One Is the Loneliest(ish) Number

My life has been filled with a lot of "twos" lately. There are the two cats I've had for over a decade. And the two primary writing clients I've been juggling for the last year. And the two houses I've been inhabiting. The two countries I've been traveling between since Mr. W started his latest work project. And last week, I had two of my favorite coaching cohorts staying with me.

One of the creative directors I work for made a joke that house guests are like fish—they start to stink after about 5 days. But my coach friends were here for 8 and 9 days, and didn't emit a single foul odor. That said, by about the 7th day, I was excited to get back to my solo lifestyle.

And then they left.

They moment the house was quiet and empty, I started to cry.

It could have been from exhaustion. But it was also just that feeling of vacation and fun coming to an end. I was filled with a deep empathy for empty-nesters in those first few moments they're alone at home after their kids have gone off to college.

Even when you're looking forward to flying solo, it still has the power to bring up swells of grief.

This got me thinking about the whittling that will take place in my life soon.

It made me wonder how much sadness I'll feel when I'm fully settled into just one wonderful house. I suspect there could be tears at some point. And don't even get me started on the floodgates that will open when I find myself with only one living cat.

I wonder if, on some level, we always have to grieve losses—even when we want them.

As I adjusted to being the only human in my home, I found myself drawn to one of the things I always know will recenter me: the outdoors. I took to my garden and almost immediately felt reconnected. Even when I am just one, there is no need to be lonely. My backyard is continually giving me new companions.

Tomatoes, anyone?

Although these guys are arriving a little early, they taste amazing.

I ate that big one last week and it was so yummy!

Mr. W and I don't remember seeing any peaches on the tree last year, so I was
really excited when I noticed these little babies today.

Slightly stunted parsnips. Our soil is so hard. But I just roasted and ate these
guys with dinner and they were quite tasty.

And last but not least, our pride and joys: baby wine grapes. Hopefully we'll
be pressing these guys when we live at the new house fulltime.

Perpetual Students

When I started to write this post, I immediately thought of Matthew McConaghey's David Wooderson character in Dazed and Confused. I don't actually think he was still a student, though. Just an old perv who liked high school girls. Anywhoo...

If one was to come into Mr. W's and my house and begin inspecting various surfaces, they would quickly realize that the two of us are perpetual students. The areas around our nightstands are cluttered with books we're trying to finish. The windowsill in our kitchen holds dozens of cookbooks. The coffeetable usually acts as a catchall to our paperbacks and magazines. Mr. W even had to build an additional shelf in our guest room to accommodate our growing library.

I think you can tell a lot about a person by the books they keep. 

For example, you might look up at The Urban Homestead book above and know immediately that I spent about 20 minutes yesterday picking worms our of compost. True story.

And you might predict by the picture below that Mr. W often leaves overflowing bottles of sourdough starter around our sink.

If someone didn't know I was training to become a life coach, they could probably pretty quickly make guesses about my interests or desired career path if they examined some of my recent reads:

It's not pictured here, but 50 Shades of Grey does exist in our house. And although Mr. W would probably LOVE for me to dedicate my studies to its subject matter, he'll have to wait. Gardening and career counseling currently trump S&M around here...

What are you reading right now?

The Next Step

When I got laid off last fall, I felt like the Universe was thumping me in the butt, telling me, "Now's your chance to do something different."

Although I wasn't entirely sure what that different thing should be, I was committed to figuring it out.

Then in January, I met with a friend who had gone through the Martha Beck life coach-training program a few years back and, without much effort, she convinced me it was the direction I wanted to head next.

Still I dragged my feet, second guessing a decision that felt right, and I missed my opportunity to join the June program (which continues into March 2013). I figured there was a reason it didn't work out and that I would have to table my desire and sign up in September.

But a few months later, the Universe gave me another jolt: an additional June class was being added and I was on the list if I still wanted to participate.

I signed up the next day.

Telling people that I'm making this transition hasn't been all flowers and sunshine. The term "life coach" carries a sort of stigma that you're either totally woo-woo or a know-it-all or someone who doesn't want to tie themselves down to a "real" job.

People close to me have reacted in ways ranging from complete support to laughter and ridicule to downright judgment and doubt. There was even my favorite line, "How can you be a life coach?! You don't even have kids!" 

Has every orthopedic surgeon had a broken femur? Has every dentist needed a root canal? Is having children a prerequisite to becoming a pediatrician?

I don't believe you have to have lived through every life circumstance (difficult or not) to help someone else through the same thing. You just need the right training. I'm pretty certain that my male therapist (who was married to a woman) had never been cheated on by a guy who was hung up on his college girlfriend, yet he was still able to help me navigate my way through that situation pretty darn well.

I come from a family of helpers. My brother is a firefighter, sister is a nurse, mother pretty much has an honorary PhD in Mothering, and dad once tackled a burglar to help the cops chasing him. And then there's me...the copywriter. Not that writing isn't a totally noble career—I just want to be able to do something more with it. I want to be of more help to the people I know are hurting, be more efficient when someone in transition comes seeking my advice, be happier with what I am doing every day.

Am I a sage old soul? Heck no. But I don't think you have to have decades of life experience to help people tap into their intuition, jump over their life hurdles, or find peace.

Thankfully, my biggest cheerleader through this has been Mr. W. Sometimes I feel like the voice that comes out of his mouth is my own.

I had my first coach-training class yesterday and it was pretty cool. Good vibes, good people, and, I hope, good things to come. For myself and those who turn to me for help.

My Post-Bachelor Support Group May Finally Get Its Start

Despite more than one vow to never again watch the show, every season I find myself re-addicted to TV's matchmaking train wreck, The Bachelor. It is ridiculous reality slop but also one of my favorite guilty pleasures. So, last week, when a friend contacted me with an opportunity to see a taping of "The Women Tell All" episode, I nearly piddled in my full-coverage panties.

See, in addition to loving the show, I also have a fantasy about starting a support group for the poor, dejected women who don't get picked to be the bachelor's bride. These are beautiful (sometimes a little crazy), white-toothed, bikini wearing babes and yet, every week, they drown in tears, sobbing and cursing about how they can't figure out what's wrong with them and how they just wanted Ben to fall in love with them and why didn't he know they were soulmates?!

Oh dear sweeties... There are about 2.99 billion other men in the world to date. Some schmuck not choosing you on season sixteen does not mean you're going to be alone for all eternity.

If you know me at all, you know that I love to cheerlead for people when they're going through rough patches. I also adore doling out advice and tough love. Heck, I'm even planning to go through Martha Beck's coach-training program later this year.

So the idea of being in a studio with all the reject bachelorettes thrills me to no end. I wonder if I'll get kicked out for offering to be their wingwoman or teach them about manifesting. Maybe I'll just make a sign that says, "Your husband is out there. Quit all that crying."

Getting What You Believe You Deserve

When I was in D.C. last month and met up with my friend Geekhiker, a couple beers in the hotel bar led us into a rather intense conversation about dating and relationships. I, of course, started in on my beliefs that individuals create their love lives based on the kind of thoughts and energy they project into the world. What you put out comes back to you. Like attracts like. Focusing on what you DON'T want will likely draw that right to you. Yadda, yadda go read "The Secret" and "The Power of Intention."

After I reminded GH that I am convinced this mode of thinking is what brought Mr. Wonderful and I together, he came back at me with something to the effect of, "it was easy for you because you're thin and blonde."

This has been eating at me ever since.

First of all, weight and hair color do not automatically make you some sort of siren with the menfolks. There are a multitude of other necessary components, many of which I did not have figured out for a long time. Also, for the record, my teeth are off-center, I have freakishly long toes, my voice could belong to a muppet and, as we all know, sometimes my tongue smells. But all that aside, my biggest issue when dating was that I lacked confidence.

I was so concerned with all the flaws in the list above and so worried that I wasn't worldly enough or smart enough or just ENOUGH that I put out a vibe that screamed "I'm afraid I'll never find a man to love me!" And guess what: for a long time, I had a hell of a time finding a man who loved me!

It wasn't until I accepted who I was, got really comfortable with what I had to offer and what I was looking for in a partner, and started believing I WOULD find him that I actually had luck—and ultimately met the man of my dreams.

When I was single, a friend's father once told me, "You get what you believe you deserve," and now I see how dead on he was.

Believe in your heart of hearts that you deserve everything you desire, and you'll figure out a way to get it—whether you believe in manifesting or not. But if, on some level, you don't think you're worthy; if you question whether you're deserving of true happiness, I don't know that you will ever find it.

Remember what our moms all used to tell us: you can't love someone else until you learn to love yourself. And part of that loving is knowing the happiness you want  will come to you. Even if your tongue stinks and you have monkey feet.

Knowing When to Hang on and When to Let Go (of Guilt and Friendships)

When I started this blog, it was supposed to be all about life with the delightful man who married me. I'm finding, though, that because of my natural instinct to write my way through conundrums, I can't help but want to use it as my own personal sounding board—just like I did with my old blog.

If you have a problem with that, you'll just have to blame Oprah.

See, last week she started this Lifeclass series on her network and website. And being an O devotee, I've been watching. Riveted.

Today at lunch, I watched a webcast all about the lies and secrets we keep. It was co-hosted by Life Coach Martha Beck, who I adore, and darn it if she didn't have me wanting to barf out my secrets as a way of moving through them.

So, here I am. Proclaiming my guilt to the Internet over a friend who I partly want to let go of, partly want to rescue, partly want to punch.

This old dear friend has made a lot of self-destructive choices and although we don't have a lot more than a surface relationship these days, I've been trying to reach out and be helpful to her for a couple of years. I've tried being sympathetic. I've tried tough love. I've tried to build her self esteem in case she was feeling so bad about herself, she didn't know she could pick up her life out of the gutter. I've tried to learn who she is now, in case the key is seeing things from a different vantage point.

But I've hit a point where I feel done. And I'm feeling guilty about it.

There's my secret. I don't want to pretend to have a real relationship anymore when really, it's just fake Facebook messages and pretend email exchanges. It is not a friendship of substance, and despite various attempts, has not been for a long time.

So I've chosen to just put it away in a drawer in my head. Because I feel guilty about abandoning this person. Even though I don't feel like she has really been there for me. Even though I don't feel like I would even know who I was supporting because she's spun so tightly in a web of lies. I feel like it's my duty to hang in the shadows just in case I can somehow help. Just in case she morphs back into the person I used to know and calls out for me.

Oprah and her spiritual pals have me trying to unravel what this means. Am I lying to myself about being done with the friendship? Am I lying to myself when I think there's even the faintest glimmer of it ever being the friendship it once was? Is it wrong to either tell myself this is NOT my responsibility—or that it IS my problem to help my friend?

I'm trying to find some truth here and I guess I felt like I should summon the great Interwebs to weigh in and help me find the clarity through the muck.

Anyone else been in a situation like this and have some wisdom to share?

The Planifesto

Several months ago, I read this great article by Martha Beck about the importance of attaching adjectives to your life goals. She cited a couple different examples of people wishing for things—one woman thought she would find happiness by being her own boss, another by having a baby.

Unfortunately, both women failed to accurately investigate the details of their goals before charging ahead. The woman who aspired to be her own boss was really seeking a job with freedom. She quickly learned that starting your own company means you're tied down a lot of the time. The woman who wanted a baby thought it would finally make her feel fulfilled. But it also made her exhausted.

These examples got me to thinking about the life Mr. Wonderful and I are hoping to create over the next several years (or decade). We talk a lot about how things will be "when we move to the vineyard." But we haven't really tried to flesh out what that will look like. And as I learned from dating, you gotta put color to the details (and then stick to them) or you end up with some really unflattering shades...

After all the wedding hoopla finally faded, I decided that Mr. W and I should sit down and start listing our adjectives. Penning our descriptors might help us to start paving the path.

So I found an empty notebook. The French cat one above (which Mr. W actually bought me in Barcelona at the gift shop inside La Pedrera) and we sat down with a glass of wine and brainstormed. The hope is that we will continue to fill the book with ideas, and by the time we've covered each sheet of paper, we'll be well on our way to living the list.

Here's a little peek at what we have so far:

• blissful • peaceful • low maintenance • fun • easy • rich in experiences • satisfying • inspiring • creative • challenging (in a good way) • communal • balanced • healthy •

It's sort of fun to hypothesize where we'll end up and when. I think maybe we'll be farmers... Or maybe a writer and a photographer... The possibilities are endless, really.