretty sketchy traffic police. Not one of my happiest moments. I realized today (while flipping out on the PayPal agent) that I might not be recovered from that experience.
Supermom Syndrome. This week I’m a WAHM and a SAHM, chief dreaming officer (see mondobeyondo.org) and the best Father’s Day gift buyer this side of the Mississippi. Every once in awhile, I have this sick way of ramping things up to go over and beyond what’s required in the kid department, just because I can. It’s not a good impulse and right now I really need to knock it off. Especially because SuperMom syndrome is always short-lived and quickly followed by Please-Don’t-Call-Social Services-Because-I-Can’t-Pay-Attention-Anymore, and on the inside I am really, really tired. Yikes.
I can’t report this without also admitting that some things happened, too, that really reinforced my strength. I said no to a powerful person, and in turn said yes to myself. That’s something, I suppose.
Still. I hate feeling wobbly and soft inside. But that’s the way, I guess, it sometimes has to be. What’s making you feel weak these days? What’s making you feel strong?
i wrote this post for pbs supersisters this morning and i would love for you to read it and comment if you have a minute. it’s one of those things that you write without being entirely sure of what you are saying, but you just have this feeling you’ve stumbled on something significant for you just the same.
i don’t know which of my weaknesses i can see through the eyes of merit, but it feels important to do so somehow, don’t you think?
that was me waving at you. are you waving back? i hate being on film because i always think someone i know in real life will see it and think i look ridiculous or fake or will scoff because i’m only showing you one side of myself when i could be showing this side or that side or some other way i sometimes am.
isn’t it crazy how much energy we waste imagining these things? and then collecting evidence from minutiae to convince ourselves it’s true. (see, she didn’t leave a comment! i knew it, he still hasn’t said a word!) it’s all ludicrous, but these are the things we do to shield ourselves from the truth: that we care deeply about the people we love, that their approval and pleasure means the world to us, that we are more fragile than we would ever let on when it comes to being seen and loved for who we really are.
i don’t know what’s up with me, but i find myself in an experiment with these simple truths i just mentioned. can i bear/bare them? can i let myself love what i love deeply even when there is a fear of reprisal? can i be okay with the knowing that i will be seen and loved imperfectly, always? over and over again?
here’s another truth: we are all so multi-faceted, so multi-dimensional that it’s nearly impossible for anyone to know us truly as we are. which is why it is imperative that we continue to love one another, that we commit to deeply listening and leaning in to each moment, because none of us know what unseen and vital part will now be revealed.
there’s a wonder in not knowing.
there’s magic in still wanting to see and to be seen.
there’s healing in hoping for love, no matter how far-fetched or impossible that sometimes seems.
i hope today you find yourself surprised at the mystery of someone you thought you knew. I hope you find the grace to experiment with revealing your own complicated and amazing truth. i hope you know deep down that you are worth being seen, for whatever you have the courage to reveal in this flawed and simple moment.
i got a crazy amount of work done for Mondo Beyondo Dream Lab which starts next week, so this was very good for my peace of mind
i wrote something really powerful and true (and new) for Mondo Beyondo that was a missing piece of our curriculum (and a missing piece in my own process). may dreamers–you’ll see it this week on wednesday i think.
i felt really pretty in one of my little black travel dresses even though people routinely ask me if i’m pregnant in them (no, thank you, i’m just fat)
jen lee sent me a lovely song that she made up out of her head and i couldn’t stop humming it all day
i made a blueberry pie from scratch (for the very first time) with the help of mark and meryl, my 60-something next door neighbors. it was from an original recipe created by trudy, the original owner of my house. today is her birthday (even though she’s been gone for at least twenty years), but mark and meryl remember her well since they moved next door 40 years ago when trudy was already old and they were just newlyweds. i have always been scared of making pie crust, but meryl made it really fun and easy.
i’m feeling pretty good about writing an ordinary blog that is about simple things with haphazard punctuation and no capitalization. it feels great to not be in a race to be excellent or perfect or exceptional, but to just write whatever is on my mind. it feels rad actually–to borrow a word from my west coast friends. and old school. it won’t always be like this, but for now, i think it’s just fine. my friend stacey monk says that the point isn’t so much to change the world as it is to re-humanize it. i think that’s what i’m doing right now. giving myself a chance to re-humanize and feel my edges after such a long time adrift in the world at large.
here’s what i looked like on saturday, after riding my bike back up the hill to my house. meryl took my picture, so we could send it to a dear friend in africa who still cannot imagine that I go back and forth between here and the market on my bike. i have a gremlin that says you do not want to see all these very substandard photos of me, but there’s something about it that also feels really right.
your comments about times that you followed your heart are helping me very much. please say as much as you want about that subject. i’m really listening.
My name is Jen Lemen. I'm messy, hopeful,
enthusiastic and helplessly in love with the idea
that stories can change you and me forever.