Cleaning Out

I had dinner with several long-time friends this evening, walked when I got home, and then sat to write, and my mind was a clutter of random thoughts, shooting off in a dozen different directions. I meditated. More clutter. In my drafts folder for the blog, I found a piece that I thought I'd posted over a month ago.  It was somewhat out of date, but, probably not by accident, it is also something that has been on my mind lately.  Cleaning out.

In late December, I cleaned out all the unsolicited cosmetics with which various companies have gifted me. It freed up significant space in my medicine cabinet and left me even freer psychically. Then, I took on my bag bin.  In the 1980s when almost no one except Kay was reusing bags, I was taking the same paper grocery bags back to the store week-in, week-out. At one point, I began dating them to see how long they would last.  One lasted a whole year--52 weeks.  So you can imagine how delighted I was at the advent of bags which were actually designed for reuse.

But then everyone and his/her cousin discovered the reusable bags were perfect little billboards. Every conference or show gives them away. My public radio station gives them away.  When I looked at apartments a few years ago, they gave them away.  Even my local hardware store gave them away. When DC passed a bill to charge for paper or plastic, the stores gave them away.  All those bags and only four or five that I used regularly.  Most of the others were gone with the start of the year.

The second week of January I went into a sorting frenzy with books.  I donated about six boxes to the library in my building.  They don't take textbooks, so I have another box in the corner of my living room still looking for a home. Those seven boxes were the books at which I knew I would never look again.  I fussed as I contemplated at least 10 boxes moved out of my offices or my storage bin await sorting. I was able to get rid of one box, but there are nine more.

The only pleasing I needed to do was my heart, and I had struggled.  What would be part of my future? What would not?  Do I throw away hundreds of flyers for professional speaking which were really great designs, but were printed at just the time the dot.com bust and 9/11 killed the keynote conference-speaking circuit I'd been on?  Of course, I do.  That 16-year-old photo is almost unrecognizable.  How do I let the Universe know I am open to professional speaking...just not the badly dated flyer, I had wondered, wanting to be careful not to send the wrong message.

Then something funny happened.  I got distracted. My class and refugee resettlement activities picked up the pace, and I was able to back-burner the sorting.  I did, however, leave several of the boxes right in the middle of my closest so that I cannot easily get to more than a few clothes without high-stepping over them. I didn't want to forget about the sorting. That's how I've been dressing since the end of the year.

A week or so ago I began to be impatient. Not with the climbing over the boxes, although that has been an annoyance.  I got frustrated at the time my class was taking because now I knew exactly what to get rid of and didn't have time to do it. Almost all of it.  As sparks within me have been ignited for these new directions, the mind-numbing boredom with my old work has become clear to me.  While I'd like to think I have the capability to do whatever I need to do to support myself, my heart is shouting...not whispering, but shouting..."NOT THAT!"  There was a time when I was energized by the work, but that is definitely the past.  Enough already.  I am ready to move on.

I am at the point in any class during which final projects and exams are occurring, so I must stay at it. While there is part of me that would like to just chuck it all, I suspect that there are things in each box that I do want to keep, but not much. Yet, having taken time to reconnect with my heart, I am certain that the decision-making will be easy.

All that brings me back to my intention to listen to what I know in my heart--the very purpose of this blog. In my heart I know that my future lies in what brings me to life, and what I did for 25 years no longer does that.  To hang on to even one shred that isn't aligned with my future would again be a breach of my integrity.  I am just unwilling to go there, and I have to believe that if the Universe has given me this spark, it will make sure I can support myself in my new directions.

What To Do With An Extra Hour

Yesterday I heard a commentator pondering what to do with an extra hour this weekend.  He suggested a number of options from reading one of several books that he had purchased but never had time to read to starting or completing a number of projects around the house.  I used my extra hour this weekend to attend a fascinating lecture.  It felt like a guilty pleasure, and because I had an extra hour, it was mine to indulge.

The commentary got me started thinking, not only about what to do with the extra hour this weekend, but also about settling into a normal work schedule.  After a year of 11- and 12-hour days, would I know how to use two extra hours each day?  Last week I worked in a different organization and I was able to leave almost-on-time two days.

I found myself at loose ends when I got home at 6.  I did a number of little projects, including making phone calls to businesses that are usually closed by the time I got home.  But, mostly I frittered the time away without focus.  I couldn't remember when I hadn't felt like I was on a dead-run from project to project without time to breathe.  Suddenly, I had time to exhale, and I'd forgotten how.

The commentary yesterday reminded me that I didn't have an extra hour in a weekend, but would soon have an extra two hours a day.  I want to be intentional about what I do with the gift of an extra day each week.  I am not sure that I've ever really appreciated what a gift time is, and there are things I really want to make sure that I accomplish.  What would take me where I wanted to go?   I had some ideas.

Yesterday I entertained some special women friends for a lazy, lingering brunch.  After they were gone, and I'd cleaned up my kitchen, I decided that Job One was cleaning off my desk.  Actually, that isn't quite right.  My desk was clean, but only because I'd gathered up the mess before my guests arrived and shoved it into a closet.  Intuitively, I knew that I couldn't be intentional about dispensing with my extra hours if I didn't know what was in my stack.

I reduced the stack by half and then started a list.  Writing is on the top of it.  I hope that you will soon be seeing more regular posts to this blog because I have a full page of notes about posts to write.  My head was literally spinning with all the ideas.  More came this morning in church.  Others have popped in this afternoon.  I felt like cleaning the desk had cleared out thinking room in my brain. 

Getting back in shape is right up there too.  Exercising isn't really competing for writing with Number One.  Exercising is how I used to clear the cobwebs of the day's activities from my brain so that I could listen.  Exercising feels more to me like how I facilitate writing than competition with writing for time.

On the desk, I also found my list of last-day items that I'd created after a blog post last winter about living each day as if it is your last.  Since it got buried in the stack, nothing more had been accomplished.  The list has worked its way to the top of my stack.

Amazingly for me, that is where I stopped, and that's a good thing.  I tend to be someone who makes big lists and then accomplishes just a few items before either becoming overwhelmed or getting distracted.  I think it is good that I am being very intentional about how I will use my extra day each week. 

I also think it is good that I don't fill every moment with replacement activities.  I want to have time to exhale; that is something I don't want to forget.  Who knows? When I exhale, I might just make space to breathe in new and wonderful miracles that I can't anticipate.  That is where I allow God to be God.