Wishing in Action

watercolor postcard created for chookooloonks postcard swap

Serendipity is one of my most favorite things in life. I find that the more I wake up to joy and live more fully and intentionally, the more that serendipity surrounds me. I don't know if my actions cause the synchronicity, or if it already exists and I'm just more aware of it. Either way, it fills me with joy and wonder. Does it matter if the chicken or the egg came first? They're both here now.

As I wrote in my journal yesterday afternoon, I found myself longing for something that I've been seeking for a long time. As I wrote about it, I found this phrase forming in my mind: "I wish...." My hand hesitated a moment before writing it. I almost changed the wording and wrote "I need..." or "I'd like..." or "I want...." Those phrases seemed more familiar to me than "I wish." But I felt compelled to wish. I briefly wondered why the idea of wishing, rather than wanting or needing, struck me as so significant.

Several hours later, I read this post on Boho Girl's blog which led me to this entry from Megg, explaining that yesterday was an ideal wish day. Apparently, some people believe that "cosmic forces" were lined up to make yesterday a powerful day for wishes, with the most powerful time for wishing being between 3:18 and 3:22pm. It was 3:16pm when I stumbled upon this. I immediately pulled out my journal again and made a list of my most fervent desires.

Does that sound kooky? Cosmic forces and what not? But here was a piece of serendipity and I decided to embrace it, kookiness and all.

Since writing in my journal the first time yesterday, when the word "wish" jumped out at me, I've been wondering about the nature of wishing. Is wishing merely an idle and empty pastime? What is the difference between wishing and wanting? Wishing feels more whimsical, something done in the dark on shooting stars, or with coins tossed into fountains, or on stray eyelashes blown from fingertips. Is wishing childish? Can wishing for something make it happen?

The cynic and realist in me says, "No."

But my hope-full spirit says, "Perhaps."

Of course, there are factors (known and unknown) beyond our control. And I'm aware that pursuing your dreams is easier when you have resources like clean water, plentiful food, safe shelter, financial security, and supportive loved ones. But when our basic needs are met, can we largely shape the reality in which we live?

Was yesterday really a more powerful day for wishes than other days? Can the hope and energy of thousands of people work in harmony to make any real difference in the fulfillment of our dreams? I don't know. But I think that wishing may be much like faith: being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. And like faith, wishing without action is dead.

What if by wishing more and whining less, we'd be more inclined to take action to fulfill our true nature? If we allow ourselves to dream as well as to pray and to act, can we work hand-in-hand with God to become our true selves and live our true lives?

Do those old adages really ring true? I always thought that "God helps those who help themselves" was merely propaganda for the Protestant work ethic. And that "You reap what you sow" was just a warning to behave ourselves. But what if these cliches touch on something deeper?

So I made my wishes yesterdays. The paradox is that I must simultaneously move toward them and wait for their fulfillment. Living a joyful, intentional, spiritual life is full of such paradoxes.

More and more each day, I'm okay with that.

The Practice of Choosing Well

If National Blog Posting Month has taught me anything, it's something I already knew: Being intentional can be very hard work.

I've recently made changes in my life so that I can live more fully, be more aware of who I am and what I want and pursue those things diligently. The weird thing is that sometimes it's hard to do the things we want to do, not because other commitments get in the way, but because we get in our own way.

How much time can I waste mindlessly surfing the Internet or watching bad TV instead of reading quality online content or watching a really good movie? How much crappy convenience food can I eat because I didn't take the time to go shopping or plan my meals, even though I love the grocery store and like to cook? How many books can I not read because I'm too busy looking through catalogues for stuff I don't need and won't buy? A lot, that's how much.

It's easy to forget what we like to do and how we want to spend our time. And when we remember, sometimes it's still easier to do the lame, lazy thing than to be intentional and focused. It should be easy to choose the things we love, but even that takes practice.

The Littlest Birds Sing the Prettiest Songs

I saw a flock of little brown birds today. There were hundreds them: flying, gliding, flapping, swirling, chirping, landing. The rose up in a choreographed flight from the bank in front of me, and then landed in two small fields separated by a road. I heard hundreds of birds peeping at once; hundreds and hundreds of wings beating the air as I walked a little closer and they took off, again in unison, swooping through an intricate pattern. When they flew, it was a graceful dance, each bird flapping in rhythm and then all at once skimming on unseen air currents, all at the same time. Flap-flap-flap-flap-gliiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

The group of birds in the field nearest me joined the group across the road, and then little batches of birds came flying in, trailing the larger mass that had arrived a minute or two earlier. Here were another ten; a dozen; three; solo birds in between these little groupings. All flying to catch up with the others.

And then from behind them all, a lone, larger bird, probably a hawk. I wondered if it was preying on the smaller birds (do hawks eat birds?); if this was the reason they seemed so unified and slightly agitated. (Or is that just the way of birds?) I heard the hawk let out a solitary squawk (although I think I imagined it), and then it banked right, flying high above and away from me and the birds.

I watched the hawk sail into the distance, strong, confident, fearless. The flock of small birds on the ground flapped and hopped, talking to each other, crowded close together.

And I could not decide which I'd rather be.

Two of my faves: Kelly Rae and Suzi Blu

Continuing yesterday's art theme, today I'd like to introduce you to two mixed media artists that have caught my eye and tickled my fancy. These women inspire me to keep trying my hand at art, even if I feel silly or stupid or completely lost about what I'm doing.

begin today, kelly rae roberts

The first is Kelly Rae Roberts, whom I discovered via the ever-enlightening Jen Lemen when she did an interview with her back in May. (Go read it to find out how Kelly Rae transitioned from being a medical social worker to a working artist.) Then visit Kelly Rae's website, her blog, and most fantastically, her etsy boutique to browse and buy prints (or originals!) of her work. Her art is both soothing and empowering, at once joyous and melancholy. I haven't bought any of her pieces yet because I can't make up my mind which ones I want! But I must stop delaying because some of my favorites have been sold out. So if you see something that you fall in love with, snap it up! (But not before I do...)

Walking with Stars, by Suzi Blu

I stumbled upon the second artist just a few days ago. I think I found a link from another blog, but I'm sad to say that I forget which one. As her website states, Suzi Blu "is a mixed media artist who documents her life through vlogs on youtube and sells artwork on eBay." Her YouTube channel, Suzi Blu Tube, features shorter versions of the videos found on her site. Her videos combine art tutorials with fun inspirational messages that make you want to run out and be an artist, both on the page and in your daily life. Suzi Blu sells her original work on eBay and sells some prints in a CafePress shop. (I like the wall clock.) Of course, she also has a blog. Oh, and a cat named Pooh, which is a good reason to like her, I think.

What artists are inspiring you?

Determination

I feel like a nut at the gym. My trainer devised a circuit training routine that has me bouncing back and forth between a treadmill and various weight machines for about 45 minutes. Walk three minutes. Do one set of weights. Walk three minutes. Another set of weights.

When there are other people in the room while I do this, I feel manic. I've never seen anyone else do this type of workout. But I'm trusting that Ms. Trainer knows what she's talking about and isn't secretly submitting the surveillance video to America's Funniest Gym Videos. (And if she is, I want a piece of the winnings!)

A few weeks ago I noticed a new face in the women's workout room. She wore charcoal grey workout pants and a matching jacket over her thin, almost frail, body. Her lined face placed her age somewhere in her 70s. She wore a red scarf wrapped around her head. When I got closer, I could see that she had no eyebrows.

I saw her eyes watch me zoom back and forth between cardio and weights. She was pedaling slow and steady on the recumbent stationary bike, watching TV and listening with her own earphones.

As I neared the end of my routine, she left the bike and came over to a weight machine next to the one I was using. She caught my eye and said, "You are one determined woman."

I knew that I was sweat soaked, probably beet red about the face, and generally looked crazy. For a moment I felt embarrassed. But I soon took her words as I think she meant them: as a compliment.

The mere thought of going to a gym used to make me cringe. I couldn't see myself doing it. I couldn't even imagine myself doing it. Physical fitness was never my strong suit. I wasn't all that keen on sweating or getting my heart rate up to begin with. The idea of doing that in public -- where everyone could see how inept I was -- horrified me. When I accompanied my husband on an orientation tour of the athletic club last spring, it was all I could do not to hit the fetal position and rock back and forth, murmuring incoherently about needing some chocolate and mashed potatoes. Here's how I felt about it: I came. I saw. I fled.

But I was so tired of being overweight and unhealthy. I watched my husband make an appointment with a trainer and start going to the gym, something that was new to him, too. I witnessed this for a few months when something inside of me finally got indignant. "If he can do this, I can do this!" I thought.

So I went and got me my own trainer. She's a thin blond with a southern accent and mascara that doesn't run when she sweats. All good reasons to hate her, to be sure. But she showed me her "before" picture, when she weighed at least as much as I do. Of course, if I'm being completely honest, I have wondered if it's really her in the photo. It didn't look anything like her. Which could be due to all the extra poundage, or because it's just a random photo of some other fat chick. But who cares? It gave me hope.

And I needed hope. The night before my first scheduled gym appointment, I cried like a child frightened of a doctor appointment. I was terrified. Of the gym.

But the trainer was nice. Everyone was nice. Nobody asked me what a fat, clumsy gal like me was doing in a place like that. After just a few sessions, my endurance increased. After a few more I noticed that my upper arms were starting to look less like albino sausages and more like body parts with muscles. The scale moved down a few pounds. This was getting exciting.

I finished my set of trainer appointments and started going on my own. Getting to the gym is still hard for me, but not because I'm afraid. Mostly just because I'm lazy about getting there. But once I'm there, I try to work it for all it's worth.

"You are one determined woman."

The older woman and I chatted a bit. She told me that she's going through chemo and comes to the gym when she can. "They say it helps," she said. "And I think it does."

Here was an elderly woman with cancer, working out at the gym to aid in her recovery, telling me that I'm a determined woman. She may never know what a strength and blessing those words are to me.

I didn't get her name that day, but I think she looks like a Muriel or Kate. I hope I see her again so I can ask.