Life is an Adventure

By Wendy Lee

September 22, 2018

“The tours are over for the day, but I can take you around if you like.”  With that, my delightful outing, a mini-adventure, began.

I arrived at the Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta only shortly after the last tour ended.  I missed my opportunity.  Well before dependency on the internet for information, I was flying blind and had little information to go on to explore the cemetery.  I readily took the security guard up on his offer.

He was very old, a relic himself.   He was leathered, walked slowly, and was a bit frail in his appearance but not in his spirit.  He asked me to take his arm as he walked me through the cemetery, pointing out the famous graves.  At times he let me wander a bit so that I could take pictures and admire the stunning mausoleums.  When he was ready to move on, he took a few steps forward and cleared his throat.  It was my cue.  I would rejoin him, take a hold of his arm, and then move on to the next section.

The experience was unexpected.  He was positively charming, and I sensed that he enjoyed his own gallantry.  There were others milling about in the cemetery.  He ignored them and gave me his full attention.

These are the best types of adventures.

It happened again a few years later.  Arriving too early to visit my friends in New Jersey, I stopped in at the Edison Museum to kill some time.  I was the only visitor to the tiny museum, having arrived mid-morning during the week.  The gentleman who worked there seemed happy to have a customer, so abandoned his post to give me a personal tour of the museum.  When we stopped in front of one of the display cases of some early Edison phonograph cylinders, he asked if I wanted to hear one of them.

“Yes.”

He stepped away to retrieve his keys.  When he returned, he unlocked the cabinet, retrieved a delicate cylinder, added it so a nearby phonograph, and played the music for me.  I couldn’t resist asking, “Are we supposed to be listening to this, it seems like we could damage it”?  He gave me a funny look, shook his head, and let the music continue.

I can provide dozens of examples of accidentally walked into these experiences.  The only things it required on my part were curiosity, interest, enthusiasm, and a healthy dose of kindness.  When they occur, I am in awe.

There are few things in life more enriching for the soul than going on an adventure.  An adventure takes you out of your daily routine and struggles, and launches you into other worlds.  You can discover history, connect with nature, admire art, and meet fascinating people who live lives very different than your own.  It provides perspective, helps you better understand humanity, and instills some freshness in your life.

I am not naturally adventurous, at least in my own mind.  I can be cautious and reserved.  There are times, however, when adventure is imperative.  In truth, my adventures are usually relatively safe.  Adventures don’t require world travel.  It is my attitude toward them that make them adventures.

I have previously written about the challenges of living with depression and an anxiety disorder.  When I am in that space, and feel the world pressing in on me, one of the few dozen things I can do to bring me back to life is to take an adventure or mini-adventure, whether it is a roadtrip to a National Park, or driving around town to visit historic signs and buildings, it is an adventure in my head.

Most recently, my adventures have been to Death Valley, Bryce Canyon, Kodachrome State Park, a northeast trip that included a visit to the Baseball Hall of Fame and ended in Bar Harbor, a trip to Cleveland and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Arches National Park, Canyonlands National Park, Zion National Park, Cuyahoga National Park, Capitol Reef National Park, Hollyhock House, the Peterson Museum, Taliesin West, Baseball Spring Training, touring Fenway and Coors Field, visiting Historic sites in Denver and Colorado Springs, Oatman, AZ, two baseball roadtrips, Prescott, AZ, London and Bath, U.K., and probably a dozen other places I am missing.

Each of these adventures brought new perspective, and helped any troubles I have just float out of my head, especially on long drives.

I will write later about my northeast adventure, my Bryce Canyon trip, and my recent trip to Arches, Canyonlands, and Capitol Reef National Parks.  I have already written about Death Valley, my first baseball roadtrip, my Arizona trip to Spring Training, and my trip to Bath, U.K..  What you will find is how an attitude toward adventure, curiosity, and discovery can bring delicious surprises.

Each of us has to find our own path to feeling alive and overcoming our personal challenges.  If you are able, though, I suggest an adventure to delight your soul.

For Further Reading:

Baseball – My Personal Searchlight:  https://personalsearchlight.com/2014/07/07/baseball-my-personal-searchlight/

Escape:  https://personalsearchlight.com/2017/05/08/escape/

The Door:  https://personalsearchlight.com/2016/10/02/the-door/

Perspective in Death Valley:  https://personalsearchlight.com/2015/01/25/perspective-in-death-valley/

You Are Not Alone

By Wendy Lee

July 7, 2018

I want to preface the following commentary by noting several things.  This essay was prompted by the recent deaths by suicide of some popular and public figures.  It took me several weeks to get this written simply because I wanted to create some distance in time between these deaths and the swirling emotions.

I am obviously not a mental health professional, so what I offer here is based on my own experiences and observations.  Nothing I say should be taken as gospel, but merely my perspective on a tough and heartbreaking topic.

Depression, anxiety, despair, and major stress are different than making a decision to take one’s life.  Still, if these issues escalate and are left untreated, they can certainly end up there.  More often than not, though, these mental health conditions result in a lot of extreme mental distress in the known world.  This is a topic I can speak about.

There is an abundance of easily accessible information from mental health professionals about how to help someone experiencing depression or suicidal thoughts.  I will not repeat most of that information, and don’t feel qualified to do so.  Let’s leave that to the experts.  If you need more information, I am including a link to a Mayo Clinic page here:  https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/depression/in-depth/depression/art-20045943

Although I am sharing a little of my story here, please be assured that I am doing fine.  Seriously.  It just seemed like the right time to share this.

_____________________________________________________________________

“I don’t want to be here,” are the only words I can focus on as I sit on this uncomfortable, velour, ugly green couch.  Is it green?  Perhaps “seafoam” would be a better description.  “Why did I sign up for this”?

Like many things I do, I signed up for it in a time of need but did it rather impulsively.  Now that I am here, I am terrified.  “Not coming wasn’t an option,” I am repeating to myself now.  I know that I need to do something drastic and different.  Not taking any action will kill me for sure.  Still, I don’t want to be here.

The other women are introducing themselves.  I don’t know why we aren’t going in any sort of order.  I like order.  There are five of them, plus the therapist, plus me.  I have judged every woman in this room both admiringly and harshly, all within a span of a few moments.  I have compared myself to them, trying to figure out where I stand on an imaginary, ridiculous, unfair scale.  In the end, I score myself the worst or least in almost every category.

I am not brave enough to share my story.  I am not as attractive as anyone in the room.  I am older than all of them.  My story is ordinary, while theirs are extraordinary.  I can’t express myself to this group.  I am just going through a divorce, nothing unusual about that.  I can’t even face the real reasons why I am in this group to begin with.  I am broken.  I am severely depressed.  I am lost.  I am afraid.  But for now, my story is simply my divorce.  I finally decide that this will be my narrative, my identity within this group.

Yet it isn’t.

“Hi, I’m Wendy.  I am going through a lot of major change right now, and I need some help and support.”

Wow, I have no idea where those words came from.  They are completely accurate. They become my temporary identity.

It is strange looking back on that painful period.  I reflect on it fondly, even though I was broken open and a volcano of pent up emotions was erupting.  I am struck by how important that time was in my life.  It was a period of extraordinary growth and confusion and comfort. I needed the help of those courageous women to help me find my strength.

Thinking back over this time was prompted by the fairly recent news of suicides of a few public figures.  There is much speculation regarding what led to the suicides, while others have expressed complete disbelief that such famous people, who seemingly had it all, can be gone by their own hands.  The truth is that no one is immune to feelings of despair, no matter how famous. And you can never possibly understand what goes on in another person’s mind.  Nor can you ever truly understand their struggles.

We have no idea the lives of quiet desperation many people lead.  And despite the efforts to de-stigmatize mental illness, the conversations tend to happen in spurts and waves when there is a famous death by suicide such as Robin Williams or Kate Spade or Anthony Bourdain.

When these issues are in our face like they have been, we may be feeling completely helpless and confused.  We want answers, and we want to offer help to anyone who may be in need.

The answers aren’t easy though.  We are talking about people who are in severe emotional pain.  They are thinking emotionally and not rationally.

Coinciding with the recent news of these suicides is some disturbing news from a CDC study about the significant increase in suicides in the United States.  The numbers are alarming.

How do we get our arms around this?  What is causing this? There are many theories, but not a lot of hard data.

When this topic is front-page news, our natural reaction is to want to help and to ensure our loved ones are safe.  Yet, we often don’t know how to help other than to offer to be there for someone.  I know.  That is my natural reaction too.  But those in severe emotional pain often isolate themselves and don’t reach out to anyone.  They are trying hard to keep it together.

If you are committed to helping, it is a real commitment.  You have to invest of yourself, and you have to be the one reaching out.  It’s hard, and we aren’t always good at the hard stuff.

Again, I can’t speak as a mental health professional, but I have often described the decision to attempt suicide as that point where one’s emotional pain exceeds their coping skills.  I can speak ad nauseum about depression and anxiety.  I know a lot more about these topics than I care to.  As a result, though, I have spent many years of my life trying to hone my coping skills so I am never at that particular crossroads.

When it comes to mental health issues, including depression, we argue about the terminology to use.  The term “mental illness” has a stigma.  Yet we aren’t supposed to say “demons” because that is also stigmatizing and implies that there are not serious mental health issues at play.

For me, I know no other way to describe the battles that go on in my own head, the ones that would scare the hell out of the biggest badass out there.  I have demons.  We have reached some cease fires, my demons and me, but once in a while they sneak over the border and cause all kinds of havoc.  It’s a friggin’ war zone and total chaos at times.

I am prone to depression and an anxiety disorder, for which I have suffered most of my life.  I didn’t diagnose myself with self-help books, although I could build a sanctuary with the self-help books I have purchased and read.  I have been diagnosed by medical professionals as being clinically depressed and having generalized anxiety disorder.  I have had several major depressive episodes in my lifetime, one of which I was hospitalized for, the others perhaps I should have been.

Mostly, I have what I will refer to as my garden variety bouts of depression.  The depression comes on, lasts for a while, I recognize it far too far into that space, and then I work my way out of it.

But here’s the thing, and I have heard it over and over from people I have shared this with.  My life is good, great actually.  And compared to the lives one must lead in a third world country, for example, my life has always been good given that I have had access to clean water, food, a roof over my head, a job, a car, healthy children, family, friends, access to medical care, and I have been relatively healthy.  So what gives?

Being a human is hard, and some of us are just pre-disposed to depression and anxiety either by birth or circumstance.  And some of us simply feel things to the depths of our souls.  That is true for me.  It is a burden but also a blessing for it guides me to try to make a positive impact on this world.

I know what has helped me, and I know what has not.  I know what I have done to be successful in helping others, and I know my absolute failings as a human.

What I will offer here that is an addition to conventional guidance is that if you have experienced depression or suicidal thoughts and have worked through recovery, you must share your story.  It is absolutely imperative.

Here’s why.

Sharing your story provides others hope for recovery.  Sharing your story helps to educate others of the complexities of depression.  Sharing your story helps de-stigmatize mental health issues.  Sharing your story helps reduce the shame often associated with depression and other mental health concerns.

The biggest reason to share your story is that people need to feel that they are not alone, that their feelings, no matter how dark at the time, may be feelings others have felt.  There is great power in knowing we’re all in this together.

One of the most impactful experiences I have had in my life was joining that women’s therapy group, although it was labeled something far more intriguing:  Women in Transition.  It was a group of six women going through major changes in our lives and struggling through it.  We all came from different backgrounds, were at different points in our lives, and what we were going through was vastly different.  Yet, there was a common thread of pain through all of us and we could identify with what each other was feeling.  The willingness to open up and share our stories with each other provided solace and led to healing.

I went through the group two times, with different sets of women, but always with the same common themes.  They became my tribe, sharing their raw emotions with me, and I with them.  I learned from them.  I found my strength through them.  I needed to hear their stories.  I was not alone.

I have learned many lessons in life from beautiful, bruised, scarred people who have faced great pain and grief and despair in their lives and have risen above it. I simply had to be open enough to listen.

Most people have the power within themselves to rise above their circumstances or emotions.  Help them realize their power so that they may take charge of their lives in a positive way.  Be their beacon.  Shine the light on the path.

Am I the face of depression?  No.  And yes.  There is no single mold we were all made of.  There are as many faces of depression as there are people.  I am just one of them.

From the outside perspective, and even my personal perspective, it is sometimes hard to reconcile the fearful, distraught person that I can become in the middle of a bout of depression.  I love life.  I love everything damn thing about it.  I want to drink in as much life as I can while I am on this earth.  I want to meet new people.  I deeply love making real connections with people on a deeper, emotional level.  I love exploring.  I become insanely curious about things and spend weeks or months or years learning as much as I can.  I am passionate about life.  And I dare say, I have created a pretty amazing life.

Yet, I am still susceptible to the demons.  I still find myself tumbling down the very mountain I was able to clumsily climb.  When that inevitable fall happens now, though, I have learned the skills to dust myself off and get back on the road.

I wish that I could leave you with a list full of advice or a recovery roadmap that would help everyone.  I can’t.  Just as with the faces of depression, recovery is unique and personal.  I began making a list of all of the things I did to recover from that crisis point with my depression and anxiety.  I have 22 items on the list so far.  Wow.

I will begin sharing parts of that journey, one essay at a time.  However, it will come with a word of caution.  All of it, some of it, or none of it may work for you or someone else.  Through my own trials, and with the help of professionals, I had to find the combination of levers that worked for me.

As for all of you, please share your recovery stories.  These are messages of hope and action that others can cling to in their own times of despair.  Show them that they are not alone.

Remember that everyone has struggles they are facing, most of which you know nothing about.  Be kind in this world, and offer up your best, most vulnerable self.

I will continue to share my stories in this format, a little at a time, when it is time.  Until then, peace and love to you all.

The Nurturing Words

By Wendy Lee

August 3, 2017

I was looking for inspiration to jumpstart my writing.  Hell, I was looking for inspiration to get unstuck in life.  Everywhere I searched, everything was flat.  I was flat.

I came across journaling prompts for self-discovery.  The very first one asked what I would say if I could talk to my teenage self.

Oh brother.

This is a common question or technique used by therapists, and I have had therapists try to help me explore this question.

Nope.

No way.

Nada.

I didn’t do it in therapy.  It seemed silly.  And until about three or four years ago, I just wasn’t able to face myself and my pain in therapy.  Somewhere along the way, though, I broke through the wall and become genuine and real in therapy, and indeed in life.

When I came across the teenage-age self-question this time, I was shocked to find such nurturing words spill out of me.  These words are of great comfort to me now, my heart feeling a little battered and bruised.

The words that I would say to my teenage-self are the words I need today.

It turns out that I have a lot of wisdom and kindness inside of me.   I should listen to my heart a little more often, because it is sort of nice.

Here are my words to my teenage self.

“My dear Wendy, you are a beautiful creation with unique gifts to give to the world.  Life is difficult for you now, but you will grow into a most treasured and loved adult.  Find your voice, and be proud of who you are.  Silence your critics with your heart, your kindness and your generosity.  Show the world love, help those in need, and reach out to those weaker than you so that you lift them up.

Critics will be everywhere, and you are especially susceptible to criticism because your heart is too big and you feel things to your depths.  Instead of cowering and avoiding this, use it to your advantage to bring light into this world.

Talk to a therapist and face all of the hurt.  If you don’t, you will carry it throughout your life.  It is better to leave it here, in your childhood, so that you can flourish in adulthood.

Forgive those who have hurt you.  They were acting on the skills and consciousness they had at the time.  They are not you.  They need forgiveness and love so that they can outgrow their own problems.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you how you should feel, think, act or be.  Be your best self always, glow in the darkness, be a searchlight for everyone else.  The world needs you, and the world needs you strong and whole.

With love.

Meaning and Happiness

By Wendy Lee

February 19, 2017

It was a simple musing in an email exchange with a friend, “I have been frustrated that I had what I felt was a good and meaningful life yet I lost it. How could I lose it when there is little difference between a few years ago and now?” I went on to say what I thought the cause was and what stood out to me in this quest. He, in turn, shared his experiences.

I just couldn’t leave it alone.

Knowing what I believe to be my calling wasn’t enough, for even when doing that it wasn’t helping me. I was feeling empty inside, but determined to figure it out.

I read everything I could about creating a meaningful life, and was fascinated by all of the studies on the differences between happiness and meaning.

While these two constructs can be related, the orientation to one or the other or both can drive your experiences.

People who are oriented to happiness tend to be takers. People oriented to meaning tend to be givers. But optimal well-being tends to happen where the two intersect. You see, neither one is better than the other.

I personally tend to be a giver.

It is not that I don’t value happiness, because I assure you I do. I love having fun, laughing, being silly, and having great experiences. Being present in the moment in these experiences helps me cultivate my joy. It fills me up so that I can give more.

Happiness is a good thing. Happiness, like meaning, is an internally generated state. It is a perspective that allows you to enjoy moments as they are happening, whether it be laughing with friends, watching a sunset, experiencing those things on your bucket list, or whatever. It is an approach to life where you are grateful for the moments you have.

All good, right?

Well, there is actually a downside to happiness when it is used as a weapon, when it blindly hurts others, or when you use it to avoid processing important events such as grief and loss.

I briefly knew a guy who was addicted to what he called happiness. After his divorce, he was on a quest to live the rest of his life happy. He was spontaneous, competitive and on a quest to collect as many experiences as possible, at all costs. Oh, I admired his spontaneity and all of the experiences he had, but he also made me extremely nervous. Have you ever known someone so happy that he or she made you nervous? Plus, from an outside perspective it seemed like his happiness was never long lasting. He was like an addict, and he had to find his next fix while never truly appreciating everything he had or everyone around him.

If you tend to focus only on happiness, you sidestep thinking of anything negative. Sometimes, though, processing those negative thoughts and feelings is actually what helps you to grow.

Meaning is also a good thing. Meaning is something you create.  It gives your purpose. It is what you get up for in the morning. It helps you understand that you matter in this world.

Even with this, those who live a life of meaning are sometimes stressed or unhappy, but they wouldn’t give that up. Take a frazzled parent who identifies with the meaning of raising a happy, well-adjusted child. They wouldn’t give that up, even though it comes with moments of stress and worry.

Suffering will happen. Stress will occur. Grief will show up. Loss is inevitable. But there is meaning in all of these pains as well. The loss of love, for example, means that you were courageous enough to be vulnerable and to love another even if that love wasn’t returned. Grief means that someone was important in your life and you miss them. There is even meaning in suffering.

I read, with great interest Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. In it, he describes that he even found meaning while in concentration camps during the Holocaust. Sometimes that meaning was simply to help another soul make it through the experience.

It is what you learn about yourself in those trying moments that is most important.

When I examined my own life, I found that when I was at my best, I was cultivating both meaning and happiness. My happiness was around making new friends, volunteering, exploring, traveling, going to concerts, hiking, being with family and friends in a variety of settings, seeing shows, attending sporting events, and an enormous amount of laughter. I laughed all of the time. I am quick to laugh anyhow, but it was something I seemed to do a lot.

My meaning was around helping others realize their dreams, volunteering, helping organizations whose mission I believe in, building new relationships, learning as much as possible, being a kind person, being generous, telling people how I felt about them (which is sometimes weird for them) and simply trying to be my best self.

There was often a juncture between my happiness and my meaning, and then I was in bliss.

So what changed?

Nothing really, except for those thoughts in my own head. I was so focused on having a good, fulfilling, long-term relationship that I stopped focusing on both happiness and meaning. I internalized that struggle, as I often do, to mean that I wasn’t really appealing or attractive in any way. It brought up every insecurity I had, which is sad, because I am awesome. Well, I am kidding about that last part, but I don’t think I am a troll. Not that there is anything wrong with trolls.

To be certain, a happy relationship eludes me. But I have also decided to give myself a break on this point. First, given the age at which I married and the length of that marriage, this is all very new to me. Plus, I am interested in certain qualities that I have encountered in only a few. I have let that all go, for now at least. I otherwise have a full and wonderful life.

It has been really fun and rewarding to re-engage with life. I am not quite where I want to be yet, but I am getting there. In making a decision to stay in Las Vegas, I have moved to a historic area (in Vegas terms) and am having an adventure getting my house in order. I am volunteering now for two organizations that are tied to preserving and sharing Las Vegas history, and I love that. I have great friends, and have been making many new ones which is completely fun.

I have started writing again. I have started researching again for a project I put on hold for a while. I have started getting outdoors again which always brightens my spirits. I have been helping some friends through some hard times. I am planning some adventures for the year. I am simplifying parts of my life.

The real thing that has changed, though, is my approach to life. It is all in my head.

Meaning and happiness are nurtured through gratitude, purposefulness and awareness. Just thinking of how blessed I am to have this life, how grateful I am for the experiences I get to partake in, and knowing that my life here has a purpose has re-oriented my thinking and my life. We all need to believe that we matter, and I have finally regained that perspective for myself. I am here for a reason, so you better watch out.

And for my dear friend who has allowed me to work through all of this heady stuff, I am especially grateful.

Will you all join me in fostering a life of both meaning and happiness?

…with love

For further reading:

Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl

The Difference between Happiness and Meaning in Life by Scott Barry Kaufman published in Scientific American

In 2017, Pursue Meaning Instead of Happiness by Emily Esfahani and Jennifer Aaker

Led Zeppelin is a Thing With Me

By Wendy Lee

May 1, 2016

I thought it was a funny question, “What is it with you and Led Zeppelin, why is that a thing with you?” All I could think of is the movie Sideways where Maya provides almost the same commentary, “Why are you so into Pinot…I mean, it’s like a thing with you.”

Led Zeppelin is a thing with me. Their music was a great caregiver to me, my comrade through the years of teen anguish.

I wish I could cite that my reason for loving Led Zeppelin is rooted in their unique rock style, influenced by blues and folk music. I wish I could say that I was moved by the experimentation, the layers, and the mystical and mythical aspects of their songs. I wish I could quote the lyrics, and explain their deep meaning. I wish I could describe in beautiful poetry the genius of Jimmy Page and how he inspired me.

I can’t. I knew nothing of these things. My true appreciation of music didn’t come until much later in life.

Led Zeppelin’s music was merely the backdrop of my life. It helped me through the darkness. It is the music I heard while walking the moonless neighborhoods of sadness, trying to navigate blindly through the teenage nightfall. It is as straightforward as this: it was there for me when I desperately needed something or someone to be there for me.

As a teenager, I listened to Led Zeppelin’s music constantly. I connected with it, and still can’t explain why. But we were attached, attracted, completely inseparable.

There are certain events from my teenage years that I can recall or measure time by simply by what Led Zeppelin song was playing in the background. I distinctly remember listening to the Houses of the Holy album when a guy friend stopped by my house. Mark wanted to talk to me. We were friends, but not great friends. Frankly, I was very confused about why he was at my house.

Mark was pretty cute, a skinnier version of Heath Ledger.  Right there, in my bedroom, listening to Led Zeppelin, Mark declared that he wanted to take care of me for the rest of my life. It was a hard time in my life, for certain, and having someone want to see me through it was quite moving. Why I didn’t fall completely in love with him right then and there, even though I was only sixteen at the time, I will never know.

Prior to that moment, I was apparently oblivious to Mark’s feelings for me (an affliction I still possess today when it comes to matters of the heart). I was maybe more flabbergasted than flattered by his pronouncement, and wasn’t accustomed to such positive attention. Poor Mark. All I remember is that I turned him away. And I haven’t really thought of him much over the years, but I definitely remember listening to the Houses of the Holy album as Mark proclaimed his intent.

When you always remember where you were and how you felt when you learned that someone died, you know they made a mark on you. It could be a loved one or a president or an actor or a musician. I definitely remember where I was when I learned that John Bonham (drummer of Led Zeppelin) passed. I was with my high school band, in the stands at the football field.   I was heartbroken. For me, that was the day the music died.

Still, life goes on for those of us left standing. Fast forward 35 years, give or take, and here we are. And I am still a Led Zeppelin fan, though I have expanded to a wide, eclectic range of music interests.

A few years back, I was browsing through a list of upcoming performances at a local performing arts complex, The Smith Center. It is a delightful venue with a lovely art deco style that I adore. I had attended some plays there, and strangely, also saw Weird Al Yankovic perform there. What can I say, Weird Al makes me giggle like a silly 10-year-old. In my perusing of shows, I noticed that a Led Zeppelin tribute band was going to be performing at Reynolds Hall at The Smith Center soon. I thought it would be a fun show, and I was intrigued that they would be playing in that venue. I had to attend.

I went on my own. There was no issue with being alone, though, for a group of four fairly inebriated ladies sat next to me. They adopted me. About halfway through the performance, I was really wishing to be an orphan again, but the well-meaning ladies were having none of that. It was fun anyhow.

The real story is the performance, of course. It blew me away. I was taken aback by the talent on the stage. It wasn’t about pretending to be Led Zeppelin. It was about talented musicians and singers, creativity, and interpretation in a full on production show. The performance was effortless and so right. The musicians had no idea how much I appreciated the majestic performance that night, or how much it took me lovingly back to my teenage years, a trip I rarely refer to as “lovingly.”

I am nostalgic, creature, though. Led Zeppelin was back in my life.

Back to the question, “What is it with you and Led Zeppelin”? I suppose it reminds me of the comfort it gave me as a teenager rather than the turmoil I was feeling. It reminds me that their music was more healing than a handsome, sweet boy who wanted to take care of me forever.

Music is a great healer. It is even scientifically proven to aid in treatment. It is poetry, stories, pain, triumph, love. Consonance and dissonance. It is the timbre, the layers, the raw performances. It is the connection, the battle, the resurrection. It is creativity, genius, showmanship, and contemplative expressions. It can evoke joy or sadness or fervor or reflection. Sometimes it simply has a good beat and you can dance to it. And, at times, it is a powerful emotional trigger to a memorable experience, either good or bad.

Occasionally, music possesses the lyrics of a powerful sentiment or there is a story I essentially make up. By way of example, there are two songs that when I hear, I always think of my brother and become emotional. I don’t avoid these songs, because there is a comfort in remembering my brother who has long ago passed away.

One song is, “Daniel” by Elton John. As I listen, I imagine my brother Daniel in a completely different sort of metaphor, “Daniel my brother…your eyes have died, but you see more than I, Daniel you’re a star.” The second song is “I am” by Train. As I listen to the verses about a man who is questioning what he has done and seen in his life, I am consoled by knowing that my brother has been on a train, and been in the desert, and knew history, and climbed a real rock, and saw Colorado. I am reassured by knowing that while my brother’s life was somewhat short on the timescale, he still saw and did a great deal in his lifetime. Music provides solace in my grief.

I identify powerfully with music. Music has been my great counselor. Thus, Led Zeppelin is still a thing with me.

Project Snowcone

By Wendy Lee

September 27, 2015

Life’s big questions: What am I here for? What is my purpose? What is my calling in life?

My previous life was propelled forward by sheer momentum and obligation and doing what I thought I was supposed to do, while still making the most monumental and devastating mistakes one can make. Never, during that time, did I take the time to think about my contributions to the world, my purpose, or what I wanted my legacy to be. Yes, I want to leave a legacy.

Sometimes an emotional crisis can be a benevolent creature, bringing gifts of contemplation, reflection, clarity of values, direction. Difficulty beats on your door with a battering ram while you hide in your distress trying to find an escape route. When the door is finally opened, you find a world and a life far different than you ever imagined. A world filled with love and peace and beauty and harmony, not just because that is what you’re are seeking, but because that is what you become.

At my recent crossroads, I set out to clarify my values and to try to align my life to those values. It wasn’t enough though. I continued to struggle with the answer to my biggest question. What is my dharma? What is the gift that I have to give to the world? It was the proverbial question: What is the meaning of life? But I was not seeking the answer to what the meaning of life is, in general. Rather, I needed to understand what the meaning is of my life.

It took me three years to find the answer to something I have known my entire life. As T.S. Eliot says, “We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

The answer to my question was braided into what would become the tapestry of my life, from the very day I was born.

I believe my dharma, or purpose, is simply to help people in any way I can, big or small. It is to provide the gift of time or money or skills to help those in need. And to do it with love.

My parents modeled this for me, in ways they may not have thought about and in ways they may have thought I wasn’t paying attention to. My parents volunteered and offered shelter to many family members and friends and loaned money and did whatever they had the ability and interest to do. This just did it.

I was paying attention.

I’ve always been a sensitive soul, deeply empathic. As Lady Gaga would say, “I was born this way.” This view of life hasn’t always been welcomed by me. I have often felt like it was unfair to feel things so deeply. This quality frequently makes me feel others pain down to my core, as if it were my own to solve.

I have come to embrace this characteristic, though, for it also guides me ruthlessly to do the right thing, to help someone else.

It’s not that I always get it right, mind you. I can easily get caught up in my own drama, and can get immensely irritated when others aren’t nice or friendly or giving or drive rudely. My children will tell you that they learned how to swear by being in the car with me. I have also been known to not pay attention to the external world when I am drowning in my own self-pity. My ego gets in the way too. Still, I strive to not be in that negative frame of mind. It creeps in more often than it should, but I am a work in progress. I am determine to give myself a break on this point.

When I say that my dharma is to help others, it sound so noble and altruistic. I assure you that I am under no illusion that I am those things. I just believe that I need to strive to do what I am here to do. Whenever I am down, the thing I know will resolve this to get out of my own head and help someone else. For me, helping others is almost a selfish gesture to make myself feel better. Isn’t that the opposite of altruistic?

I am not that person who can start a large charitable organization or who can save a village from poverty or who can rally others to volunteer or do charitable work. I just do what I can, when I can. It would be disingenuous to list all of the things that I have done over the years as a volunteer, a fundraiser, or a charitable act. That’s not the point. The point is that I have often felt compelled to help even when I had no means to do so.

This often caused some friction in my marriage, and I can now understand why. On many occasions, I signed up the whole family for volunteer activities or gave away money we didn’t have. I overextended myself dozens of times, sometimes to the detriment of my health or my family. I felt I was doing the right thing, but I didn’t always go about it in the right way.

My passion sometimes overpowers my common sense as well. Actually, this happens more than occasionally. It is who I am, though. I own it.

Has anything I have done ever really made a difference? I have to believe that I have somehow raised some positive energy in this world, even in the smallest of ways. I know I have given to people and organizations I probably shouldn’t have. I have, for sure, been taken advantage of. It doesn’t matter. That is more a reflection on others than on me. I have just tried to make a difference.

Even when trying to do good in this world, I’ve had my detractors. Most recently, I decided that for my 50^th birthday to myself would be to do 50 days of acts of kindness/charitable activities. It was my challenge, my celebration, my rules.   It was hard fitting everything in given my work and travel schedule, so some days my act of kindness was to make a donation to a new or favorite charity. A guy that I briefly dated told me that making a donation was cheating and that I wasn’t really doing what I was supposed to be doing. Another guy I broke it off with months prior only wondered why I wouldn’t buy him something rather than giving money to a stranger or organization. I guess that says more about my dating life than about my passions. Dating is a whole other interesting chapter in my life.

They didn’t stop me. I completed my challenge, doing a wide variety of activities from donations, to random acts, to volunteering, to just helping out friends and neighbors. It was stressful trying to come up with something every day, especially since I work from home when I am not traveling, but it was one of the most rewarding things I have ever done. I held myself accountable by keeping a daily list, and I refused to count daily activities on the list. I made myself go above and beyond. I am proud of myself for doing it.

To clarify, I believe that the meaning of my life is more than helping others. For example, in my opinion, the meaning of my life is to love, to be happy, and to follow my passions. My passions currently include following my curiosity, exploring, writing, reflection and self-discovery, nature, history, and finding beauty in this word. My dharma is to help others.

In keeping in alignment with my dharma, I have decided to start a project called “Project Snowcone.” Sure, it is a silly name. It is a supremely silly name. For those of you very close to me, or who have read my baseball essay, you will recognize my early childhood nickname. “Project Snowcone” is a reminder that I was destined to try to make a change in this world from my day of birth. Through “Project Snowcone,” I will continue my efforts, on my own, and under the radar. However, you will occasionally hear from me as I recruit friends and family to help me with a specific project. For example, when I need help making a Costco run to help me shop for supplies for the Ronald McDonald house, or to participate in a fundraiser for Make-A-Wish. Project Snowcone is a way for me to hold myself accountable for doing what I need to do in this world.

If I leave any legacy at all, I hope that it that I did good rather than I did well.

Red Rock Rising

by Wendy Lee

January 14, 2015

It’s cold out this morning, chillier than I expected.  I wish I would have packed my gloves.  I need to suck it up though.  I know in about an hour I will be pulling off the layers and complaining about the heat.  Such is life on a high desert hike in the middle of winter.

I like hiking at sunrise, there is something quite mystical about it.  Plus, truth be known, I really don’t care for the crowds, especially the tourists.  I should be nicer about this point, but I am not.  Tourists drive this local economy and I fully recognize that.  That isn’t really the problem.  The problem is that the tourists don’t seem to understand my spiritual connection with nature and the beauty of the red rock formations.  Instead, they insist on climbing down to the trailheads and screaming at the top of their lungs.  I am not tolerant of this.  It is extremely annoying.  I avoid this problem by hiking at sunrise, when the tourists are sleeping off a night of partying.

I’ve always liked hiking, but did it infrequently.  I started hiking in earnest about a year and a half ago for a few simple reasons.  I needed more exercise and I feel most alive when I am out in nature.  I am not a good hiker, really.  A good 5 – 6 mile hike is usually enough to get my head on straight and to burn a sufficient number of calories.

Today I am struggling, cold and tired and sore.  I am hiking my 5.25 miles anyhow.  Suck it up, girlfriend.

There are particular points on my favorite trails that I always pause to appreciate.  At mile .5, I descend into some scrub.  It is delightful to quickly leave the desert in favor of tall bushes housing myriad birds.  I never actually see the birds in this area, I only hear their songs.

At mile 1, I run across two tall, dark, and dead trees. They are kind of handsome too. I don’t know what happened to them.  Were they struck by lightning?  Were they burned by fire?  Was the desert heat just too much for them?  I don’t know.  It doesn’t matter.  They greet me warmly on every hike.  They have become my friends.

At mile 1.35, the magic happens.  There is quite a climb to get to this spot.  It is definitely not far into the hike and would seem an unlikely resting spot.  I walk my dog farther than that every morning and don’t need a rest afterward.  I feel lazy taking a rest but it is entirely necessary, not because I am too tired to carry on, but because something quite moving happens to me at this spot.

Red rocks speak to me in a language few can or take the time to understand.  The language is old, millions of years old from a scientific point of view, infinite in time from a spiritual lens.  Physically speaking, the red, orange and brown rocks are due to iron deposits and exposure to elements.  This exposure has created a striking palette of wonder often overlooked as people hurry to get their photos and move on to the next activity.  I am here to listen, observe, ask my questions, and hear the answers.

Communing with nature at sunrise, this is my church.

First, the auditory bliss occurs when I tune out any residual noise from a hiker off in the distance or city noise that sometimes creeps in, such as a helicopter flying nearby.  I tune in to the sounds of nature.  It is usually the birds calling as they awaken from their slumber, calls that are so cheerful I make up stories about what they are saying.  Depending on the time of year, I sometimes hear the soft rattling of desert animals.  I don’t see them.  We’ve made a pact to leave each other in peace anyhow.  If I saw them, I would surely let them to their business while I imagined their life in the wild. The wind blows softly through the canyon and I hear the whoosh as it reaches some scrub.

Second, the visual splendor of the rocks, carved out of the magnificent forces of nature.  In this particular area, some of the nearer rocks are large, bulbous, and relatively smooth.  The jagged edges are only apparent if you choose to sharply focus on them.  Nearer, the rocks have an interesting skin, somewhat resembling the beautiful endangered desert tortoises.  I stare at them in awe of their rough beauty.  Far above me in the canyon there are lighter colored rocks, not having been exposed to water or iron deposits.  They are a beautiful contrast to the red hues, calling to you to look at them like a bad toupee.

But the real magic happens when I sit there in silence with my eyes closed.  Some people meditate in a quiet, peaceful room.  Others kneel in church and pray.  I sit there with my eyes closed, contemplating life’s obstacles, and I ask for answers.  In the tranquility and the spiritual feeling of the canyon, I hear the answers I need.  The answers are in me all along, but I need to take the time to ask questions about my troubles and hear what my heart and soul offer me in return.

I always get my answers.  Always.  I feel as if I am being watched over by some force beyond explanation, buried somewhere in the crimson canyon.

Today my question seems superficial.  I am embarrassed to ask it, but it has been nagging at me.

“Will I ever find love?”

I am sad today, feeling somewhat frantic in my need to be in love and to have that same person be in love with me.  I am not usually so motivated to experience something that few can explain, but I have had multiple triggers recently.  The triggers seem ridiculous to me, somewhat juvenile, but they are very real.  My ex-husband got engaged, one of my friends started a new relationship, and someone I have cared about for a long time also started a relationship and with someone other than me.

My spiritual side should tell me to be ecstatic for them.  How wonderful that these people have found love, have found a partner they care about.

I endeavor to be aligned with my spiritual side.  Today I am not.

Today, I am definitely selfish and hurting and sad.  Why can’t I have love too?  Of course, this needy side of me isn’t exactly a good way to attract “the one.”  I don’t care, I am sad and not thinking logically.

I close my eyes, ask my question, try to clear all thoughts out of my head, and just wait for my answer.

The answer isn’t long in coming, I just needed to be in my sacred space.  The answer is strikingly straightforward.  I already have love in my life, a complete abundance of it so great I can’t contain how blessed I feel.  And if the right person hasn’t shown up from a relationship standpoint, it simply isn’t time yet or I am simply not ready.

The love I do have in my life shows me two things, I am capable of loving and I am capable of being loved.  It is that uncomplicated.  It might not have resulted in a relationship…yet.  But it has resulted in love from friends and family that I value even more.

“It is just not time yet, so stop focusing so hard on it.  Surrender to all of the love you already have in front of you.  And don’t tie your value to a relationship that isn’t here yet.”

I am satisfied enough in the answer to open my eyes, take in the scene again, and get ready for the rest of my hike.  To be honest, I wanted a better answer.  Like I wanted the right guy to show up right there on the trail.  He didn’t.  Perhaps I missed the right guy when he did show up, like the guy who had to rescue me when I fell off the side of the trail.  The one I was too embarrassed and flushed to look at in the eyes.  Maybe one of the many silly incidents like that scared him away.  I know, though, that trying to force love to appear is futile at best.  It’s just not time.

The rest of my hike is just as wondrous as the beginning.  There are micro climates in the canyon that are fascinating.  As I reach the next trailhead and start heading into the tanks, I remember how glorious that part of the hike is.  The hike is through trees and brush and sand more like beach sand.  It is always cooler in this area, with lots of shade.  At certain times of the year, there is plenty of water here as well.

I also have a favorite resting spot on this trail, although not quite as spiritual.  Today it is chilly and the rocks are freezing my backside so I am not siting too long.  I climb off the rocks a little too quickly and head back.

The parking lots at the trailheads are starting to fill, but aren’t full yet.  The tourists are waking up and getting their last minute pictures.  I have received my answers so I am ready to begin my weekend.

I am satisfied.

But still a little sad.