Facing down the mountain in the New Year

Chicago, one of our housesitting gigs.

2015. In my personal sphere and on the planet, it's been a year of darkness and light.  It's been a year of writing and travel, growth and exploration. And of letting go, again and again.

Pema Chodron has been my greatest guide, Byron Katie a close second. They remind me to soften, to keep my sense of humor, to love (accept) what is.

All my precarious emotions? They are projections; they are bad weather in a vast, unchanging sky. And the feelings that come from my gut? They are my guide.

This year has been a bunch of puzzle pieces fitting together. We spent the first few months at our little house in Mexico. One of our biggest adventures was taking four days to drive up Baja. After that--except for New Orleans in spring Chicago in summer--we spent the rest of the time buzzing all over California.

When you add up all of our housesitting gigs this year (Chicago, Rancho Palos Verdes, San Francisco, Berkeley, Alameda, Santa Cruz, Tahoe)--that's six months of free rent!

Sure, we take care of cats and dogs; sometimes that feels like work, but for the most part it's fun. Even the dog who bit my finger, and the dog who barked in the middle of the night--I got over it, and so did they.

Traveling around California, it seemed we spent more time with family and friends than we did when we lived here. We were privileged to attend my niece's 8th grade graduation and Dave's nephew's wedding. Another highlight was time with my 92-year-old piano playing aunt. And, just the other day, skiing with my sister and her kids.

In June, my memoir (my fifth book) came out, followed by a flurry of book parties, readings, workshops, and generally awesome mayhem. Friends, family, former students and colleagues cheered me on, and strangers became intimates.

Some of the material in the book is so potentially embarrassing that I jokingly tell people to pretend it's fiction. But as Joe Loya once said, we must be willing to be embarrassed to write a memoir. And of course it's all the juicy bits that people love--not just for the sake of titillation, but because they can exhale and say, "Ah, yes, we're all very human, aren't we?"

Also on the writing front, Elephant Journal took me on as a regular contributor. The scope is mind-boggling; thousands of people are reading and sharing my pieces. People email me about how my writing is affecting their lives. Others have invited me to be guests on their blog-casts and telesummits. Holy internet!

My piece "How to Have a Crush on Your Husband" went viral. I was a puddle on the floor when I saw how many used their comments to express their love for their spouses.

Maybe that's my calling: spreading love with my words like some doped-up hippie child strewing flowers. (Although I'm doing it without being doped up, for the most part, since I rarely drink booze anymore, and I quit coffee.)



Boo and Coco, the beasts at our San Francisco housesit.
 

On my blog, I started a series I call "Books That Inspire." It's a blast interviewing authors whose work makes a difference in the world.

This was a year of music and adventure: JazzFest in New Orleans, American Music Festival in Santa Cruz, High Sierra Music festival in Northern California, and a sprinkling of other live shows. We went river rafting, beachside bike riding, Yosemite hiking, snow skiing, and swimming with whale sharks.

I continue to be grateful for my health after brain surgery two years ago--and yet now there's this whole "going through menopause" thing. It's not for wimps.

Here in Tahoe, Dave's been battling a rough flu (as I did earlier in the year). And several friends are battling grave illnesses. I am reminded the body is both fragile and resilient.

While Dave was sick, I took the leap and skied by myself. People chatted with me on the lift and invited me to ski with them.

The perimenopausal skier in action.

And then, when I accidentally found myself facing a gnarly, ungroomed, moguly, super-steep run (not my forte!)--ahem, two different times--angels came to me. Once a woman and once a man, each who guided me down. Thankfully, I was able to face down the mountain, turn and traverse.

As this year closes, it's becoming clear there are a lot of uncertainties ahead for these nomads. We aren't sure what shape our work and living situation are going to take.

But guess what? We know how to turn. We know how to face down the mountain. Let us remember that in 2016.

 

Writing and Giving in the New Year

This year I'm focusing on WRITING and GIVING.

To see it on Amazon, click here.

The rights to my first novel, For the May Queen, reverted to me. So with the help of the amazing Jan McCutcheon of Coyote Creek Press, a delicious new edition just came out. The gorgeous cover features a photo taken by Dave, a stargazer lily (from the garden of our Port Townsend, Washington housesit).

And in the spirit of my focus on giving, 10% of the profits of the sale of this book will go to Hogar del Niño, an orphanage here in Baja. 

In re-reading and revising the novel for its new release, I felt a tender spot in my heart for its focus on coming-of-age, sexuality and friendship. I can see how these topics continue to be obsessions of mine. Yet now I see how we "come of age" continually, throughout our lives. For life is transformation.

LIFE IS TRANSFORMATION. That is the heart of my new book, Arriving Again and Again: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit and Travel. This book will be birthed into the world in this new year. As will other opportunities to give. I'll keep you posted.

Happy New Year and Feliz Año Nuevo to you all. May you fill the blank pages of 2015 with the stories you want to tell...the love you want to spread...the YOU you want to create.

 

Three Things I've Learned This Year

This has been an incredible year of discoveries. Here are our top three:

Making myself at home on a house-sit in Port Townsend.

1. HOUSESITTING ROCKS
What's not to like about a free place to stay? This year we joined two housesitting websites: Trusted Housesitters and Housesitters America, and we house sat in Port Townsend, Santa Cruz and West Hollywood.

When you join a housesitting website, you create a profile that includes a description, photos and references. There's a fee for sitters; for homeowners it's free. Most homeowners want you to take care of an animal--or ten. We don't want to care for someone's cattle herd, but we gladly have taken care of dogs, cats, rabbits, and fowl. Because we travel so much and can't have a dog of our own, it was fun to hang with two golden retriever brothers (in Washington) and a pug named Duke (in WeHo).
 
Each place we've stayed has had Wifi, comfortable beds, and nice settings with great places to explore. A nomad's dream.


2. WE ARE ADAPTABLE
We've spent the year in (in this order):

Tahoe, Maui, Newbury Park, Ontario CA, Big Bear, Marina del Rey, Palm Springs, Sedona, Zion, Cedar City UT, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, Ely NV, Shasta Lake, San Jose CA, Santa Cruz, Oregon (Ashland and Portland), Port Townsend WA, Cannon Beach, Humboldt, West L.A., Newbury Park, West Hollywood, Solana Beach, Mexico City, Tepoztlán, and Baja Mexico.

Sounds exhausting! But it hasn't been, for the most part.

Living on the road, we've learned we are more flexible and adaptable than we ever imagined.



Dave and Duke

We know to allow for a little adjustment time when we first land. Sometimes I feel anxious when we step into a new place. It's like I'm trying to fit the unknown in a box marked "known."

It may take a day or two to get in the groove. If we're moody or tired, no big deal. Once we've found a place for our suitcases and toothbrushes, have done a session of yoga or taken a nap, and have filled the fridge with food, we're golden. That doesn't mean suddenly everything's perfect. It means we plunge into the newness and enjoy the ride.

As Joseph Goldstein says, "You can't stop the waves, but you can learn to surf."


3. THE VOID IS FERTILE
When we decided almost two years ago to leave jobs and home to live on the road, I called it "plunging into the fertile void."

Voids are scary.

But opening up to them is how we make space for new things.

And new things always come.

That's not just a theory for me anymore. I know, for instance, when we stepped out onto the edge of change, we made space for this casita in Mexico to appear in our lives. Not to mention all the new people we've met, experiences we've had--and the book I've written that I hope comes out next year.

I don't want fears to run my life. I want my guides to be openness, joy, and a willingness to take risks.

What's happening next year? A few months in Mexico and then, who knows? Something will appear. I know it.

 

What I Learned This Epic Year

Swimmable water in Cerritos Beach, Baja California Sur

Breathe in the precious moments and love fiercely.

This has become my mantra during an epic year--a year in which I stared down life and death.

It was a year that reminded me how way leads onto way. How everything is a catalyst. How what we focus on blossoms. How it's not about what happens--but what we think about (and do with) what happens.

Funny how I thought retiring after spending my whole life in schools would be 2013's "big event." But then my mentor, friend and "other mother" died. I was blessed to witness her profoundly graceful transition.

And then months later--when I myself was perched on the edge of dying during my seizure--she visited me. She told me that the veil between this world and the next is thinner than we think. She said if we look closely, we can penetrate the mystery's deepest beauty. She said never to be afraid of death. There's nothing to fear. Even from the next realm, she continued to teach me.

Even though I've been witness to the death of many beloveds--including my parents--the thought of my own death seemed theoretical. But 2013 brought me this gift: a deep, bodily knowledge that I'm transitory in this form. That everything changes. That I will die.

So what to do with this gift? Breathe in the precious moments and love fiercely! I was already on this path in August when my brain tumor was discovered. Months before, Dave and I had packed up everything we owned and traveled to Australia, Southern California, Boston, Cape Cod.

And then the experience of brain surgery and healing--enveloped in vast love and support from family and friends--intensified my desire to live my most authentic life. I launched Operation: Seize the Day!

Living your truth is not for wimps. It involves taking risks: emotionally, physically, financially. It involves being comfortable with spontaneity, with unknowing.

It requires loosing the moorings. When I let go of my job, my house, my neighborhood, my town--indeed, my identity as a Santa Cruzian writing professor--I plunged into a free-float.

I decided to embrace the fertile void.

I decided to reside in a rich space of unknowing.

In this space, I watched my monkey mind. It scrambled around like a kid desperate for a parent's attention: Hey! What are you doing? You're no longer a teacher, you're not a parent, you're not anything! What are you contributing? Aren't you being aimless and irresponsible?

When that happened, I'd gently turn toward my larger self, the sky mind, the god-voice in me who is always deeply present when I open my heart. It always says:  No need to worry, no need to fear. You're valuable, just like everyone else, because you exist. And the more you're YOU, living your truth, the more you inspire. Don't set out to have an effect--just be it. Trust that the fertile void will reveal your answers.

Because we no longer had a house, I was curious what my experience with "home" would be. My deepest realization so far: my home for this lifetime is my body. If I want to be truly alive, I must unconditionally love this marvelous, self-healing spacesuit.

Especially after having my skull cracked open and resealed with glue and staples, I can feel myself reaching new levels of bodily appreciation. While I don't have this love-thy-body-thing totally in the bag, I find it easier and easier to release criticism of my body. To relax into myself and feel life from the inside out. As a result, I'm experiencing new levels of sensory bliss (as well as relief from my occasional claustrophobia).

And wow was that infinite intelligence right-on when it said to trust that answers will appear. In late August, a thought popped into my head:

I want to live within walking distance of swimmable water.

That thought wasn't a conscious creation of my construction. It was a fully formed object like a stone, a heartbeat, a breath.

I have always loved water. I'm a spiritual mermaid, a former synchronized swimmer, a snorkeler, a lover of boats and kayaks and plunging into seas and lakes.

When I pondered my "swimmable water" revelation, I found myself wrangling with it: Did this mean when we decide to settle down again that I'd want a swimming pool? Did I need to join a gym with a pool? Was it a call to buy a place in our beloved Hawaii? But we'd have to win the lottery to afford a Hawaii pad within walking distance of the beach!

I decided to let it go. To trust. To allow the answer to appear as easily as the desire did.

All I have to say is this: releasing to the universe is magic!

Organically, the perfect opportunity arose: to buy an outrageously affordable casita in El Pescadero Mexico (near Todos Santos in Baja California Sur). Yes, it's walking distance to a lovely, swimmable beach. And it's in a small resort that has a swimming pool and a jacuzzi. Water, water everywhere!

The icing on the cake is that some close friends have bought the place next to ours. Built-in community.

We don't know if this will be our temporary or permanent residence. We don't have the details nailed down. We are trusting our guts. We want to ride the wave of the unfolding.

As 2013 comes to a close, we are back in California after a trip to Hong Kong, India and Sri Lanka. I'm looking forward to processing that transformative adventure while I focus on writing in the new year.

It looks like we will be headed to Mexico in May. Before that--for the first four months of 2014--we will live in Tahoe. We are thrilled we can host family and friends there who have opened their homes and lives to us.

In a cozy house sheltered from the Sierra cold, I intend to write the first draft of my memoir about transformation. During that time, this blog will be on hiatus, and I will be less of a presence on Facebook.

I will also improve my skiing and yoga, practice my Spanish, work online with my writing clients, judge a book contest, and allow whatever else rolls my way to perfectly unfold.

Happy New Year to all of you. May you breathe in your precious moments and love fiercely.

A Year to Remember

Hawaiian sunset vows

This has been a watershed year, my 50th. I'm grateful I was able to spend hours with Mom--snuggling with her, listening to Hawaiian music, and telling her funny and loving stories--before she released into the great beyond. 

Looking very Brady:  Mom, sister Ann, me, sister Crystal, early 1970s.  (Mom made all these clothes.)

I'm grateful for the communal rituals that celebrate love and human connection: from Mom's Celebration of Life, to live concerts and birthday parties, to weddings. I was the bride at one wedding this year, and the officiant at another.

Dave with women of the wedding, an impromptu bachelor party (albeit a few hours late).

I'm grateful I married Dave, a true partner in life. I'm grateful for all of our incredible adventures with family and friends throughout California, Mexico, and Hawaii. (A shout-out to my sisters: you're the best!)

Atop the Pyramid of the Sun in Mexico, with Paul.

It was one year ago this month that we moved to Santa Cruz. Living in this jewel of a place has added extra sparkle to our lives.

With friends a few blocks from our house.

I'm grateful for my colleagues and my students, from whom I learn so much. I'm grateful for art, literature, and writing. This year I joined a fantastic writing group that's supporting my efforts at my next book, and I started my "Ask Dr. Kate" column.
 

Skiing last week with good friends Matt, Stacey and twins Cole & Wyatt.  (Stacey and I have been buds for 20 years.)

My New Year's Resolution last year was to do something new every day. As of today I have fulfilled that resolution. In fact, it's become so second nature to say YES that most days I do a bunch of new things. 

Zip-lining on my 50th birthday extravaganza.

I feel like I'm finally getting the hang of embracing life. Here's to relishing the moment and being excited for the future. Happy Holidays, everyone!