The Therapy Booth

resting, doodling and holding love signs

Fever Cheeks

on January 6, 2013

I’m writing to you today while lying in bed at a friend’s house in Oceanside, California. I came by here a few days ago with high hopes of getting to know the area, seeing the beaches, running around with my friend. But plans don’t always go as we say they’ll go, and I find myself down and out with a cough and a runny nose and I’m pretty sure I have a fever. So much for plans.

It’s been a rough one, I don’t mind saying. As you all know who have been following this blog, I’ve been through lots of ups and downs lately — as we all go through. Sometimes I feel I oughtn’t share so much glumnity (yeah, I just made up that word), but this is my current experience, so what else am I gonna write about?

This last year plus has been one of lots of transition. I can’t really point to any one thing that’s been working, not working, leading me to change, etc. It’s just been a lot of change.

I’m a real home body these days, and about six months ago I moved out of my apartment where I’d been living for the past six years and moved in with two of my closest friends. As I type that, I really feel for them, because I have it that I’m hard to live with. A nice family atmosphere has developed there, but I’ve always known it was going to be temporary, which made it hard (at least in my mind/emotional body/whatever) to really, really settle in. Though – in true Therapy Booth fashion – I got as cozy and comfy as I could.

Then, a few weeks ago, I came to California to dog sit and visit with a friend. As the two weeks I was originally scheduled to be here wound down, I started to feel that maybe it wasn’t time to go back home to Austin just yet. My mom was about to have surgery, and I was thinking about going to Ohio to help her out once she was out of rehab, but those plans weren’t clear to me either. It just became clear – albeit scary – to cancel my return flight and see what unfolded from there.

Right after making that move, my friend in Oceanside invited me to come stay with her for a bit, meet her daughter, cruise around, all the stuff I mentioned. So I rented a car and came down to visit.

A fun little rental car tidbit: On my gentle budget, somehow I ended up with a red Mustang. The beautiful woman at the Avis at LAX enjoyed visiting with me and playing with my hula hoop, and she gave me the upgrade, “On me,” she said.

Beautiful Heather

Beautiful Heather

So anyway, here I am, feverish, lying down, typing out a message. I know there was a point here somewhere. Oh yeah, well, this is what I wanted to talk about.

You know how I facilitate Living Inquiries, right? Well, it’s been an amazing experience, both to inquire a lot myself (and to be facilitated) and also to take people through the inquiries. It’s a beautiful and gentle process, and it’s been great to be part of it. I’ve wanted to work closely with my teacher Scott since I first met him, so getting to do this work together with him and an intimate team of facilitators has been a dream come true.

And, I’m realizing something. Okay, this may seem obvious, but, you know these things make themselves known at the pace that they make themselves known.

I’m realizing that I’m not Scott. Nor am I any of the other LI facilitators. Nor am I Joni or Patti or Dylan or any of the artists I admire. I’m none of my friends nor my roommates nor my Facebook connections. If I want to be all non-dual about it, I can say I’m no one at all, but that’s not my point right now. My point is: I’m just this. A chick going through a big upheaval overhaul who doesn’t really know which end is up and who seems to have the flu right now. I’m someone who is soothed by making art and writing and by doing the occasional inquiry to clear the cobwebs and let all the thoughts, images, emotions and feelings fly.

I’m someone who, as I said to my friend Zach today, is

just hopeful to find a place to live for a while where I can unwind, get my head clear, do some art, write some writing, get a good sleep, get looked after for a while.

And then I asked, Is that so much to ask? to which he replied,

No that is not too much to ask:)

 

Sounds reasonable. And very grounded

which was very comforting to me.

I’m up against voices in the head (aren’t we all, from time to time?) doing all sorts of name calling. I’m up against fears and humility and comparisons to people around me. I’m watching for those voices that resonate and support and give encouragement. This massive mystery called life no longer seems to be happening in any sort of linear way for me anymore, if it ever did. And that both scares me and seems quite natural. And, part of it must be, too, the breaking down. The tripping out and longing for a home and not wanting to feel heartbroken and wanting to get a good sleep and then another good sleep.

A few months ago I started writing daily in a file on my computer called My Book. I was going through some heartbreak and didn’t know what to do with myself, so, in addition to the doodling and the Morning Pages, I was inspired to start writing. One thing that had held me back was this idea that I had to have come to some conclusion or insight before I could write, that I had to tell the tale backwards, once the healing and happiness had shown up in its celebratory and comforting glory. But that’s not where I am right now.

I have fondly called this stretch my mid-life crisis, though today, I might have called it rotting in hell (see earlier post on that topic!). Everything is part of this: the creative inspiration (I’ve started drawing self-portraits!), the feelings of guilt and confusion around relationships with my besties and my family, the anticipation of something fresh, the worry that this phase will just go on and on and on, and, as I mentioned above, the comparisons to others I know.

Watching for those who have gone through such spells is helpful. Watching for resonance is helpful, too. Being kind to myself and to my people helps, if I can do it, and also seeing that I don’t know a gosh darned thing is just where it’s at.

So I’m here in my borrowed bed, typing away, feverish and sniffly and not even sure if this post is legible, but it feels good to share it. I’m just right here. Even in The Therapy Booth, sometimes the body still aches.

A big thanks to all of the friends who have been putting me up, both in Austin and in California, and for looking after me, y’all. My intentions are this: home/s and being taken care of. However that shows up, and I’m grateful for that.

Feel free to let me know if you’re going through or have gone through these types of times and share as you feel.

Much love and great hopes to be feeling much better the next time I write to you.

Love,

Carin

Fever cheeks

Fever cheeks

P.S. Just had a sweet chat with my roomie who is also feeling poorly, back in Texas. I felt such home-ness coming from her. Just goes to show, one conclusion is as unsolid as the next. Hope you get to feelin’ better soon, G. Thanks for the chat. xx


3 Responses to “Fever Cheeks”

  1. Paula says:

    Carin, this brings tears to my eyes. I definitely feel less alone listening to you. I’ve got “the voices” big time telling me that everything I’m doing or about to do is bound to fail. I sense that I need to let things unfold and listen the the simple guidance I hear from within rather than what the world tells me. I know that to be free I have to let me get a “C” in life. Maybe even an “F.” Oh well. It feels great to cry. (That starts with “C” too. Thanks for the opportunity… my treasure of a friend.

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