lists

Lists are powerful.

Some of the lists that have occupied my bandwidth include but are not limited to:
1.To Do Lists
2. Shopping Lists
3. Grocery Lists
4. Long Range Goals Lists
5.Wish Lists for Life
6.Wish Lists for the Perfect Husband
7. Bucket Lists
8. Christmas Lists.

The banality of 1-3 are where my list making took the deepest root. I suck at gumption so #4 is out. Just saying the word "Goal" makes me sweat. The word "Bucket" makes me wretch so I've renamed it. And last but not least, "Christmas" is an ebb and flow of conflicted emotions as I lie, straight-faced, to my kids about a dude in a red suit that shimmies down an eight inch stove pipe.

Each and every one of these lists contains amazing stories and manifestations beyond my wildest imagination; some laden with miracles and some rife with unrequited memories. We all live the chiaroscuro of light and dark.There is a yin and yang in lists that convey both hope and dread.

One thing for sure is that lists make a impact when made with joy and hopeful anticipation. Brailling the emotion behind the itemized list and how it would feel is key. The action of physically writing the words and seeing them on paper has an accountable and binding effect. Heartfelt investiture displayed in one's own hand summons a contract of sorts, laser focused for no one but its author or the hired handyman where no job is too small.

Case in point, about five years ago, soon after the annual December arrival of the National Geographic catalog, in my neon-Mariachi-Billy-Mays sort of way, I helped out my husband with nifty gifts I would have been pleased to have opened on Christmas morning. Dog-eared pages, sticky notes and custom doodles embellished with metallic pen were scribbled beside each trinket and indubitably conveyed my level of enthusiasm. The catalog sat and sat, unopened until splayed open unceremoniously after beign tossed into the recycle bin the following March.

Clearly, my husband wanted nothing to do with my lists.

Going back an additional seven years and my affliction with the Sundance jewelry catalog, I batted my eyelashes at a picture of a hand-tied leather and pearl choker for months. This gorgeous creation, a brilliant design juxtaposition of raw and refined, held my gaze. In fact, our fledgling marriage somewhat hinged on this bobble, still holding out in the naive realm of Cinderella.

"No." my husband declared. "You can make this yourself." as I emptied the ashes out of the fireplace and took solace in the sweet songs of birds perching on my window sill. His proclamation landed in my left ear with umbrage and my right ear with mysterious elation. I had reached a bulwark ...my happiness could no longer be delivered by the hum of the UPS truck. Or could it?

In utter desperation I made a list. Indeed, the skills I had as an artist and sculptor made me entirely capable. That one necklace evoked multiple future designs, trips to the Arizona Gem show and silversmithing classes. That one "No" transcended into grace, into a business, into a lifeboat where my independent, Diva-self could float and wait and create while my mother-self nursed, changed diapers and breathed through a straw. That "No" honed my discretionary time in between napping children that brought a great sense of creation and passion to my life.

My list from the jewelry components catalog cost double the value of the necklace I sought from Sundance. My shipment was delivered by UPS.

To further illuminate how vested I was in lists, right around the same time, I devised C:\Documentsand Settings\Julie\MyDocuments\Lists\Grocery. It is comprised of separate areas for produce, dairy, meats, dry goods, canned goods, health & beauty, miscellaneous, Trader Joes and Big Y. By the delineation of these separate areas I was relieved of the irritation to have to double back for items I may have missed in the produce aisle with an errant, illegible request for - let's say - kumquats. I continue to implement these lists for staple items that stray from my intuitionally inventoried cache. This list I thee wed.

Lists are good yet have their limitations.

Fast forward to 2010, a gazillion self-help paragraphs and two mentors later. My life, based list making, that had manifested my husband, my necklace and thousands of dollars in toilet paper, eggs and milk was under seige.

"Just by the presence of a list conveys that you are in lack-mentality, " my teacher suggested...this new thought was the cosmic KA-BOOM nudging 8 on my internal Richter. He had a point. What would my life look like if I stopped jumping through my hoopes of lists? He helped shift my perception from lack into a constant state of abundance.

Although I am not able to dismount completely, my grip has softened. Relinquishing my over-weighted dependence has opened a world greater than I had previously known to exist. There is less time spent with the niggle of dissatisfaction and more time in a state of mindful appreciation and gratitude. Skip some lists and envision as if your heart has already been transplanted into the delicious scenario of your dreams.

Surrendering to your own joy, worth, happiness and harmony may require that you look up from your list.

Ask Yourself:

How can I live more and list less?

Julie Bowes - Certified Life Coach
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784
203.240.4397

JewelTree, LLC
Facebook/JewelTree, LLC

slurp

Thanks to the season's first snowfall I was able to spare my family the ugly truth. As they cavorted in the snow with our chocolate lab I made a conscious choice not to join them. I've earned this small window of quiet time...the candle lit, lofty wisps of pan flute floating through the speakers of the kitchen computer. It was just me and my espresso machine - together...the two of us. No national disasters declared on third degree bagel burns, who unloaded the dishwasher last or smug remarks on the attention that my morning mocha ritual depends. My twelve year old refers to it as the Pythagorean brew.

The rub here is that I pride myself in my finely honed pioneering skills. And because pioneers didn't have Starbucks Espresso Roast coffee therein lies my basic dilemma. The success or failure of days without power teeter delicately on the blood/particulate ratio containing just enough of the finely ground bean. The simple grounds and boiling water comprising pioneer coffee no longer suffices. I took that last step into no return sometime last February thinking, "I'll just treat myself to a homemade mocha just this once." The problem is that once high test is introduced on a regular basis the rest is just...well...brown water.

With the quiet excitement of what seemed to be my first morning alone since starting a family twelve years ago, I retrieved my implements, heated up the elements, inventoried my ingredients and with a mere 500 Watt light-dimming draw was able to froth, reheat and summon the perfect hazelnut foam over which any barista would gleam with pride. Until that is, the slow motion moment when I watched my morning unravel into a potential disaster. In fell the espresso glass to the vat of hot chocolate. My day loomed in peril.

"How can I save this?", my pounding heart and wide eyes conveyed. And this is when my McGyver surfaced. I moved all impediments and as any 21st century pioneer, espresso paramedic would do I performed mouth to counter resuscitation and slurped the four tablespoons of sweet nectar off the counter. No sticky residue, no trace. With everyone frolicking in the new fallen snow I spared all of my weak moment and my euphoric buzz continued as previously scheduled.

I am not ready to relinquish this blissful landmass in the torrential sea of parenthood. That is until we run out of power...where blood-espresso levels reach dangerously low proportions and my head seeks mercy in the week-long detox of  tortured abstinence. Where is the joy in that? It is the first time that I honestly questioned how happy and productive life would be without it. As early as the night prior when I am making dinner or attempting to leave no trace in the kitchen for the following morning...I am buoyed with thoughts of 7am mocha bordering on legal statues and limitations that beg the question, "How much is too much?" My 5'11" hums at optimum capacity when fueled by a quadruple venti mocha. On most days my alacrity abounds in smooth steady strides, rhythmic joy and free flowing heart-centered smiles. Rooms get painted, laundry gets washed, beds get made, dog gets tended. School lunches, lawn mowed...The invincibility so systemic there are some days that my mind thinks I am deserving of  a cape, ethereally crecendoing theme music and the moniker Haus Frau Superhero.

Now... I have written posts about my mocha in the past. Yet, three years later it is a topic that is worthy of addressing again as I proclaim my steadfast dependency and how my world revolves around the espresso roasted bean. The black, three-foot power cord to my espresso maker is one of the few things that keeps me tethered to the virtues of living in a house. Pondering my life without caffeine deposits me somewhere in the woods hiking for countless miles until the Universe courses through my veins with unbridled amperage. Yet the responsibilities as a mom have led me to this place of worship; The red light that turns green to indicate brew ready status is my mindful reminder that this vulnerability is a choice. I choose to surrender to the conveniences that cultivate the seat of  modern vices and the beauty that espresso bestows to my inner core. Quite simply, this choice requires a generator.

In the aftermath of Hurricane Irene and most recently Hurricane Sandy we tasted of life without the convenience of electricity. Hosted in such mild temperatures we were left largely unscathed when compared to the affects this storm would have incurred had it been nestled into pipe-freezing temperatures. As Hurricane Sandy approached the Northeast, we sat hovered around the glow of the ipad researching generators where we left off in the aftermath of Hurricane Irene. Although "submit order" was 12 months delayed we are now assured that when Hurricane Zena: Warrior Princess arrives you can bet that mocha and hot showers will be on tap until I siphon my trusty, Suburban steed dry.

Ask Yourself:

How can I close the gap between my

vulnerability and empowerment?

antidote

Poison Ivy, my three-season nemesis, has a crafty strategy in determining my coordinates. At age eight, soon after I debated drinking Calamine lotion as a p.i. induced rash itched its way across my face, did I become adept with why red, shiny, three-leafed plants should be shunned. At age 32, soon after I used maxi-pads to absorb the incessant weeping of the p.i. lesions on my arms and leg did I decipher what the plant looks like before it sprouts its foliage. At age 36, as a new cat owner, did I realize that the tables had turned. Instead of finding the poison ivy, the poison ivy was finding me, infiltrating on the fur of the Trojan kitties. So, now at the ripe age of 44, as my chocolate lab, Kola, nestles himself into my yoga postures I throw caution to the wind. I know full-well the entire territory he has blanketed with his scent during our morning walk, perhaps shy of one free standing oak tree and mail box, has all been in beds of caustic weed. I don't care. Why? Because my love for Kola supersedes and melts my fear and irritation of a rash.

It's crazy, I know. Particularly because I KNOW. The burgeoning realization of my 32 year old episode, my husband and I had spent the weekend clearing our piece of property in March. The spirit of two homesteading pioneers blazing way for our future, burned with intensity. Chain saws, loppers, wheelbarrows and tarps day after day until our backs, elbows and hands ached with exhaustion. As I wrapped vine upon vine around my forearms to aide in better purchase, steady clearing made way for the sense of pride and accomplishment. Until that is...comprehension of doom...not only where my forearms covered but a piece of vine had fallen down my shirt and squirreled it's way into the right thigh of my pant leg.

The mental, emotional and physical consumption from the effects of poison ivy were systemic. Every cell in my body cried for relief. Every facet of my being was impaired as the urge to itch ebbed. My dream's crescendos would conclude with the blessed answer of feverish, midnight scratching. All of my meals tasted of Calamine essence. Hydro-cortisone cream & maxi-pads applied to the lesions lasted about two weeks. No physical scars represent the miracle of the human body's incredible ability to heal.

Long forgotten information my father had taught me, however, is that growing amidst poison ivy I would undoubtedly find its antidote, Jewel Weed. I was reminded of this when my friend, Victoria, plucked a stalk from the fringe of my driveway to aid in her journey along the poison ivy highway. Through numerous interactions that followed I leaned into the cures of nature and found that Jewel Weed far surpassed anything on the shelves at CVS.

Is this really about just the antidote, you are asking yourself? No. It never is. The symbolism will always float to the surface...so just stick with me here.

For the sake of comparative analysis, if I were to assign an emotional equivalent to the wrath of poison ivy it would be resentment. The effects of p.i. hold the same intensity of anger that is characterized by the word resentment.The definition, according to Webster is: "The feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury." Resentment, just like poison ivy, spreads. It affects every aspect of one's life. Clarity, compassion, appreciation and peace are blocked when resentment takes hold. Resentment blisters in the seat of the soul leaving the burden to lie in the body of the beholder.  Resentment indicates that you have allowed yourself, to take yourself, too seriously. Your shiny, glossy, three-leaved self (emotional, mental and physical bodies) have no structure to support the grace of Spirit.

     However, growing in harmony, with leaves and roots intermingling, is the emotional equivalent of gratitude found in Jewel Weed. The near transparent, succulent qualities of its stem stand tall and bear an open scallop of an honest leaf. Residing within the stalk of this plant is the quality that has the capacity to, at least temporarily, disarm the bomb of poison ivy and on an emotional scale, to permanently disarm the bomb of resentment when applied in a liberal, consistant manner. It is a conscious choice to harvest gratitude...to break the stem and apply its healing salve. Jewel Weed is the grace to my poison ivy as gratitude is to resentment. Similarly to resentment, gratitude spreads, too. Seek it, implement it, herald it! Go one step further and become an acute observer of the antidote you need growing right next to the challenges you face. By reaching deep into the earth beneath you bestows abundance, wisdom and knowledge that all your needs are constantly met. We are all here to evolve by yielding to the lessons hidden within unexpected challenges. Shedding gratitude on all life has to offer has the power to reveal the antidote to the inherent hazards that ride with the over-inflation of self and it's knee-jerk reactions.

Ask Yourself:

Where is your Jewel Weed?

Daily thoughts, photos and clips that assist in pondering the passage. Join the JewelTree facebook community!


Julie Bowes - Certified Life Coach
JewelTree, LLC
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784

http://www.jeweltreeoflife.com/

203.240.4397 or email Julie@Jeweltreellc.com to schedule your sample coaching session today!

the game

At the root of all discontent and unhappiness are two sets of moving variables. One of my favorite and frequently visited topics - Reality vs. Expectation and secondly, another set of variables with which I liberally season most of my blogs is the essence of Ego vs. Spirit. 

Analyzed in unison these two sets of players emerge on the court in their tennis whites with a great sense of purpose. It is their individual desires to win this doubles match. However, coming onto the court of your life, You, as the chair umpire, are the one who chooses the doubles teams.You are the one that chooses the perspective. You call the shots.

Amongst the four players: Ego, Expectation, Reality and Spirit only four different team combinations can be matched. Neither Ego & Spirit nor Expectation & Reality can be on the same team.

So let's say that You see a potential wining combination partnering Team One - Spirit & Expectation and Team Two - Reality & Ego.  Team One has the expectation that they will win. Coupled with Spirit Team One has a decent chance, however, the fine line on which  Expectation balances doesn't take into account that Expectation just plain expects to win. In fact, Expectation never needed to pick up the racket prior to the game because Expectation didn't need to practice;This game was just going to come naturally. He lives from one atomic wow to the next. Yet, Spirit is on Expectation's team. The intentions of winning are still vibrant because Miracles are Spirit's forte.

Team Two, Reality vs. Ego has an equal ratio of advantage/disadvantage. Reality practices, stretches, includes core workouts and endurance training, eats nutritiously, sleeps well, but binged last night on two extra glasses of wine and an entire box of Ho-Ho's (to calm the gitters). Apparently, discovering that he was partnered with Ego made him nervous.

Ego is a natural born athelete. His father, his grandfather and his great grandfather were too. He loves how his physique is enhanced in the togs and how his trophies sparkle in his glass display cases. Ego garners a lot of attention from the crowd and lives for the apres-game stroking. Frequently, the energy and attention he commands will energetically intimidate the opponent and result in victory. Their practical power and high visibility make them the favored team.

Through a comedy of errors and misfit "miracle" maneuvers the score tied itself up. Although it wasn't pretty, Expectation, the lobber with fractionally narrow ability and quirky technique, sent a sun bound trajectory into orbit resulting in opponent retna burns to score the winning point. Reality and Ego brailed off the court with a belch wafting of hostess snack cakes, a relentless hangover, ego bruising and sun blindness unable to acknowledge their opponents win with the customary handshake.

The next day, You, as the chair umpire, decide that your perspective isn't quite optimal and teams are rearranged. Instead, today with interest in stats and performance you decide to pair up Ego & Expectation vs. Reality & Spirit. Ego & Expectation are a confident team. Ego has just had his teeth done, has systematically judged and insulted all the other players as "inferior". Expectation had his racket restrung. A winning combo.

Based on yesterday's game Spirit kept his eye open to the big picture. He knows that he can't do it himself. In close observation Spirit recognized Reality's deficit and it's root cause in pre-game gitters. Spirit knows of Reality's potential and encourages fully fortified preparations by encouraging Reality to trust in himself. Spirit encourages Reality to yield to a percentage of Expectation through visualizing a positive outcome. Although initially lured by his former partner, Ego's curb appeal, Reality recognizes the fruitless and vapid experience having partnered with Ego. Reality decides his best game will be played if focused and centered. Thanks to Spirit, Reality takes into account all his previous dedicated practice and joy of the game and concentrates it into forward moving clarity.

Ego exerts his charm to swathe the crowd with delight. His bleached teeth match the fresh soles of his new Christian Louboutins. "I should be on the pro-circut", he mutters, as he flashes a smile and flexes his bicep. The stands go wild; Their first ace of the game send Ego & Expectation  into a heady bliss. As they raise their arms up in exaltation, Reality & Spirit recognize their opponents distraction and rush up to net. Their solid and consistent volleys prevent the ball from even touching Reality & Spirit's side of the court. Expectation decides to deliver his erratic but infinitely hopeful last chance flail with a lob to the heavens. Yet as he follows the ball up into the sky it is Expectation, himself who is squints directly into the sun. What worked for him yesterday backfired today. Spirit moves away from net to facilitate Reality's heard earned swoop. Reality takes center court to overhand smash the ball down the line. Ego & Expectation stand motionless and blind to their defeat. Regaining their equilibrium Ego & Expectation, after throwing their rackets, jump up and down with clenched fists by their sides demanding,"Redo, Redo, REDO!"

Spirit "gets" the big picture. Spirit coupled with the fluid, straight forward mindful Reality will always win. Decisions made with Spirit at the heart of the game benefit the majority.  By surrounding ones' self with the sensations of winning ideally helps one revisit the inventory of skills necessary for the win. The ebb and flow of this subtle, energetic checks and balance system has the power to gently reveal the deficits that require cultivation in order to deliver the desired outcome. Spirit understands Ego's voracious need for attention yet also appreciates Ego's aesthetic merits; Although looking one's best raises the quotient of self love when Spirit becomes obsolete, Ego undergoes narcissistic consumption . By utilizing, tempering and refining attributes of each player illumines one's perspective towards light and love. By embracing any challenge through the watchful opportunity of Spirit, your entire perspective will shift towards fulfillment and peace sought.

In our day to day maneuvers through our court of life we all fall prey to mental mispartnering. In the work that I do as a coach,  I have found that clients operating solely with the inflammation of expectation coupled with ego catastrophizes conditions, but worse, has the power to attract and cultivate toxic, victimized mindsets and outcomes. Those yearning for greater fulfillment and peace benefit by optimally balancing reality/expectation and Spirit/ego. In order for one to reveal their best game a perspective grounded in Spirit and Reality is the first step. The fundamental groundwork of appreciation and gratitude found in these two facets prepare the foundation for perfect, graceful, winning shots that benefit the whole.

Notice that with Spirit in your court you'll always win.

Ask Yourself:

How can I repartner my perspective in order for my Soul to benefit from every challenging experience?

Daily thoughts, photos and clips that assist in pondering the passage. Join our JewelTree facebook community!


Julie Bowes - Certified Life Coach
JewelTree, LLC
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784
http://www.jeweltreeoflife.com/

203.240.4397 or email Julie@Jeweltreellc.com to schedule your sample coaching session today!

melba toast alcoholic

It's been two years since I decided to stop.

I questioned whether this would be a compelling topic and doubted whether anyone would be interested in how I never have been responsible for an alcohol related car accident or how I have never hid booze in the dryer or, holy crap...just heard about this the other day...soaked tampons in vodka. Nope. Although I have chalked up plenty futile days wasted in self-negotiation as to how many drinks I would allow myself at the next party and the subsequent epic hangovers, never have I woken up incarcerated or put my children at risk. I am thankful that it didn't take an atomic mistake to wake me up to the realization that alcohol had too tight a hold on my refined ability to rationalize glass number four. What the heck just finish the bottle. My boring, drama-less story, therefore categorizes me as a Melba toast alcoholic.

I read a magazine article yesterday about four women, mainly mothers of young kids, who, like myself, gravitated towards some cottagy type home biz where blogging maintained their connection to their adult brain. Hiding from being pecked to death by ducks, alcohol provided them with "supplementary" coping skills in the throws of trench parenting. All of them all had their own blogs for differing purposes. One wrote about her jewelry business, one about this, one about that...but all of them ended up using the blog as their platform to "come out" with their vulnerable challenge.

When I was contemplating my life without alcohol the term "vulnerable challenge" would have felt more closely akin to any derivation of the word "death". The effects of alcohol made me feel smart, desirable, fearless, fun and confident. That is, until about glass four when the words started to slur and the end point of my own story would run for the hills. The next few days would be a mine field of self-doubt and beration of whom I may have offended amidst my field of tangents. The article I read left me with the statistic that one out of every four moms are struggling with alcohol addiction that have or are spiraling towards the full-blown, gale force skewer of a drowned olive.

"Why would you want to write about this then?" my husband pointed out. "There is nothing devastating about your story. I asked you to refrain a little and you chose to stop drinking completely."
"Well, maybe I need to let people know my story so that they might have something to consider as a preemptive point to disembark so that they might, just maybe, avoid the inevitable train wreck. Maybe they need to register a story of a mediocre alcoholic to empower their own choices and decisions. Maybe people need to know that if they are thinking about quitting for one reason or another the benefits are so worth it. If people could see and feel the benefits of a life without alcohol I believe they would welcome the opportunity more easily. Now, even if I could enjoy a couple of glasses of wine every so often I would choose abstinence because I prefer the clarity, I prefer the way my body, mind and soul feels without it and I prefer reaching for meditation to get me to that comparable state of energetic inebriation. I love the capacity my heart has to love now."

The one thing that the article lacked was the guidance and methods as to how these women kicked the habit and found a sense of fulfillment and peace with the absence of what they had considered their best friend, booze. One woman felt that the 12 step program was beneficial and they all seemed to find solace in their common thread of trying to overcome their addiction together. I asked myself though, what are some additional steps that one can  take to nurture the four bodies (mental, emotional, physical and spiritual) back into balance once such a dependent substance has been removed? Not that this would work for everyone but I'd like to add one pivotal practice for me which was and continues to be, meditation.

Meditation is a safe place. It is a zone where grounding, peace and self-love are resurrected. Once attained an energy similar to that of a flame ignites lending the feeling of the first glass, gulped. This sacred space is like getting a room of your very own; a quiet, tidy space filled with fluffy pillows. As my quality of life is dependent on this space I guard it, nurture it, cultivate it, breathe it. It is a captivating silence that the longer it is imbibed the smarter, funner, love-lier and confidently present one doesn't just feel...one becomes. It is a party that I rarely want to leave but feel restored, grateful and appreciative when I must. Going into meditation resets all the common denominators to love and melts all fear, doubt, irritation, impatience, anger and ego related struggles away. The benefits my family and I have reaped are vast. The quality of love, patience, tolerance and mindfulness have cords reaching into heightened familial solidarity. The spirit of love guides us more in our thoughts, words and actions.

I had instituted meditation as a daily practice a year prior to dismounting my affair with the goblet. The effects were so immediate and delectable that I contemplated how much better they could become without the toxic effects that lingered long after any alcoholic beverage was consumed. The longer the duration of my meditations the more intensely captivated I became. However, had I indulged in my old vine zinfandel even two nights prior, my meditations started from an impaired platform of scraggly, barnacle & seaweed covered rocks. Conversely, setting out of the gate with my four bodies intact; a clear mind free of self-doubt and insecurity, a pure body free of the toxicity of alcohol, my emotions heightened with anticipation and my spirit engaged with pure intention, the meditations took flight and soared towards access ways into the divine. The delicate flame of Universal conductivity ranneth over.

I was fortunate to have had my meditation practice to put into the position that alcohol had at one point inhabited. If you consider finding yourself ready to take this next step I would only have one piece of advice not to emulate. Refrain from implementing your new direction on the night you decide to host a New Year's Eve party.

Ask Yourself:

What do I have to gain by admitting my vulnerability?

If this post given you an opportunity to apply to your own life please "like" JewelTree, LLC on facebook. Daily thoughts, photos and clips that assist in pondering the passage.

Julie Bowes - Certified Life Coach

JewelTree, LLC

P.O. Box 82

Sherman, CT 06784

http://www.jeweltreeoflife.com/

203.240.4397 or email Julie@Jeweltreellc.com to schedule your sample coaching session today!