Turning 30: I'll Cry If I Want To

I lay on the lawn chair like a sack. My head was heavy from a happy-birthday cold and a few too many last-night-to-be-29 drinks the evening before. Was this really my 30th birthday? Shouldn't I have been feeling at the pinnacle of health and vibrancy on this day of days? Could the day have snuck up so quickly, and why couldn't it wait until I had time to shake this stupid cold?

The morning sun twinkled against the white plastic chair slats as I smashed my cheek against them, staring languidly down through them to the grass below. At least it was warm in the sun, and I didn't have to accomplish anything in particular today. I had grown accustomed to this feeling of listlessness over the past several days; I barely had the brain power to contemplate my passage into 30-dome.

I suppose the old and wise would tell me that this is exactly how life is going to be from now on. They would say, "Life is full of disappointments. Just accept that things aren't always going to turn out how you want." I tell you, no matter how many times I turn that adage over in my mind, it still remains unacceptable to me. There has got to be more to life than surrendering helplessly to every disappointment.

I never planned to be anywhere else than the lake for my 30th birthday weekend. And despite my cold, and the fact that several people who planned to come to my party had to back out, I (underneath the gloom) was utterly content to be there surrounded by my family. I had had more than a few moments of feeling sorry for myself during the week preceding the big day, and my family members, in their undying effervescence, cheered me greatly. After all, wasn't 30 when you stopped crying over people not coming to your birthday party?

The next day, at my party, my husband surprised me with a sparkling, retro, baby blue and cream reissue 1950s electric guitar. In the midst of my wallowing, I had almost forgot that there was going to be celebration - and presents - with my family and friends surrounding me. There was no longer any room, or time, to feel despondent. When I pulled the wrapper off that shiny guitar, I wept into my hands, completely taken by surprise. Everyone had stopped what they were doing when they saw the large, wrapped package emerge from the cottage. And now, as tears streamed down my cheeks and a big smile began to form on my face, they watched expectantly and then applauded as I held the guitar up exultantly for all to see. I gave my husband his well-deserved hug and stepped out of the gloom.

Perhaps this is exactly how life is going to be from now on (and always has been). Just when you think life has completely trashed the party, through the mess come the most beautiful moments in the shape of shiny electric guitars, elderflower liqueur, tears of surprise, those darling faces of your family around you, or a friend driving through the dark for 5 hours to see you in the last hours of your birthday. We must never take these things for granted. Luckily for us, life will never let us.

For your enjoyment, here is the series of photographs of me opening my guitar (taken by Ricky MacPherson):

Ryan gets his hug

My Danelectro

Ryan even made me a sweet card with my face superimposed!

Livin' the Honky Tonk Life In Yankee Territory

I have been meaning to write this post for several weeks, but ever since my sister and I performed this past weekend at a Hank Williams Tribute in Baltimore, I am even more inspired to do so.

What does it mean to live a Honky Tonk life? More and more, I find that it is a good description for the ideology under which I live. While Honky Tonk means many things to many people, I thought it would be fun to parcel out what it means to me, particularly after living for 4 years in Austin, Texas and 2 years in Idaho. There is a unique sense of freedom to be found in these parts of the country that is quite different from living in the Northeast. Don't mistake my pride for these areas as somehow trumping my love for my Yankee roots (though I was born in the South, in North Carolina). But I have found ways in which to live in the blue-blooded North, while still celebrating the lifestyle of the great open spaces, honky tonk bars, and raging rivers.

Here are some Honky Tonk guidelines:

• Smile and tip your hat at people you pass, particularly if they look doleful and cross. It might make them feel special, and it'll make you feel even more cheerful.
  
• Kick up your heels and dance, hoot, and holler. Northerners sometimes have trouble with this one, so show 'em how it's done!
  
• A little gluttony goes a long way. My husband, sister, and her boyfriend get our kicks by hiking with our dogs 2 miles over to a local biker bar on the top of a mountain ridge, drinking 3 pitchers of beer, playing some pool, putting some Merle Haggard on the jukebox, eating some wings, and hiking the two miles back. You can walk off your buzz, view some beautiful vistas, and have tons of fun!
• Lighten up! No one is going to take you as seriously as you are. Your happiness is just a shift in perspective away.
• No matter your race, creed, or sexuality (this is the Austin version of Honky Tonk), every person (and animal!) on this earth deserves fair treatment. Unless you are buying the next round, stay out of people's damn business and let them have their rights!
• Avoid turning up your nose at people; it just makes you ugly. And it only means you're uncomfortable with yourself.
• Don't fence yourself in. Try something new and uncomfortable. Add some spice to your life; put some color in your cheeks! Experience it for what it is, and you'll wake up the next day glad that you did it. I was terrified before our performance at the Hank Williams show because we hadn't practiced with the house band until we walked up on stage in front of 200 people. But once we were in the midst of the performance, I was so focused and enjoyed every second of it.
• Do things for the joy of it! Every day is a blessing, and we live in a fascinating time. Stop and enjoy the wonderful details along the way: the strains of lap steel guitar floating up your sunny staircase, the happy cups and plates stacked in your cupboard, the little bird holding on for dear life at the feeder blowing in the winter wind, two young boys walking down a long, lonely city alley, lovers dancing and kissing as if no one is watching, a glance of communication from one musician to another. What is your reality? What do you see in a day?

Now go and have yourself a honky tonkin' good day!

My sister and I (The Hello Strangers) perform at the Hank tribute
Photo at top: Our new friends C.W. and Lindy Loo

All photos © Chace + Smith Photography

I Want To Matter (The Anthropology of Living)

In the woods, just off the C&O Canal,

a derelict house stands like an old tree about to fall.

My friends enter and climb the steep and dark staircase;

I stay outside (too many fears in there).

Signs of an old life are found in a strip of wallpaper.

Pink roses on yellow with a white lattice,

once brilliant on a sturdy wall, sun shining on it

through the window pane - a lovely room for someone.

The wallpaper is brought down the stairs to me

and I look at it in the stark winter forest light.

For these brief moments, the mystery

of the inhabitants' lives mean something to us.

We form their ghosts in our minds, and I lay the wallpaper

back in the house with a nod of respect.

What remnants will remain of me?

Who will I matter to when my wallpaper peels off the walls?

I Want To Matter

In 200 years when none of this matters, I want it to matter

My young life in full swing, no kids and a rock band

I can hear a Divine voice in my creativity; I know it is good.

Am I wrong for not wanting these days to ever end?

I want everything I experience to count for something.

Like the ache in my heart when I watch

the birds at the kitchen window feeder.

Little robot heads looking side to side,

their daily business an important matter.

Or crying over finding my dog

after her second time ever running away, spooked by a firework

The comfort of my life broken for those twenty minutes of hunting for her,

such unadulterated relief in my tears when she returns,

which she licks excitedly from my face.

Like listening to an old friend from Austin

sing on a CD in West Virginia, the miles and time between us

spilling out onto the table in front of the stereo.

Everything I do is important, even the simplest of things.

This year, I will pay close attention to the messages and lessons in every experience, good or bad, big or small.

What are you thinking about differently in the New Year?

Free of Ego, Free of Regret

I have had it in my mind's eye over the past week something that was a supplemental resolution of mine for 2008. I wrote it in my journal almost a year ago. Somehow, over the months, I let it drift back into the recesses of my brain to sit unused. But I have revisited it recently, and somehow my understanding of it has changed. Something has "clicked" for me.
It is three simple words:

Free of Ego

I do not say "Free from Ego" because our egos are intrinsically a part of us. I don't wish to be free from my id, as if separated from my it. But "Free of Ego" implies a freedom from the constraints of the Ego as aggressor, competitor, and negative entity that guides us through our daily actions.

Free of Regret is something I have added to this mantra more recently as I have come to terms with the fact that I am a "Ruminator." I allow negative events and associations to drift into my psyche in the present moment, where they continue to fester like a boil on my memory. Even reminiscing and talking about these events with other people is, I have learned, no more constructive than dwelling on them internally. I wish to free myself of the Regret that at any moment can surface and change the course of my thought patterns and my day.

When I was in grad school, one of my fellow classmates accused me of cheating. I knew in my heart that I had not cheated, but he was a good friend and someone I had come to trust and confide in over the years. Realizing that he did not fully trust me in return for some reason (and I believe this was more about his personality than mine) was very hard to deal with or forgive. We made our amends, but to this day I know there is a tiny part of the situation that I have not exonerated. I may never completely forgive him for something I truly thought was poorly handled and downright wrong.

Being Free of Ego, Free of Regret means that in this moment, here and now, I will not allow myself to ruminate on this experience. I count to 3 and vow that after 3 seconds I move onto more positive, constructive thought patterns.

Other negative reminiscences such as this come up from time to time in my daily thoughts: disagreements I've had with a family member whose core beliefs are much different than mine, or things left unsaid that I wish I had said to win my case (there it is, the big EGO!). I'm sure we all have experienced similar things. When I am under the influence of Ego the Aggressor, I am allowing myself to think that I need to prove this person wrong, as if I am most definitely right and she is definitely wrong. With all the subjectivities in our great world that make it so multidimensional and fascinating, why would I make something so paltry as being "right" my main goal?

When I am Free of Ego, I speak with my own forthrightness and character, but I do not allow the aggressive ego to turn the situation into something negative: a competition or a bad experience. There is something to be learned in every circumstance. Only if the ego is quiet and calm can we see what is to be learned.

What is present in the space made available by being Free of Ego, Free of Regret?
Gratitude, Peace, Poised Self-Confidence, Joy, and Love.
This Thanksgiving, I will ruminate on these things, not the others.

This photo I took of our beloved Highland Lake this fall brings me much solace and gratitude.

How do you free yourself from Ego and Regret?

Allston Revisited

We as humans are always moving forward, on a linear path toward the "bigger and better." We look to the past on occasion for nostalgia and comfort, but we also use the past as a reference for how much we've developed as individuals. We look back and thank the heavens that we no longer live that life, or with that person, or in that place.

Have you ever returned to a place that represents a darker time in your life?
I did just this past weekend.

When I was a sophomore attending Berklee College of Music in Boston, MA, I moved from my inner-city dorm on Massachusetts Ave to the community of Allston, just West of downtown. I moved with my roommate from freshman year, along with a friend of hers, into the third-story apartment of a house on Harvard Terrace, just off of Harvard Avenue. I only lasted a semester there before I reached an all-time low, which resulted in my taking a semester off from school that Spring.

Even during my freshman year, I never felt that I was nurturing any permanent or long-lasting friendships, and that I was almost falling into groups of people by default, just happy to be hanging out instead of searching for people I truly connected with. Though my friends were fun, they didn't embody the kind of lifestyle that suited me (and they weren't always kind); I partied more than I created or exercised, and rarely found occasions to escape the "pit" of my apartment and Allston (being car-less and without much expendable income). I was busy with my cool city life, socializing, singing, and trying to ignore my increasing unhappiness.

A very urban district, Allston seemed, and still seems today, like a pothole of sorts. I am sure my impression of it has much to do with my associations and memories of my life back then: being so young, vulnerable, and naive. To its merit, Allston is a very ethnically diverse, young neighborhood, with a plethora of good eateries and interesting shops. It teems with activity, a throughway for the "T" light-rail line, and a major intersection between Boston and points West. Until this past weekend, I had not returned to this neighborhood, or Boston for that matter, since 2001.

A friend of mine recently moved to Allston. His first time living in Boston, he arrived in the neighborhood with no prior associations. I made a point not to talk too much about my negative ones with him before he moved. Ironically, he happens to live a few short blocks from my old apartment. Since I was in the Worchester area for a wedding this past weekend, I made the trip into Boston with my husband and sister.

As we drove into my old neighborhood and found a place to park, I reflected on the adult version of myself that stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk that I had so often walked almost 10 years ago. I am almost 29 now; I was 19 then. Everything I have done since then was stamped onto my identity in that moment, and I viewed my old neighborhood, and house, with a strange sense of awe, coupled with insouciance. Living there seems to me now like it did then - some sort of "boot camp for life." Live unhappily in a trench for several months and you'll come out wiser for the wear. The bruises will fade, but the lessons never will. To this day, I'm not sure if it was worth it.

Ryan, Brechyn, and I walked the streets on our way to meet up with our friend, Fred, as I recounted various stories about businesses along the way that I frequented during my séjour there. "This is the building where I took Ninjutsu;" or, "This is the bar where I sang with the reggae band every week." It was amusing to see that it was all still there. When we entered Fred's apartment, I was struck by the similarities between his Allston abode and others in that area that I recalled frequenting, including my own. The worn, hardwood floors; trim painted twenty times over with white paint; old, tall windows wafting in the musty Allston air - the thick smell of city life almost knocked me over as I stared out the window into the alley below. My feet were glue for a moment as waves of heady nostalgia hit me. An old familiar knot formed in my stomach, and I carried it with me to lunch.

(Aside: We had a delightful time with Fred. I don't mean to imply that the day was all gloom and doom. We ate at a wonderful organic sushi restaurant in Coolidge Corner, just next to Allston. One of many great eateries in the district, these are the opportunities I miss out on by living in the country. I will admit that.)

The sooty memories from that era still haunt me. I have not completely made amends; perhaps I never will. Boot camp left scars, not bruises.

I wonder now if these "dark times" are naturally imbricated in the experience of transitioning from teen-hood to adulthood. Must we all go through the boot camp of life in order to be truly happy as adults? How can we squelch the residual negativity from those bygone eras that continues to ring in our ears?

What was your darkest time? Or, are you in it now? Do tell!

Me, in front of my old apartment building, trying to make amends as a young adult in Allston

Enjoy Your Town

Yesterday was one of those days you wish you could seal in a bottle and reopen whenever you want.

We have been living in our hometown for almost 8 months now, after living away for 10 years. I have been wary of the possibility that the novelty of it all would wear off eventually. But yesterday reaffirmed that I really am happy to be here. It also taught me, once again, that you can be content anywhere as long as you have the right attitude. It is a simple concept, but one that can be convoluted and difficult to uphold. In fact, it was the simplicity of the day's activities that made it so special, and I believe that simplicity is at the crux of maintaining the right attitude about where you live.

This season, our business, Chace + Smith Photography, has had the opportunity to shoot for the nearby Whitetail Ski Resort. Because the day was supposed to be clear and mild, Ryan (my husband) decided to head up to Whitetail before dawn and try to capture some great sunrise shots for the company. I met him there around 9:30 a.m., as he was finishing up, to snowboard with him for a while. Mind you, we both snowboarded for free since Ryan works in the repair shop at the resort, and I have managed to get my hands on a few vouchers. If this weren't the case, we definitely wouldn't be able to take advantage of the resort's proximity to our home.

The sun was out and the first signs of Spring were in the air. We whipped down the mountain, filled our lungs with the fresh air while riding the lift, and felt 20 years old again (I always feel very connected to Ryan when we snowboard together). Around noon we decided we had better get back to town (and to work), but since we were feeling free and spontaneous, we thought we would stop for a pint and split a sandwich (keeping in mind that we are trying to live below our means) at the tavern on the square in Mercersburg. We drove the beautiful drive back with the windows down, sat at the bar at Flannery's eating our lunch, and talked to the various people we knew there. My sister, who works at the restaurant, happened to stop in. She joined us at the bar for another beer. I felt very connected to my community, enjoying its slow pace as the sun streamed through the tavern windows.

The rest of the day was balmy and relaxed, partially because of the weather, but also because I had allowed myself to get away from my routine for a bit. Everything seemed to flow; the fun was cheap, adventurous, and whimsical. It was a great day.

We live in a town with two stoplights, with under two thousand residents. Fun can be had anywhere (even on a Monday). Enjoy your town!

What makes your town or home special and fun?

Today, I Find Inspiration in Everything

Today, the sun rises triumphantly over the fields next to my house. We have had few sunny days this winter, so the sight is breathtaking.

Today, I enjoy watching my dog chase a ball once or twice, then prance off to sniff more interesting things (she is not much of a ball dog).

Today, I notice the cool, soothing feeling of the milk as I eat my cereal.

Today, I silence the alarm bell on my email and respond to emails when I am ready, not every time I receive a message. I am not a slave to technology.

Today, I let the warm water from the shower linger on the back of my neck for just a few extra seconds.

Today, I dwell on happy thoughts and moments. I am present, relaxed, and alert, acknowledging the blessed life that I have.

Today, I give someone I love a hug and tell them how much they mean to me.

Today, I enjoy the sound of the scissors as I get my hair trimmed. The new, healthy strands make me feel refreshed and confident.

Today, I watch the birds at the feeder outside my kitchen window, grateful for their little noises and bodies. The world would be a very dull place without them.

Today, I Find Inspiration in Everything I can.

How do you find inspiration in your daily life?

Time On My Side, Part 2

When I made my resolution about reevaluating my relationship with time, and lowering my standards of how much I get done with my time, I was on vacation and had less on my to-do list. Now that I am several weeks into January, and have much more on my list, I have found this goal to be much more of a challenge than I had foreseen.

I think the big issue at hand is that I still “assign” myself too much. I am fighting my perfectionist urges (remember, I am a Virgo and first-born child) and trying to keep up with what “needs” to get done all at the same time. It’s a vicious cycle. And I often end up approaching certain tasks joylessly such as, “Oh god, I still need to send a baby gift to so-and-so, and I never seem to have time to sit down and knit that baby washcloth that I am making to give a meaningful gift and save money.” Do you ever have these thoughts? I mean, I seriously stress about this petty stuff!

I think this morning I am heading into my day with the urge to “pare down” my list to what I really feel will truly add value to my life and take me further toward my macro-goals.

I wish to let go of all the micro-management tasks that seem to pile up and send me into a frenzy of “I have so much to do,” which is not a pleasant feeling and often entirely untrue. My husband will often catch me walking through the house with furrowed brow, sighing while deep in thought about all the things I “have” to do. My stress often gets passed on to him, and that is not something I am proud of.

But can I just take things off my list without feeling guilty about not doing them? I know I have control over my thoughts and how I perceive things. But it’s often very difficult to harness those runaway, reeling thought patterns and focus on what is important – to focus on what I have accomplished, not what is left on my list.

Resolutions take time, so I will keep you posted on how I take on this challenge for the sake of bettering the quality of my life – and those around me.

Do you have any thoughts to share about how you perceive time? How do you pare down your list?

Another Poem to Enjoy

It's funny, I read through my poetry and often feel like I am such a different person now. Then I look at the date and it just doesn't seem that long ago. Time is impalpable.

Here is another poem, untouched since the day I wrote it.

I live on a river beach
just for one day
the wild Salmon river has turned
into my bedroom fan
just for one night
and smooth round worry stones
formed by the dancings of
such a river
they are my linoleum for today.

What of the rest of the world
when I can watch the sun light
this treasure chest beach,
hear canyon wrens laughing
way up the walls,
see a proud osprey on his loft
after a fresh catch dive
and the stars of Idaho spinning
just for one night.


Salmon River, Riggins, ID
May 12, 2002

©Larissa Chace Smith

I hope you're having a wonderfully creative day. Do share your creative endeavors with all of us!

Creature Comforts (Part 2): Be a Pioneer!

In my last post, I asked the following questions: How can we help but opt for the comfort that surrounds us? And is there a happy medium? Ultimately, at the heart of these questions lies the purpose of this blog: to live each day to the fullest. I got some wonderful comments in response to this topic, and I invite you to peruse them and supply your own thoughts. In this post, I will continue my Creature Comforts series and offer insights and personal experiences in order to explore how one might find a happy medium between comfort and precariousness (several proceeding posts will feature more on this topic, so please stay tuned).

BE A PIONEER!
The first time I ever felt like a true pioneer was when I moved with my boyfriend-now-husband from the East Coast to the wilds of Idaho. This would be the first time I would live in a place where none of my family members (or probably even ancestors) had ever lived. Likewise, I couldn’t help but feel like a pioneer in Idaho, knowing that so many settlers had traversed the central plains of our nation to reach this wonderful land of extremes: big spaces, towering mountains, and rushing, icy rivers. Vulnerability took on a different meaning going from city life in Boston (where I went to college) to a state whose entire population hovers around 1 million. I could dare to do things in Idaho that I never would have back East: snowshoeing to the top of Moscow Mountain just outside of our town and snowboarding back down through fresh powder, barely seeing another human all day; rafting across the Salmon River with friends and hiking to hidden hot springs up the side of the canyon, then rafting back down the river in the dark to our private beach where we slept in the open air; traversing 60 miles of river through the Labyrinth Canyon of the Green River with three friends (OK, that was Utah) battling spells of cold rain, slower than expected currents (therefore lots of rowing), reading stories to keep our minds off the slow pace, and living out of a small raft equipped with only a cooler, some gear, a Groover, and my guitar. I might add that none of these activities cost very much money, though good ol' resourcefulness was required to make them happen.

The thing I took away from these marvelous experiences, and the lesson I wish to impart on my readers, is that I was in fact opting not to be comfortable in all three of those scenarios (actually, very uncomfortable in some circumstances). The uncertainty and precariousness of each situation allowed me to define myself as an adventuress, a pioneer, and a more fulfilled person. Ultimately, we do have a choice in the matter, and choosing to challenge the boundaries of our comfortable lives as often as possible is the wisest option if you are interested in seeing how full your life on this earth can be. It is certainly not easy to go beyond one's zone of comfort, but I'll never forget how it felt to slip under crisp, white motel sheets after 5 days on a cold, murky, and dreadfully slow river. For it is the juxtaposition of vulnerability and safety that make being inside and outside of comfort so worthwhile. Indeed, the great part of living in a society that is so navigable is that you can find a happy medium and live a comfortable, daring, and meaningful life. It all depends on what "meaningful" means to you.

Of course, you don’t have to go “into the wild,” so to speak, to be a pioneer or adventurer. The goal is to find opportunities or circumstances that will spark that ember of bravery that lives inside of you, master it, and put it into action. This can involve an enlightening personal journey through nature or paving the way for change in human rights, cancer research, or environmental policies, to name a few.

Being a pioneer is not something that is necessarily accomplished in one day or sitting, so it is important to think of small steps to take that will allow a pioneering goal to come to fruition. And don’t think you have to climb Mount Everest to be a pioneer. The smallest acts can often make the biggest difference.

My latest pioneering achievement was moving with my husband and business from Texas to our tiny hometown in Pennsylvania. It was a risky and precarious decision but I have already noticed the benefits that came with it. I feel more connected to my community, family and friends and see small but wonderful things happening everyday.

What are your pioneering achievements or goals?
In what ways do you opt to go "outside" of comfort?

Creature Comforts: allowing and denying ourselves in modern society (Part 1)

I lay on the floor of my best friend’s apartment, my cheek resting on my left hand, the other hand clutching a hair dryer. On the floor beside me, swaddled in a green fleece blanket, lay my friend’s six-week-old daughter, Louisa. My husband and I were taking the baby’s portrait and were amused to learn that the heat and white noise from the hair dryer would calm her enough so the camera could capture her in a peaceful moment. I held the hair dryer about a foot from her head and gently coaxed the warm air back and forth. Her soft hair lifted in response to the dryer as she wrinkled her brow, a reaction to this new sensation. Then she closed her eyes and cooed. We all laughed, reveling in her comfort. Louisa was still and peaceful as the camera shutter fired loudly. Not even the large soft-box flash could stir her now. As I lay next to her on the floor, I realized that as an adult I yearn for the same creature comforts of warmth and white noise. Watching this tiny infant beside me confirmed the notion that we as humans instinctively yearn for, indeed demand, comfort from the moment we leave the safety of the womb.

For all that, there are these little things we like to call “rites of passage” that we must go through in order to grow as humans. Whether society, family, or our egos mandate it, undertaking these rites undoubtedly involves facing a fear or multiple fears, and coming out on the other side a stronger, more capable adult. For some, the simple act of leaving the house and going into public is a rite. For others, it is climbing Mount Everest.

Several days ago, I happened to catch an episode of “Oprah”. The topic of discussion was the story of Chris McCandless, the young man who journeyed into the Alaskan wilderness to abandon his capitalist roots and live off the land alone, an act many of us in North America would find bold, if not asinine. Incidentally, he did not survive for long in this state, dying of starvation. To find out why, I recommend you read the book about Chris’ journey called “Into the Wild,” by Jon Krakauer. It is truly riveting. Incidentally, Krakauer was a guest on Oprah’s show that day, as was actor Sean Penn, who has recently made a movie based on the story. When asked what they wanted people to take away from the book and movie, both Krakauer and Penn emphasized the need for our society to let go of our comfort addiction and do something meaningful with our lives. The idea of comfort addiction gave me pause, and led me to ponder the paradoxical nature of allowing and denying ourselves comfort in modern society.

Undoubtedly, the sheer popularity of the Chris McCandless story and the can’t-shake-it reactions to it are a result of our growing need as North Americans, during such unstable times, to get back in touch with our natural state - that primal moment when our warm, sopping wet bodies entered the frigid air of the delivery room. Some destiny was waiting for us “out there” in the wild, and we went for it, and have never gone back or been the same since. This is essentially the first of many rites of passage that we must surpass throughout our earthly existence. Beyond this point, however, we generally have a choice as to which and how many risks and adventures we wish to take. And this is what Krakauer and Penn were getting at: that many of us are opting for the cushy comforts of our modern lives in lieu of living full, daring lives.

The paradox in this argument lies in the baby’s reaction to the hair dryer and my empathy with it. If we instinctively yearn for comfort, why should we deny this instinct and purposefully force ourselves into murky waters? After all, in our plush society (and yes, those were very plush chairs the guests on Oprah were sitting in), we actually have to make an effort anymore to be uncomfortable. Going into the wild (or other such daring acts) can actually cost a lot of money these days! So how can we help but opt for the comfort that surrounds us? And is there a happy medium?

I will continue this discussion in my next post.
In the meantime, please share your thoughts on this topic!

Uncovering former talents can embolden current ones

When I was in my early twenties, I loved to write poetry. While I still love to write, poetry has been a medium I have pushed to the back burner over the years. Since I always seem to have a plethora of projects going on at once (i.e. knitting, blogging, songwriting, reading, fitness, qigong, etc.), I do not worry about becoming lazy or passive about my creative urges, or about letting one or two fall by the wayside.

Yet, it is important to revisit these talents that we once nurtured, whether it is from 5, 20, or 50 years ago. Everything we do leads us toward something else. We may retire old talents or hobbies, but they will always stay with us and continue to influence our current projects and interests. When I read the poem I have featured below, I remember the young woman I was then. At the same time, the person I am today is reflected in these words as though I am looking at an old photograph of myself. Ironically, Fats Waller is an old-time jazz musician that I have listened to with my father since I was a child. So the influences in this piece (and all our creative endeavors) are innumerable and timeless.

I have not modified this poem or its structure in any way. This is exactly as I had typed it 5 years ago:

WALKING WITH FATS

Fats Waller has been my
soundtrack since the days got balmy.
I feel he would sing
about the cottonwood spores floating
as he walks down the lane with me;
about the wheat fields growing
and churning as we drive past
farms of joy.
He’d say “You’ve got it good here,
Sister, ain’t no other place like it.”
As the sound of his twinkling piano
tickles me something, I shed
my skin for another summer.


Summer on the Palouse Prairie, Idaho
6/5/02
©Larissa Chace Smith

Tell me, what are your hidden or forgotten talents, interests, and loves?

What I am afraid of admitting I am afraid of

Today I made a list. For those of you who know me, this would come as no surprise. But this was no ordinary clean-out-the-fish-tank-filter type of list. I started compiling a list of everything I could possibly think of that makes me afraid.

We all fear things; fear is one of our most basic emotions and it fuels our paths through life, whether or not we decide to use it to our advantage. But we are often afraid (puns come free with this post) to admit the things we are afraid of. Many of us try to perform activities that conquer our fears, or take us out of our comfort zones. Yet half the time I feel I am afraid of so much, from the mammoth to the minute, that I don't know how to go about conquering anything. We are told to "face" our fears, but how do we take this metaphorical advice and turn it into something tangible, something we can hold in our hands?

Make a list, of course!

So I did, and the results were enlightening to say the least. I suggest you try this exercise: either type or handwrite (whichever you feel more comfortable with), stream-of-consciousness style and without stopping for 5 minutes, a list of anything that you are afraid of...anything! I started my list with the phrase, "I am afraid of," and went down the page from there. See what you come up with; you may arrive at some interesting conclusions. I won't share with you my whole list, since some of it is intensely private - and that's the point of making the list - but I will feature a few items that I found to be of interest to demonstrate the variety of fears my brain conjured up with only a bit of coaxing:

I am afraid of:

• My dog chasing a squirrel into a busy road
• Cellulite
• Global warming
  
• Not helping other people enough
• Worrying too much
• Responsibilities
• Being too much like myself (??)

Can you relate to any of these? I have found, since compiling my fears into somewhat of a tally, that I can now try to connect the dots and see which fears directly affect the others and so forth. I hope to be able to make some concrete observations about how I react to forces that influence my every-day life, then make a plan of action to work toward either letting some fears go, or using them to my advantage. I also suggest adding to the list whenever something pops into your head. Or try the exercise from time to time and see how your fears change or disappear.

Please feel free to share any of your findings if you try this exercise. I'll be interested to see if anyone else benefits from it as I have. Don't be scared, give it a try!

(Aren't free puns great?)

Other People's Lives

Neighborhood. Just the word stirs up an array of iconic and nostalgic images of living side by side: porch swings, stray cats, driveways, shrubberies, abandoned cars, gables and eaves, metal trash cans… Our neighborhood of Bouldin Creek in South Austin has a particularly unique array of homes and yards, all nestled together, each an expression of personal style working in harmony and juxtaposition with the other. Ryan, Sadie (our dog), and I walked for an hour just the other evening through our ‘hood, dreaming of lives other than our own. We cherish our life together, of course, but a peek into other people’s lives offers new ideas and fresh perspectives about where we’re going and where we’ve come.

These walks offer an experience of simultaneous nostalgia and future dreams, like a film reel floating through my psyche as I walk past yards and houses. A butterfly lands on a flowery vine, a cat basks on a front stoop with her three kittens blinking at us as we pass, and a young couple gathers with friends on their cozy front porch for Friday evening drinks as the hazy sun comes to rest on the tree line. I am reminded of visits with family friends, enjoying the chance to be at their home and eat their food. Or of the potlucks my roommate and I used to host in our ranch-house apartment in Moscow, Idaho – hours of communal eating and drinking as the sun sank behind the trees and the moon joined our revelry. I yearn to be likewise sitting with friends again, like many times before.

I also look to the future as Ryan and I talk of our plans to one day own a home. We discuss certain things we like about some houses and other things we aren’t so fond of. For instance, we love front porches and green building, but are miffed by the modern homes that spring up between the little cottages, towering overhead like a behemoth: too pretentious! Sometimes, we love things about a yard or house we can’t quite explain; it is simply its ambiance that draws us to appreciate it. The owners may share similar ideologies about life, or they express something we admire in a creative way. We love to talk about what we will do when we own a house one day: entertain, garden, decorate, and tinker in the shed. These moments of looking ahead and dreaming of what we want provide nourishment for our spirits and our relationship. We have enjoyed thinking and talking about the future since we started dating 7 years ago.

Mostly, though, our walk is the convergence of the past and future in the present. My experience is the result of who I am and what I choose to notice and think about. Our experience together is the result of our personalities feeding off of and inspiring the other. Simply enjoying a quiet stroll through our neighborhood, one step at a time, purposefully taking our time to zigzag through the streets – we love our lives knowing others love theirs. Then we may return to our delightful little apartment and charmed lives, rejoicing in the fact that we don’t need anything but what we already have.