Part 1 of 3:

It’s been 10 days since I last posted. I promised you a report of my fast road trip downstate to the Detroit Book Festival. Obviously that didn’t happen. Oh – the road trip did, the report did not. The past week was a whirling dervish dance of out of town company, obligations and activities. It included finishing an application to try to secure some financial help getting my leaking roof replaced and getting bids from contractors. That has been an ongoing process the past few months with almost no response. Or short responses after weeks of paperwork and inquiries: “we have no funding.” As Pooh says to Rabbit, “I s-u-s-p-e-c-t something.”

I’ve completed more paperwork in the past few months than it took to get a mortgage. Turns out being poor is a full time job. Also turns out determination is my middle name. I’m not one to give up easily. I believe it was Mark Victor Hanson who said, “Ask and you shall receive, so ask, ask, ask, ask, ask….” That is not a habit I am comfortable or familiar with. But ya know, life is for learning.

When my siblings were indoctrinated into the cult of fundamentalism they all wore bracelets with W.W.J.D. on them. In case they inadvertently forgot who they were following I guess. Smart aleck that I have always been, I got myself one of those bracelets. But mine stood for: What Would Joni Do?

Joni Mitchell narrated my adolescence and young adulthood. She kept my heart afloat in a toxic sea. Thank God for Joni. And Joan Didion. And Germaine Greer, Gloria Steinem. Thank God for Shirley Chisholm. Those were my influencers.

Now I say that in retrospect – as if I weren’t unconsciously under the influence of the cultural norms I grew up with in the 1950’s and 60’s. Within a year of graduating high school I would marry a mean, raging alcoholic like my father was. I was a walking talking statistical average. And although I would never stop trying to break free of those patterns, I would follow them again and again and again – believing each time would be different. It would not be until the age of 60 that I would even begin to get free.

Oh, I believed I was free. Because I was a rebel, don’t-cha-know, a free thinker. Nope; not even close to free from the influences of my family and culture. Not even close.

You see, the problem with beliefs is that they are false prophets. You are fooled into thinking you are free if your beliefs are strong. I’m here to tell you the bad news: your beliefs are keeping you stuck. You’ll want to get underneath that shiny layer of confidence and rustle up those loose cuticles in your armor. Into the murky, messy, uncomfortable waters of your unconscious. Because you didn’t invent your beliefs – you accepted them. Before you were old enough to have any awareness that you were doing that. And they all serve one outcome: keep you mired in the past.

Every time you get upset (so, about 15 times a day for me) – BINGO! – you just found a belief. It has been hiding for decades and you just found it. Treasure! Every upset is a set-up. That’s what we are here for! That’s the privilege of a human incarnation in earth school! The tuition here is outrageous. Guaranteed you will not live long enough to pay off the use of your body (lab fees) – so you’d might as well make the most of it. Now mine that treasure for all it is worth. “I’m upset because…I believed….” And, as another influencer in my life, Jack Boland, would say, “as day follows night…” it will appear. Show up like the answer in the magic 8 ball.

And you will be shocked. You will be shocked and enraged at what you have accepted as truth when it was nothing of the sort.

Over the next few days I will tell you all about my road trip to Detroit. I’m still mining the gold it uncovered, from anticipation to recovery. While driving fast on an open highway feels a lot like freedom, I held one of my dearest friends hostage in the passenger seat and splattered her with the chaos of my confessions. She was a captive audience to the grief I am outgassing these last several months. Thank God for her. She was forced into the role of therapist and she rose to the occasion as if she were my own personal superhero influencer. There is no amount of money in the world that could compensate her for the healing of her loving presence; that was priceless. I pray each of you find a friend like her, although I implore you don’t kidnap her in a speeding car.