I apologize for my lengthy absence.  In November, my dear husband required an emergency surgery followed by a complicated recovery.  He is going to be fine (hooray).  It has been a time and energy consuming process.  As I’ve shared before, I am a member of an on-line journaling community (www.JournalingLounge.com).  In December, one of my sister “journalers” posted the following phenomenal, thought provoking and movement inspiring journal entry.   I asked for her permission to share her delightful words with the delighted sage readership.  She agreed.  Thanks Jen!  I anticipate a delighted return to my own blog entries very soon.  In the meantime, thanks for your patience and enjoy our guest blog. -Suzanne 
 

I have lived in my house for 4 years now. Over the 4 years, most of my house became invisible to me. But now since back from Cairo, Egypt last week, I have spent EVERY DAY combing through our house, SEEING it, deliberately deciding things about each space, however small, and following the update through to completion. This isn't a cleaning spree, nor a purge frenzy. I sometimes have those too, this just isn't one of those. This is different, it's new for me. It's coming from a quiet, centered space inside. Interestingly, I haven't even been making any point of consciously listening to or developing that space lately, but it started by tapping on me for days to address one single thing.

Am I talking about construction projects, fresh paint, rearranged furniture? Oh no! It started with the supplements shelf.

The kitchen is small. In the small kitchen, to the above-left of the stove, I have a small cabinet. One of many. It is shallow and skinny, and has only three shelves. The middle shelf is the "supplements shelf" - all sorts of items to either enhance or repair health, as well as a few to simply mask the symptoms when we feel crappy (Tylenol, Sudafed, etc.) It was full front to back, even on a multi-level organizer like a little set of steps.

As I said, I'd been thinking of the shelf for a few days while I was still somewhat sick and tired upon return from Cairo. I do not usually give any thought to my supplement shelf; this was like something beyond my conscious self was repeatedly tapping on my brain about that shelf.

Finally, in one seemingly random moment while in the kitchen, I began to pull every bottle, jar, and box out. To finally take action on the subject of incessant mental tapping immediately made me feel good, almost excited. One by one I looked at each item, noted how many years it had been with me and checked expiration dates. One had EXPIRED almost 10 years ago! It was hard to believe that many years had passed since a friend had given me that partial bottle of some homeopathic remedy when I had a cold and said "This is great stuff, take this." I muscle tested each one to find out if it was beneficial to anyone anymore.

It felt good to dump so many little tablets and pills and liquids that were of no further use. Then I corralled the other bottles and jars that had ended up elsewhere - the new ones that were living in a corner of the kitchen counter because there was no room above, the "invisible" bottles on the bathroom counter in hopes they would serve as a reminder to take them before bed, the prescribed box of supplements under the hutch in the dining from the nutritional cleanse last spring - I arranged everything into the cabinet. It all FITS, and I now know what every single item in there is.

The space on that shelf is about 2 feet wide and 1 foot deep, maybe 1 foot high. If I'm not mistaken in my dusty math skills, that equals 2 cubic feet of my life-space (a moment of humility for my 10th grade self that scoffed at the promise that geometry could be useful later in life). But the power and relief and sense of freedom that came with deliberately "current-izing" those 2 cubic feet felt like I had remodeled the whole kitchen and added huge sunny view windows.

The corner of the counter where the spillover bottles had been looked somewhat opened up. I wanted to clear more from it if I could to find a new home for the big protein powder canisters that had lived in the same corner only because I had not identified a better place to store them (small kitchen, small cabinets, remember?). To create space, I opened the plate cabinet to the left. I scooted one plate stack to the left and another plate stack to the right, creating 9 inches of space. I victoriously placed the canisters between the plate stacks, shut the cabinet door, and tried to gaze happily at my newly-cleared counter corner.

I couldn't do it. It's the PLATE cabinet. Those canisters had no business there and I knew it. I could FEEL them awkwardly stuck behind the closed panels. It was like being in the performance of terribly off-key music and trying to smile and nod as if one is enjoying the cacophony. I flashed with a vision of being one of those households where one cabinet will contain most of the everyday-use drinking glasses and mugs, as well as three dusty cans of dog food, a hammer, 5 eight-dollar "souvenir cups" from various events and theme parks that haven't been used since the return home, paint samples from the over-caffeinated day in Home Depot when repainting the kitchen sounded like a fun project, four boxes of instant oatmeal from a great closeout sale last winter, 18 pens (3 of which work), random receipts for a budgeting project never fully birthed, clipped magazine recipes that sounded interesting to try, and stacks of Cool Whip containers because everyone knows they are really useful for .... something.

OUT! The canisters came out. Back on the counter. There was something about this almost meditative-like process that involved a non-negotiable drive for "current-zing" in a way that was a permanent, decisive shift. A conscious, deliberate shift. NO temporary, "this will do for now and I'll address it later." Maybe it's the wisdom of having watched myself live for 40 years: I am so clear that a hap-hazard decision made today will most likely be lived with for YEARS by default. Living examples: 1. The laundry basket that stays in the hallway because we never came up with another system, 2. the grey fleece sweatshirt I got on the Alaska cruise because it was warm and only 10 bucks even thought I didn't love the color on me, but is now embarking on it's 5th winter of being worn "just around the house", 3. the dull-looking TV trays that have defaulted to being end tables although never meant to be left up as actual furniture, on and on. All of those decisions were UN-decisions, unconscious quick-draw choices that resulted drawn out mediocrity.

I knew I must re-create the "tupperware shelves" below. If it didn't have a matching lid, it got tossed. If I hadn't used it in years, it went to the thrift store bags in the garage. I found out, like a mystery solved, that I didn't use much of it anymore because I had taken Chef Rachel's advice and started using safer, more convenient view-friendly and eco-friendly glass jars for food storage. For two years since implementing the new system, I hadn't noticed that in exchange I could purge most of my plastic storage containers. They had lurked there taking up precious cabinet space that is now free for the protein powder canisters and the shaker bottles that go with them.

Victory - the corner of the kitchen counter was clear, except for the knife rack and the utensil holder which are consciously left there. It is delightful; it feels open and airy, and to visually peruse it brings me an almost concerning level of joy and peace.

Since those first two micro-areas I have done many other small areas. One by one they call to me. There are a lot, and some can't be addressed until others are done, so there is a natural hierarchy. Some are taking days, as I do a bit, leave to work in another space, while continuing to digest what I want for that space, and come back later with fresh inspiration. But when it's done, it's DONE; it's a fit for us in purpose and aesthetics, and it makes me feel good.

    CONTRIBUTED BY JENNIFER VAUGHAN (riojamesmom@yahoo.com)