I’ve been away from this blog for a while.  My well hath run dry because I have been spending my precious energy in a futile fight, scratching and clawing and yelling and throwing tantrums (and a bottle of Jergin’s lotion down a flight of stairs) refusing to accept what is: that my usually-favorite month of the year has totally sucked.

I’ve been peering outside with my bad attitude, glaring at the sky, obsessively comparing temperatures in Minneapolis with those across the county, waiting for the sky to open to reveal the blue, blue October sky so I can enjoy the illumination of changing leaves in the midst of autumn’s reverie.

Last night I finally had a breakthrough and accepted the “what is” of October, 2009.  Paul and I were meeting our friends to see the showing of “Race Across the Sky” at Block E and decided to ride bikes.  From past experience, I knew a bike ride could help to alleviate the weather-induced depression I so hate about living in Minnesota.

Even though you couldn’t have called me “gung ho” about the whole deal, I bundled up ridiculously, and we rode our cruiser bikes downtown.  Just what the doctor ordered.  In fact, in my winter windstopper jacket, I was overjoyed to realize that I was actually warmer riding my bike last night than I was most nights this summer.

So now that my well is filling up again, I can afford to spill a little of its contents into my blog and share this experience of futile resistance.  It reminds me of the beginning of the serenity prayer:

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Imagine!  Instead of putting up resistance and fighting and wasting my energy waiting for the weather to change so I could resume the life I had planned for October, I could have pulled up my silk long underwear with grace and walked outside and enjoyed the entire month, cold air on my toasty cheeks, a big fat smile on my face.

It also reminds me of my friend and neighbor, Mr. Vernell, who Lucy, Oliver, and I see walking by every day, no matter the weather, his head held high up in the air, the upward arc of his contentment across his face.

I met Mr. Vernell this spring.  I was driving with Oliver and Lucy one morning on our way to a playdate when I saw a man walking, his arms swaying by his sides, along Theo Wirth Parkway.  About an hour or so later when we were driving back home, I saw him again, walking just as briskly, the opposite way.  When I saw him the next day, I called out to him, “Hi!  Were you walking along the parkway yesterday?”  His eyebrows lifted, his smile widened, “Well yes I was!  I walk five miles a day!  I’m sixty five and have never taken any medication. I don’t eat perfectly, but I walk every single day and I feel great!”  Clearly.

I introduced myself and he shook my hand vigorously.  Then together we extolled the virtues of long walks, for mental, emotional, and physical health.  He is a daily inspiration for me, because, though I share his love for walking and being outside, I can become a victim of the Bad Weather Blues that don’t seem to phase him in the least.

That day, as he waltzed away, arms swinging, he turned back to me, broad smile, and said, “Life is what you make it!  Life is what you make it.”

I swear I saw a halo above his head.

Well, lesson learned (for now), and it’s better late than never.  I have one week left to honor this October, the coldest on record, and I’m not going to waste another minute of it, even as I see the snow furiously pelting the face of commuters riding by outside this coffee shop.

I have just finished The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.  I had read it years and years ago, and even so, I feel like I read it for the first time.  I think this time around I have lived enough life to understand it in a deeper and different way.  I am affected.  I am inspired.  I am sure that if you read it, you too will be moved.

The book is a story of a boy who leaves his life as a sheepherder to discover his “Personal Legend.”  It is rife with metaphor—actually, it is one big metaphor of the power and necessity each and every person on Earth has to follow his or her dreams/purpose/”Personal Legend” or whatever you call that still, small voice that is so present and clear when we are young, and that may grow muddy and almost imperceptible as we grow through Life and are afflicted by the myths of success in our society.

In his Introduction, Coelho says:

What is a personal calling?  It is God’s blessing, it is the path the God chose for you here on Earth.  Whenever we do something that fills us with enthusiasm, we are following our legend.  However, we don’t all have the courage to confront our own dream.

As an icebreaker for every one of my classes, I ask students to share what they would do in life if they knew they could not fail.  Often times, this question is met by wide-open eyes and squirming bodies.  Some people know, and others have no idea.  But I believe it is one of the goals of the classes I teach that the students re-discover their dreams so that they may move toward them.

“It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”

-The Alchemist

But first, we must tune back into that voice that resides forever in our souls, that speaks to us through our emotions and through our experiences.

My two and four-year olds have been incredible teachers in my life.  They have given me the opportunity to understand the pureness, the simplicity of our human spirits.  When I am in a room full of their young and blissful little peers, I notice that children gravitate toward different things, take pleasure in different activities.  Some love to move and climb over any standing structure they can hoist their little bodies up and over.  Others sit and look at books and examine the pictures.  Some hang out around the easel and the art supplies while others are busy with putting together train tracks or stacking blocks or connecting Legos.

When I observe them, I see tiny little engineers and artists and future leaders.  I see little people who love to help others, who love to connect with friends, and I see little philosophers, thinkers, and leaders.  Being around young children, whose hearts speak clearly and whose dreams are unencumbered by doubt, my faith that each and every one of us on this Earth has unique gifts to give is strengthened.
So why, when we get older, do we waste our time comparing ourselves to others?  We are, in our very essence, totally unique.  Never before and never again will there be another one of you or me.

I have a vivid memory of one afternoon when I was seven or so years old.  I was in my basement reading “Ramona and Beezus” by Beverly Cleary.  I was so inspired that I took out a notebook and began to write a book.  I wrote a couple of pages and walked upstairs to show my parents.  My mom and dad were both sitting at the kitchen table watching TV and I handed them my notebook and declared, “I am going to write books someday.”

I remember them glancing at my writing, barely reading it, handing my notebook back to me, and turning back to the television.  I remember feeling let down and thinking they didn’t believe me.  In that moment a seed of doubt was planted in my being.  In the years that followed whenever I mentioned wanting to be a writer, my parents would listen and then remind me that a lot of people want to be writers, but I should pursue something that I can fall back on.

My parents came from practical roots. They came from families that worked hard to pay the bills and raise a family.  That was the focus.  There was no talk of realizing dreams within the walls of their homes or communities.

I remember my mom walking around the house on her tippy toes (she was 5’2’’) dusting or doing the dishes and singing.  She was always singing.  I didn’t know this when she was alive, but recently my aunt told me that my mom had always dreamed to be a singer.

My dad told me his dream was to get married, get a job, and make money so he could survive.  He began working at a grocery store after school when he was twelve, and when he was fourteen, he bought himself a 1953 Ford.  Eventually he went to Dunwoody and became a Master Plumber and as I grew up, he ran his business—the Brayman Plumbing Company.

While my dad did end up living his dream, he did not conceive of dreams that were more risky, less concrete.  My parents brought me to the door of forging something new for myself.  And though it has taken me almost 25 years to open the door, I am thankful I am sitting here at Common Roots with an empty bowl of buttersquash soup, with people coming and going, with this laptop, moving toward that mystery which lies inside of me.

It has taken a lot of journaling and vision-setting to yank out the doubt and plant seeds of faith.  My faith in myself and my dreams is growing.  And though I don’t know how to get there, I know what I want.  And that is enough for me to keep meeting the blank page and writing into the unknown.

“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” –The Alchemist

I think happiness, as you define it, is a clue to your soul’s longing, a clue that you are doing what you are meant to do.  In moments of happiness, our soul is alive and present.  I think this is a good place to start to uncover those dreams that have gathered dust and debris of years of self-doubt.

Writing Exercise: Open your journal to the next blank page and write at the top: “If I knew I could not fail, I would…”
Let go and let your dreams spill out—about places you want to visit and classes you want to take and how you want to live.  I believe there are signs—“omens” as Coelho writes—that speak to us in moments of lucidity and inspiration, in the people we meet who tell us of their dreams.  I also think there are signs in the difficulties we face, because in the soil of our challenges grow lessons and strength that we can and must share.

In other words, what we teach is what we have learned and are learning.  Thus, this blog.

“Follow your bliss, and doors will open where there were no doors before.” –Joseph Campbell

We do not need to know how to get to where we want to go.  We need to do what we love, and then let the mystery that is the Universe take over.

Janna Brayman Krawczyk is a writer and a teacher.  She has a B.A. in journalism from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and a Masters in Teaching from Hamline University.  She has been writing in a journal for over half of her life and has finally accepted that life is not easy, yet our struggles and obstacles are what inspire insight and wisdom.  For this reason, she must write as a way to understand herself and her life, stay sane, and dream big dreams.  She feels blessed to share this healing and illuminating practice with as many people as possible in her lifetime…

This blog.  Sheesh.  A week goes by and I have dozens of inspiring ideas for the week’s writing that I’m learning and thinking about–little nuggets of thought gleaned from conversations, magazine articles, books, within moments of frustration and fear, and in things peoples say.  This morning for example, during the silence of savasana our yoga teacher said, “Beautiful humans.  Find your divinity.”  Wow.  Now that’s a whopper of a thought right there.

The problem is, I think about these philosophical thoughts while I am doing all of the other stuff of life–trying to blanche my tomatoes before they rot; coercing Lucy to wear more than a sundress on a 45 degree rainy day (a losing battle); folding laundry; “playing dinosaurs” with Oliver; writing a card and giving a thoughtful gift to my friend Wiltse on her actual birthday (failed); and trying to return emails and phone calls in spaces of time here and there.

Thoughts bounce around like wild deflating balloons in my mind until I am able to land on my butt, open my journal, and begin the process of unraveling it all.  When I begin to write, my mind is like a clogged drain–there’s too much wanting to come out at the same time.  I begin by spending some time pulling the hair and floss from my brain to open the channels so it can all drain out.  This takes about five or so minutes before I hit my rhythm and thoughts start to flow and make sense.

This is precisely why the practice of journaling keeps me grounded and sane.  I need a place to stop.  I need a place to slowly draw out all of the stuff in my head.  I need a place to listen, really listen to myself. I need to write.

When I write, I can hear myself tell myself that this relationship is not right for me or that my job drains me or that I want to live a healthier life.  When I write, I can clarify my needs and hear my dreams and put one proverbial foot in front of the other on my way there. When I write, I am engaging in deep respect for myself by listening to myself.

We all would benefit from having someone listen deeply to us and help us hone in on what we are trying to say and trying to work through.  This is why we turn to friends and therapists–to listen and help us figure things out so we can move toward peace and contentment.  We seek people to help us heal.

While we need people in our lives, the truth is, within you is your greatest healer.  The more you practice listening to yourself, the better you get at it.  When you practice listening to yourself, you gain insight and self-knowledge.  You waste less energy because you become clear with your priorities.  You start to see where and with whom you are squandering your precious energy.  And in magical moments of lucidity, you begin to see your possibilities, your divinity.  And when you glimpse into all that lies inside of you, you summon your courage to reach for your dreams.

However you choose to listen to yourself–through writing, prayer, meditation, walks, singing, dancing, art, whatever–you must make the time to do so.  All of the stuff of life will never cease. It will be there whether you take twenty minutes for yourself or not.

I believe my yoga teacher is right–we all must find our divinity, because we are all from a divine force, no matter what you call it or believe it to be.  Something created daffodils and elephants and chameleons.  And us.

We are each given this life, not to suffer, though suffering is at times inevitable.  We were given this life because we each have a unique purpose, because we are here to let our light shine, to discover ourselves, to be brave on this ultimate journey and adventure of life.

Listen carefully and with great love.  There is beautiful music coming from your soul.  Do you hear it?

Janna Brayman Krawczyk is a writer and a teacher.  She has a B.A. in journalism from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and a Masters in Teaching from Hamline University.  She has been writing in a journal for over half of her life and has finally accepted that life is not easy, yet our struggles and obstacles are what inspire insight and wisdom.  For this reason, she must write as a way to understand herself and her life, stay sane, and dream big dreams.  She feels blessed to share this healing and illuminating practice with as many people as possible in her lifetime…