falta algo – i lack something

A vision of my future. I realize that I have the responsibility to create the environment in my home. And I also notice that I’m not satisfied with my efforts or results for the past four years. I don’t like the way I’m maintaining my space. And I definitely have too much stuff.

So the question before me is what kind of home do I want to create for myself and my family? What kind of space do I want to live in? What’s my vision?

This has been coming up a lot at work as well, from the project management point of view. My manager and I have been discussing how lack of a goal is simply not acceptable—we need to know where we are aiming for, what our target is. We define the project.

So why haven’t I done this for my home? Why do I cling to clutter that I *know* I don’t need. No, wait. The question ‘why?’ is easy thing to get hung up on, but is often necessarily for a complete understanding of the root causes of the current condition.

There is an illusion of security and rootedness in clutter that I tend to gravitate towards. But what’s true is that I need to feel secure in myself and all of this crap has nothing to do with that.

So, what do I want to create? What is home? Moving to the new apartment is waking up my nesting instinct.
Home is the one place in the world that must be safe and feel warm, welcoming, and secure. How do I express that visually, especially with the constraints of what I have?


…listens to Joanna Macy interview on CBC

the universe doth provide :)

so this is what getting old is about

my best friend is on her way to qatar. my mom is dead. my dad is dead. my father is dead. i haven’t spoken to members of my extended family for months if not years. my brother is in germany where he fits right in with the Aryan mentality. Bryan is asleep.

I feel very alone. My annoying pseudo-manager is going away. This is a good thing. My real manager is pleased with my performance. The software guys are discovering that I do good work. It was a good day and, at the age of 42, I don’t have anyone to call to tell about it.

It feels kind of sad, but mostly it feels quiet. There’s no one to call, no one to rehash all the gory details with, no one to commiserate with. No one to be proud of me.

That’s the one that hurts. I spent so many years of my life trying to be worthy, trying to prove my worth. Trying to show that I was good enough. And now there’s no one around to see that I’ve made it.

Well, no one except me.

And you.

You know what? That’s enough. It really is. It really truly is.

Suddenly, something that was deeply upsetting not 30 minutes ago isn’t any more.


Questions I Ask Myself Sometimes

  • If I belonged to a gym in an office building, would I take the elevator up to it so I could work the Stairmaster for half an hour?
  • How can people be arrested for wearing a t-shirt that says “Peace on Earth” or “Let inspections work” in a shopping mall? (http://www.metroland.net/features.html)
  • Why is it so hard to motivate myself to sit zazen alone at home?
  • How can I make the world a better place for my daughter?
  • I know I should do the right thing. What is the right thing?
  • What should I write about?