Re-entry.

You know it, that after-travel feeling of re-entry into the “real” world. Whether it was a vacation, a long honeymoon or a good business trip, all of a sudden you are back at home, back to work, back to “normal.” It can be a let-down.

Me, I miss the luxury of having someone else make up the room, while I am out being fabulous. I return to my interim home with tired feet, a bit of sunburn, to a pristine environment with minimal clutter and fluffy pillows. If it’s a REALLY good trip, there will be chocolates on the pillows.

When the trip is over, it’s good to be home, sure. Back to work, back to my Mastermind meeting and my marketing group, back to the pub to re-connect with friends; especially after a long trip like this one, the “back to” events serve as sweet reminders of all the blessings I have in my day-to-day life.

So what is it about being away that is so magical? Why do our eyes see a bit clearer when the subject is brand new? Is it because we allow ourselves the grace of living in the present moment, putting our everyday mental list of “things I gotta do” on hold so we can focus on our actual experience?

Maybe we just get lazy in our normal surroundings. We take for granted the people, things and places that we cherish, knowing, just as sure as we know the sun will come out eventually, that they will be here for us tomorrow, so we need not look too deeply tonight.

And then one day something is gone. A good friend moves, a house burns down, a tree comes down in a storm, an illness takes someone well before their time. Change is constant and irrefutable.

This time, as I re-enter my life at home, I am keeping my eyes open, staying awake to everything, knowing that I create my own reality at every moment. So while I make the bed, I give the pillows an extra fluff. I light a couple of candles to stave off the dark morning grey skies. If I had chocolates, I’d put them on the pillows for later. (Note to self: buy chocolates.) I handle a few corners of cluttery build-up before settling in to work in the office.

I’m home.

It’s still me.

I’m in the process of changing my name, happily taking my handsome groom’s last name as my own. Yes, it’s old school, and so are we. Old school enough to take a leap and risk grabbing that happily ever after, complete with sunset sailing.

Off I go to order my new social security card, update my driver’s license, and change my name on all the little accounts assigned to my financial identity. How we did this before the Internet I do not know.

Then there’s Facebook.

Changing the name is simple, but it’s not enough. My cousin Maureen, who knew I was getting married, had to ask who the heck this person was liking her status update. My good friend from high school, John, had no idea when I tried to introduce him to my daughter, who is in his hometown of San Francisco for the summer. It seems no one knows me anymore. This is oddly similar to my own feelings in the “real” world. My life has changed tremendously over the past 12-18 months – a new home, a new name, new work projects, new family, new friends,  a whole new life. With everything brand new, can I still really be the same person?

We are on this planet to grow and learn, and I believe the only way this is possible is through change. Status quo allows no room for branching out. Staying the course eliminates the possibility of serendipitous discovery. It is only when we reach, veer and stray from our path that we discover the next phase of our own self.

Still, the essence of who I am remains unchanged, with the exception of perhaps a bit more awareness and compassion — for myself, and for the people who share my path during this walk. It’s still me, only different — with larger wings, a juicier heart and bigger dreams. I like this.

On quality.

I’ve neglected my blogging of late. Poor, quiet blog; void of any new thoughts and gentle readers. I could easily blame all the recent events in my life. Or a busy work schedule that keeps me away from my personal writing. Or the challenges of posting from foreign countries with sporadic internet access. Really? No. I’m lazy.

Many people who know me might argue that point. I’m always busy doing things, getting “life” handled, never one to laze around much. That’s not the kind of lazy I’m talking about.

My writing is lazy.

Last week I finished reading “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.” Beyond the fascinating look at the relationship between technology and spirituality, the book dwells heavily on the idea of Quality. What is quality, in motorcycle maintenance, in writing, or in living our lives?

I’ve been guilty of phoning it in, writing to finish a blog post for the primary purpose of having another blog post go live. Quality is often the casualty of this kind of to-do mentality writing.

Realizing this, I stopped in my tracks. Is it better to just sit quietly when I have nothing to add? Should I write just to fill the empty space, with the only justification being that I am a writer?

No.

While the subjective measure of quality can certainly be disputed (there are far “better” writers out there adding their thoughts to the universal conversation), I commit to quality first. If that means a blank page, then so be it. I’ll have a glass of wine or take a long walk, and do that with all the quality I can muster.

Quality is the result of a single moment in time spent in attentive, grateful awareness.

Climb every mountain.

“The only Zen you find on the tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there.” ~Robert M. Pirsig in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

It seems that a large portion of my last few years has been spent searching…for clarity, for answers, for ephemeral and elusive “happiness.” Pouring through books, reading ancient poetry, seeking out the wisdom and counsel of more “experienced” spiritual travelers, and always wondering what’s next on the path.

Along the way, I discover a deeper truth; I am happy. Not the giddy “I’m going to the zoo today” happy that is laced with anticipation and can quickly dissolve into disappointment if the polar bears are on strike and refuse to leave their igloo, but a deep knowing that all is good, all is in order. It’s equilibrium of a sort, even if I had to lose my balance entirely to get here.

It seems that, somewhere on my path to arriving, I’ve found myself through the very act of traveling there.

There is a tiny river babbling its way beside my open hotel room window. It’s lunchtime, and the café tables on the sidewalk below are filling up with locals and maybe other “auschlanders” like me. The lilacs, peonies and various unknown varieties are blooming over the rock wall. I sat on a park bench in the town center this morning, reading Pirsig’s novel about a divided mind, and the mental rockslide that carried him too far from center to be accepted in our tidy little world. I wonder what separates any of us from madness, genius or enlightenment.

I suppose we are all mad in our own little ways, yes? Then we are all perfectly alright.

Out of balance.

There’s a great line in a Tom Waits song:

“If I exorcise my demons, well my angels may leave too.”

I’ve always connected deeply to those words, wondering what happens after I purge the ugly from my mind, my soul, my life. Does the beautiful diminish too, to balance things out? Scientifically, to maintain equilibrium, a force in one direction must be acted upon by an equal force in the opposite direction. Does it hold true for us?

A good thing happens, and something bad happens to “balance things out.” It seems somehow “right” and, in a weird way, soothing, to know that we take the good with the bad, the happy with the sad. Too much happy, and something’s just not right.

What if that’s wrong? Maybe we can find our bliss only by going out of equilibrium, by embracing EVERYTHING with gratitude, sans labels of “good” or “bad.” Maybe, as we stretch open our arms to LIFE — the raw, juicy, messy sweetness of it all — we knock ourselves out of this hypnotic state of balance and spiral wildly outward into living. Making our own rules, being with the people who support our journey, and taking every blessed stinking thing that comes along as a gift.

Or maybe we just fall over. Either way, it’s worth a try.