The Purpose of Envy

Nobody enjoys this feeling. This distance between you and who you think you are meant to be. The people and places who show up to remind you of the gap. The sickness in your heart when you come close because you still cannot cross the space between here and there. You feel stuck in the quicksands of Now. I know all about it, my friends. Do you?

I passed through San Francisco three years ago this month. July 2012. I was here without being here. I felt intense longing for more of the city. I sensed something beneath the surface that vibrated on my frequency. It didn't really occur to me that I could live here, too. In retrospect, the envious longing I felt for San Francisco was the first hint that my path would bring me here.

Envy acts like a hint from the universe. Envy tells us about our heart's deepest desires. Envy helps us reach beyond what we thought could be possible. Because we see someone else doing it or we see another place achieving it and we realize that anything, anything is possible. We realize we miss big things by thinking small.

Envy can also dampen our spirits and break our resolve. Envy can throw us off track. Envy can trick us into thinking we need something to be happy when truly nothing can bring us happiness, because happiness is not a destination. Happiness is the way.

I hope we can be happy enough Now to cast aside fear of envy, so that we may pay attention to it and explore where it's coming from and why. There's no use in numbing the tinge because chances are good that it will never go away. We can drink and forget, but when we wake up, it will be there. Waiting with a Cheshire grin.

The universe tickles our respective fancies in mysterious but purposeful ways. We can spend our lives running, or we can spend our lives chasing. What will it be?

This is day 13 of 30 consecutive days of blogging. I’m glad you’re along for the ride. If you liked this post, please share using the buttons below. If you have something to add, feel free to comment openly or anonymously.

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What Does It Feel Like To Be You?

Do you ever wonder what it would feel like if you led a different life? If you wore different kinds of shoes and had a different head of hair and took different pictures with your iPhone. You might live in another house with another set of kids and another set of problems.

The green-eyed monster knows where I live and sometimes she visits me. I see your Instagram feed and I read your blogs and I see the colors in your home. And I'm jealous. Not because I don't love my life, but because I love your life, too.

I want my life but I want it to have elements of your life. I want to travel to exotic locations and eat pretty food and connect with cool people. I want to exist in an artist's haze where every moment feeds my art and my art feeds my family.

But I have no choice. I can only be me. And so I am the best me I can be. I don't lose myself in your life anymore. (Ok, sometimes.) I don't want what you have. (Ok, sometimes.) I want what I have. (Always.)

Sometimes, when I open my eyes really wide and I see the pure white walls of my home and the miniature people who run away from and back to me and the light that filters through the windows into our protected pocket of earth, I remember what it was like to be a child. Those moments are fleeting and untenable and perfect.

We were born perfect, but when we grow up, we forget. We forget that even the struggle exists for us.

I want to see the universe through your eyes, but I will settle on seeing the universe through my eyes--opened just a bit wider than yesterday.

This is day 2 of 30 consecutive days of blogging. I’m glad you’re along for the ride. If you liked this post, please share using the buttons below. If you have something to add, feel free to comment openly or anonymously.

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Public Transit Vs. Driving With Kids

I thought that maybe if I took the bus I could journal for a moment. But it was crowded and I had to stand with the baby on my back and when I did get a seat, the baby grew fussy. I could barely hang onto the lurching bus and my girls at once, much less open my purse. Skyla lost her patience around the same time we got to our stop, so naturally, I missed it.IMG_3551.JPGNo worries though, we walked through Chinatown for the first time and got caught in the rain before hopping on a bus back up the hill to the 22 foot gingerbread house at the Fairmont in San Francisco. I do love public transit that comes every 5-10 minutes.IMG_3569.JPGI experience something on the bus from time to time like when Skyla flirts with everyone she can catch with her eyes, smiling and babbling and a fat little hand on an elderly man's chest, or when Giovanna chooses to stand rather than sit with a smirk of pride. A swelling of my heart, simple but deep enjoyment of my children. It makes me sad for all of the hours I've spent in my car. Isolated, bored, lonely. Convenience and speed the tippy top priority. Time too finite to waste. Yet driving is another sort of waste... And a whole lot of freedom.IMG_3565.JPGOnce we have our basic needs met, what do we chase? A lot, but at the center of it all is freedom, I think. Freedom of expression via art. Freedom to explore via travel. Freedom to consume via money. Freedom to grow via information. (Enter the internet!)IMG_3577.JPGInterestingly, motherhood seems to impose the opposite of freedom. By it's very nature motherhood occupies our bodies and consumes our hearts, sometimes our thoughts. Whether we want to accept it or not, our children are like teeny tiny bosses. IMG_3595.JPGDriving can become its own sort of break as our children are temporarily encumbered by their carseats. Their only power in that position comes from the power they have over us. Both of my daughters have been known to wail in the car, and I have been known to pull over. I've grown more skilled at handling the cries with my second babe and I do wonder how this will affect her in the long run, praying it will be mostly good rather than mostly bad.IMG_3592.JPGDriving, when the children are quiet or sleeping, becomes its own meditation. It gives you choices. Taking the bus is a social and cultural experience. It allows you to look sideways in addition to forward.IMG_3612.JPGI'm grateful to live in a city where I can do both. And I encourage other people, not just mothers but especially mothers, to shake up their transportation routines. Bus instead of drive. Transit instead of taxi. Walk a different way. You might just get inspired by something new.

To read more of my thoughts on motherhood, mindfulness and the creative life, please follow my blog or subscribe via feedburner.IMG_3590.JPG

The great purge

I'm moving (more on this later) and I've decided to purge roughly half of my belongings. I've wanted to do this for years and now that I'm doing it I'm sure it will be the greatest purge of my life. Never again will I accumulate this much stuff. Plastic sunglasses, outdated eyeglasses, ancient eyeshadows, piles of pantyhose though I haven't worn pantyhose in years. A broken candle pedestal from Peru, a Cuban statue missing his partner, a necklace with the tag still attached and no memories of how it arrived in my possession. Have you noticed that going on vacation can be like going on vacation from your stuff? (If you've never engaged in retail therapy you might not understand.) Less is more. I want quality over quantity. I want every item of clothing to be something I love wearing. I don't want to engage in a constant battle with my children's toys. I don't want clothing to live on chairs or the laundry room or anywhere but my drawers and hangers. And I definitely don't want more than one junk drawer. The place where objects goes to die.

I've been hanging onto too much stuff for too long, doubting the universe's ability to provide for me. No more. As my husband says, we must edit. Shopping is human but editing is divine. It's not like I'm daring to be a minimalist, but I'd like for my dresser drawers to be tidy.

So I'm having a garage sale this weekend. I'm selling scarves from Laos and dresses tailored in Vietnam and a sweater from France and maybe my Ciao Bella t-shirt from Italy. These are the hardest things to part with, these souvenirs from my travels (not the never-used food dehydrator nor the commuter bike I should have sold years ago when I got a new road bike). But does it matter what I was doing when I bought it if I no longer use it? The memories live inside of me. The threads of my mind, not the threads of a shirt, make me who I am today.

"If it comes, let it come. If it goes, let it go."

I'd love to hear your decluttering/purging/moving tips! I will share them in a future post. Tell me in the comments below or email me lucymiller7[at]gmail.com. 

If you're in the Seattle area and would like to drop by and check out my stuff, email me for my address.

IMG_1020.JPGOne large box + one large bag full of my clothes alone and that's not all of it...