I’m falling in love with the sensation of wet ocean sand squishing between my toes and lathering the soles of my feet.
I’m falling in love with my feet; how my little toe is smaller than his neighbor, how my feet are the perfect size and perfect shape.
I’m falling in love with floating my entire body in the healing, salt-rich sea, kicking and splashing my way from beachside to beachside.
I’m falling in love with my body: the softness of my skin, the curves, the beautiful imperfections that make me entirely me.
I’m falling in love with fruity-drinks with rum and fancy umbrellas, with the foam that tickles my lips and the buzz that tickles my view.
I’m falling in love with my view, in how I see the world, how I see people, and how my heart is big enough to embrace the entirety of the universe.
I’m falling in love with crème brulee served in minature pineapple-bowls, and garnished with large juicy strawberries and fresh whipped cream.
I’m falling in love with the little girl in me who fancies sweet treats and surprises, who wants to share her treats with a stranger, who wants to tell everyone she meets about tiny pineapple bowls.
I’m falling in love with the sun setting over the ocean while the wind blows through my blonde-streaked, windblown hair.
I’m falling in love with my capacity to love nature, the depth of my awe, the appreciation of all glorious works of this planet.
I’m falling in love with hiking down ocean cliffs to the sound of the roaring waves and wading in the warm natural sea pools with hundreds of little fish.
I’m falling in love with my courage to try new things and my appreciation of my bravery and risk taking.
I’m falling in love with catching up with my old friends, I adore, and learning about new friends, I adore.
I’m falling in love with my personality, the way I truly love people, and hold them daily in my heart and thoughts.
I’m falling in love with my potential, with my options, and with opportunity.
I’m falling in love with my skillset to seek out whatever I dream.
I’m falling in love with my family, with their humor, with their wit, with their clever observations and deep sensitivity to life and their environment.
I’m falling in love with my mothering, with all that I’ve dedicated and given without second-thought or need.
I’m falling in love with my eyes and their depth, in what they have seen and saved in silence, and what they have seen, and shared in truth.
I’m falling in love with every inch of me and every inch of my life. I am blessed. I am gifted. And I am me.
Sometimes I think I make my new friends feel like the sheep in the picture above!
My husband took this photo and the other. He is gifted that way.
I was with a crowd of people the day I lost my butt. I searched everywhere for my butt. In desperate need of a butt, I clasped my two hands over a stranger’s butt, imitated pulling off her butt, and then I tried to fit her butt onto my butt. But her butt wouldn’t stay on me. When the stranger asked, “How does my butt fit?” I responded, “Too small.” And with a frown, I sighed, shrugged my shoulders, hung my head low, and gave her back her butt.
As I walked in embarrassment without at butt, I covered the place my butt had been with my hands. Sometimes I slid across the floor to hide my missing butt or I squatted down and walked low to the ground. When I sat, I placed my hands beneath me on the chair to protect the skin where my butt had been. Other times I sat on my knees.
Off and on for an hour, I searched for my butt. One time I asked the crowd, “Have you seen my butt?”
I looked under my chair for my butt. I looked in corners and underneath people’s legs for my butt. Later, in desperation, I found a microphone, and again asked, “Has anyone seen my butt?”
No one had seen my butt.
After we left the crowd, and returned home, for weeks my three sons, and sometimes my husband, would peer from around the corner, at random intervals, and ask, “Where’s your butt?” One day my family gathered together on the couch to view the recording of the day I lost my butt.
It didn’t matter where I went in our home. I could be sitting on the toilet, climbing the stairs, or cooking dinner, and someone in our house would ask, “Where’s your butt?”
I will always remember the day I lost my butt.
My butt is back now. My butt actually never disappeared. I only thought my butt had vanished. In reality I’d been hypnotized on stage to believe my butt was stolen.
I believe at times we all think we’ve lost our butts, or at least we believe we’ve lost a portion of ourselves. Many of us think an essential part of us is missing or lacking. We believe we aren’t worthy, aren’t enough, aren’t special, and aren’t lovable; when in actuality we came into the world fully equipped with everything we need. Our butts are firmly attached.
Nothing is missing and nothing has been taken away. We are worthy, we are enough, we are special, we are lovable, but we forget. When we think we are lacking that is like our mind tricking us into think we have no butt. When we think we are lacking, we walk the world like our butts are missing. We hang our heads low, we hide, we search, we ask, we fear and worry.
We trick ourselves. We hypnotize ourselves into thinking we are lacking when everything is right there where it is supposed to be. All we have to do is to reach down and grab our gifts. They are right there waiting.
So the next time you find yourself lacking, remember the story of the lady who lost her butt. Think of her standing on stage, speaking into a microphone and asking, “Has anyone seen my butt?” That is exactly what you are doing when you are searching for your worthiness.
Don’t ever think you’ve lost your butt.
Your worthiness is firmly attached to you.
Now get out there and shake your booty!
The answer for yesterday’s post was number 9. Number 9 was the fiction.
Number 9 was a little bit true. The object was a tampon that flew across the cafeteria and hit someone in the head, but I ducked, covered, and ran before anyone knew I was the culprit. No one picked it up and handed it to me.
Don’t feel bad, my husband guessed the wrong one.
For those that guessed number 7, you were close. I could have worded that fact more clearly. I did review 100 men, but I reviewed the recordings they left, then I called a couple dozen back. So, if you guessed that number, you get a free pass.
Everything else was true. Including Patty Hearst and the swimsuit model. Thanks for participating. I had a great time reading your lists.
These last four days have been life changing. The combination of the new medicine and diet for my health condition, the sunshine, and the companionship of a dear friend have pulled me out of a two month-long period of deep depression. I know now the depression was more than situational. Besides an uncomfortable experience at the university I’d been attending and the death of our beloved family dog, I discovered earlier this week that my vitamin D levels are extremely low, my iron levels still below normal, and my protein levels very low too! Throwing in my new hypothyroid diagnosis, and considering any one of the before mentioned conditions can cause exhaustion, I’m surprised I could even get off of the couch.
As I am emerging from the dark tunnel of fatigue and depression, I am celebrating internally—my spirit soaring and applauding. I am applauding a renewed energy. I am applauding my strength, endurance, and patience. And I am applauding my experience.
No matter the degree of challenge, I understand the past weeks have made me stronger in spirit.
I continue to be hopeful my health will improve. Yet, I am releasing control to my higher power.
Today, through the help of my friend, I created the mantra: I am tree.
I am a tree. And in being a tree I need not worry what will land on me, break me, climb me, peck me, burrow into me, or even cut me down. I only need to be a tree and nothing more. And I am perfect in my treeness—perfect in my being. Like a tree I will not fret and will not fight against the unknown. I will be. I will live. And I will grow.
I recognize I have slipped back into old patterns, or what I call my old mold. Just as the physical body sometimes retreats back to an old set weight, the spiritual body can retreat back to a set way of living. For me this old way of living includes a fear-based mentality and many moments of over-thinking. I am visualizing a new mold that benefits my spirit.
I recognize I have been attracting to my life much of what I have been fretting about. I recognize that by focusing on beneficial thoughts, I in turn will benefit, as will those around me. I knew this before, but today I see my journey from a new vantage point.
In the coming days my hope is to continue practices of self-care and self-love, as I release control and let the seasons of my spirit unfold without struggle. I am tree. I will be. I will live. I will grow.
I returned to the lab this morning to get my blood work done. Yesterday, I was turned away, because I’d not realized I needed to fast. Yesterday the lab’s waiting room had been crowded.
Today when I entered the room, there was no person in the waiting area but me.
Shortly after I sat down, a young lady escorted an elderly Chinese woman inside. I immediately noticed the elderly woman’s eyes. They were shut closed. The young woman led the blind woman to a chair, before she quickly exited to park the car.
For the time, it was only me and the blind woman. The woman was seated across from me about six-feet away. As I smiled out at her, I realized she did not know I was in the room.
I hesitated to speak. But I was compelled to make my presence known. Leaning forward in my chair, I offered the woman a gentle good morning. Then I wondered what had caused her blindness. Wondered why she had to have blood work done. And wondered, too, why her lids were so tightly sealed together.
There was only seconds between the time I said good morning and the time the woman took to respond. Upon hearing my words, she searched for me, her head slightly turning my direction. Again, I wondered.
“Good morning,” the old woman answered, with an inflection and spirit liken to a young person. And then, without pause, she continued. “I so, so, scared,” she said in broken English. “I so, so, scared,” she said again.
She placed her aged hand over her chest and flapped her hand repeatedly. “I no like when they put the point in me,” she confessed. She attempted a smile. Without the use of her eyes for expression, the rest of her—arms, mouth, head, wrinkles, shoulders—they all played their part.
She curled into herself and then used her hand to demonstrate a beating heart again. “I been here many times. No make difference. I still get so scared. I can’t help. I don’t like be here. So, so scared.”
I tried my best to offer her some comfort through my words. I don’t think she understood anything I said. But she smiled just the same. To be heard—she only needed to be heard.
Soon the young escort returned, and I was called in for my blood draw.
This blind woman was a wonderful gift.
In the few moments this woman had shared her truth, I had stood beside her in spirit. And as I stood by, I had recognized my own self in her. With my recognition, my own fears were temporarily lessened. In viewing our likeness, my own misgivings were decreased.
In being there, hearing her voice, and recognizing our shared humanity, I understood this:
In an often obscured world we are each, in our own way, waiting for our voice to be heard.
Everyday Asperger's 
