It Was on Fire When I Threw My Will on It

Have you ever wanted something so badly you were determined to do anything to get it? Have you twisted yourself (and others) into pretzel shapes in order to achieve specific goals?  Do you wonder whether an abundance of obstacles is the Universe's way of telling you to take another path, or a message to try that much harder?  I've done it both ways: trying—and often getting—my way through sheer force of will; and also letting the flow of life take me where it will and accepting reality the way it shows up. The second path is almost always better. I don't always get what I thought I wanted, but I've learned that doing it the hard way is rarely the right way. Too bad it took me so long to figure that out.  Why am I thinking about all the times I've taken the bull by the horns and held on like my life depended on it? Because I've just finished Shadow's End, by Thea Harrison, and I recognized this aspect of myself in Graydon, the protagonist of the latest in the Elder Races series (one of my all-time favorites, as you know). His plight and actions caused me to reflect on my own experiences, as my beloved books so often do.  Graydon lived his impossibly long life throwing his will all over the place.  And in the end, he got what he wanted, but at a price he almost certainly wouldn't have paid if he'd known the cost in advance.

That's the thing about throwing our will around. We can do it. And if we're persistent, and we stay the course, as Graydon did to earn the right to be with his love, Bel, we can often get what we want, as he does.  And it's good to get what we want. The mate, the job, the kids, the stuff—don't forget the stuff. It's all good. And we want it all. Or at least I did.

But sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd lived my life by following it as it unfolded, rather than pushing the water ahead of me and striving to make it flow upstream. What if I trusted the Universe to provide for me—not just sitting on my ass and waiting to be handed a life, but to embrace the life I was given, rather than pursuing the one I had to have? I’m not at all sure what such a life would have looked like. But a few things are clear—if I'd done that, I almost certainly wouldn't have had biological children. We had to work for years, with a lot of help from medical professionals, to conceive.  Finally, we circumvented nature and I gave birth to two beautiful boys who I love beyond measure or reason.  But the cost exceeded my wildest expectations. And I can't say that knowing the price ahead of time, I could have agreed to it in good conscience. Just like Graydon.

In another example, I fought for years against the increasing cacophony of my inner guidance telling me it was time to leave the national security field. Why didn’t I listen to the Universe and work toward a goal guided by my inner self? Because I wanted the fulfillment, the ego satisfaction, the excitement and the exclusivity of the job. So I stayed. Knowing that if I were in flow with the current of my life, I would have recognized the end of that season when it occurred. Instead I left years after the fact, when my resources were spent and I was forced to spend precious time in recovery rather than engaging in activities that helped me to grow and thrive.

As I look back, there are so many examples where I dictated rather than received. When I talked incessantly, telling the Universe what I wanted rather than asking what I was being called to learn and to do. Just like Graydon, who spends two hundred years stalking his prey to try to ensure the outcome he wants. And there is something to be said for this kind of behavior; it often results in our getting what we want. But another thing I’ve learned recently is that I haven’t always been in touch with what I truly want, because I didn’t know who I truly was, as I’ve written about here. This realization has been a recurring theme lately, and it's infused much of my recent writing. But that's OK. All of us process lessons differently, and this is my way. So now I look—actively—to see where I'm tempted to throw my will around, and I work to refrain from doing so. I work hard to not work so hard. Ironic, huh?  Because it's so much easier and more pleasant to see where life takes me, and to walk through doors that are already open, rather than bashing them in with the force of my will, despite my considerable door-bashing skills, honed over a lifetime of throwing my shoulders into the activity.  As I Look back at those disparate doors, the ones I beat down with my will and those that beckoned me through, I'm wondering if I've been focusing on the wrong skills all these years. One skill I want to cultivate now, courtesy of Shadow’s End, is to accept that I did the best I could with the information I had, and to accept the costs of my actions and decisions. To do less is to discount or negate the price I paid, which would be the ultimate waste. So, like Graydon, I will live my life and learn my lessons as a way to honor my past and move toward my future.

Obtaining the Unobtainable

"What is your shameless vision?"  So began the class I just started, where all 26 of us sat in a circle and bared our souls. Glare and share at its finest. Thankfully, I was toward the end of the pack, so I had some time to formulate my answer and listen to those of others. The question was framed quite specifically. It assumed the existence of a vision for ourselves.  It also assumed that this vision was somehow obscured by shame, the malignant growth that cripples many of our dreams and much of our reality. Often, we don't feel worthy of our dreams, and so we abandon them like toddlers bored with their toys.  But we weren't bored, just too afraid to hope, too scared to act, too defeated to go on. When that happens, our dreams, visions, and hearts' desires get relegated to that most depressing of categories—the unobtainable. And everyone knows it's worse than futile to pursue the unobtainable, because we won’t get it. No one wants that. Well, no one except Graydon the gryphon in the latest installment of Thea Harrison's Elder Races series, Shadow's End. Apparently, he didn't get the memo. So when he has an opportunity to go after the unobtainable, he does so with gusto. And defies the odds to get his HEA. Who would have thunk it? Well, me, of course, and probably you, too. But that's okay; reality is stressful so I want my paranormal fiction to end with smiles, not tears.

Graydon is told that Beluviel is, for him, the definition of unobtainable because they come from radically different worlds—not quite Romeo and Juliet, but close. But he doesn't care. As I read about his willing suspension of disbelief with respect to this fundamental truth, I envied him. For most of us, it's viscerally difficult to put aside our inherent feelings of unworthiness long enough to even think about chasing our dreams. We don't feel we deserve to achieve them, which acts like saltpeter on our deepest desires. Shame is a corrosive emotion. And every single one of us suffers from some form of it.

I recently heard shame described as an acronym for "Should Have Already Mastered Everything."  Good one. Because while it’s ridiculous, we persist in our belief that if we’ve not mastered something, or everything, we are unworthy. How sad. For all of us. But this false sense of failure conditions us to think that our visions are unobtainable, the idealistic ramblings of immature psyches. Eventually, we decided to put away these childish notions and assume the mantle of adulthood, with its weighty responsibilities and never-ending hamster wheels. We commit to paying our dues, doing our time, and hope to live long enough to enjoy society-sanctioned sloth, aka the golden years of retirement. Yikes. How shameful is that vision?

We deride the dreamers and the visionaries. But those dreamers who persevere in their reverie and tack a little action onto their visions are among the most creative, productive and happy individuals in the world. The problem is not that these special people tried to obtain the unobtainable; the problem occurs for the rest of us when we stop just shy of getting where we want to go. Unobtainable is just another word for hasn't happened yet.

Unless we listen to the asshole in our ears. You know, the one who keeps telling us, "You can't have that.  You're not smart, strong, skilled, lucky, talented…whatever enough…for that."  We tend to listen to that asshole. His greatest tool is the shame that lives in our cells, the shame that was created when we traded our dreams for a specious sense of connection to ‘the real world’. When we denied our authentic selves, the ones with the shameless visions for our most radiant futures, we nurtured that shame, and thus the vicious cycle began and was perpetuated.  So what, you may ask, was my shameless vision?   My vision—without the shame or self-doubt that usually attends it—is to unleash my passionate creativity and become the writer I yearn to be. I want to create characters with whom I want to spend my time, and stories that engage my wild imagination, in worlds whose rules I determined. In my fiction writing, I finally get to be queen and be the puppet master I've always wanted to be, creating worlds in my image of how things should be according to my values and philosophy. That is my shameless vision.

Sure I can name my shameless vision but I'm not sure I'm ready to pursue it just yet. I need to silence my inner critic. I need to strengthen my inner guide and remember that the Universe doesn't plant deep desires that are not attainable; with the desire comes the ability to achieve it. God wouldn't be so cruel. I think. I hope.  In the interim, I'll continue to read about Graydon and Bel, and watch them both obtain the unobtainable.  While I continue to coax my shameless vision to shadow's end where the sunlight of the spirit shines on all of us.  Thankfully, the book – and my class – have just begun to teach me their lessons.

Through a Glass Darkly

I've been thinking a lot about self-image. I'm still being inspired by Kresley Cole's latest Immortals After Dark offering, Sweet Ruin. In the book, about which I've written previously, the protagonist, Rune, is limited by self-imposed restrictions because he can see himself only in one way. He has not been able to break out of the prison of his own self-image and is therefore crippled in what he believes he can and cannot do. As with so many of the characters in my beloved fantasy novels, art imitates life, and Rune's dilemma mirrors that of so many of us. I’ve written before about how others see us, but today I'm contemplating how we see ourselves, and the myopia within which it can cage us. Our self-image is a construct of the messages we receive… from society, the media, our parents, our peers and authority figures like teachers and counselors. Unless we are introspective and prepared to do the work to uncover our authentic selves, we will be who others tell us we are. And what a mess that is. Women are told we need to be femme fatales who maintain bikini bodies, while breaking through glass ceilings (it's on us to break them, not the idiots who put them in place to remove them). Then there’s the expectation that we become supermoms—who neither hover nor neglect—and perfect wives. Are we living in Stepford? Or amongst pod people?  If not, no can do on all of this. These mixed messages come from everywhere but inside ourselves. They are not only crazy-making, but impossible—and ubiquitously pernicious. 

And how sad is that? Not only do we not know who we really are, we aren't even encouraged to look!  And if we have some inkling that there might be something underneath the expectations of others, like rippling muscle under layers of unsightly fat (that any number of gurus are eager to tell us how to eliminate), we are too afraid, lazy, skeptical or apathetic to do the work necessary to unmask those muscles.

Our self-image is created through distorted mirrors—mirrors that exaggerate our weaknesses or our strengths. What we see is not necessarily what's there. To take a simple example, when we've over eaten, we tend to feel fat the next day (I have fat on the brain today, can you tell?). It's probably not possible that the chocolate cake I ate yesterday has already plastered itself to my ass by today, but it certainly feels that way. Or take an opposite example—just because our parents (well, your parents, not mine, but stay with me here) tell us we are special and we're gonna change the world doesn't make it so. We have to want to change the world, yes, but we also have to take the action to make that happen. Yes, stupid is as stupid does, but that applies to smarts, too. It's not enough to be smart, or to see ourselves as smart—we've got to put in the time—intelligently. Smart is how hard smart works.

One of the most difficult tasks of a life well lived is to know thyself. I'm all about authenticity, but it's impossible to be authentic if we have no idea who we really are, which possibilities are available to us. And which aren’t.

One can simply look around to notice those who clearly think well of themselves (without obvious reasons) and those who don't (again, erroneously to the outside observer). I would dearly love to understand what creates true humility—the ability to embrace both our strengths and weaknesses with neither false modesty nor hubris. If someone could bottle that shit they'd be gazillionaires.

We tell ourselves stories—or, more accurately, someone tells them to us, and then they become our truth. We may not realize that it’s a false truth for quite some time, if ever. When I was little, I often heard my mother tell anyone who would listen how uncoordinated I was. She made me take ballet lessons to help me be more "graceful."  Turns out, I'm not particularly uncoordinated—but I believed myself to be for so long that I eschewed activities that might highlight my clumsiness.  And while I doubt I would ever have been a star athlete, I missed out on even trying fun things I might have enjoyed because I internalized what someone else decided was true about me. 

I have a mug that says, "Imagine what we would do if we knew we could not fail."  It's a sobering thought. What bullshit do we tell ourselves about who and what we are that stops us from being who we want to be and doing what we want to do. In Sweet Ruin, Rune sees himself first and foremost as a whore, very much the same way Zsadist sees himself in the Black Dagger Brotherhood books. This false self image dictates almost all aspects of their beings. For Rune, he can't see himself as anything but a spy who trades his body for secrets. Zsadist can't get over feeling dirty and unworthy, because he was a blood and sex slave.  As a result, both almost lose the loves of their almost-immortal lives.

What have we lost or almost lost through a distorted self-image? What could we do if we stopped believing we can't? Which doors do we close off from ourselves because we refuse to turn the handle and walk through? These are the thoughts swirling around my brain these days. Along with the fat, of course. For now, I see through a glass darkly. But I'm always searching for the light. 

Tactical Considerations

I arrived in my Yin yoga class agitated and distraught. This is not the preferred state of mind for aspiring yogis. I know this. I couldn't help it though. Shit is hitting the fan, chaos reigns supreme, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together… okay, maybe there wasn’t actual human sacrifice, but this week has been wrought with emotion. It started with one betrayal bomb, which I wrote about here, and the hits kept coming. If circumstances allowed me to focus on cleaning up the fallout I’d be relieved. Instead, I find myself ducking and covering as new bombs explode around me. I’m under fire on several fronts. And it sucks. So, back to my mat. My consciousness was streaming. My heart was imitating Eminem's snare drum. Not the best place from which to practice meditative yoga of the restorative variety. But lo and behold, the miraculous occurred (and yes, I get that this is the whole point of Yin yoga, but who would've thought it could actually happen to yours truly?!). As I was stretching to touch my forehead to the floor in final obeisance to my teacher and mouthing my Namaste, a thought popped into my mind. The thought was miraculous - clean and clear of stress and negativity. After class, this blissful musing settled into my muscles and sinews, becoming ground truth.

My thought came straight out of Dragon Bound – one day I will count how many blogs this one book has inspired. It whispered in my ear, "You have no problems today. Just tactical considerations." Despite how hard life seems right now, and how dejected I feel or how fragile my faith in humanity may be… I have no problems today. I do have, as Dragos described his thought processes around Pia, a lot of tactical considerations to consider. Nothing of the strategic variety, mind you, just the concrete, immediate kinds of issues that we know are fleeting, nothing to get too worked up over. Nothing that I need to get attached to (lots of preposition-ending sentences going on there—Mrs. Fowler, my seventh grade English teacher, is rolling in her grave—Sorry, Mrs. F, ya can’t win ‘em all).

So, if I’m not ducking and covering from emotional ordinance, I can consider—in a tactical way— what I need to do about these people who turned on me. I don't need to hate these people, nor do I need to help them in any way. It's not abandonment if they do it first, right?  They are doing the best they can, poor deluded souls that they are. They deserve my pity. Yes, they hurt me. But I'll get over it. They have to wake up and be themselves tomorrow. And the day after that too.  I've been reminding myself that things aren't going according to plan, but so what?  As Pink declares in one of my favorite songs, "I'm still a rock star," and I have no problems today. We plan, and the Universe knocks us on our asses. You know, just to keep us on our toes—and yes, it's harder to be on my toes when I'm flat on my ass, but there you have it, it’s how the world works. I'm sure it will all make sense when I can grill God and ask her what the hell she was thinking. I also need to remember that what's in the way is the way. That is a particularly hard one for me.  I have the way all mapped out –GPS has even shown me two alternate routes, but the one I'm on wasn't one of them. How can this be the freaking way? I'm all about the road less traveled, but this way is a fucking obstacle course. How can I find my way when what's in the way is the way?  Does that even make any sense? Unfortunately, I know it does.  I just don't like the sense it makes. I guess the in the end, like love, the sense you take is equal to the sense you make. Or something profound like that. Who the hell knows?

Not me; I'm dazed and confused. And afraid. I'm not sure what's happening, and my fear tells me, "Your luck has turned. The other shoe is falling.  Prepare for catastrophe."  I’m trying not to listen to my fear. But it is surely an annoying buzz in my ears. And even as I turn away from that fear, I sneak a peek back, like Lot's wife, and we all know what happened to her. Eyes forward, ears closed to the negative noise—find my edge. I can do this. 

I want to focus on what's important, and not what's distracting me from it. I need to be resourceful, resilient and flexible. I want to bend, not break. I want to adapt, evolve, conform to reality, not live in delusion. I want deep peace—so that the waves of my emotions crest and fall upon the surface, but don't churn the waters underneath. I want to be righteous, but avoid the pitfalls of self-righteousness. On the other hand, perhaps I need to focus less on what I want and more on what I'm being called to do. I need to ask, "What have I learned?"  Because sure as Kim Kardashian's boobs are eventually going to hit her knees, the Universe will keep sending me these ‘learning opportunities’ until I've learned what I need to know. “Beauteous”, as Tricks would say.

So far, all I’ve learned is that I have no problems today, only tactical considerations. I need not fear the Reaper nor shoes falling from a high place. All is well in my world. Truly. I just need to keep re-reading Dragon Bound to remember that – and to pick up my messages from the Universe.

Betrayal

I feel gutted. Flayed. Filleted. I've been betrayed, and there is no worse feeling. It is painful.  Sick. Wrong. At various points this week, it's been hard to take a deep breath. My eyes leak constantly.  I'm angry. I'm hurt.  I'm filled with self doubt. How could she be that awful? How could I be that stupid? In the midst of all this upheaval, I haven't known how to arrange myself to find comfort.  Even my skin seems tight around my muscles and bones. So, what to do?  Whine? No, read. I made a beeline for Dragon Bound, my very favorite binky-like book, the one that soothes my jangled nerves and calms my restless heart.

And what did I find, almost on page one of Thea Harrison's most wonderful creation? That the "inciting incident" -- as novelists in the know call it -- was the main character's betrayal by an ex-boyfriend, a man she'd thought she loved, who she thought she knew… but who had sold her out to the highest bidder. As Pia experienced it, "she couldn't get over the knifelike sensation in the pit of her stomach."  And that is exactly what it feels like, isn't it?

Who among us hasn't been subjected to this particular brand of nasty?  Lucky is she who has missed this roller coaster ride, and if it's you, kudos. Do let me know how you managed it.

For the rest of us, join me in the comments section and tell me all about your particular hell. Misery loves company, as I've written about before.

Being betrayed affects so many things—our feelings of worth, our confidence in our own judgment, and our trust of other people. We get to experience the vulnerability of being a victim, my least favorite thing to be, with its attendant loss of control—or even the illusion of it. We have to wonder where else we've gone wrong, who else is a wolf in sheep's clothing? And when the betrayal hits particularly close to home, it's a double whammy of vile emotions. In the past, I've been betrayed by friends and lovers. These days, it's been more professional colleagues, and most recently, a former therapist, which truly sucks eggs.

In Dragon Bound, Pia wonders how she could have been so lacking in judgment, taste and sensibility. I feel her. In fact, I'm feeling quite a lot of this negativity of late, especially the necessity to sit with all these emotions and thoughts, experiencing, deep in my psyche and my body, the trauma of betrayal. And now that it's taken up residence, I need to find a way to move it out, leaving only the scars and impressions of the experience to guide, but not dictate, my future actions.

But how?  I'm sure that forgiveness is key. I must remember that forgiving does not mean forgetting. But forgiving the one who betrayed me is vitally important to my own well-being and has nothing to do with her. I can see her as a damaged, broken individual in need of compassion, pity and help. I can provide the first two, but not the last. That's not my job, although it's hard to know where my job begins and ends. It wasn't my job, for example, to control her behavior. She made the decision to act badly all on her own. I don't have to carry that water. But it's hard not to take responsibility for others' malfeasance. At least for me. I coulda, shoulda, woulda seen the signs, questioned her actions and words, scrutinized her inconsistencies or paid more attention to the warning signs and red flags, which were abundant -- in hindsight.

Becoming sadder and wiser is also key. It is so important, but also so difficult to avoid bitterness and resentment.  I want to balance good judgment with maintaining my faith in humanity and not letting one or even several bad apples poison the entire bunch. It turns out that some people are just bad. Or they descend so far into moral relativism that they cannot distinguish morally acceptable behavior from morally bankrupt actions. I find that when people behave immorally, like my betrayer and Pia's ex-boyfriend, such behavior is always attended by an intense sense of entitlement whereby someone else's needs always take precedence over mine. Or yours. Have you noticed that too?  For whatever reason in these folks' heads, they believe that they always deserve the biggest piece of the pie, whatever that pie entails.  This represents a very skewed world view.

Another pitfall to avoid after we've been the victim of betrayal is becoming paranoid and creating self-fulfilling prophesies. I'm having to watch myself here. I don't want to become Captain Queeg of The Caine Mutiny fame, who sees liars and thieves all around him and whose paranoia manifests in the very mutiny he feared – and which did not exist before his fear tainted his crew members.  Fear is toxic in any incarnation and can ruin a good thing faster than Usain Bolt can run the 100 meter. As Karen Marie Moning reminds us, ‘fear kills, hope strengthens’. She is right. But it is oh, so hard to fight the fear.   I'm doing my best. Not sure how I’m faring in this battle.

Once again I’m amazed and comforted by my beloved paranormal fantasy books. Because while I may not be battling with dragons and unicorns, the demon of betrayal sure feels mythical in scope. I’m glad I have Pia and her ilk to teach me how to fight.

Finding Gratitude

I'm having trouble finding gratitude right now. I've written before of how I used to pray for a grateful heart because there was a big hole in mine where my gratitude should be. I believed that I'd gotten over this problem; worked through my issues and found what I'd been missing. Except it's missing again. Not entirely, and not the way it used to be. I don't have a gaping crater in the center of my chest, feeling like the mouth of some dried up volcano. Instead, I feel the gratitude for my wonderful life—I don't need angelic visitations to remind me of the fact that I'm blessed beyond measure with health, love and abundance. But I can't seem to go deep, to dive in as I often do, and swim in the warm, enveloping waters of my intense gratitude for this existence of mine. I'm sure you are familiar with the litany of my complaints—my Cadillac problems, as a friend called them:  I have the drama llama inhabiting my workplace; my kids spend all their time bickering, messing with their phones and telling me the sky is green just because I said it was blue; my house is a bottomless money pit; my writing isn't going well. I need to lose five pounds. Maybe ten. You know. We've all been there. And in that messy morass of the muck of life, I can't find my touchstone, my gratitude. I called a friend. She listened and then said, "Okay, I hear you and all your problems. Now tell me something good."   I was stumped. Which is ridiculous of course. That same friend said, "Well, what are you reading?  Surely there is something there for you to ponder. And write about. That will help."  She was right. I'd just finished the latest installment in the Dragon Fall series by Katie MacAlister. Dragon Soul, tells the story of Rowan, who morphs from a human, known as the "Dragon Breaker" (and not in a good way), to being a dragon, and the leader of his sept, or tribe, as well as that of his dragon mate (and the only current member of his sept), Sophea. Rowan's problems are of the Ford Fiesta variety—if you suddenly find yourself in a world filled with dragons, demons, alchemists and mages, of course. Poor guy needs to adjust, quickly and unexpectedly, to his transformation from human to dragon in human form, with all the intensity of emotions and spontaneous combustion that entails.  A bit trickier than my first world issues. 

And how does Rowan, who now roars, somewhat uncontrollably, deal with his difficulties? He finds the gratitude, that's how. Sure, he can't control his fire and throw rugs everywhere are imperiled. But aside from ruining floor coverings, there are positive aspects of being a fire-breathing monster. Rowan quickly realizes that he's gone from being despised among the dragonkin, to being a member of the band. And with that comes the real prize—Sophea, a mate to call his own, a woman he loves beyond all reason. For him, that's good reason to be grateful for his abrupt metamorphosis.

So, as I often look to my fictional friends for life lessons, I'll take one here:  if Rowan can do it, so can I. So what if work is a total drag right now?  The drama will unfold and then get folded up and put away. My kids will eventually grow out of being sixteen, and I will no longer be completely ignorant in their eyes. Our house will eventually run out of projects or we will sell it and let the next owners worry about them. I will finally finish these horrific labor pains and eventually birth this piece of writing that is attempting to be born. And I'll either lose those five pounds or figure out how to hide my ever-burgeoning muffin top. One way or another, this too shall pass.

And what will be left?  My beautiful, if bickering family. My eternally loyal and absolutely remarkable friends and our rock-solid friendships. My health, hopefully, albeit in an aging package. My sanity, if I'm careful and lucky. And my gratitude for all of the above. I'm rich, rich, rich beyond measure or merit. And I'm grateful for it. 

Thanks to Katie MacAlister for helping me find my gratitude and my truth in fantasy.

Surrender, Dorothy

Why is it so hard to let go?  I’ve written about this quandary before, but I I'm still thinking about it, so there must be more to say. And, as often happens when I contemplate these questions, I find my thoughts mirrored in the words of the mighty Karen Marie Moning. In Feverborn, we are told that Jada, "simply couldn't let go. She'd let go of the wrong things." Letting go in the past of the wrong things a good reason not to let go, which made me wonder about some of the others. Previously, I’ve explored what it means to let go. But I didn't give a lot of thought to why it's so hard and how the explanations for these exigencies could help us facilitate the process. If we know that letting go is what we need to do, why do we continue to hold on?  In many cases, we don't let go until the pain of holding on is greater than the pain of letting go. Why do we do this to ourselves?  Over and over? Baffling.  But maybe not. I think we hold on for a lot of reasons, previous decisions being one of them. If, like Jada, we have let go of the wrong things in the past, we might be reluctant to let go of something presently. People often talk about "the one that got away."  If we have someone like that in our lives, a lover, a friend, a mentor, a protégé, or even a job opportunity, we might apply that situation to the choice at hand. We can relive the great Tom Cruise film, Top Gun, where leaving his wingman results in tragedy, so you know he's never gonna do that again, right?  If we've made bad choices before, we want to learn from that behavior and not repeat it. The issue is that we sometimes have trouble distinguishing between apples and oranges. Just because we took the wrong fork in the road previously doesn't mean we should reflexively take the opposite path this time. Each situation must be evaluated on its own merits, but this can be a Herculean task because past experiences can create tunnel vision.  Another reason it's hard to let go is because we almost always prefer the devil we know. This is illogical. It’s equally plausible that a new set of circumstances will be less bad than our current ones as they will be worse. But we usually assume the worst and decide that the devil we know is better than the unknown quantity on the other side of letting go. We just don't do well with uncertainty, do we? It's one of the main considerations when we are tying a knot in the rope to try to hold on just a little while longer.  An uncertain outcome is in many ways more upsetting than a certain bad outcome. Again, this defies logic. It's the old bird in the hand is worth two in the bush adage. Unless we are exceptionally tolerant of risk, and most of us are not, we will avoid uncertainty, and therefore we’ll hold on longer than warranted.  We’re also wary of all change, another factor in keeping our death grip on whatever it is we are reluctant to relinquish. 

Change is hard. It's uncomfortable. We don't like it when someone else moves our cheese. We prefer it not move at all. So we hold on and avoid letting go. Which is, of course, the classic definition of insanity—doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.  Some of us get better with practice.  I'd like to think I have; the Universe gives us as many chances as we need to learn our lessons. So if we can't let go in one situation, we will be given another opportunity. It took three serious relationships that lasted way too long for me to learn when to hold them and when to fold them in love. Luckily, fourth time was the charm. I also tend to hold onto jobs longer than I should. And employees. I've been told by professionals that this relates to my dysfunctional childhood where I incorrectly assumed responsibility for others' inadequacies in order to avoid facing the truth about my narcissistic mother (children have a hard time admitting their parents may not be fabulous). Jung would be proud of me for working all this psychological garbage out. But it does explain my previous inability to let go when it's appropriate to do so.  And if my childhood was messed up, it was nothing compared to poor Jada's, so she definitely gets a free pass from Dr. Jung. But she is working on her issues, as we all are, hopefully. In the interim, she's holding on for dear life. One can only hope that in the next installment of the series she gets her HEA. Because that's what we all want, and we hold on or let go when we think it will help us get where we want to go. We're just not always right. 

My Achilles Heel

I have something in common with MacKayla Lane. Thankfully, it's not that I'm the vessel for unimaginable evil. It's our soft underbelly, the place at which we are most vulnerable, a congenital character flaw that leads to serious weakness. It has to do with idle hands being the devil's workshop. Specifically, as Mac says so eloquently, "Purposeless downtime has always been my Achilles Heel."  Mine too. Like right now, in fact, as I struggle to find purpose, productivity and meaning in a few spare minutes between the myriad activities that punctuate my life.  As I contemplated this continual thorn in my side, I tried to unpack Mac's insight. What, exactly, is "purposeless downtime?"  Does such time include minutes and hours that are unscheduled, where we have no responsibilities to dictate our actions? Such moments are rare and precious, or should be, but, historically, they have always filled me with dread. Why?  Before we explore the deep unease I share with MacKayla, let's think about the phrase "purposeless downtime."  I suspect such a juxtaposition is actually an oxymoron along the lines of yoga competition.  So, does downtime have a purpose beyond rest and surcease from doing?  I love it when my yoga teacher says, "Let go of all doing," at the end of class as we prepare for Savasana. But there's a reason they call Corpse Pose the hardest pose of yoga. It's hard to let go of all doing and just be. At least it is for me. Always has been. Because we judge ourselves and others by the doing, not the being. I'm not sure about the rest of the world, but here in the good ol’ USA, we’re taught to achieve. To get the A's, make the team, hit the home run, win that yoga contest and all competitions, for that matter. How many times have you heard someone say, "I'll rest when I'm dead?"   But in wanting to know how we can repurpose our purposeless downtime and make it purposeful. we are missing the point.  As does Mac Lane.  The purpose of purposeless downtime is to be purposeless. To recharge, refresh, relax and rejuvenate. To fill our gas tanks so that we can get to our next destination. The purpose of purposeless downtime is to be a human being instead of a human doing. That proposition scares the pants off many people. MacKayla and I used to be among them. I'm not anymore. I’ve learned to embrace unscheduled time and to make friends with my interior self. Why is purposeless downtime such an Achilles Heel? Well, part of it is the guilt of feeling purposeless and unproductive. But the real kicker for me, and also for Mac, is what we choose to do with that time. Most of us have no idea how to relax in a meaningful way—we watch TV and play video games, both of which are highly stimulating. We sit for too long in positions that stress our bodies. None of this is truly relaxing for our physical, mental or emotional selves, we just think it is. Moreover, in the name of R&R, we engage in excess drinking, binge eating, comatose-like activities where we make like vegetables for days on end, or hit the town and stay up for days on end, pub crawling or dancing till we drop. Again, this is not relaxation. Or downtime.  When faced with purposeless downtime we often get into trouble—deciding to paint our living rooms, only to get distracted when we've only finished one wall, or to plant an herb garden, only to make a big pile of dirt that serves as an eyesore in the front of the house. Or maybe we decide to butt into someone else's business, or take an unwelcome interest in our children's lives.  Perhaps we decide to clean out our closets, and we end up just making a mess. But any way we slice it, we tend to ruin our downtime with ill-thought-out activities because we cannot tolerate inactivity. It’s hard to be a human being. Downtime should be just that. A time to be still, turn inward, focus our gaze softly on the horizon, or into the fire. We can pet the soft fur of our dog, or experience the delicious warmth of a fleece blanket surrounding us on a cold day in early spring. We can listen to the wind, or take a leisurely stroll outside and breath in the scents of the new flowers about to bloom. We can think about all the beautiful aspects of our own lives, and send positive thoughts to those who we know are struggling. We can enjoy a warm bath, or let our kids grow heavy as we count our blessings. We can read a book and engage our imagination, or listen to music that soothes our souls. Downtime is just that, a time to wind down, not up. A time to experience the yin in lives filled with an over abundance of yang.  We can all benefit from purposeless downtime. And we need not be afraid of it. An empty gas tank isn't going to get us anywhere. Unscheduled, unstructured time is also where our wellspring of creativity is located. When we let go of the conscious mind, we are able to access the infinite and to be inspired.  There's a reason the major western religions advocate a day of rest, and why gospels enumerate all the activities that should cease on the Sabbath. Being with ourselves is not an occasion for discomfort; it's an experience of peace and tranquility. In a famous quote from the Bible, God exhorts us to, "Be still and know that I am God."  It's in the stillness that we come to know ourselves, too.  Given that she is possessed by a sentient book containing the most powerful magic in the universe, I understand why Mac might not want to go deep. But that doesn't hold for the rest of us.  So go ahead. Find some purposeless downtime and be still. Relax. Find purpose in being purposeless. It’s worked for me, I've turned my swords into plowshares and my Achilles Heel into my greatest strength.  

The Brass Ring

I couldn't sleep last night. I was up from 2:30 AM until sunrise. This could have been a major disaster, and sure, I'm a little tired today, but who cares? Not me, because I had recently started Sweet Ruin, the latest in the Immortals After Dark series by Kresley Cole. So I just moved to another bed to avoid keeping my husband awake with the light of my Kindle, and settled in for a deep dive into an awesome book. And I was not disappointed. Moreover, I have ideas for several blogs, and I had time to write them all down, so life is very good indeed. Sweet Ruin is the story of Rune and Jo. He is a Dark Fey with poisonous blood and body fluids, and she is a rarity, part vampire and part phantom, immune to his poison. A match made in heaven. There is a catch, of course, and suffice to say that Rune has some major commitment issues, to say the least, which creates the central conflict in the story. But Jo knows what she wants, and she's willing to hold out to get it. For her, nothing less than the brass ring will do, no matter how determined Rune is to deny her. I loved the character of Jo. Her philosophy is to squeeze until something breaks. Boo-yah!  She's a call-them-like-you-see-them kind of gal, and she knows what she wants. And what she wants is Rune. Forever. She wants monogamy, a wedding, and maybe little Runes running around someday. He thinks she's got the immortal equivalent of puppy love and anyway, he's not a one-woman kind of guy, no matter how amazing that one woman is, and why can't she that?! Rune decides that Jo has idealized and romanticized their relationship and has used an unachievable ideal as the "template for her love life."  Clearly, she is misguided, uninformed, and too young to know her own mind. Besides which, he's not a one-woman guy for a variety of reasons that are valid in his eyes and bullshit in hers.

Why has this storyline captured my attention so completely?  Because, as she has done before and will do again, Kresley Cole has taken a well-worn trope and turned it on its head. I love when she does that. In one of my favorite posts of all time, I wrote about how Ms. Cole puts the kibosh on slut-shaming by celebrating her female protagonists' sexuality and ridiculing the men who think women should be virginal. In a similar way, in Sweet Ruin, Kresley Cole abrogates the unfortunate motif of the needy woman dragging the long-suffering man to an altar. This is a theme I find particularly distressing, mostly because I think men are as likely to crave marriage and monogamy as much as women, but also because I fell into that particular hole myself, and it took a while to get to where Jo begins the whole process. Let me explain.

Before I met my husband, I had three long-term relationships. All three had a similar trajectory:  I fell hard and wanted a commitment from each of these three men who personified commitment phobia. I used to joke that if I were blindfolded in a room with 100 men, I would find the one who couldn't make a commitment.  Turns out, I was the one with serious commitment issues, which was why I continually chose emotionally unavailable men. But that is a subject for another blog. The point for today is that I must admit to feeling pathetic, unlovable and defective during all three of those relationships. What was wrong with me that these men didn't want to commit? I fell into the "what if" trap. What if I were prettier, smarter, sexier, wittier, yada, yada, yada? Looking back, I cringe at these memories. 

But I didn't have the self-confidence or self-esteem to think it was them and not me. I was sure the fault lay in my perceived inadequacies, and if only I were more, more, more, I would get the brass ring—or the diamond ring, as it were. After three relationships like that, I began to believe that ring would forever elude me, and what's more, I probably didn't deserve one anyway. I got to a point where I was like Woody Allen—if there had been a man who wanted a commitment from me, I would have wondered what his problem was.

Thankfully, I eventually crawled out of my self-hating hole and figured out that these losers were just that, losers. After all, they could have had me—and I was a total prize—even if I didn’t realize it at the time. I eventually clawed my way to the place that Jo inhabits effortlessly, lucky girl that she is.

I love, love, love Jo's attitude about making Rune see the light. She never questions her own worth, and she never wavers in her desire to have what she knows she wants. She is steadfast in her belief that she not only deserves Rune's heart and physical fidelity, she never doubts that he will come around to her way of thinking—because she is just that fabulous.

Kresley Cole does not portray Jo as some poor little woman trying to "land" a reluctant groom. There's no faux pregnancy scares like in An Officer and a Gentleman. There is no manipulation and no subterfuge. Jo wants Rune—and why not? He's the smartest, sexiest, most accomplished man she's ever met, and she knows that when he loves, it's with all his heart. Moreover, she knows her own mind and her own heart, so his protestations that she is too young to make such decisions are lame at best, patronizing at worst. Jo is the epitome of a strong woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. She will get it or not, but there is nothing pathetic or sleazy going on there, just an honest assessment of desire and the determination to do her utmost to fulfill it. 

So while Jo was encouraging Rune to the figurative altar, she wasn't dragging him, and she wasn't tricking him. Big difference from the usual marriage-minded heroine of days gone by. I think we should all take a moment to appreciate Jo and also Bob Marley who tells us, “If she's amazing, she won't be easy. If she's easy, she won't be amazing. If she's worth it, you won't give up. If you give up, you're not worthy." Boo-yah.

Bad Mojo

I'm still thinking about relationships. What makes them work, what makes them healthy, what makes them fail and what makes them dysfunctional? And I'm about to commit heresy, so read on only if you have a strong stomach. You know how I feel about Mac Lane and Jericho Barrons, right?  Swoon city. I want to be Mac and I want to be with Barrons. Or I have until now. But a seed that was planted in book six of the series, Iced, which germinated in book seven, Burned, has begun to poke through the soil in book eight, Feverborn. I think Mac and Barrons have a bad relationship. There, I said it. Let the death threats commence. But really, let's look at the facts dispassionately (if such a thing is possible), and see what there is to see. As far as I can tell, the only thing Mac and Barrons do well is mind-blowing sex. Which is great for them (and us), but generally not enough to make a good relationship. Relationships require work, of the non-thrusting variety. 

The work of any relationship is, first, to be scrupulously honest about what you want and need, and second to be able to live with it—or not—when our partners can't, or won't, give it to us. That second part of the work of relationships requires a determination about whether what our mates can't or won't give us is a deal breaker. Sometimes it is, and we stay anyway. Sometimes it's not, and we can learn to accommodate without (much) resentment or ugliness. And sometimes we must move on, because something necessary to our soul is being ignored or discounted, and we find we can't be who we want to be in partnership with that person. 

Usually when I read paranormal and urban fantasy, I engage in hagiography, as I've discussed previously. These fictional characters live lives I want to emulate and engage in relationships on which I want to model my own. If I had a dollar for every time I asked my long-suffering husband why he couldn't be more like Vampire Bill, or Eric Northman or Dragos or Raphael, we'd both be rich. But I don't think I've ever asked him to be more like Barrons. And I wouldn't want our marriage to be like Mac and Barrons' relationship.

Mates should trust one another, not keep secrets.  Mates should have a fair amount of confidence in one another's fidelity, not wonder whether he or she is straying because we aren't "enough" for them. Mates should know about each other's favorite foods, not wonder about the biological origin of our partner's preferred meals. Mates should not order each other around, nor should they take compliance for granted. Mac and Barrons fail in each of these areas.

Now, I'm all for great sex. It's a necessary component to any strong relationship. Sex and making love join us emotionally and integrate our physical bodies with our feelings of connection and contentment. Great sex includes lovemaking involves trust, comfort—with ourselves and our partners—and a sense of adventure and fun. Admittedly, Mac and Barrons have most of that—all but the trust. Which means that Mac and Barrons have sex—they don't make love. And while there are those who like to separate the two, and yes, of course, they can be different experiences, it is possible to have mad monkey sex and make love at the same time. But it doesn't always work that way. Unfortunately.

So, while Mac and Barrons have sex that is combustible, I don't find it compelling. Not like Pia and Dragos, for example. I thought one of the hottest sex scenes of all time was in the novella Dragos Goes to Washington, where he and Pia make mad, passionate love after discussing the laundry. As far as I can tell, Barrons doesn't think about laundry. And he and Mac have not made a home together. They live in roughly the same space, just not together.  Bad mojo, in my book. 

And while I get that once Mac had Barrons there was no going back, I wonder if she will ever come to regret the death of her earlier dreams of a husband like her Daddy? Will she be like Sookie Stackhouse and eschew the pleasures of vampire sex for the comforts of a real home and family? I'm pretty sure I would, over time. I'm not sure about Mac, but I am wondering how she will reconcile her upbringing with her current relationship. I’m also wondering how she will reconcile her essential identity with the self-perception that she needs Barrons to basically fuck her back into herself. I’m not sure I would want to rely on anyone for that, personally—the idea that could I lose myself if I can’t get it on with a particular man? I think the bodice rippers of the 1980s are calling and they want their plot points back.

On the other hand, most of us wouldn't want anyone else's partnership.  We look at other couples and think to ourselves, "Well, I guess that works for them, but that would never work for me." And others look at our unions with the same skeptical eye. And that is a good thing in real life. In my beloved fiction, on the other hand, I want to relate more to the choices of my favorite characters. I want to scream at Mac, "Why are you putting up with this shit—he barely makes an effort!  It's my way or the highway with Barrons. Move on! Figure out another way to find yourself!"

She doesn't appear to be listening, though.  Which is OK, of course.  But I don't have to want what she has. I can—for once—appreciate what I've got as being much more desirable.  

The Wall

I've just finished the very deep, very excellent Staked, by Kevin Hearne. He provides so much food for thought and material for this blog, that I am very grateful to him. In the character of Granuaile, the Fierce Druid and ladylove of the Iron Druid after whom the series is named, Mr. Hearne contemplates emotional wholeness and the obstacles that stand in the way of achieving such balance. While Atticus, the Iron Druid, is over 2000 years old and has worked out most of his emotional angst, Granuaile is a brand new Druid and is only in her early thirties. She's got lots of baggage to unpack, and I can relate to almost all of it. In this installment, Granuaile goes after her stepfather—a man who openly disdained and dismissed her, leaving a very wounded inner child behind. As Granuaile determines how to resolve her hurt feelings, she suspects that most people have someone in their lives like her stepfather, "a person who is standing between who you used to be and who you want to be, guarding the wall and proclaiming that you shall forever be imprisoned by their expectations and obligations."  I suspect that she is right.

As you know well if you've been following my blog, the person guarding that seemingly impenetrable wall for me was my mother. Until she died, I could not become who I truly wanted to be, although I was able to move toward that goal to some degree. It is very difficult to heal the wounded inner child inside each of us when the perpetrator of those wounds is still around and is still hurting us. At some point—much too late I'm sorry to say—I learned to stop giving my mother the rock she used to hit me upside the head. She still lashed out, but I no longer provided the weapons. I also learned to stop showing my hurt to her, as that just added fuel to her fire. But her fire has been fully extinguished since July 2013, and my life has been the better for it. I've finally been able to scale that wall and experience the freedom and joy on the other side. The view is a lot nicer from here.

I've been shocked to see how much I've changed since my mother's death. I had worked so hard to overcome my dysfunctional childhood and be the woman I wanted to be. I thought I'd gotten over defining myself purely in terms of "not my mother."  I also thought that I had ceased taking actions according to my shadow teacher—She Who Taught Me What Not To Do. I had a brief moment of regression when my children were born, and I was blindsided by the realization that a mother could do to her child what mine had done to me. As a mother myself, I wanted only good things for my children. My love for them was so visceral, I almost couldn't contain it. But I got past my disbelief, and in the last decade of hey mother's life, which roughly correlated with my forties, I believed I'd moved beyond needing her approval or fearing her disapprobation. I was wrong.

When she died, as her parting shot of nastiness, she left a maximally hurtful and divisive will. My brother and I haven't spoken since a month after her death. She succeeded in ensuring we would never get along by playing to weaknesses she'd been responsible for generating. She incentivized my brother to behave badly, and she knew I wouldn't be able to get over his behavior. Beyond the viciousness of her will, however, her legacy is over. And in her death I discovered that the wall separating who I used to be and who I've always wanted to be had come tumbling down. 

In Staked, after she'd confronted her stepfather, Granuaile decides to be an active warrior for Gaia, using her Druidic craft to rid the earth of polluters and the machinery of burning fossil fuels. She sees such a becoming as the apex of her life's calling, even before she became bound to the earth as a Druid. In the same way, one of the first things I was able to do when my mother passed was to start this blog and begin to express myself as the writer I am. I could admit to the world my love of paranormal smut (although the Iron Druid series has precious little sex to recommend it—please get on that, Mr. Hearne) and begin to share my deep thoughts while reading vampire porn. I can't imagine writing this blog when my mother was alive; I would never have wanted her to know this much about me (apparently, it's OK for strangers to share this level of intimacy—Ijust not my mother).

I've also been able to deepen my spiritual exploration and my connection to the Divine. Maybe I have more of a sense of balance in the Universe, now that she is no longer here to cause me to doubt that God exists. Maybe it was that there was so much grace around her final demise; at every turn of her death and the subsequent activities, including her horrible will, there was the unmistakable hand of fate, guiding what occurred. Maybe it's that I'm more at peace and better able to be still and listen for that which is greater than myself, offering the direction and guidance I certainly never received from my corporeal mother.

Now that the wall is down, I'm more comfortable in my own skin; there is no one out there telling me I'm as far from enough as one can be. I have learned to like and value myself in a way I could not achieve when my mother occupied the same time-space continuum. I am at peace at a level I'd never before imagined, much less experienced. Harmony rules my world much more so than it used to.

And the poor, wounded little girl that dwells in my heart has finally been able to heal. It took some doing, to coax that scared, sad child out from under the piano where she used to hide from everyone and everything because the primary emotion that overshadowed everything was fear. But once I was able to assure her that ding, dong, the witch was dead, she was able to learn to smile again, and make up for lost time playing and finding joy. In turn, my previously wounded inner child has become a strong source of inner strength and intuition, a resource I've come to rely on almost as much as my five senses. What a blessing this healing has been. 

I was quite moved by Granuaile's description of what happens when we scale, leap, walk over or somehow get to the other side of that wall. I will repeat it here for you, just in case you need any additional motivation to climb your own wall: "I am light and free and my path ahead is smooth and wide through a land of burgeoning promise."  Amen, Sister. Can I get a "Hallelujah!"?

More Bounty than I Could Reasonably Expect

I'm reading the eighth book in the Iron Druid series, Staked, here in beautiful Costa Rica. I love this Kevin Hearne series, especially the premise of the last living Druid, Atticus O'Sullivan, who draws his powers from the earth and uses organic bindings to effect magic. He is mostly protected from others' magic by his cold iron amulet, bound to his aura—the Fae hate iron. It's such an original premise and the characters are so well drawn, that I wish Mr. Hearne published more than one novel a year. Thankfully, he gifts us with always-fun short stories in between novels. By this point in the series, there are two more Druids, Atticus' apprentice and girlfriend, Granuaile (which is such a great name—up there with Hermione) and his ArchDruid, Owen, who was trapped on an island where time stood still for 2000 years and is having some difficultly adjusting to modern life, for which he blames Atticus. This latest book is written from several perspectives, including those of Atticus, Granuaile and Owen, and when the point of view shifts toward Owen, it's a hoot. In one scene, Owen is having a particular fine day—he is gifted with a magical weapon, the anticipation of being able to train a group of apprentices and the promise of some afternoon delight from his ladylove. Life is good for Owen and he remarks to himself that, "It's more bounty than I could reasonably expect—more than I ever enjoyed in me old life. I really owe [Atticus] for days like this, damn his eyes."  What a wonderful thought—even with cursing the one who provided such abundance. It got me to thinking about bounty and what we expect from life.  Here in Costa Rica, I've been enjoying the magnificent meter of the crashing of waves on the shore, the intense colors of the early morning and late afternoon skies, the healing capacity of rest and surcease from responsibility. The power of nature and beauty to encourage insight and harmony, the pursuit of which I often find to be beyond me in my quotidian life, is bliss. And I must agree with Owen—that this is more bounty than I could reasonably expect.  Not everyone gets this quality or quantity of abundance. And while some of it is most certainly a function circumstantial luck over which I had no control, including the accident of my birth to affluent parents who provided me with many opportunities, some of my current bounty is the result of choices I've made to be grateful, mindful and purposeful. I've chosen to see the glass half full in many instances, and, as a result, my life is full as well—meaningful, powerful, insightful, thoughtful, and fulfilling. In fact, my cup runneth over. Cultivating these qualities is the work of a lifetime in pursuit of living an awakened existence. Turning on our autopilot and jumping through other people's expectations is an easier, softer way, of course. But it often results in a empty glass and an empty life.

These contemplations beg the question of what makes life worth living and what constitutes a life well lived.  In a different scene in one of the Iron Druid short stories, Atticus remarks that it is all the little pleasures of life that make his long, long existence worthwhile. He loves spending time in nature with his loving—and talking—hound, Oberon (one of the great fictional human/animal relationships of all time), and he loves the many conveniences of modern life—especially toilet paper—which makes sense if you've lived without it for millennia.

If we are able to appreciate the little things, which are really the big things, life is sweet and overflowing with bounty at every turn. More bounty than we could reasonably expect.  And what do we expect? I'm not sure about you, so I'll speak for myself, but I've found that my happiness and perceptions of abundance are in direct inverse proportion to my expectations. When I expect, I tend to be disappointed. But when I can be surprised by the plenitude in my life and take my prosperity where I find it, I can thrive behind my wildest dreams.

It can be hard for me to put aside the perceived burdens of my life to the joy residing just outside the circle of my demands. I want, I want, I want... as I've written about before and it doesn't much matter—whatever I want that I don't have that supersedes my gratitude for what I do have—that is exactly what I will never get, or if I do, will never truly appreciate, so it won't make me happy in the end.

If ornery old Druids can learn new tricks and allow the sunlight of the spirit to shine down upon them, then so can all of us. We can be in the moment and find bounty of some sort or another – even if it’s only for a moment. In yoga, during challenging poses, my instructor will often exhort us to find a place in our bodies that doesn't hurt—the tip of a finger or a spot on our cheek, for example. She will tell us to turn our attention to the parts that feel fine, asking us to magnify our pleasure and breathe through our pain—not to ignore it, but to give more attention to that which does not hurt. It's good advice for learning the difficult art of appreciation. And for feeling that we have more bounty than we can reasonably expect. Enjoy.

Needs and Wants

It’s been too long since I've been able to read an entire book in a day. I'd forgotten the sheer joy of being caught up in another world for hours at a time. I've been on vacation in spectacular Costa Rica (again! Lucky, I know!) and the living is easy. We came back to the place where I originally had the idea for this blog, and its magic continues to work for me and in me. I'm so grateful for the healing sounds of the surf and the fire of the sun, fueling my creative spark. It's heaven on earth. But I'm digressing, again. For my first selection, I chose Patricia Briggs' latest Mercy Thompson novel, Fire Touched. I enjoy this series, and I love how the characters are developing over the course of the stories. This book was no exception, and a particular area of development was the relationship between Mercy and her mate/husband, Adam, the Alpha of the local werewolf pack.  At one point in the story, Adam has reached the end of his rope concerning how some in his pack have treated Mercy, and calls his wolves to task. In a beautiful speech, Adam tells these wolves that Mercy doesn't need him to put food on the table or a roof over her head—she can do that herself. She doesn't need him to defend her or protect her—again, she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. "She doesn't need me to do anything except love her. Which I do." That speech pretty much melted my heart. And my first thought was, "Wow! I wish someone would make a speech like that about me." But my second thought was that it wouldn't be possible for anyone to make such a declaration about me because it wouldn't be true. I wish I could say that all I need or have ever needed from my husband was for him to love me, which he does. Unfortunately, as I thought about it, I seem to have needed a lot more from him over the years—and much of it was not appropriate to ask for, much less expect, as I clearly did. I think many of us get confused between the needing and the wanting. I think we also get confused about appropriate expectations with respect to our mates. Adam's stirring speech about Mercy made me think about all that I've thought I needed over time, and how misguided much of my perceived needs have been. And how much of a burden they have needlessly placed on my mate. Sobering thoughts.  One of the things I thought I needed from my mate was self-confidence. Mine, not his. I wanted him to love me enough so that I could love myself. I wanted him to think me beautiful—or at least beautiful enough for him, when I clearly did not believe this to be true. One of my best friends has a daughter. This girl has more self-confidence than Kanye West, without any of the narcissism or sociopathy. Neither my friend or I are sure where this unshakable belief in her own beauty and awesomeness comes from, but damn if I don't wish I could get me some of that. That lucky girl will never need a husband to validate her looks or her mojo, like I clearly did. The tragedy, of course, is that no one can give that to you, so to ask that of a partner is a fool's errand. Sad but true.

I was also convinced I needed security from my husband. I needed to know early and often that he loved me and wasn't going to leave me. Abandonment issues much?  Yep, might as well have had a sign on my head reading, "Insecurity-R-Us."  My poor darling told me many times a day how much he loved me and assured me of his fidelity and staying power. I only started to believe him about a decade into our union, after which time I worried that he would die—thereby leaving me. Rather pathetic, I know. Not to mention terribly off-putting. It's a wonder I didn't drive him away completely with my ridiculous insecurity. He was going to stay or not. He was going to live or not. And my attempts to control him and his actions almost became a self-fulfilling prophesy because of my distorted efforts to get something I needed but which he sadly could not deliver—because I needed to feel secure in myself rather than look to him for it.  Our mates cannot give us the love we needed from our parents. That ship has sailed. They cannot feed the hole in our soul that needs filling by the Divine. They cannot provide the distractions we need to anesthetize the pain of life. They cannot ameliorate the crushing weight of grief, even when we feel we need the relief so badly we demand it from them. We feel we need to be protected from the sting of failure, the discomfort and fear of illness and the work of life, sometimes. But that is not the role of a mate. 

A partner should not do for us what we should do for ourselves, even when we think need them to. No one should do that. And yet we foist these expectations on our unwitting spouses and then wonder why we are disappointed. How refreshing would it be if we only asked for love? How happy would our partners be if they could fulfill our needs and be the man (or the woman, as the case may be) we only need to love us?

When I thought about how lovely it would be to be the recipient of the speech Adam made about Mercy, it didn't occur to me until much later how amazing it would be to be able to give such a speech. What would that be like?  I can hardly imagine, but now that I've heard it, I can't unring that bell. I love the goal of only needing love from my husband, and vice versa. I may and do still want other things, but not getting what I want is a whole different ball game than not getting what I need.  One is negotiable, while the other is grounds for despair.

My goal is the former not the later – and I will work on that.

Use It or Lose It?

I'm reading Cherise Sinclair's Eventide of the Bear, the third in the Wild Hunt Legacy series. This book is about a bear shifter who is unjustly banished into the forest, only to return to civilization several years later. As the story develops, we learn that Emma had been a bard before she was banished, but she'd been living alone in her bear form for over three years by the time she is integrated into a new community. She doubts her ability to sing anymore, and declines the invitation to entertain and educate the local shifters with her music. She explains that she is out of practice and no longer has the capacity to serve as bard, an honored position in the clan. The leader of the clan rejects her reluctance and assured Emma that she could no more lose her capacity to sing as she could lose her ability to breathe. As he explains to her, "A tail does not disappear, even if it is not wagged."  I had to think about this statement, and I'm not sure I agree with it. I'll lay out both sides of the argument and you can tell me what you think in the comments. At issue is the idea that inherent parts of ourselves do not evaporate into thin air, even if we don't utilize them. As the clan leader stated, the tail still exists, even when it doesn't wag. And that is true as far as it goes. But the question is, if the tail never wags, do the muscles that allow it to wiggle back and forth atrophy to the point where it can no longer move? I'm not sure about tails, but I know that the use it or lose it principle applies to lots of other things.

Toward the end of my mother's life, I watched her come to the unwelcome realization that all of the activities and behaviors necessary to health and wellbeing were no longer available to her. She spent years, decades, probably, intending to start her diet the following Monday, or begin an exercise program or a physical therapy regimen at some point in the future, when she had "more time" (this from a woman who was retired for twenty years before her death.  Have you ever noticed how incredibly busy and unavailable retired people are?  It astounds me how little time for useful or productive activity these folks have. But I digress). That time never seemed to come. In fact, I remember laughing, although it was more sad than funny, when my mother decided that she would adopt the habit of eating a piece of dark chocolate each afternoon, because "they" said it was good for one’s health. When I pointed out that "they" also touted the significant health benefits of exercise, adequate water intake and an avoidance of refined sugar and starches, my mother wanted nothing to do with that aspect of what “they” had to say. She died from neglecting her health until it was too late to help herself, even if she'd been willing to do so. Use it or lose it.

And what about other elements of life?  Must we use them or lose them, too? What about our cognitive capacity?  I've read numerous studies that suggest our mental abilities are very much in the use it or lose it basket. While our brains might not disappear, their ability to function well does. And while I've often heard that the resumption of intimate relations after a romantic lull is like riding a bike, it seems to me that certain parts of our anatomy benefit greatly from regular use.

Just because a part continues to exist definitely doesn’t mean that it works well or at all. I think I'm going to have to conditionally reject the premise of the clan leader in Eventide of the Bear. In most cases, lack of use means loss of access to capabilities. There might be a couple of exceptions to that rule. First, there is probably a time component, as with my mother and her unhealthy habits. We can resolve every January 1 to walk three miles a day, or get to the gym several times a week. But the longer we don't act on our resolutions, the more we increase the risk of having our choice in the matter taken away. I think that we could not use it and not lose it for a while, but eventually we cross a line that represents an event horizon. At some point, and each situation and circumstance is different, there is no going back.

The other exception relates to an inherent talent or an intrinsic part of ourselves. I think this is what the clan leader meant when he convinced Emma that her identity as a bard was in no way diminished by not exercising her talent. Art is like that. It is a part of us, whether we express our creative abilities or not. I am a writer. As I described in an earlier post about why I write what I write, I've known from a very early age that I am a writer. The fact that I didn't write creatively for many years did not detract from my inherent being as a writer. In my essential self, I wrote. Sometimes, it just didn't come out on the page. But my writing expressed itself in my devotion to reading, in my love of words and my ecstasy in the presence of a beautiful turn of phrase, or in my ability to be transported beyond myself through the magic of others' writing.

It's taken me a long time to come back to myself and to write again. At this point, I write for the love of it, more than for an audience, although I am deeply grateful to everyone who reads my offerings to the Muse. And if I never wrote another word, I would still be a writer. It's who and what I am. It is more integral than a tail, more necessary to the fabric of my existence than many of the other threads of my personality.

So for some things, the most important things, the things that make us who we are at our deepest level, use or disuse is immaterial. We don't need to use it not to lose it. For some aspects of ourselves, we can no more lose our abilities than we can stop breathing. Perhaps I won't be a writer in the next life. But I don't really believe that. It's too ingrained in my soul, and I don't think it can be lost, no matter what. What do you think? Is there an aspect of yourself that cannot be lost? I’d love to hear from you in the comments, or shoot me an email.

I Want What I Want

I want what I want when I want it. When this refrain buzzes in my mind, I quickly walk to the other side of the street to avoid it. This kind of contemplation is bad for the soul and dangerous for the psyche. Why dangerous? Because many of us only think we know what we want, and the rest of us have no bloody clue. But we won't admit that we don't know, not even to ourselves, and thus we pursue our "dreams" to extremes, convinced we must attain them or be miserable and unfulfilled. What a sad mess. Why am I thinking about these potential tragedies? Because, as I discussed in my last post, I've been contemplating the content of my favorite paranormal HEAs. And I think I've discovered a common theme among them: every one of my favorite female characters ends up with an HEA that is significantly different from what she thought she wanted. Mac Lane begins her story hoping for a white picket fence and a genteel southern life complete with a husband and children. Sookie Stackhouse thinks she wants a nice Civil War vampire to have and to hold. Pia Giovanni just wants to hide and live out her life as anonymously as possible. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. But in each of these cases, the authors—Karen Marie Moning, Charlaine Harris, and Thea Harrison, respectively, take their heroines on a journey of discovery about what they truly desire. Turns out, the truth does not match the fantasy for any of these fictional heroines.

I'm convinced that life imitates art in this instance: I'm predictably similar as so many of us when I say that the pursuit of what I thought I wanted didn't get me where I truly longed to be. In the end, I spent too much time listening to what my parents told me I wanted, what the media told me I needed for fulfillment and what Madison Avenue insisted I needed to be happy. I think most of us let others dictate our desires, and then we are lost and confused when we're not as content as we were assured we’d be, if only we could get all those things we’re told to seek.

It's quite the letdown when all that we ever thought we wanted is finally in our grasp and we still feel flat and numb—like someone spiked our celebratory champagne with Novocaine. We got the big diamond, large house, and the impressive title while maintaining a small waist, maybe even after a pregnancy or two. We worked and we schemed and we prayed and we bargained. And we made it, by God, we made it.

So now what? Nirvana, bliss, the Golden Ticket, you name it, it's ours for the taking. Except it's not.

What happens when all of that fails to fulfill?  Then what? Some of us refuse to acknowledge our empty reality and pretend to be satisfied with the trappings of ostensible happiness. We become plastic people with rictus smiles, reflecting the dead feelings inside us.  Others among us decide that we need to fix ourselves, and quickly, because the only explanation for not being happy with what is certainly making everyone else envious is that we are majorly damaged and in need of some serious psychological counseling. Misguided thinking for sure, but it keeps the therapists in business.  And then there are those poor souls who somehow don't get what they thought they wanted, and so spend their precious time pining for things that are not to be. I know a woman who wanted children desperately, but married too late to have them and then could not get past it, despite valiant efforts to convince herself and others to the contrary. She reveres all mothers, and is convinced her life is just not what it could have been. This is true. But it’s also true that she could have given birth to a child with developmental challenges, like one of my friends, or lost a child like another. These two mothers might sometimes envy my bereft, childless acquaintance.

We use the failure to acquire that which we think we desire as an excuse for compulsions, mediocrity, underachievement, loveless marriages, immoral and unethical behavior, sloth and procrastination. When we don't get the clothes, or the guy, or the kids, or the looks, the wealth or the health, then we can absolve ourselves of responsibility for our misery and justify our wallowing in it. I hate when I see that in others. I despair when I realize I've done it myself. 

So who are the lucky ones in this dismal picture I've painted?  Well, we have our favorite fictional friends, of course. We have Mac, Sookie and Pia, all of whom are young but wise.  They are able to adjust their perceived desires to accommodate the reality that all but bites them in the face. They each realize—over the course of many delicious novels, thankfully—that what they thought they wanted didn't fit the bill at all. And they were able to shift their perceptions to recognize their dreams and embrace them, finding their HEAs in the process. We can learn a lot from these paranormal people.

As soon as we even suspect that we've been chasing the wrong dream, it's time to make a course correction. Similarly, when it becomes painfully clear that whatever we thought we wanted is definitely beyond our reach, we need to let go of that fantasy and adopt objectives that are more realistic. If we must let go of a dream, by all means, mourn. But then move on.  We also need to tune out the cacophony of voices telling us what we want and what we don't want. Plug your ears and just say "no."  We must take the time to discern what we, ourselves, actually want, no matter that it's not what others think we should desire or seek to attain. Our true desires are rarely reflected by the two-year-old screeching in our heads, "I want it now!"  We need to go below that insatiable inner child to the essential part of ourselves that speaks more softly. She knows what she wants and she knows how to get it – maybe not right now but usually when it’s right.

We're Working on It

I've been married for more than twenty years, and with my husband for almost a quarter century. That's a long time, although not, of course, by immortal standards, where a millennium of togetherness is the expectation upon mating and marriage. I literally can't imagine. And I've been thinking about all of the HEAs in my beloved fantasy books, and the countless centuries of intimacy that each and every one represents. As anyone in a long term relationship knows, the honeymoon eventually ends, and much of the intensity of the passion fades, as does our tolerance for the many differences between our partners and ourselves. I've written before about how opposites attract, and that has certainly been true for me and my spouse. But even if we partner with someone who seems very similar to us on the surface, we all have shadow selves that are uniquely our own. In a lasting lifetime partnership, how do we accept the dark side of our mates, and how can we ask them to do the same for us? I'm not sure, but I know we're working on it. Whenever I think I'm terminally unique or that my relationship is different from those of others, I have but to read one of my favorite fantasy books. Pia and Dragos, Mac and Barrons, Sookie and Sam, and, most recently, Mariketa and Bowen all deal with the beasts within and the necessary accommodations each must make to be part of a couple. Over the course of their stories, each of these pairs learns to come to terms with the creature beneath a beautiful body as they struggle to become a twosome. And maybe it's the GQ looks that each of our heroes possesses, or the alpha male charisma, or their profound devotion to their women that makes it seem easier for their wives.  But any way you slice it, these guys got game—of the animalistic variety. Talk about a dark side. And their women have their own weaknesses and shadows that give depth to their characters and interest to the readers.

But how does this relate to the rest of us? If we ask ourselves honestly, do we truly accept the shadows of our mates? Have we revealed our own inner demons? I'm pretty sure I have, as my demons aren't quite housebroken, and come out to play even when I've told them firmly to stay inside. But they don't listen, and the mess they make can be epic at times. So my husband is well aware of the shadows lurking in my heart. Most of them, at least. But what about his? Can I embrace the darkness in him even as I demand his light? I tell myself I can, but sometimes my actions belie my claims.

In our wedding ceremony, the officiant spoke of the three elements of our union: my husband, our marriage and me. She talked about how we were two complete individuals coming together to create something distinct—a new entity. We had discussed this concept with the minister before the wedding, and she was able to write beautiful prose around our desire to avoid the two halves of a whole trope. I'd been to weddings where that was the theme—where the bride or groom represented the "missing puzzle piece" for the other, like the lyrics of that simpering Katy Perry song about being a teenage dream. I'd also read about this approach to love relationships in the historical romance novels of my youth in the 1980s. In those early bodice rippers, the hero and heroine were always two peas in a pod, two sides of the same coin, an incomplete soul waiting for its other half. Gag me. 

My husband, good man that he is, would never introduce me as his better half. The way I figure it, if I'm only half a person waiting to become whole through the addition of another, the half I'm likely to be is the good part—after all, who would want me (or anyone) if they represent the half that lives in shadow? No one, that's who. So if I'm half a person representing the good stuff, then when I come together with He Who Shall Complete Me, we're gonna generate shadows, not light.

Instead, when I was at the point where I was open to a lifetime partnership, I was looking for someone who would intensify my light and my strengths but also be able to live with my darkness and weaknesses. After all, the advice I give to all couples thinking about marriage is this:  take your intended's worst qualities, magnify them 1000 times, and decide if you can live with what that looks like, it's a good match.  Because if you're going in with the hope of change, as they say in my hometown, fuggedaboutit. 

So for me, and for the fantasy fictional couples I love, we're working on it. All of it. Making sure all of me loves all of my mate and vice versa. It's the work of a lifetime, and a labor of love. We have to take the dark with the light, the beast with the beauty, the good with the bad. Whatever the case, I'll take it all. 

Ease and Effort

I'm struggling with the balance between ease and effort. I'm reading a lot of self-empowerment books, practicing yoga, meditating, and journaling up a storm, and it keeps coming down to the same thing: do we build on our strengths and follow our bliss or do we pay our dues, fight hard for worthy causes, and strive toward that brass ring so that when we get it, we can appreciate it?  I have no clue. Is this a false dichotomy? Probably. So much of life is so much more integrated and less steeped in duality than most of us can appreciate. But that is the subject of another blog. Today, I'm focusing on a scene I just listened to in Kresley Cole's Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night (a cringe-worthy title that has absolutely nothing to do with the subject of the story—sigh). This book is about Bowen and Mariketa, about whom I wrote last time. They are discussing her strong magical capability and she is bemoaning the fact that she finds controlling her powers difficult. And Bowen assures her that it is her arduous struggle that brings greatness, because what is easy does not prepare us. Immediately after listening to this fictional interaction, I saw a graphic on Facebook that said, "A smooth sea never made a great sailor."  True enough. But what about the other side of that coin? The one John O’Donohue spoke of in his poem, Flow: I would love to live/Like a river flows/Carried by the surprise/Of its own unfolding. Do we go with the flow or swim upstream?  Seems like a silly question. Who wouldn't want to go with the flow, enjoy the ease of having the river or the tide carry us along?  In yoga class this morning, my teacher read a poem by Danna Faulds called Let It Go that told me to, “Save your strength to swim with the tide."  Another of my personal gurus, Danielle LaPorte, tells us to do what's easy. All of these exhortations toward ease sound so good, but are they true? I want to believe but I’ve been conditioned to think that it’s all about the hard work. I’m so confused.

I've mentioned before that I am the mother of fraternal twin boys. My sons could not be less alike. For one of them, intellectual and academic achievement has always come easily, while his brother has had to work assiduously for his good grades. Fast forward to their sophomore year of high school:  the work is harder and the expectations are higher. My son who's never had to toil too much is now struggling because he has no idea how to work, while his twin is continuing his hard working ways to great effect.  Seems to me that a habit of ease is not fabulous under these circumstances, and a lack of hard work is beginning to bite him in the butt.

And what about the concept of value?  Do we truly value that which comes easily?  I think not. I think we discount what we don't work for and take it for granted. Back to my kids—we are asking them to earn (or work toward) the cars they so desperately want when they get their provisional licenses this summer. They've pointed out to us that many of their friends are getting expensive new cars the day they are eligible to drive them. I asked my boys whether these kids whose parents buy them whatever they want have strong characters. They tell me no. They are spoiled brats in many cases. No one likes a brat, and my kids understand that making them earn what they want will benefit them in the end (even though they grumble quite a bit). Incentives and disincentives.  Works every time.

So, perhaps between ease and effort we must find balance, as in all things. Too much effort can make us fall into despair and burnout. Too little effort leads us to be frivolous with things that should have value. Finding the balance is the tricky part, of course, but it's gotta be there. With balance, we get the wounded healer, the successful failure and even the failed success. With balance we get an ugly duckling who turns into a swan, and the child who struggles in school who ends up developing the theory of relativity…maybe. I reassure myself that it sometimes works out that way.

Perhaps balance can be found in the sequence of things—maybe the bad must precede the good, so that struggle comes before triumph. It seems much more difficult to go the other way—riches to rags is always a tragedy, whereas rags to riches is a triumph. So when Bowen explains to Mariketa that it is her struggle that will help her to be a great leader, I think he's right. I remember learning to pilot a hang glider. A large part of the instruction is how to respond to worst-case scenarios. It's actually relatively easy to fly a hang glider when everything is going smoothly. But if the wind shifts direction or intensity, if an obstacle suddenly appears (like a truck crossing your landing spot), or the plane pulling you up suddenly disconnects you, who you gonna call?  No one, that's who. You have to solve your own problems at 5000 or 500 feet.

And maybe the balance is between pursuing that which comes easily—areas in which we have innate talent and passion—and hard work in equal measure. If we are exercising our talent, maybe it just doesn't feel like work because we are enjoying it. Maybe it’s just that easy. Or maybe I need to struggle some more with this dilemma.

Third Eye Open

In the fourth installment of Kresley Cole's outstanding Immortals After Dark series, Bowen, a werewolf, is convinced that his long-lost mate has been reincarnated as a young, powerful witch, Mariketa the Awaited. One of the reasons he is hopeful that Mariketa is his beloved reborn is that his Instinct, which has been silent since her death, is suddenly guiding him again. Bowen is thrilled with the return of this important aspect of his psyche—the voice in his ear providing direction, validation, and the comfort of certainty. I envied him his Instinct and fantasized about what it would be like to have a similar beacon illuminating my path.  I figured it was almost like being able to conjure my own personal burning bush whenever the need arose. Seductive.  On the other hand, we humans are animals with instincts. I remember reading somewhere that the only true instinct humans are born with involve the urge to suckle and an innate fear of falling. Seems like a weird combination, but there you have it. So we don't have the Instinct like Kresley Cole's werewolves, but we have something else. Something better, perhaps: intuition.

Intuition is the inner knowing, the gut feeling, and the quiet voice in our heads that seems to understand the truth, even when our minds are less than clear. Our intuition is associated with our third eye—the one between our actual eyes—all-seeing and all-knowing.  And if the mystics and the psychics are to be believed, all of us come into the world equipped with that metaphysical ability.

I struggle sometimes to know the right thing to do, the right path to take, the best choice to make. It can be quite daunting to decide based on incomplete information, or conflicting desires. And it can be excruciating not to know—sometimes until much later, if ever, whether I made a good decision. How much easier would it be to know—with certainty—that what we are doing is what we are supposed to be doing. 

And that is where intuition is a lot like Bowen's reawakened Instinct. The major difference is that we humans need to cultivate our intuition, whereas Kresley Cole's werewolves have it at their fingertips (unless they've suffered major trauma, like Bowen). The problem for us is multifaceted. First, we can't hear our inner voices (unless, of course, we hear voices, in which case we may be in need of some serious meds or maybe even a padded cell, but that's another issue entirely). Secondly, we don't always trust our inner voices, even when we can hear them. We seek external validation for that which we know—deep in our hearts—to be true. Lastly, even when we hear and trust our guts, we don't want to do what we know we should—for whatever reasons, although mostly those reasons come down to good, old fashioned fear.

In our age of distraction, we can't hear much of anything. We have buds stuffed in our ears, music blaring from our cars, television, movies, video games, overworking, excessive play, and the constant rush, rush, rush of the busy modern life. Who amongst us gets quiet enough or still enough to hear that small whisper within? There are so few Hortons among us to notice the tiny, "Who?" coming from that speck of dust. To attend to our intuition, we must listen. Meditation is good. Long walks are good. Staring into space and contemplating the vastness of the cosmos is also acceptable. And while mindfulness, yoga, TM and other forms of meditative spirituality are gaining traction, not enough of us practice enough to make a discernible difference in the level of intuition being accessed in our busy, busy world.

On top of our perennial busyness, many of us have come to distrust ourselves. We get so many messages from the media, our friends, our parents, our employers, our politicians, etc., about who we should be and what we should think that we dare not trust that small, inner voice without checking with our peeps, or our favorite taking head, or our therapists about whether they think our intuition is correct. We behave as if we've been betrayed, stabbed in the back by our intuition, when that isn't possible. Our intuition is always right. On the other hand, when we listen to our egos masquerading as our intuition, we can go seriously wrong, and begin to believe that we can't trust ourselves. But that is just our delusion talking.  Deep down, we know the difference between ego and essential self. We just choose to ignore that difference some of the time. 

Which leads to our third and final problem with intuition—when we don't like what it's telling us, we reject it. Outright. We say, "I hear you, but I'm not listening, nah, nah, nah!"  We know when a relationship is bad or going south. We know when a job is sucking our soul dry.  And we know when we are making poor choices and willfully deciding to make them anyway. Because we are afraid of what will happen if we follow our inner knowing. What if people won't like us? What if we risk our job or our marriage? What if we won't get what we think we want (because someone else told us we should)? What if what we really want is so far off the reservation that we may never find our way back again?

Intuition is just hard. It makes us work for wisdom that we sometimes wish we didn't have. Truth is like that sometimes. Quiet. Uncomfortable. Difficult. But fighting our truth, closing our third eye, is a road to certain unhappiness and lost fulfillment. Keeping our (third) eye wide open is the best way to see the truth. Even in fantasy novels.