My love and I moved from Nevada to Texas. I’ve moved cross-state before, but this was by far the worst. We had car trouble, critter trouble (rescued two stray dogs from the highway), and body trouble (oh, my teeth). It took us two days longer than expected. I had to work from the road, praying our motels had sufficient internet connection.

I learned a lot. I stretched my limits. It’s a new adventure under my belt, and it led to this adventure, which is rebuilding our home in a wonderful house and getting used to a new climate and a new city. Texas, you are not nearly so uncomfortable as I expected, and I’m grateful for it.

Most importantly, though, I got in touch with Change again. With the move, the adventure, and other things I’ve been experiencing, I had the urge to shed a skin and begin anew.

I thought to myself, Should I wait? Should I make sure I’m ready to commit to this change and leave the old skin behind? What if I want to take it back?

And that’s when I knew it was time to get going. Change is eternal, relentless, constant, even if its size and intensity varies. The instant I wonder if I’m ready to change is the instant I need change the most. And if I change my mind later, that’s just another step on Change’s path, and I can and will adjust my course to fit.

So I closed my creativity blog; its occasional photo-post and well-received link round-ups will be moved here, expanding this blog a little more in scope, but still holding true to the vibe of the place.

I will resume writing here very soon, once I stop staying up until 4 and 5 in the morning and restore a little equilibrium to my daily life. We’re still rebuilding our home, unloading and unpacking, and I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time sitting down to write when I could be filling bookshelves from boxes instead.

In the meantime, what have you been up to these last few weeks? Tell me some stories.

My friends, I am very busy. I’m doing two people’s jobs during the busiest time of the month, preparing to house-hunt and then move across several states, and keeping myself un-miserable throughout it all.

I love this blog, but I love my sanity more, so posting will be erratic or non-existent until about mid-July, which is when I should be settled in my new home and the new office.

Best of all things to you, and I look forward to being a more consistent presence soon. ♥

I talk to Meamare, my car. I tell her good morning each time I start her up to go to work, and I thank her each time I park. When the weather is bad, I encourage her to stay steady and sure, and I lavish praise on her when she, inevitably, gets me home safely. Together, she and I make driving safe and efficient and enjoyable.

Does this mean I believe my car is a person, deserving of the same courtesies and emotional support I would give a friend?

Or does this mean I am playing into my psychology in order to cultivate a sense of gratitude for my primary means of transportation and a sense of calmness in times of dangerous road conditions?

Here’s a better question: does it matter?

What matters is whether or not a particular belief is useful. A belief’s objective reality can be difficult or outright impossible to prove – if you can prove that my car does or does not have a spirit, go right ahead! – and so its reality ceases to be important. What remains is usefulness.

Does this belief enhance or enrich my life? Does it aid my functionality and my happiness? Does it avoid any negative impact on my mind and body?

If it is both helpful and harmless, then it is useful, and it may stay.

Is my car a person, or does acting as though she is simply serve my psyche?

It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I am a happier, more mindful driver because I talk to her. And that’s best for everyone.

Please note: This post is talking about illusory fear, where you are afraid of things that do not exist or cannot hurt you where you are. If, however, you are afraid of a real threat, get the hell out of Dodge immediately.

We learn fear from experience, and some of these experiences are traumatizing. Sometimes, we hold over that echo of fear long past its usefulness, long past its validity.

Fear is useful when it protects us, warns us of danger, makes us cautious and wary so that we do not go blind and get hurt. Fear is valid when there is something present, both in your surroundings and in the current moment, to be afraid of.

Fear can be crippling when it outlives its causes. The same tactics that once ensured our survival can paralyze us or send us spiraling into paranoia. We may feel terror when we are in the safest place, with our most trusted people, simply because, once upon a time, some aspect of this situation may have signaled danger – such as hearing loud sounds outside your home.

Being accusatory and angry towards yourself only heightens your fear. Shouting “why am I afraid of this?! this is stupid!” in your own head solves nothing and only increases the tension in your body. Attacking yourself when you’re afraid only verifies the sense that there is something to fear.

Gentleness, then, is the best approach to fearfulness. Just as you would approach a panicked animal: move slowly and never suddenly, keep yourself non-threatening and low, and stop if the fear spikes. Use a soft voice; do not brandish weapons or fists or your frustration with yourself. Be as patient and compassionate as you can, and forgive yourself if you cannot.

Remember that hostility to your fear only worsens it, but staying calm in response to sudden fear will often drain it of its power and allow you to coax it away.

Have you ever felt wings on you?

Have you ever felt like you could ride the wind if you but opened yourself to it?

Have you ever felt like your heartfelt ability to fly was a barometer and an insight into your headspace?

When we are aware of ourselves – our psyches, emotions, and physical bodies – we know not only how we feel right now, but how we’d like to feel, as well. We know what hurts and what rejoices. We know what needs healing and rest and strengthening at its deepest levels.

When we are energized, we have the power to act and change our state of being. We can move forward and make progress. We can change. We can grow.

When we are both mindful and powerful, we can direct ourselves down a path of our own choosing. We can sculpt our very paradigms and selves. We evolve.

Is that direction and momentum not the same as flying high with your own power?

So, tell me – have you ever felt wings on you?

I grew up dancing on the poverty line. Both of my parents were hard workers in their own ways, and both of them taught me the value of a dollar – and the value of earning that dollar.

The three of us – my mom, my dad, and eleven-year-old me – built a two-story house on an acre of land. Just us. My dad designed the blueprints, and we raised up a house on a windy hill outside of town. I wired outlets, installed insulation (so itchy), painted walls, and nailed whatever needed nailing, plus helped clear the yard of broken branches, plant grass, and spread gravel for the driveway.

I know what work feels like. It’s not the capital-w-Work that people exult about like a vocation or the heart’s ultimate passion – it’s just work. It’s a series of things you do to get shit done.

And to me, work feels good.

It can be tedious, boring, exhausting, and unpleasant, but there’s still a zone I can find where it feels good. Sweating in the sun or freezing in the snow, struggling with fiddly details or hauling as much weight as my body can move, work feels good.

There’s a zen to that zone, you see. Where the discomfort is less important than the movement, the progress. Where one thing gets done at a time, smoothly, steadily, and it’s just like walking – one foot in front of the other, simple as that.

Mistakes can be made. Breaks can be taken. Distractions can turn the head. But in the end, there is a sturdy heartbeat in doing work, doing it at a sustainable pace, and doing it right and well. It’s a forward momentum that’s as good for the worker as it is for the work being done.

Even in the digital age, working with websites and emails and entirely virtual things, I can fall into the stride of work and make it feel good, feel right, feel hard-but-not-painful. Being in the zone keeps “busy” from being “stressful” and “productive” from being “burnt out.”

How do you feel about work? What do you do to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed when your plate’s overflowing?