If you want to be happy, be.

This quote was in a newsletter I got yesterday.  It was attributed to Leo Tolstoy.  A short little sentence it is, but oh the power it assumes.  As I read it and thought about it, I could almost feel the happiness roll over me. 

If you want to be happy, you can be happy.  Why is it that we tend to give away to others the power of our own happiness?  By that I mean the self defeating statements that I know I’m guilty of enunciating like “I’ll be happy when  . . . we can buy a bigger house . . . this winter is over . . . fill in the blank.”  It could be anything on which you hinge happiness. 

 So, stop waiting ... 
Until your car or home is paid off. 
Until you get a new car or home. 
Until your kids leave the house. 
Until you go back to school. 
Until you finish school. 
Until you lose 10 lbs. 
Until you gain 10 lbs. 
Until you get married. 
Until you get a divorce. 
Until you have kids. 
Until you retire. 
Until summer.. 
Until spring. 
Until winter. 
Until fall. 
Until you die. There is no better time than right now to be happy. Happiness is a journey, not a destination. So work like you don't need money, love like you've never been hurt, 
and, dance like no one's watching. 

If not now, when? Your life will always be filled with challenges.  It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with ... and remember that time waits for no one. 

I recall a story that was emailed to me a few years back.  A man’s wife had just died and he was preparing the outfit in which she would be buried.  In her closet he comes across several brand new outfits, lovely ones, still with tags on them.  She had been saving them for something, some special time, not thinking that the day may never come.  Feel good and be happy now.  Why had she not enjoyed the new clothes and the way they felt against her skin or the way the color set off her eyes?  Why wait?

Okay so as we roll into another year, I’m going to post this little quote on the top of my day planner.  I will write it in random places in my calendar to remind me that I don’t need a reason or have to wait to be happy.  My life is good today. 

Merry Christmas all!

Recovery Topic: For Sale – The wreckage of my past

That’s an expression they use; the wreckage of my past. It’s the trail of bodies you leave behind you when you move into recovery. Quitting drinking is just the beginning. Next the hard part begins. This is when you clean up the mess you’ve made. It takes a lot of work to become responsible for your behavior and begin to pay your debts, financial as well as social, emotional, and physical. For me, it seemed like I would never dig out of the bills I had neglected for so long. I felt like I was constantly being reminded of the negative affects of my drinking. Sometimes I felt like throwing up my hands and giving up. In hindsight, I’ve accomplished a lot in taking care of those things. Along the way, much has changed for me. From a feng shui perspective, I feel better not being reminded of the negatives. Psychologically, there is benefit in living in a positive nurturing environment, free of the “wreckage of my past.”




But there are things that I’ve clung to.

We’ve sold my thirteen year old Nissan Pathfinder. I love that car. I will miss it. See that? That’s where I rear ended someone and got an OUI some six years ago now. And over there, that dent? A year and a half has gone by now since that happened and each time I think about it, I try to get a little more “life is short” into me. It was frigid cold, but sunny winter day in January 2009. I had just dropped Nola off and was late for work, taking a road that I hate taking, getting stuck behind people going really slow and driving up my aggravation. I passed a car, then another. The road crowns to allow for runoff and the ice had become pitted and grooved. The sun was melting that top layer and it became really slick. I crested a hill and before I knew what was really happening, I was spinning and traveling down the hill, in the opposite lane, backwards. Whoosh! A relatively soft rear end landing in a snow bank, but when I managed to get out of the car, I found that not only had I taken out a mailbox, I had come within inches of hitting a woman who was shoveling the end of her driveway while waiting for the bus to come for her grandson, who stood just a few feet behind her. She showed me her footprint in the snow where she had stood. Two or three inches away: my tire tracks. I could have killed her. I could have crippled her. Thankfully, I only dented the fenders and plowed down her mailbox. My insurance covered the cost of the mailbox and post, and we did the best we could to have the fender repaired enough to get it through inspection for another year. Each time I think about that accident, I think about how close it was and I shiver with that feeling of “what if . . “

When I became the owner of that car, my life was incredibly different. I was married to a man who I believe had been having an affair, if not of a physical nature, surely an emotional one. Not that I had been entirely faithful during our marriage, but when we bought that car together, trading in another one, it was a renewed commitment to each other as well. We became the owners of it in early 1998, buying it new off the lot from the dealer, with an odometer reading of 1. That year, 1998, would prove pivotal for us, first discovering we were expecting a baby, then losing that baby. He rushed me to the hospital for emergency surgery to remove the life trapped in my right fallopian tube. The seats reclined to offer comfort on the way home to recover. Back and forth to the health center we drove in that car as we learned about and pursued fertility treatment, then the trip to have eggs removed and another trip to transplant the embryos. Again we had the reclining seat on the way home, as it was advised to be as still as possible for the days afterwards. I recall staring through the windshield of that car at the sign that my husband and father had posted on the garage door for me, my sisters, and mother when we returned from our annual shopping trip to Freeport the day after thanksgiving: Welcome home Mommy. The hospital had called with the pregnancy test results and that day I found out I was pregnant. I was driven in that car to the hospital near midnight on August 1st, 1999. Our daughter had her first car ride in that car, home from the hospital. I sat in the back seat with her. Many rides she would have in that car. Many drinks spilled and snacks dropped. We had six dogs in that car when we moved to Maine. Their wirey hair still sticks to the back of the seats. We were so optimistic then, moving back to Maine with our infant daughter, close to my parents and family, starting up a new business in a new town. I took many long drives by the ocean in attempts to get away as the business strained our marriage. I parked at the beaches and looked out over the waves. I started driving around with a tumbler full of wine or vodka and lemonade. I did a lot of drunk driving in that car. I have to admit that. I was fortunate that I had only one OUI, after rear ending someone. See the front fender and grill? That’s where I hit the other car. I never got it fixed, didn’t report it to the insurance company. At that point in my life, things were spiraling out of control and continued to get worse. A few months after that accident, I lost my license for a year. The car sat parked for the whole time. It was neglected while I neglected myself. When I started driving that car again, I was stuck in a pattern of sobriety and relapse. I drove that car to pick up my daughter on the day I hit my bottom. I drove drunk to pick up my daughter at school and wasn’t allowed to take her, thankfully. The car stayed at her school until I was released from the hospital. I took a cab to pick it up, late in the night. I drove to the hotel I was staying at and called Joe. I called to surrender. I called to say I couldn’t do it alone and needed help. The next day, he drove the two and a half hours to come get me. We drove to Bangor and I moved in with him. That car has been parked next to his ever since.



Over the past 4 ½ years since then, that car has been cleaned and cared for. It got serviced when it was supposed to and fixed when it needed to. It carried groceries home, my daughter to school, and yard debris to the dump. It carried a lot of our belongings from the apartment we rented to the house we bought. It was my guardian on snowy days, trying to get home from work, biting down in four wheel drive and keeping me on the road.

In many ways, the life of that vehicle parallels my own. The good times and the bad times. The memories of my life in the past thirteen years show that car parked in the background, often waiting to take me to the next place. Short trips, long trips, big moves and small ones. Selling it is like selling some of my history. My recovery needs to move forward and change is a good thing. The dents and burns and dings reminded me on a daily basis of mistakes I made. Sometimes it is good to be reminded and other times it casts a negative shadow over your accomplishments.



So, as I drove it last night, to meet the couple who bought it, these thoughts passed through my consciousness. The last time I grip the wheel, the last time I close the window and turn off the radio, the last time of so many that I close the rear gate and lock the door. Now this young family can take the car. We heard them squeal with excitement. Their baby slept in the car seat as they signed the bill of sale and handed me a check. I hope that they treat my car well and vice versa. I hope they have good experiences and create happy memories on the road. Let it move them and take them places they’ve never been. Let them wash and wax and care for it. Let their son spill his juice on the back seat and lose goldfish under the mats.



Give them all new life. Drive on. Don’t forget the past but look to the future.

Recovery topic: Missing out?

“Do you feel like you’ve missed out?” The question was raised at a meeting last week. When directed at me, I replied as honestly as I could and said that no, I feel like sobriety has given me more than I feel that I’ve missed. I’ve been thinking about the question, and its resulting conversation and my response since then. Does the fact that I cannot safely drink alcohol mean that I miss out on the things in life that I would otherwise enjoy?

Tomorrow is my 45th birthday.  I spent my 40th birthday in rehab. I had just reached 30 days sobriety. Joe had been sending me cards and letters, but we were not yet a couple. One of the girls and I had spent the afternoon in the house kitchen making me a birthday cake, orange chiffon. They all made me a huge birthday card and wrote the requisite congratulations and birthday wishes. Not long after that birthday, I “graduated” from the program. The months after are filled with good things like falling in love with my friend, Joe and some bad things like relapse and disappointment. I was on the edge of life, wanting so desperately to be “normal” and be able to drink and party like I had been. The other side of that edge was I life I could barely see, but was at its beginnings. It gleamed on the horizon. If I squinted hard enough I could see a life of calm, an end to chaos and fear, days filled with what the “real” world considers “normal,” like taking my kid to school and making dinner for my family and being loved more than I could imagine and actually believing that I was worthy of that life and love.

Here I sit five years later with no question in my mind that I am worthy and deserve what I have. Do I think I’ve missed out on anything because I couldn’t drink through the last five years? Would my life have been better if I could have had beers at the barbeques that I have been to? Or pina coladas in the Caribbean? Or champagne at my own wedding? I honestly doubt that it would have enhanced any of the experiences I’ve had. In fact, when I really examine how it had been, the reality of it is that it’s unlikely I would have been invited to the barbeques. Nor would I have gone to the Caribbean. Getting married would not have happened either. If I had continued to drink as I had been, there’s a question as to whether I would have even made it to this day alive. I feel quite certain that Nola would not be living with me. I know for a fact that Joe would not. My parents were nearing the point that they couldn’t deal with me. The friends I had at the time, the few that were left, had grown tired of my antics and drama.

As to the question of whether or not I’ve missed out, I add – Missed out on what?



Okay – yeah I missed out. I missed out on going to court and losing custody of my daughter because it would have been unsafe for her to be left in my care. I missed out on getting caught driving while intoxicated because “I was fine”. I missed out on who knows how many fights with my ex-husband about who knows what because active alcoholism requires drama and self loathing and being a victim. I missed out on the loneliness and desperation. I missed out on a lot of crying. I missed out on having to apologize to people after having drunk dialed them, and then remembered it in the morning. I missed out on all the cringing and wondering exactly what I had done and said. I missed out on crashing my car and hurting myself or another person. I missed out on missing Joe after he had had enough of me. I missed out on staying in that crappy apartment and struggling to get through every day. Yes, I guess I missed out on a lot.

So as I round the corner into forty five years on this planet my worries and concerns face forward. I am not mired in regret. What did happen happened and not one tear is going to change anything. What did happen is that I got sober. That triggered a series of events that have made my life as wonderful as it is now. The amazing gift of balance and serenity has seeped into all other areas of my life. My wonderful daughter has the mom she needs, who can support her and love her and laugh with her. My husband has a wife who can truly be a partner as well as a friend and lover and a fun date. My parent’s daughter emails and calls them just about daily about the little good things. Being sober allows me to be all of this and more. I’m a co-worker that others can depend on, not gossip about. No one shakes their heads and wonders when I’m out sick. I’m a photographer with a clear focus not only on the business I’m building, but on the images I create and the image I cultivate. I’ve got gifts I couldn’t have imagined that day in rehab five years ago. I’ve done things I hadn’t even dreamed about. I have possibilities and determination, and no reason to believe that I can’t achieve whatever it is that I want.

The fear of “missing out” on the good stuff has a counterpart in “missing out” on the bad stuff. Talk about balance.

Having Fun: Then and Now

If you would have told me six years ago that I would go to the Caribbean and not have a margarita or pina colada, I would have laughed out loud at the thought. My vision of a day on an island would have most certainly included tropical drinks and a mid afternoon nap in a hammock to sleep it off. Mimosas and Bloody Marys to start the day. Fruity cocktails to keep it going. My days would have revolved around tiki huts and beach bars. When I thought of the Caribbean, that’s what came to mind.




In all honesty, drinking was on the agenda no matter where I was.



My first trip to the Caribbean was to St. Maarten and it was very early in my sobriety. Perhaps 90 days sober when we went, those welcome cocktails at the reception desk and the tray full of passion punch on the catamaran snorkel tour we booked were hard to look at, knowing that I had to decline them. I was really tested on that trip.

Since then, though, we had been to many places and events where alcohol was not only served but encouraged. In Mexico, at our resort, a tequila cart wheeled around at dinnertime, and Kahlua was set right next to the serve yourself coffee. Booking an all inclusive resort, we worried that since we didn’t drink, we wouldn’t get our money’s worth, and even commented, at dinner one evening as that tequila cart was offered to us, that the resort would be losing money if we were drinking. Our in room refrigerator was stocked with beers and champagne and a bottle of tequila had been left as a gift. I had requested that the management remove alcohol from our room, hoping that we would be stocked with more bottled water and sodas. Our neighbors in the villa benefited from the gifts.

I’m a parrothead. That hasn’t changed either. I’m a sober parrothead, though and for me that’s a big change. For the uninitiated, a Parrot head is akin to a Deadhead, back in the days of the Grateful Dead, only in this case, a Parrothead is a fan of Jimmy Buffett. You know Buffett, of Margaritaville fame. If you’ve ever been to a Buffett concert, you know what it’s like. It’s a parking lot full of grass skirts, coconut bras, and blenders whirring. I have now been to two shows sober. And I had just as much fun. Being sober at a Buffett concert didn’t mean that we didn’t participate in the frivolity. We wore the grass skirts and brought a cooler full of food and a jug of frozen concoctions. We walked around the venue and surveyed the activities; the swimming pools and the barbeques, the huge margarita glasses and the drinking games. What’s different about my experience? I can make it through the show. I’m not lost and wandering around the parking lot. I didn’t throw up. We saw plenty of that there. We had VIP Parking so were near the entrance to the venue and watched many a drunk guy or girl make their way through the gates, pouring out the last of their cocktails near the door. Some were held up by others. Some were singing. Some were crying. Some didn’t make it into the show at all. I watched, bemused and grateful for my clarity.

At times it is difficult to live a sober life in a society drenched in alcohol. I am writing today to tell you that you can have fun without drinking. There was a time that I would have baulked at the thought. I believed that everything that was to be enjoyed was to be enjoyed with drinks. All of my favorite things to do back then included drinking, whether it was a picnic, getting together with friends, working in my garden, or just hanging out at home. There was always alcohol. Now having been sober for a few years, I can honestly say that I don’t miss drinking. Those favorite things to do are still some of my favorite things to do and are just as fun doing them sober. More fun in most cases because I remember them. I don’t end up bruised and wondering what happened. I don’t get into arguments and find myself crying. And I’ve discovered new things. Things I love to do now would have not been on the radar back then for one reason: I couldn’t drink while doing them or they would cut into my drinking time. I’m talking about snorkeling, riding zip lines and roller coasters, long hikes and nature walks with my husband, daughter, and friends. I run now. I cook with out burning stuff (most of the time). I can see a project through to the end. Before getting sober, I would have been too anxious doing these things. I would be preoccupied with the whens and hows of my next drink. Sobriety has given me a freedom that I didn’t know before. I am no longer obsessed with alcohol, acquiring it, consuming it, coveting it. The compulsion to drink has left me.

Yes, I made changes to accommodate my new life. In some ways, I changed everything. In reality, yes, my attitude changed, and along with it, so many other things. Today my life is better than I could have imagined. It’s peaceful and happy. Gone is the drama and anxiety that active alcoholic behavior had me entwined in. But I didn’t have to give myself up. I didn’t change my taste in music or my sense of humor. I didn’t alter my style of dress or my love of cooking. My daughter, my husband, my writing and my photography are still my passions, and if anything, the ability to nurture them is increased. A tropical drink is still delicious even without the rum. It took a while for me to be comfortable in situations that had been notoriously intoxicating. I am thankful I had such great support from my then boyfriend now husband, who had been through it and knew about triggers. If you’re new in sobriety, or if your old playgrounds are unsafe for you, don’t go there. Don’t tempt yourself unnecessarily. Don’t put yourself in situations that will make it difficult to stay sober. I’m telling my story so that others might see something useful in my experiences and recognize that life is very far from over when you get sober.

Courage to change

I think that I would like to make Monday be the day that I write about recovery.

For the past few weeks that I have been writing this blog, I have enjoyed finding photographs from my portfolio that could accompany the topic at hand. This time, it’s probably good that I don’t have any photos that are directly related to this subject because, though I lived it, I don’t always want to look at it. Having photographs of alcohol would mean that I had been up close to some, which I haven’t. Photos of alcohol never tell the whole picture. The shining bottles can’t possibly provide the viewer with a clear image of the destruction in its path.



Last night I watched one of those Hallmark Hall of Fame movies. Now usually I steer clear of them. I like their cards, not so much into the movies, and that’s because they’re usually sure to be those tearjerker movies with way too much melodrama and the requisite “feel good” ending. This one was different, and leads me into today’s recovery discussion.



It was called “When Love is not Enough: The Lois Wilson Story”. The sappy title would have had me changing the channel in a flash had I not heard the part about Lois Wilson. Lois Wilson was married to Bill Wilson, one of the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous. She began Al-Anon, the worldwide fellowship of support for families of alcoholics. You can read the book or rent the movie to get the whole story. I want to focus on just one line.



An average of no less than four people are pulled into the vortex of an alcoholic. I find it an interesting image, the vortex, a swirling, sucking, pulling force that claims those in its path, despite attempts to grab on to anything to keep from drowning. I can see how this would be an appropriate comparison to the life of an active alcoholic. My parents, Nola, my ex husband, my boyfriend at the time (now my husband), were all in danger of being drawn in and brought down by my own destructive influence. They were trying desperately to help me and were all living each day based on my actions and the drama I created for each of them. Even when I got sober, for quite a long time, they would ask each other “how is she?” Translate: has she been drinking? I felt paranoid for a long time. It seemed like everyone was just perched on the edge, waiting for the next time. Fortunately, there hasn’t been a “next time” for nearly 3 ½ years now. For me the last time was enough to teach me that I cannot drink, ever.



I vowed to repair the damage I had caused, and in many ways, I have. My relationship with my parents is loving and good. My daughter lives with me and is my biggest fan. She hardly remembers any of the drunken behavior. My ex-husband, well, that’s okay these days. He can no longer use my drinking against me. Continued sobriety has given me incredible gifts and one is the confidence to stand up for myself. It has also given me a life second to none, as they say. Happily married to another sober alcoholic, we hold meetings at home. Bill W. said that any time two alcoholics get together and talk about their experiences, a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous takes place. The same must be said for those now safely out of the vortex, the families and friends of alcoholics. The same discussions that used to feed my paranoia were important to their own recovery, and therefore would constitute a meeting of Al-Anon, wouldn’t they?



I’d love to hear from anyone who has experienced the benefits of talking to another person who has suffered from living in the vortex of an alcoholic.

Uncover Recovery

Any one who knows me knows that I am usually quite open about my recovery. Joe and I joke about it at home. Comments that begin with “if I was still drinking. . .” whatever it might be, drift around our kitchen when we make dinner. We talk about beer ads and how I would probably love Lime Bud, given my attraction to that particular citrus. I’ve often commented that it’s a good thing that mojitos came into fashion after I quit drinking because that combination – lime and mint – well, some of my favorite flavors – would have been dangerous for me. Around the house and with our friends and families, our alcoholism is fair game for discussion, sarcasm, and reflection. My disease is not a secret.




Why, then, after nearly four years at the same organization, have I been hesitant to tell my coworkers? When I started working at my current day job, I was relatively new in recovery. I disclosed out of necessity that I had been arrested for OUI and noted “continued sobriety” in the comments on my job application. I have told my co workers that I don’t drink, but haven’t really discussed recovery and alcoholism with any of my office mates. I have to ask myself why. Like other areas in my life, my current position requires that I be diligent and focused, honest and responsible. Unlike those other areas in my life, the consequences for missteps affect an institution, not only those in my small circle of life. While I am confident that I am able to fulfill those requirements at my job, I fear that misconceptions about alcoholics will color my coworkers’ opinions. The bottom line is that most people have been affected by alcoholism, and generally not favorably. I worry that people will think that I’m “on the edge” all the time, clinging to sobriety tenuously, rather than firmly entrenched as I feel I am. I don’t want everyone to feel that any discussion that touches on alcohol, whether it be enjoyment of or lamenting over, has to be prefaced with a “sorry, Celeste”, prior to continuing the conversation.



It’s like postal workers. They all get lumped together as a group that is just about to snap, when in reality, that’s not the case. They even coined the term “going postal” to describe a person who just loses it. I don’t want to be lumped into the group of “alcoholics” because most people just don’t understand the disease of addiction. I worry that rather than seeing me as having overcome adversity, I will be viewed as having moral fault, and transactions that I’ve proven that I can handle will be put into question.

The alcoholics I’ve met along the recovery road have been some of the most honest and responsible people I’ve ever encountered. I’m proud to be part of that group. It’s unfortunate that those practicing active alcoholic behavior are part of the image conjured when some one is labeled an alcoholic.



Perhaps I should have faith and give my coworkers the benefit of the doubt. We’re not a group of strangers. I have certainly established my competence. We laugh and joke about our lives and given that being in recovery is a daily part of mine, why not roll it into the fabric of my at-work persona? Maybe someone is struggling with alcoholism and I could help. One of the biggest comforts I found was in knowing that I am not alone. If I could put myself out there as an example to others that people do live happy lives in recovery, then perhaps it might propel another to seek help. If I could save one person, just by being open and honest about my recovery, any uneasiness I may suffer with disclosure is well worth it.

Still Life?

Why is it that I just can’t sit still? I don’t mean the squirmy kid kind of sitting still. I mean the settling into life and being satisfied with what and who I am kind of still.




Yesterday, while my husband was working and my daughter was visiting her dad, I found myself with something that I’m unaccustomed to having: time for myself. I knew this was coming and had planned to do some things that I had long wanted to do. I was looking forward to a few hours working on my photography, sorting through images to print, put together a portfolio, write a few days worth of blogs, work on a short story I want to submit, finish with a couple of photo contest entries, and maybe actually go out and drop off some work to a retailer or two in hopes of making a sale. You can see that my list was extensive and therefore became somewhat overwhelming. You would think that perhaps I would have been able to accomplish a few items, maybe even start a few more. How much of it did I do? None. Instead I did some shopping for the house and garden, started some slow cooked ribs for dinner, mulched the bed in front of the house, filled the birdfeeders, did all of the dishes, ran 2 miles, and made some guacamole. Most of those things can be done with my husband and kid around. I was supposed to be focusing on the things I can’t do when they’re in the house, the stuff that needs uninterrupted concentration.

I asked myself, in the midst of scooping out avocados, why I was doing such a thing. Why wasn’t I in the office, doing what I claim to love doing? Is it because it’s hard? Is it because after a few non stop days, I was burnt out and really needed to just be making guacamole at that time?



Being quiet and still is extremely difficult when the world streams on. I find it hard to be inactive mentally for even a few moments. The idea of mindfulness is intriguing but I find it a challenge to implement. My mind is constantly racing, checking off and adding to the to-do list. Like the tide, the list ebbs and flows, but doesn’t stop. I am not concerned that my inability to recall each item is a sign of a mental deficiency. I am concerned about its effect on my health, as I tend to carry my stress in my shoulders and neck. To take a few minutes to quietly breathe and think of nothing seems impossible. Perhaps yoga or meditation would be of benefit. How do you calm the mind and spirit?

Capture serenity

How do you capture stress in an image? I know how to capture serenity – the lovely softness of a flower petal, the potential of a path to who knows where, calm pools of ocean embracing tidal creatures. I got that. But where, in my portfolio, can I find a photograph to post here that would represent a stressful day in the life of, well, me?




And why, you might ask, would I want to capture stress in a photograph?

They keep telling me to reduce stress in my life. The doctors and therapists I’ve seen cast that off as the solution, and it probably is, but they don’t offer how to do it. Over the past few months, I’ve been trying to determine the cause of the headaches I had been suffering from on a daily basis for years now. I woke up with pain, jaw aching from clenching my teeth. I must be a lovely site to see first thing in the morning. The mornings at home are probably more rushed than they need to be and I know the solution for it, but can’t seem to make it happen. Even if I got up two hours early, I still would push it to the last minute, finding plenty of other things that need to be done as well as the usual morning stuff. My drive into work is not one of free ways and traffic jams. An occasional delay when my timing parallels that of the school bus isn’t enough to call my commute into question as the cause of my tension. And really, work isn’t that stressful. Sure there are times when things gotta get done and the afternoon is winding down, but I don’t usually take my work home with me, except to vent to my husband, who works for the same organization. I’ve certainly had worse jobs. I don’t dread going into work. My kid is good, well behaved for the most part. I don’t have to worry about her so much. She’s a good, loving, smart kid. Relationships with my husband and parents are solid and enjoyable. So what’s the deal? Why is it that I have to consciously relax my shoulders and neck and rub my temples? After months of exploring the causes of my headaches; I’ve had my eyes and teeth checked, health is good, nothing abnormal there, started chiropractic care to address spinal misalignment which can sometimes cause neck and facial tension, and even had an allergy scan, which incidentally, brought to light the fact that I’m allergic to dust and dust mites. Oh great, something else I have to worry about, cleaning the house.



But my mind races constantly and I need to find a way to quiet things in there. My thoughts flit from the next thing I have to do (finish this sentence) to what I’m having for lunch (leftover fish and asparagus), and oh yeah, I’ve got to call Nola’s school for directions to that thing in a couple of weeks and pay my credit card bills online and email Wanda about dinner Saturday and where the heck are those magnifying lenses I bought last summer? I need to see if I can shoot something for Pioneer Woman’s photo assignment for the week on macros and I’ve got to go to Walmart and pick up those prints, when can I go? It goes on and on. From one thing to another and not all worry and dread at all, as you can see, just activity and perpetually on the hamster wheel of thoughts of my life.

Maybe I just don’t need to find that photograph after all. Maybe what I need to do is to continue to seek out the calm and serene and keep the focus of my lens on those things. Take the advice I’ve been getting and seek out ways to relax. See, I’ve just added something else to the list. . . the endless list of things to do. Find a yoga class. Learn how to meditate. Am I the only one living with such a constant stream of tasks and questions and decisions on the run? I doubt it. I’d love to hear how anyone out there deals with the everyday and how you get to stop and take a look at the big picture before it’s too late. Teach me to remember what’s most important.