08: What I didn't do today

Full disclosure? I haven't left the RV a single time today. It's nearly four o'clock in the afternoon, and I haven't been outside. I also haven't exercised (I aim for 10,000 steps each day), except to pace around inside (I'm at 1,000 and counting). And this, my usual Monday lunchtime missive? Until moments ago, I had no idea what I'd write to you.

Days like today happen. They just do.

As for what I have accomplished today? I've received 90 minutes of really awesome coaching from a mentor who offered me a free session. I've had a good cry (I don't know about you, but I always count good cries as productive uses of my time). I've bathed and eaten lunch and remembered to stay hydrated. And I've had a meaningful chat with a very dear friend who needed comforting.

I'm always a bit intrigued by days that, on the surface, suggest an absence of forward movement. It would be too easy to dismiss them as idle or lazy or lacking organization. And it wouldn't even be accurate. You see, the days that I'm up and moving right away are usually the same days that I'm avoiding something—hence all the doing. At first glance, it's all energy, efficiency, and accomplishment. But, deeper? Deeper, it's more likely anxiety, restlessness, or distraction. A fear of staying still, quieting myself, listening to what's really inside, and then deciding if there's anything I want to (or even can) do about it.

Today was a slow cooker day. I didn't speed around, ticking things off my list. I sat (literally) with my Monday feelings; I learned a few things about myself; I was of service to a friend in need.

If you were to expand your definition to include the ecological meaning, you'd understand that productivity doesn't refer exclusively to the production of biological material, or biomass. In fact, contextually, the term refers to a ratio, one that's used when talking about the balance in an ecosystem. More specifically, productivity is concerned with balancing the rate that resources are taken from the ecosystem with the rate that they are made.

How can you redefine your understanding of your own productivity in such a way that you make allowances for resource replenishment, for those slow cooker days? Hit 'reply' and tell me. I'd love to hear from you.

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of October 11

STARTED

+ obsessing about getting my hands on a copy of Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert
+ the bag of Halloween candy that's meant for campground trick-or-treaters...
+ wearing a sweatshirt outside
+ a fancy bottle of Italian red wine that was gifted to me months ago
+ a new Moleskine notebook (in a purpley color, and with dots instead of lines!)
+ making my own simple syrup
+ watching the 2004 version of TV series Battlestar Galactica (and loving it—a fact that surprises no one more than me)

FINISHED

+ addressing Halloween cards to all the little people (and a few big people) in my life
+ wearing sandals until next summer

PODCASTS DISCOVERED

+ Good Life Project
+ First Day Back
+ The RobCast

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ The American Pigeon Museum & Library

SOUVENIRS PURCHASED

+ a tote bag from said pigeon museum

CURIOSITIES TO BE MADE

+ teacups
+ mulled cider

07: Feeling my way through shopping

Something I was curious about, but repeatedly put off doing, was figuring out my Core Desired Feelings. Danielle LaPorte coined the term in response to traditional goal-setting:

We have the procedures of achievement upside down. We go after the stuff we want to have, get, accomplish, and experience outside of ourselves. And we hope, yearn, pray that we’ll be fulfilled when we get there. It’s backwards. It’s outside in. And it’s running us in circles. What if, first, we got clear on how we actually wanted to feel in our life, and then we laid out our intentions? What if your most desired feelings consciously informed how you plan your day, your year, your career, your holidays—your life?

Wow. Why would anyone ever avoid learning their CDFs? (Sometimes, we're afraid of tasks that we believe will be daunting. Also, what if we realize we've been making it harder than it needs to be, all along?)

Anyway, I did the work. I put in the time. (To be fair, it didn't take very much work or time.) And I figured out my CDFs.

T R U E  |  E A S E  |  J O Y  |  E X P A N S I V E  |  G L O W I N G  |  J U I C Y

Since learning them, I've discovered a couple of areas in my life where I made decisions that didn't reflect how I now know I want to feel. Fortuitous, because now, I can correct them!

For example: clothing. Lately, confusingly, I've felt not-quite-right in what I wear. While I work during the day, nights out, to bed, all of it. A creeping feeling of incongruity that I hadn't been able to put my finger on. Writing and coaching from home in athletic leggings and a moisture wicking tank is a distraction, makes me feel pathetic if I never manage to get outside for a run. Having a glass of wine or a casual dinner out in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt feels sloppy and uninspired. And donning an old t-shirt to bed feels like resignation to rest, not enthusiasm for it.

What I've been wearing is inspiring feelings in me that aren't (even remotely) in alignment with how I want to feel.

This past weekend, I happened upon some holiday sales. Mind you, clothing purchases aren't something I've indulged in at all since traveling in an RV; I have half of a very small closet, plus two drawers, to myself. My wardrobe is efficient and earnest and consists mostly of pieces that serve double- and triple-duty. But, deep discounts combined with the creeping incongruity was, at the very least, an opportunity to practice applying my CDFs to shopping decisions.

What did I walk away with? Pajamas that feel special. True to my femininity and my delight for sleep. Luxurious, but not precious. Like my comfort is important, even while I'm unconscious. Loungewear that allows me to move around with my laptop and create, regardless of whether or not I make it outside for that run. (Plus a new moisture wicking shirt in case I do.) And a couple of blouses that make me smile and feel shiny and pretty when I put them on. Luminous from the inside out. Like I contain secrets and antics in equal measure.

And how did I do it? Simple. As I tried on each item, I asked myself, "Will this get me closer to (or further from) my desired feeling of _______?" Shopping has never felt easier, and I've never felt more myself.

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of October 4

STARTED

+ The Deep Exhale (a class on rest with the divine Mara Glatzel)

FINISHED

+ life coach training (almost—I take the exam this week!)

SOUVENIRS PURCHASED

+ LED fairy lights

PODCASTS DISCOVERED

+ Death, Sex & Money
+ Limetown
+ Magic Lessons
+ Jump Start Your Joy

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ Sisters on the Fly, a women's outdoor adventure group, spent a long weekend at the RV park in their decked-out vintage campers, complete with Halloween decorations (some in Shastas with wings and Bolers that looked like eggs on wheels, others in Lakelands and Southland Runabouts and Scottys)

CURIOSITIES COLLECTED

+ St. Benoît Cremery glass yogurt jars

FRIENDS MADE

+ Jane, who walks the RV park almost as much as I do
+ couple from Wisconsin, John and Kathleen, with a dog name Marley (they gave us a tour of their Winnebago View!)

06: Feeling neighborly

Well, we've put down stakes for the time being. Not because we've landed someplace we love (not that we haven't—it's too soon to tell), but because of a predetermined work commitment that requires us to stay put for a few months' time. Unfortunately, for the sake of Internet safety, it wouldn't be prudent of me to spell out where, exactly, we are. So, that changes a few things around here, especially in the sidebar; I won't be linking to any of our haunts until we leave this city for another. No big deal—just a heads-up to explain any vagueness. [As of 5/8/16, all links and city-specifics for our time in Oklahoma City and the surrounding area are updated.]

In other news: There's a spider who's traveled with us since August. We think we picked her up at a state park outside of St. Louis, but since she didn't exactly have her thumb out, we can't be sure when she joined us. When we drive, she disappears into the driver's side mirror. This has gotten her safely through Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, New Mexico, and a couple of other states to where we are now.

She's rebuilt her web several times. She's had to. At each week-long stop, she's come out and begun the arduous task of fabricating a web from scratch, producing and floating out silk radials, waiting for them to attach to some other part of the vehicle, then reeling in and tightening. She's an adhesive mason. A stringed instrument.

One evening last week, right around sunset, we stood outside and marveled at the size of her most recent creation and how it spread over one of our windows. She was out, too—no doubt waiting for her dinner to find itself stuck. I wanted to leave her alone, but I also wanted her gone. The thought of spider eggs hatching in some cranny of the RV was too much for me to bear. I swatted at my ankle. My teeth chattered. We plotted ways to get her down, sometimes in disagreement about whether or not a casualty was okay. At the very least, you had to admire her tenacity. (Didn't she deserve a sign above her that read SOME SPIDER or TERRIFIC?) We solicited the advice of neighbors walking their dogs. We hemmed and hawed and strategized. The sun went down.

"I guess it's too dark to do anything now," one of us said. The other agreed. I shuddered and we went inside.

It's overcast today and the windows are dirty, splotchy and streaky from a wayward sprinkler that comes on in the night. As if on cue, there's an October nip in the air. The crows are making a racket about having the picnic shelter to themselves. I've put up a few special Halloween decorations—a wooden jack-o-lantern ornament, a felt leaf garland, a pair of Día de los Muertos skulls. I'll go for a walk in a bit, maybe carry a tumbler of hot tea, stretch my legs, and wave to the neighbors.

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of September 27

SPOTTED

+ armadillos (sadly, on the side of the road) 

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ Matcha Love iced green tea (definitely prefer sweetened)
+ Mexican mocha cold brew coffee with almond milk
+ dirty chai with almond milk
+ quinoa black bean tacos (omg, heaven)
+ pumpkin seeds
+ pepper jack cheese
+ chickpea curry with cauliflower
+ spicy black bean sliders with chipotle mayo (making these tonight!)
+ still with the whiskey sours
+ queso and chips

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ betting at Remington Park, the local horse races (we lost some and won some)
+ practicing swings at Topgolf
+ exploring the casino side of Remington Park
+ watching The Martian at the local movie theater (so, so good)

CURIOSITIES COLLECTED

+ autumn leaves (though all the trees still look green to me)

FRIENDS MADE

+ Robin, at the clubhouse front desk
+ couple with matching hot pink shirts and two teacup Chihuahuas
+ hostess at Remington Park restaurant
+ man who washes RVs and trailers

FRIENDS VISITED

+ Trish

05: Miracles, if you know where to look

This week, I'm thinking about miracles. Specifically, milagros, the religious folk charms that are used for healing purposes and religious ritual in Mexico and other parts of the world. (Do you know what I'm talking about? If not, here are some examples; note the individual body parts—lungs, eyes, breasts, hearts—among the kneeling figures.)

I've always had a thing for milagros; in my last apartment, I had a collection of sacred hearts of all sizes that I hung on the bathroom walls. Some were painted, one was ceramic, others were plain copper or tin, and all were collected from my then-limited travels around the United States. They're packed away now, wrapped in newsprint and nested in boxes in a storage unit in central Virginia. But, off the top of my head, I could tell you that one was made by an Etsy artisan, another purchased from a home décor shop in midcoast Maine, and a third found in a Baltimore boutique I used to frequent (rather appropriately named Milagro) when I called that city home.

You can buy milagros all over Santa Fe and Taos, and probably Albuquerque, too (though my shopping bug had died down a bit by the time we were there, so I don't know for sure). On more than a few occasions, I was tempted to add to my collection, but there were so many options, such variety, and they were all so perfect, that making a decision felt impossible...and, also, like missing the point.

Coincidentally, Saturday, on our way east on I-40, we passed a sign for Milagro, a town in Guadalupe County, New Mexico. Google it and you'll find a couple ranches for sale, but that's about it.

And then, driving through a new town yesterday evening, a red light stopped us at an intersection beside Casa De Los Milagros, a restaurant that doesn't really look like much, especially after all the quaint cafés and cantinas we spied in the land of enchantment (that's New Mexico's nickname). But, the repetition wasn't lost on me. Alright, alright, I relented. I get it. Miracles everywhere.

So, today, I'm wondering: What would be a miracle for you? And: What's the miracle you want to make?

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of September 20

CAMPED AT AMERICAN RV PARK

SPOTTED

+ New Mexico whiptails
+ more beetles
+ more cattle
+ more horses
+ a pet pig!

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ chile con queso (to. die. for.)
+ pescado blanco tacos
+ whiskey sours (we're digging 1792 Small Batch Bourbon)
+ vegetarian burrito with green chiles
+ tortilla soup
+ berries & cream Mexican ice pop

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ Garduño's of New Mexico
+ Frontier Restaurant
+ La Michoacana de Paquime

CURIOSITIES COLLECTED

+ New Mexico overpasses (lights, murals, sculptures—always an artistic opportunity)
+ a motorcycle club's ride in and around Taos Plaza (we're talking 75 to 100 motorcycles, riding in a pack and revving while waiting for the light)

04: Exploring the unfamiliar

Tathagata Café in the Rancho Viejo Village Center was a place we almost didn't enter because, sometimes, there's an initial hurdle between us and trying something new. Kind of surprising, huh?

For two people changing "home" on a weekly basis, you'd think we'd be master experimenters when it comes to everyday living in different locations. But, we're learning that our inclination is to become creatures of habit rather easily. In each city, we find a Starbucks we like with excellent wifi (always with the free wifi), and we log our work hours there in the company of the locals, saving our adventuring for the evening. We befriend the Starbucks staff and they seem to remember us quickly (we must appear to be new residents, soon-to-be regulars whose custom beverages will remain unchanged for years to come); by Tuesday or Wednesday of the week we're in town, they're penning our names across paper cups without having to ask. It's nice, that swift belonging.

So, when a random, mid-week internet search yields several five-star reviews for a local, one-off café, there's some risk involved. I mean, it's just coffee, so how much risk could it really involve? But, still. We know Starbucks is good (enough). Going there doesn't entail newness or unknowns. It's the predictable, home-like place during the weeks of changing scenery and a dearth of familiar faces.

We gambled. We traded comfort for excitement and parked the car in an empty lot, in the middle of an adobe subdivision, stones and lavender bushes where East Coasters put blankets of manicured grass.

We met Rachel, a barista moonlighting as a sculptor, who made our coffees with an artistic lack of urgency (I mean that as a compliment) and rang us up only when we were about to leave two hours later and asked what we owed her. We talked with her about wooing the muse (by practicing your craft on a daily basis), how even visual artists fear the blank page (I didn't know this), and what she was reading (some sort of sculpture theory book, for pleasure). And then, on a whim, I asked her where she recommended we visit while in Santa Fe. I mean it when I tell you that Rachel spent the next hour mapping out ideas for us on a page from her sketchpad, considering all the places she'd discovered and loved in her eight months in town. She gave us a popsicle recommendation and vouched for delicious Vietnamese fare in Albuquerque; she noted a location thought to contain holy dirt (tierra bendita) in Chimayó and a chapel staircase in Santa Fe believed to be miraculous; she included the details of a weaving shop, a restaurant decorated in the style of "crusty Americana," and the museums she likes the best, plus her two favorite local radio stations.

This is what happens when you open up and expand. Or, at least, it's what happened when we did. There's a good chance nothing will remind you of anything else, and there's a good chance that will be the exact right thing for you to try next. So, in addition to following her suggestions, we're looking to frame Rachel's list, because it looks a whole lot like art to us.

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of September 13

CAMPED AT NRA WHITTINGTON CENTER & SANTA FE SKIES RV PARK

SPOTTED

+ mourning doves
+ more bunnies
+ pronghorns (white bottoms!)
+ horses
+ New Mexico whiptails
+ bizarre beetles
+ grasshoppers (they'd crash into my legs repeatedly during our morning walks)

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ El Salvadoran pupusa
+ tamale wrapped in a banana leaf
+ hibiscus agave wine margarita
+ roasted veggie & ricotta quesadillas
+ carrot cake
+ Malvasia bianca wine from St. Clair Winery in New Mexico (found, by chance, in Trader Joe's!)
+ Baja style fish tacos
+ mole enchiladas
+ plantain chips with avocado & jalapeño dip
+ The Don Juan Latté (cashew milk, espresso, caramel, and cinnamon)
+ nachos, twice
+ sangria

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ trapshooting (full disclosure: I shot once and then cried)
+ Tune-Up Café
+ Café Pasqual's
+ Coyote Rooftop Cantina (not our favorite)
+ Tathagata Café
+ Plaza Café
+ Station Café 3 One 6
+ Paseo Del Pueblo Norte (the main drag in Taos, which we walked for the shops and galleries)
+ Taos Pueblo
+ Camel Rock

SOUVENIRS PURCHASED

+ papel picado (paper garland)
+ painted tin cactus magnet