My son and I were visiting a few days ago and we were talking about how difficult things were for us for a few years there. We were wondering out loud how that might have formed us as people and he said that he believes we are more interesting as a result: that he might not like himself as much had he had it easy.

This resonated with me, and I was very glad to hear it. Like most parents, I have regrets about the things my children have experienced as a result of my bad choices. Intellectually, I get that I did my best with what I had at the time, but there is a place within me that holds a lot of sorrow. Having one of your children tell you, in a nutshell, that it’s all good, that the light streams through the cracks, and that we are better people because of what we experience is incredibly redemptive.

It got me to thinking about how I deal with adversity.

ad·ver·si·ty [ad-vur-si-tee]

1.
adverse fortune or fate; a condition marked by misfortune, calamity, or distress: A friend will show his or her true colors in times of adversity.
2.
an adverse or unfortunate event or circumstance: You will meet many adversities in life.

The first thing I do when faced with adversity is this: I lose my shit. I cry. I experience intense frustration. I rail against it. I resist.

This doesn’t work, but it has been a part of my process for so long that I’m unsure how to skip to the next part, which is much more fruitful:

Surrender. I ask myself what I can do. If I *can* do something, I do it. If I can’t, I let go of control and I move *with it*, within the confines of whatever I’m experiencing, be it a misunderstanding, a failed project, a dying dream…

And then miracles happen.

I’ll give you an example.

I had a really tough couple of months during which I was butting heads with a couple of people. I expressed a boundary, and they, not liking it, expressed (in vitriolic terms) their newfound opinion of me based on my refusal to meet their needs. I kept pushing back with stronger boundaries. They pushed back with accusations. I knee-jerk reacted and disengaged from anyone who appeared to be ‘siding with’ the unhappy parties, and though I don’t regret disengaging, I do regret how much I let their public display of ‘not liking Effy’ impact me.

That was the ‘losing my shit’ bit.

I was slain by this experience ~ so much so that I was contemplating completely disconnecting from the Internet. I couldn’t see past the pain of it. There wasn’t one place I felt safe. All my old tape around my worth came up and hit me between the eyes.

So, I surrendered. I embraced a completely personal art practice that had nothing to do with creating content (couch art!). I took classes that interested me. I spent less time on line. I journaled about the situation until I came to a place of utter peace with it after writing this in my journal:

“Some people aren’t going to like you. Some of the people that don’t like you are going to be mean about it. Get over it.”

And that was that. Utter surrender.

The couch art morphed into a daily art practice that included memory keeping. This morphed into my “Book of Days” practice that I’m now sharing with close to 500 people ~ people who don’t seem to have any sense of entitlement around what I’m doing for them. I am surrounded by the friends that remained after the smoke cleared, and new friends who respond to my gifts as though they are gifts.

They are the light shining in my broken places and without the experience of losing hope, disconnecting, disillusionment and despair, I couldn’t have moved into this next phase of my journey.

Adversity will come again, and I’m going to do my level best to skip the ‘losing my shit’ part of the equation. Because adversity is a stone in the river between the shore of ‘maybe’ and the shore of ‘ta-da!’.

xo

Effy

Best year of my life, bar none. I selected the word “emerge” at the end of 2010, and then proceeded to bust out all over the place with mixed media journal art, starting and evolving with Wild Precious Studio, and working through some very old tape.

I let go…

…of worrying about what other people think about me. It’s none of my business and adjusting who I am to suit others is not my job.

…of wondering if I’m suitable or acceptable. I let go of minding when I’m not someone’s cup of tea.

…of anxiety over how things are going. They are going how they’re going. If I can fix it, I do. If I can’t, I let go…

…of perfectionism as an option. It isn’t an option. The messier my life is, the more potential for growth. Perfection is boring.

…of believing I have to be an expert to begin. I don’t. I have a lot to offer by way of my enthusiasm. I am enough, right here, right now, even with my limited knowledge.

…of believing that I have to win people over. People will love me or they won’t. Stressing about it is a monumental waste of time.

…of hiding. I emerged. I came out. I shouted from the rooftops.

…of labeled spirituality. I am a mystic. It is perfect for me. Life is a buffet. I want to taste it all.

…the need for a degree (be that academic or spiritual). I need neither to prove myself. I need only do the Work.

I embraced…

…the reality that I am an artist.

…the love of the *right people*.

…my history as having brought me here.

…my enoughness.

…my audacity.

…boundary setting as a virtue.

…the fact that I will always be a work in progress (and I’m delighted about it).

…my own limitations.

I’m claiming the word Trust for 2012. It’s challenging and I admit the word does have some negative connotations for me. I was raised in an environment in which truth-telling was not safe, and so I lied. A lot. About what I felt, what I’d done, who I was. I was not trustworthy in my childhood, in my teenage-hood, in my early adulthood. After a few years of therapy, I embraced Truth as a holy war against the abuse I’d experienced. It was my jihad. I was not tactful or subtle or kind. I lacked every social grace. But I refused to lie, and that has gotten me into a lot of hot water over the years.

It was worth it, but now I want to learn to trust my own instincts with regards to truth-telling (and everything else). When is it worth it? When is it just an invitation to chaos? Who is worthy of my truth? I want to learn to trust others, too. To be who they are. To be human and imperfect. To do what they do for their own reasons. I want to trust because trusting both myself and others means I can relax for once in my life. I can surrender to things being what they are rather than trying to tightly control it, steer it, make it so.

It is what it is. I want to love what is, and you can’t love without trust, so there you have it.

I’m planning a post before Jan 1 that features all the exciting things I’m undertaking in 2012, but I wanted to mention here and now that two things are rocking my pop-tarts.

Lifebook and Book of Days.

Gorgeousness is happening in both places. The first is an incredible year long collaboration among some of the best teachers in the world of mixed media. The second is a year long love affair with journal art and memory keeping. These two projects are nearest and dearest to me, and I would be over the moon excited to have you join me in either (or both!).

Click the links for details. :)

Blessings, lovelies. And love! And GLITTER!

xo

Effy

This year is wrung. the eff. out. I have devoured it whole, cracked its bones and sucked the marrow. I am nourished beyond comprehension and ready ~ so, so ready ~ for the year to come.

As I type, Peter Gabriel serenades me on iTunes (Shaking The Tree ~ what a delicious album!) and I am sipping something yuletide-y. The candles flicker merrily. The dogs are fat and happy. The house is empty and I am blissing out on solitude.

All is well.

You know?

I never expect to come back around to these feeling but *I always do.* All is well, all is well. All manner of things are well.

The longest night passed with me warmly embraced by Tribe. We released and celebrated. We laughed and ooh’d and aah’d. We did The Great Work of being spiritual beings having a human experience. And then, I curled up with my husband and let Louis CK tickle my politically incorrect funny bone.

I know things are rough out there, and I have empathy for those who can’t say with their whole heart “All is well”. But here? In the little house that could? On the red leather couch?

Things couldn’t really be much better.

Thank you for the part you play in that.

All my love,

Effy

Weep not, beloved, for the light returns.