A few weeks from now, my husband is leaving me.  He’s leaving me, his home and work to go on a 3-month bicycling journey; dipping his front wheels first in the Atlantic Ocean and then 10 states later, into the Pacific Ocean.  He has wistfully spoken of this desire for years all the while being the responsible father to our family, working hard and providing the means for a lovely and beautiful life together.  About a year and half ago, he wholeheartedly committed to it on the calendar. 

Upon hearing of this trip, a friend asked Mark, “how did your wife allow you to do this?” I shake my head in wonder at this kind of comment.  Have we fallen for too many sappy love songs with the "I'm never ever in a gazillion years going to leave you" theme?  Sure I’m his wife, partner in parenting, washing dishes, and co-owner of a business for the last 26 years.  I have faith in our relationship and I've already disclosed to him my deep down fear; "after these three months, what if you don't want to come home? You know, living the easy life out there on the road care-free of messy responsibilities like a dirty garage and bills to pay?" His reply, "well I'm glad you aren't worried about some mack truck barrelling into me on the highway somewhere." There are many agreements we've worked through in this marriage, but I just can't find it in me to say, "No, you can’t do that--that thing you so obviously love." Taking the oppositional stance as is my wont; I ask simply, “who am I to not allow my husband to do this?”  (I’m pretty stoked to have some time to myself, in case you are wondering.)

We have two daughters in their early 20’s.  We are both in our early 50's and blessed with excellent health.  We have the choice to make today more important than that culturally popular "I'm gonna do _____ (fill-in-the blank) when I retire phase.  We have both lost our fathers in the past 5 years and in that sacred place close to mortality, we have vowed to each other "gotta do what we want now." Looking into that fuzzy future called tomorrow; we know it is a shorter and always an uncertain path than the one previously walked.  

I have seen us share more tenderly with each other knowing around the corner, I’ll be eating garlic-infused meals without him; griping about daily events to an empty space and going to bed without his oh-so-warm body to snuggle against. I’ll be living the familiar life with friends/environment/favorite summer happenings for those three months; while he’ll wake up in a tent in a new campground for 90 days straight. 

When we first met in Austin, TX in 1985, I had three days of training before moving back to Phoenix.  Our relationship began long-distance and grew fast and furious until four months later Mark moved to Phoenix.  Within a few months we spit out the "marriage" word.  How do we cultivate a relationship long-distance at this point in our lives?  Don’t really know. We look into each other’s eyes a bit deeper right now before this separation and I love the feeling. I have fully supported this adventure for him, yet I know the real truth will be in the experience of living through it.

I love to talk about the concept of being afraid of dying; and if I’m afraid of dying, am I afraid of living?...... taken from the “Tibetan Book of Living and Dying”  How we prepare for our death is similar to how we live our lives.  How we manage the myriad of transitions in our life; whether in chaos, kicking and screaming, or with gusto and passion, can be a reflection of the BIG transition we all must go through.  Is it easier to hold onto or let go of something so precious and alive like my man? I realize this isn't a painful position to be in like divorce or death of the partner, but it's still a transition.  It's not about being easy, really. The challenge is in adapting to the situation; adapting to being without the other in those small moments when I'm desparate for a back rub and he's not around with his warm and caring hands. 

I say, "Go, my husband. Go and live the cycling life."  I'll be singing Patty Griffin's oh-so-beautiful song "I"m gonna left him fly" as you cycle away from me (even though the lyrics of that song don't carry the sentiment for our separatioin.).......  And may your butt be all the better for it.

Clearing away piles of paper, closets stuffed to the hilt or bookshelves crammed with knick-knacks is a decadent experience.    Oh, it's dirty, ugly and gross at first.  It can even get dirtier and uglier the more you go through those piles and closets.  The endless decisions to keep something or not.  The sentimental connections to that small note your sister wrote you so many years ago.  The very funny birthday card when you turned 40 (how many years ago was that?)

Decluttering is a task.  Like any other household chore....mowing the lawn, emptying the dishwasher, taking out the trash.  It's the stories we tell ourselves about our precious stuff (that we can't even see because it's at the back of the closet) that brings on the emotions.  Emotions like anger and fear.  So it is important to sort through the emotions as well.  What might you find hidden there?  Possibly the fear of making the wrong decision?  Or the fear of losing control of your life if you let go of your things?

The decadence comes in when we feel the emotion of freedom.  When we experience a sense of liberation in our home and the choices we make during the process of decluttering.  Just like when we unwrap the dark chocolate and taste the smooth caress of silkiness on our tongue. 

What do you spend most of your time thinking about?

"How you look?  How you look to yourself?  How you look to others?"

"My husband, kids, co-workers can't do a single thing unless I monitor them."

"Those darn bed bugs in every bed around the world?"

Now let's break down the 24 hours in a day.  Some time is spent sleeping so we might have around 15 hours of waking time that we are engaged in conscious thinking.  According to a study by the National Science Foundation our minds are spewing forth 15,000 - 50,000 thoughts per day.  Most have nothing to do with the present moment, rather many revolve around the theme main theme of "past or future".  A lot of all suffering is based in our own thoughts.

Settle down, I'm not here to tell you to stop thinking.  Even meditators can't stop thinking.  But they do observe the thought and try and remain unattached to it.  Thoughts are a habit.  As Pema Chodron writes in her book Taking the Leap  "learning to come back (from being lost in thought), rather to return to being present, over and over again" is how to stop scratching that itch.  "We humans are like young children who have a bad case of poison ivy.  Because we want to relieve the discomfort, we automatically scratch, and it seems a perfectly sane thing to do.  In the face of anything we don't like, we automatically try to escape.  In other words, scratching is our habitual way of trying to get away, trying to escape our rundamental discomfort, the fundamental itch of restlessness and insecurity, or that very uneasy feeling: that feeling that something bad is about to happen."

Choose from a limited category of your most common thoughts... thoughts that give you a sense of unease and discomfort. May I suggest  

• Yourself (body, success, image, death)
• Money
• Your family/co-workers
• Other.....

Spend a week simply being aware of your thoughts in one of these categories.  Determine how uncomfortable you feel in your body....from slight to very uncomfortable while you think these thoughts.  Then ask yourself....is this thought true in the moment? 

I've been there.  You've been there.  From the smallest of decisions like "what brand of toilet paper to buy" (with or without a coupon) to "should I leave this job that pays all my bills but makes me feel crappy?"....we practice the art of making decisions constantly.  

When I work with a client who is at a loss on how to answer a question, or doesn't know what they really feel/mean, I tell them, "place your hand over your heart (or solar plexus area)."  Immediately, the person shifts into a softer, less anxious mode.  They connect with their body.  The mind, which had been in full control up to this moment, suddenly is in the back seat.  The solidity of body wisdom takes over. 

It really is that simple. The next time you find yourself fraught with anxiety over a decision, pause. Place your hand over your heart and pause some more. Focus on the sensation of your hand touching your chest; feel the pulse of your heart. Pause some more.

Go ahead, pledge allegiance to your self and wisdom of your body/soul and leave the mind behind.  The decision will be known.