Changes

Alrighty, kids.  I have, after 9 years, officially outgrown this blog.  We all knew it was coming, right?  The great news is, I'm not done blogging; in fact, I'm just getting going on some very exciting things!  Please put I Am Who I Am in your archives, and come follow me here: Examination of This Life.  See you there!

My huge crush on Simon Sinek

It's not just that he's cute...though he is.
It's not just that he's brilliant...though he is.

It's not just that he's humble...though he is.

It's not even that once in awhile I can grab onto his accent, for just a brief moment (though I have to be honest: yum).

I crush on Simon Sinek because, quite simply, smart is sexy.  Watching Simon speak is like going to a spin class.  Or spending an hour in yoga with the best teacher in the world.  Endorphins surge through my brain, my heart rate elevates, I feel strong, and, best of all, I feel smart.  I feel electricity forging new neural pathways (dancing dendrites!) that make me better at my job, better in my relationships, and better in the world.  He decreases my stress.  How? By telling me to get over myself.  By telling me that if I could just stop making assumptions for five minutes, I'd have a lot more energy to enjoy reality.  By teaching me to work smarter, not as a cliche, but as an actual way to live better. And, the best part, he doesn't tell me to do it--he asks me why I wouldn't want to do it.

If you haven't met Simon yet, start here: How Great Leaders Inspire Action.  Then head to his website. Then, because you'll be an addict like me, prepare to spend at least a part of each day loving on Simon Sinek's brilliance.  Have fun! :-)

Yoga Sundays

My love of Sundays is well documented in this blog.  Search "Sunday" and you'll get some good reading, mostly about how I love to lay around on Sundays, grading and watching football, cooking, and chilling out as I prepare mentally for the school week ahead. (You'll also get one about how much I hate accounting and is maybe the most "first world problems" blog entry I've ever written, though that's not a guarantee...)

Now that I have a new job that doesn't involve frantically grading stacks of essays, a job that doesn't fill me with a sense of impeding dread beginning around 2pm, my Sunday love has a new focus. Of course, it's yoga.

My Sundays now begin and end with yoga.  I teach one class at 8:30am, then go to breakfast with the Beh Freh and her husband.  A trip to Trader Joe's later, I'm either back home or off to yoga class #2.  A few weeks ago I was offered the opportunity to take on a 3rd class, a 5:30pm "prime time" (even though it's a weekend) class.  I went back and forth before taking it; I didn't know if I could handle 3 classes in one day, especially on a Sunday.

One of the things I'm learning as I transition away from teaching high school English is how much of my weekend was spent working even if I was "relaxing."  A teacher's job is done exactly one day a year: the last day of school.  Other than that, even if the papers are graded, there is planning to be done.  Emails to answer.  Curriculum to be written.  Plenty to fill 25 hours a day.  I didn't realize until I didn't have the guilt anymore how much of my mental energy went to making myself feel bad that I wasn't working harder...that I even had a stack to grade, because I should have already graded it.  What a mess.

So, now I spend my Sundays not feeling guilty.  Instead, I'm so grateful to be able to, in some small way, help prepare people for their week ahead.   So that they can manage their own stuff, whatever that may be.  I still work as many hours teaching yoga on Sundays as I used to when I was grading papers.  But, rather that feel like I'm not working hard enough, I'm able to breathe and move.

And that, friends, catapults Sundays into a whole new, beautiful, realm of awesome.

The one where I'm not going to Tulum.

Two years ago, I visited the most magical place I'd ever visited: Tulum, Mexico.  Then, I went back again last year.  It drew me back cell by cell.  Before my 2012 trip, I was worried that it wouldn't be as good as 2011 because how on earth could it be?  It was impossible.  And yet, through a few stars aligning in a very perfect way, some things happened that made it not just better than the year before; it because one of the best weeks of my life.  I look back on it with a fondness and reverence I don't have for many other things, because it was, truly, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. To say that it's a place of healing is an understatement.  Remember, I spent the summer in Santa Barbara where my soul purpose in life was to heal myself....and three months in Santa Barbara didn't do as much for me as four days in Tulum.

You may be surprised to hear that this year, in three days, I'm not going back to Tulum.  I go back and forth with being at peace with my decision to not go.  Some days I know it's exactly right for me to move on and enjoy my new path toward California; other days I want to buy a plane ticket and just go already.

There are many obstacles.  I spent the summer in California.  Santa Barbara, California, of all places, which wasn't cheap.  Then there's the new job.  The new job where I have a major deadline on November 15th and missing 4 working days would make meeting that deadline all but impossible.  Then there's the change in leadership for the retreat.  I'm the kind of girl who went to the same camp every summer and requested the same counselor year after year.  I don't like change.  That's the least significant obstacle, and it wouldn't have been enough to stop me from going if the money and time was there...but I'd be lying if I didn't console myself a little by saying "Well, at least ____ and ____ and ____ aren't leading..."

So, a part of me says, "You should have gone, to become comfortable with the unknown.  To release your expectations.  To not stall out in old memories, but create new ones."

Another part of me says, "If Tulum is really a place of healing, then you've already got Tulum with you now.  It has healed you.  Healing doesn't expire; it's not something that needs to be renewed or it dies out.  New injuries may occur, but that tends to call for new types of healing.  In fact, I'm pretty sure the research would back me up in saying that repetition of healing methods tends to diminish their effectiveness over time.

I have to believe that this year is not the year for me in Tulum.  Last year was.  The year before that was.  This year is someone else's year.  My experience, my healing, lies elsewhere.  Maybe my growth here is realizing that I am healed, that it's time to move forward.

But...Tulum did make me very happy.  Twice.

Back to Reality

You may be wondering where I've been since James Gandolfini died.  That's fair; I kind of disappeared, I'll cop to it.  I spent another 6 weeks in California after my last entry, and, during that time, I became a little bit like Eve after eating the apple.  Suddenly I realized that I was hesitant to post the inner workings of my brain on the internet.  Each experience I had in Santa Barbara seemed to pull me more and more deeper into myself, into a sort of recovery I didn't really know I needed, and, when I could put words to it, it seemed inappropriate to publicize it.

When I got home, I numbed out for about a month.  With absolutely no disrespect to my amazing family and friends here in MN, I was absolutely devastated to be home. Each day I lived in a twisted variation of "California Time"--in which, at any given hour of the day, rather than living in the moment, I preferred to imagine "if I was in Santa Barbara, I would be ________ right now."  And I never ran out of of ways to fill in that blank.  Santa Barbara could barely manage to let me go (my journey to try to get out of town is a whole blog entry in itself) and between the city, the yoga, the beach, the coffee, the farmer's market, and all of the amazing people I shared those activities with, MN seemed to be a very isolated, lonely place.  It didn't help that the construction on the interstate nearest me required me to drive south to go north and added anywhere from 20-30 minutes to get anywhere.  Believe me, numb was easier.

Then, I started my new job. Numb was not an option....I had new faces to learn, the layout of two new buildings, nine new computer programs to master (and train teachers how to use) and a house to unpack. So, I did.  And now I'm back here.  Slowly but surely re-engaging with the world, rediscovering my MN voice and purpose, and figuring out how to place my Santa Barbara experience into the greater context of my life.  No promises for daily entries, but, tell me, if you read this far.....did you miss me?

A break from California-style to talk about James Gandolfini

Yesterday I was walking to CorePower for a class when, randomly, a tv at a salon next to the studio caught my eye.  I saw the words "James Gandolfini."  I don't know why I bothered to stop--I knew it was CNN, but...who cares, really? But I did stop, and saw the word "Dead" after his name.

I gasped.  Audibly.  I'm sure the woman walking behind me thought I was crazy.

James Gandolfini. Fifty-one years old, chilling in Italy with his son, going about his daily business, and then, dead. Just like that.

Just like that.  It can happen.  And, more importantly, it can happen to someone like James Gandolfini, who, though I only knew him as Tony Soprano, came across as vaguely immortal.  He was like the anti-star.  He hated speaking to the media--but he still did it.  He wasn't "Hollywood sexy;" instead, he redefined sexy in his own terms....but he didn't brag about it.  He raised a family.  His brute physical appearance was softened by eyes and a smile that were completely without guile.

The writers of The Sopranos were unable to definitively kill off Tony Soprano.  Why? Because it didn't feel right.  Sure, it was the natural course of things: Tony Soprano ought to die.  We all do.  But even in a world of fiction, where anything can happen, Tony Soprano goes right on eating onion rings and we all wonder how long he keeps on eating them.  But we know he DOES go on eating them. Because he's Tony Soprano.

So, in our minds, where the lines between reality and television have blurred to invisibility, James Gandolfini's death is simply beyond understanding.  I've heard a lot today on the CNN loop, he was "larger than life."  He wasn't....that's the thing.  He was just a man.  He was like us.  And that's the problem.  Because we love to put certain people above consequence.  We create caricature mob bosses who are still compassionate, loving husbands and good fathers.  And when the embodiment of that caricature, who takes such good care of it, and us, dies?  It's shocking.

I'm struggling with this bit of news.  Not because I knew James Gandolfini, or even because I was some sort of die-hard Gandolfini fan.  It's because it's just so....unreal.  Except is is exactly real.

In the final episode of The Sopranos, Tony and AJ have the following exchange:

AJ: Focus on the good times.
Tony: Don't be sarcastic.
AJ: Isn't that what you said one time? Try to remember the times that were good?
Tony: I did?
AJ: Yeah.
Tony: Ah, it's true I did.

Had Tony Soprano seen his death coming, I have to believe he would have seen it as an inevitable end.  The only possible conclusion, and a closure of a life well-lived.  Maybe James Gandolfini felt that.  Maybe he learned from Tony Soprano how mortal we truly are.

Hearing of James Gandolfini's death reminded me of a poem by Jennifer Welwood that hangs on the bathroom wall of Yoga Soup, an amazing yoga studio in downtown Santa Barbara.

The Dakini Speaks

My friends, let's grow up.
Let's stop pretending we don't know the deal here.
Or if we truly haven't noticed, let's wake up and notice.
Look: everything that can be lost, will be lost.
It's simple--how could we have missed it for so long?
Let's grieve our losses fully, like ripe human beings,
But please, let's not be so shocked by them.
Let's not act so betrayed,
As though life had broken her secret promise to us.
Impermanence is life's only promise to us,
And she keeps it with ruthless impeccability.
To a child, she seems cruel, but she is only wild,
And her compassion is exquisitely precise:
Brilliantly penetrating, luminous with truth,
She strips away the unreal to show us the real.
This is the true ride--let's give ourselves to it!
Let's stop making deals for a safe passage:
There isn't one anyway, and the cost is too high.
We are not children any more.
The true human adult gives everything for what cannot be lost.
Let's dance the wild dance of no hope!


RIP, James Gandolfini.  Don't stop...

Daily Schedule, California Style

Sometime: Wake up. Eat breakfast.

Sometime later: Go to yoga. Hang out after with new friends.

Later: Get coffee.

Later: Go to yoga.  Hang out after with new friends.

Later: A, B, C, or D, in no particular order:

A. Drive to beach.  While at the beach, play with the dog in the ocean.  Walk to the end of the pier and back.  Read.  Eat.  Look at the mountains.  Pinch arm.

B.  Go shopping on State Street.  Buy cute clothes I cannot afford any more than I can live without.

C. Go to the farmer's market. Be completely in love with the sunshine, vegetables, and total strangers.

D.  Play with new sequencing and music in the studio.

Later: Go to yoga. Be insanely stretchy and in love with the universe.

Later: Eat.  Drink hot tea. Notice that I cannot stop smiling.

Later: Wonder exactly what it would take to move here.

Later:  Work on grad class, stress over money, drink a cocktail (or three), and eat popcorn.   Also, play Bejeweled Blitz and watch HLN and wonder about the state of the world.

Later:  Realize it's way too late to call anyone in MN to tell them how amazing California is.  Vow to call earlier tomorrow.

The one where I missed the Big Metaphor

So I'm laying in yoga tonight (literally, laying on my back, while everyone else is doing this nutso sequence I can't quite follow to even know when to rejoin after both sides), thinking.  The instructor was putting everyone into a variation of a crazy forward fold sort of thing and explaining that you can't just drop into it right away--you have to breathe your way into it.  Your body will shove itself into whatever posture you want, but it's not always comfortable and, if you do it really wrong, you might only be able to do it the one time. But, if you go slowly, in stages, and take your time, the process becomes a whole lot more pleasant.

And then my mind drifted toward my mad dash from Minnesota to Santa Barbara.  I thought about the compulsive need I had to get in my car every day and drive 10-12 hours to "get there."  Because heaven forfend I would take some breaths along the way.  Stop in Colorado and visit friends.  Stop to see whatever Nebraska's version of the World's Biggest Ball of Twine is.  Nope, I had to Get There. And now, I'm paying for it.  I feel like I need about 900 yoga classes to get myself back to center.

But it's good--that's part of why I'm out here, is to figure stuff like that out. To observe from the outside that I hauled ass to Santa Barbara in the same way I overstretch my hamstrings in a forward bend.  It's incentive to, rather than try to set a land speed record for the drive home, take a few extra days to travel back to MN.  Because it's out of my comfort zone.  Because I'll learn from it.

Life lessons present themselves all the time. You don't need to travel across the country to learn them--though, I will say, being 2000 miles away from home has highlighted a LOT of lessons I need to spend some time with.  If you can't drive 2000 miles out of your comfort zone, try going to your yoga mat.  If you don't have a yoga mat, maybe just getting a mat is enough of a step out of "The Zone."  Ask yourself: What do I rush through? Where could I slow down? A hundred things may come to mind....pick one.  Then, the next time you encounter that thing, take twice as long as you want to accomplish it.  Breathe.

Learning how to road trip...one mile at a time.

Having landed rather unceremoniously in Santa Barbara last night, I thought I should post a summary of what it took to get me here.  Santa Barbara and Shakopee are a little over 2000 miles apart, and an estimated 30 hours (if you drive like a normal person and not a grandmother).  So, here's what I learned:

1.  Stephen King novels make a great soundtrack for driving through the desert.

2.  Bags of chips, bottles of water, and anything that combines air with sealing will pop with altitude changes. When this happens, it sounds like a gun going off in your car.

3.  Dogs need to be taken out of the car and walked approximately every 2 hours or they begin to bounce involuntarily around the vehicle.  This will add significant time to the overall trip, especially when you need to watch for specific rest stops and can't just pull over to run the dog around the freeway.

4.  Lots more hotels take dogs that what you might think.  This is awesome.

5.  A 7% grade is a steep fucking grade.  Don't be fooled by the little tiny percentage number.

6.  The importance of an overnight bag separate from the rest of the luggage cannot be overstated.  When you park at night, the only things you want to carry to the room are: the overnight bag, the dog, the doggy stairs, the dog's overnight bag, and all of your valuables.  Also, the kitchen sink.

7.  The last 90 minutes is the longest of the entire trip.

Now that I've gotten settled here in SB, I can only hope that my license plate serves as a universal apology to all Californians for my slow driving, confusion, and hesitation at lights.  By the time August rolls around, hopefully I'll be driving 200 mph in a 10 speed zone just like the rest of 'em.

These, and countless other lessons yet to be learned, are why I'm here in California. Live, learn, love!

Destination California: Day 1

Today, the opportunity to drive for 8 hours without interruption from email, bells, student questions, and packing was the best start to a vacation I could have possibly asked for.  I hit the road at a little after 1pm, and bid a fond farewell to pretty much everything I've ever known.  Some I'll return to, and some I won't.  It still hasn't it me yet that I'm no longer an English teacher.  I packed up my entire classroom--13 years worth--in 3 days and it's now sitting in boxes in my spare bedroom.

I landed tonight in Lincoln, Nebraska.  It was just after dark, and it was clearly time to stop. Gatsby was driving me nuts and I was getting really stressed out for no good reason.  Almost 2 weeks of 2-3 hours of sleep a night finally caught up with me and I was about done.  I'm so grateful to be taking this trip--it is going to be the experience of a lifetime.  But it wasn't easy getting here, I'll tell you.  But now that it's just me, Gatsby, and the open road?  Life is pretty damn good.

The final countdown!

First, I have SO MUCH TO DO.  For real.  It's the last week of the school year, so even under ideal conditions I'm stressed to the gills and ready to cry at any given moment.  Add to that the preparations for a house renovation that involves me packing up about half my house, a new job that involves me packing up my entire classroom (and moving it home), and a drive across the country to a city I've visited only once, and  this. girl. is. fucking. outofhermind.

But I'm SO EXCITED!!!!! :-) This is actually happening!!!!! A week from now, I'll be settling in to my new space, getting my bearings on the city around me, and trying to not be too overwhelmed with awesome to do anything.  

Tonight I said goodbye to the Beh Freh...my pet name for my dear friend Amy.  She and her husband gave me a "road trip package" How fricking amazing is this?!  

She knows exactly what I love (and what Gatsby loves....which is, more than anything, to be counted among the human-types).  And, because she's the Beh Freh, she gave me a little tough love tonight after our yoga class.  Suffice to say,  she's not one for the Minnesota Goodbye.  She's a one-and-done sort of girl.  No tears, no sadness, just "dude, buck up.  Go to California.   I'll see you there."  She is so good for me.  I didn't cry over not seeing her, and, without her matter-of-fact approach, I could very well have been a sobbing, dribbling mess.  Someone who will not only let you keep your dignity, but will also send you on a 29 hour road trip with Goldfish, Oreos, and Captain Morgan? That's a Beh Freh right there, people.

Tonight is an all-nighter.  I need to finish my grades, finish my packing, and get my shit together.  I also need to eat everything in my freezer.  Ready....steady.....  

My Heart Took a Picture

In 1988 a movie came out with Linda Hamilton called 'Go Toward the Light.'  It was based on a true story of a boy who gets HIV from a blood transfusion.  I was addicted to it beyond measure because, in the late 80s, I was in love with both Linda Hamilton and things that made me cry my eyes out. One of the parts of the movie that continues to stay with me is the scene in which the dying boy is holding his baby brother and their mom says "My heart took a picture."  Maybe it resonated with me because my dad was a photographer, or because I thought it was such a beautiful freedom to be able to take a picture with your heart and carry it with you always.

This morning I taught my last two yoga classes here in MN until I return in August. For the last year, best friend Amy and her husband have come to my early class and then we all head over to Starbucks for breakfast and conversation in which we try to solve all the world's problems--or at least our own.  Amy and I have both changed jobs over our Sunday coffee.  We've planned retirement, trips to Vancouver, and tattoos.  We've vented, cursed, moaned and whined.  We've celebrated, laughed, plotted and schemed. Today we did this one last time for the foreseeable future, since I will have a different teaching schedule when I return.  I managed to not cry in my coffee....even when Amy bought us all cake pops and we sat there like three teenagers trying to guess the flavor of the cake before we ate them and making jokes.  Our Sunday breakfast is something I'd dreamed about my whole life without ever really realizing I was doing it: having a coffee klatch. Who knew?

I taught my second class, then met Amy and John for a "goodbye lunch" that isn't really a goodbye quite yet (it's really goodbye #2 with at least one more to go).  We went to the Golden Nugget for burgers and beer.  John drinks beer all the time. Amy and I never do, but today we were both craving it. We laughed about that.  And we chatted about work, California, yoga, people who don't wash their hands after using the bathroom, whether beer or cocktails are better, and other Very Important Things.

And it was there, while we were sitting down to our second meal of the day, with a beer in my hand and Matt Hires' 'Restless Heart' in the background, that my heart took a picture of my beautiful friends.  Their importance in my life is immeasurable.  My gratitude for moments where all of my senses engage in a way that creates a picture only I can see and that I can take out to look at whenever I want defies description.  It will make me cry for awhile, to think of today, and to hear Restless Heart (yeah, I know---I have no idea what my thing is with that song...for real) and know that today closed out a lovely chapter I've been fond of for such a long time.  Each day that goes by I'm getting more and more excited for my time in California and for the inevitable transformation it will bring...but my Sunday coffee just won't be the same.

The real reason I'm going to California...and what needs to happen to get me there

Today was the last Friday of the school year, and the shit kind of hit the fan.  I looked around my classroom and burst right into tears.  Not because I'm going to miss it (I am) or because it's such a raging disaster (it is), but because in one brief-yet-intense flash of clarity, I understood that I leave in one week and I have a month's worth of work to do before I go.

Before I get to my boring-ass list of things to do, which I will post here for my own accountability, here's the real, cross-my-heart, pinkie-swear, for-real-and-for-true reason why I'm going to California.

Ready?

I'm going to California because I have lost my way in Minnesota.  Five years ago, I had finally found my path.  Successful career? Check.  Fabulous boyfriend with a future? Check. About-to-be-published author? Check.  Then, I found yoga and I veered very sharply, very suddenly, to my left for a pit stop.  And, just like those beautiful scenic lookout points at the side of the road, the last few years where yoga has been the center of my existence have been breathtaking.  But, you know how after you've been sitting there for a few minutes, looking at the majesty of it all and taking pictures you'll never look at again so you don't forget how beautiful this moment is, you get a little bored?  You get a little like "Okay, let's get back in the car, we've got places to go!" That's me.  My life right now is that very beautiful scenic lookout, and I have overstayed my welcome.

My writing career has been calling my name.  Screaming it.  Everything in my house seems like me-from-five-years-ago.  Still awesome, but not quite right.  When I go to California, I intend to find my way again.  I've allowed myself to wander around off the map for long enough.  Coming home, I'll have a freshened up townhome and a brand spanking new job.  A path.

Things I need to do before I leave:
1.  Too fucking much
2.  Really.
3.  It's actually literally too much to list

I can't wait to keep you updated on this journey.  Feel free to ask questions, offer up words of encouragement, or check in on my progress anytime you like.

Put your dharma where your mouth is

I speak a LOT in my yoga classes about breathing.  How we practice the breath and add in obstacles (postures) to challenge the breath so we can increase our concentration, focus, and capacity to breathe even when the only thing we want to do is get.out.of.warrior.3.   All yoga teachers talk about this.  It's so prevalent it even has a name: dharma talk.  Blah blah blah, I say; "live your yoga off the mat."

"Practice it here so you can do it out there."
"Your breath will carry you through difficulty."

Today I had to put my dharma where my mouth is.  Full disclosure: I had a job interview today.  It's for a job within my same district, and it's a position I would absolutely love to have.  I'd be great at it, and it lines up with how I see my future in education.  I did as much preparation for the job as I could, got into my grown up clothes, and showed up to the interview ready to strut my stuff.  I think I managed to keep my face expressionless as I walked into the room to see ten people staring back at me.

TEN PEOPLE.

The most intense interview I'd had in my life up until today was for a teaching job in Bloomington in 1999.  Five people.  Ten people, twenty pairs of eyes, is intense, my friends.  I answered ten questions in fifteen minutes.  I remember snippets of what I said.  I hope that I put together complete sentences.  I am 90% sure I did not breathe from the moment I began to answer the first question until I got back into my car. Bad yogi!

So, let's go back to the practice of yoga for a moment.  At some point, life presents us with challenges.  Some easy, some repetitive, some so mindnumbingly tragic that we're all "Dude, Life, are you fucking kidding me with this?"  I practiced my yoga by applying for the job and going to the interview, no question.  In my pre-yoga life, I would have beaten myself before I clicked "submit" on the application.  I had the opportunity to deepen my practice by breathing through the interview itself.  Faaaail.  But, it's okay; how many times did I fall out of headstand before I could stay in?  And, let's not stop there: the yoga continues now.  Because my brain apparently enjoyed answering those 10 questions so much today that it wants to keep answering them over, and over, and over, and over again.  Really, Brain? You can't think of anything else to focus on?

Tonight my yoga "perfect" is in knowing that I did everything within my control to the best of my ability.  My yoga practice is in the other half--the part I can't control.  The part where I just need to wait.  To concentrate on other things.  To believe.  To breathe.

I tell my students "Yoga is a process.  It's a practice.  Do your best, but have compassion for yourself." If I can't practice that myself, then the yoga is lost on me.  Then the dharma is simply words, nothing more.  It ain't gonna be easy--let me tell you.  But, if I truly want to practice my yoga tonight, I need to breathe, put my interview suit away, turn off the phone, and trust that everything, truly, will work out exactly as it is supposed to work.

A new California face

Here's a little secret: I'm going to suspend my Facebook account for the summer.  Yep, that's right--this summer will be Facebook Free.  Mostly because I'm pretty sure I'll be too busy at the ocean or the yoga studio to be bothered.  But, I know that there are people who will want to see how my summer is going...so, I've given the ol' Blog a facelift for the California Experience.

Three weeks from today, I'll be chilling in Colorado Springs, about halfway through my trip.  The plan is to leave June 7th after school is done for the day.  I'm a little bummed to miss graduation; this will be the first time I've ever missed one.  But, I like the idea of leaving with a half-day's drive ahead of me rather than starting out with a big 12 hour leg right off the bat.

What I have to get done between now and then is absolutely paralyzing.  I'm a little over-emotional, a little hyper-sensitive, and I know it's my "to do" list that's weighing on me so heavily.  I have to remember that everything will get done--or it won't.  If it doesn't get done, for the most part it'll be okay.  The stuff that absolutely needs to get done will get done. I also have a feeling that I'll be a much different person when I come back.  There's a big risk that comes from taking a completely different path from normal.  I'll say more about that...probably a lot more...later.

In the meantime, you'll be able to start looking here rather than Facebook for my California Experience.  Happy following!