Today is my 47th birthday.  I have been blessed with 17,166 days — opportunities — to experience and share life and love in this world. When I reflect on the lives lost in those 47 years — friends, family, students, mentors, I cannot be too grateful to be here today, to use this moment and this opportunity to cherish all that is before me.

17,166. That’s a lot of opportunities to embrace life.

So, on this 17,166th day, I share some of the things I’ve learned along the way (10, to be exact; it seemed more reasonable than sharing 17,166 things–or even 47–that I have learned…). Some are deep, and some defy gravity. Please join me in celebrating this day by adding to the list. What have you learned along your journey so far?

1. This moment is the only sure thing. Joan Didion, in The Year of Magical Thinking, shared her journey following the sudden death of her husband in their kitchen in the middle of chopping vegetables for dinner. In her book, she writes, “Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.” I do not need to look to tomorrow or back at yesterday to find my peace. It is right here, right in this very moment.
2. Nature provides infinite energy. There’s chi — energy — in nature that we rarely take the time to tap into. And yet, what it offers us is unlimited strength balanced with graceful humility. We need to spend more time outside and less time in our heads.
3. Finding our muse means discovering unlimited energy. I have learned that our muse contains a limitless supply of energy and spirit. Every time we write, sketch, paint, sing… we tap into something greater than our little minds. We bypass thought and enter a higher realm of spiritual possibility. Why is it unlimited? Because we will never be able to capture something that is so much greater than we will ever be able to comprehend…
4. It is our choice what we cherish in our relationships, present and past. Forty-seven years is a long time to have friendships and relationships with many individuals. Not all of them are going to necessarily turn out the way you once envisioned or planned. But what we take from them is our choice. I have learned to treasure those moments that have defined the very essence of those relationships; anything less diminishes our efforts to live authentically and fully.
5. Smiles really are contagious. Whether I am offering a smile, or I am the lucky recipient of one, it centers me. The simple effort to smile for others can change everything for that person — as well as you — in that single act.
6. There is movement in our stillness. The social media revolution in the last five or six years has replaced so much of our time simply being still. Our eyes are barely open before we are checking our phones for text messages, Facebook updates, and breaking news over our RSS feeds. We run for 18-20 hours with our phones glued to the palm of our hand, and we “unplug” just minutes before we go to sleep. We need to bring back the moments of stillness in our lives so that we might move toward a more healthy, balanced life. Scheduling “unplugged” time for ourselves is necessary and essential.
7. Darkness exists in deceptive, evil ways. I’ve seen it. Felt it. Witnessed it. As is true with the Yin/Yang symbol, there is as much evil as there is good out there. Being aware of it diminishes its hold on us.
8. We are never alone. Those dark days find us. Sometimes, they even consume us in such a way that makes us feel as if we are in an inescapable abyss. But even in these moments, I have learned that we are never alone. Whether it is the fact that these dark moments are felt by so many others (and most never show it) or that there are people who care for us and love us, there is always someone just on the other side of that darkness who is there unconditionally.
9. Walking is as beneficial to the soul as writing. Henry David Thoreau wrote in his essay, “Walking,” “I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least — and it is commonly more than that — sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements.” To walk four or more hours a day! I am happy to walk an hour in the woods. Taking the time to connect with nature and clear your thoughts is better than any man-made remedy I can ever imagine.
10. Love is always the answer. Whether it is love for ourselves, love for others, or love for the natural world, there is no better remedy for whatever ails. When The Beatles sang “All You Need Is Love” way back in June of 1967, they did not take this sentiment lightly. And, many years later, Ringo commented on the fact that this is not something that we can just talk about. We have to live it. Believe in it. Even work hard at it.

If I have learned anything, it is that Love is always the answer. For you, for me, for we, for always.

This blog post is in response to Chapter 2 (“Facing the Future”) in Shakti Gawain’s book, The Path of Transformation.

There is a storm brewing out west that is headed our way. The latest maps show that Baltimore is dead center in its path, and we are on target for “plowable” accumulations of snow.

Within this storm is a great deal of energy. The path of the storm, and the amount of snow (or rain) it dumps on the Mid-Atlantic states, depends on how well it organizes itself, and how the various energy forces combine all at the right time. With the just-right combination of elements, the storm we could see in about 48 hours might be, in Bobby Weir’s words, Just Exactly Perfect.

Energy. Much of this chapter deals with the negative forces of it that exist in our contemporary society and that bring a lot of stress and violence in to our world.

Although this is a frightening time, it is simultaneously the most powerful time that has ever existed in this planet. (7)

This energy that is swirling around us — not so much from the approaching storm but in life itself — is being used haphazardly and negatively because we do not know what to do with it. We have so many options and avenues available to us — too many, it seems, and we just don’t know how to narrow our focus. We don’t know how to discriminate and select what is best for us, what is best for others, what is best for this world.

Instead, we spread our energy too far, too thin, and we are left feeling exhausted with very little to show for it.

I like to think of myself as that approaching storm. When I was much younger, my first teaching colleagues called me a “whirlwind of energy.” I spent my energy, all those years ago, haphazardly, and I think that I had dispersed my energy too far and too wide, causing little more than a dusty storm of desires and hopeful expectations.

I burned out in less than six years doing that. I had to learn the hard way.

Now, I am invested in energy that extends far beyond me. I will gather strength and energy where I can to live fully and genuinely, and I will use that energy in a positive way to give back and love unconditionally. But to do so without losing any of me or who I am or what I stand for.

Here is to today’s energy. Embrace it fully, and recycle wisely.

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed it is the only thing that ever has. ~Margaret Mead

In the opening chapter of Gawain’s book, The Path of Transformation, she asks her readers point-blank: “What is your vision of the future? How do you feel about it?”

In many ways, my vision of the future is nothing more than staying in balance in the present. For if I am able to accomplish that, my future will be as fulfilling as my present.

The question then becomes: What is my vision of the present?

My word of the year is Querencia — my wanting place or home — and in that place I become invincible. But what are the characteristics of me that I want to be invincible?

That is the question that has dogged me all these years. I believe that the same things that make me strong — sensitivity toward others, compassion, a strong belief in all things and their possibilities — also make me vulnerable. It is very hard to shift gears and address my weaknesses when I need to be open to offer my strengths.

I was faced with this situation earlier today. A friend approached me about a serious issue he was facing, and I felt a great deal of empathy for him and his situation. After I offered my thoughts and we both moved on (we were both running late for other appointments), I found my entire mood being shifted to the negative. I was angry that he was in such a situation, and that anger started to permeate everything I was doing.

I recognized the emotional response, and (after a struggle) I was able to let it go soon thereafter and remain in the present once again. Staying stuck in the past on that emotion was just not healthy, and I may have even sacrificed a chance or two to be present for others who might have had to share some concerns.

Earlier today on Facebook, I posted the following statement: “Living for tomorrow distracts me from what I need to do today. Seek beauty in THIS moment, and tomorrow will take care of itself. . .” After I posted it, several friends commented, both publicly and privately, that it is easier said than done. I couldn’t agree more, especially with the type of day that I have had.

We need to do our best to practice balance on an ongoing basis, where a blend of movement and stillness becomes a harmonic experience during each passing moment.

The truth is, my vision of the present is simply this: I need to be aware of my strengths and my weaknesses in the moment. Like the harmony created by the simultaneous existence of movement and stillness, I need to recognize the ebb and flow of my strengths and weaknesses to create a similar harmony.

Thus, if I take care of my today, if I take care of this moment, I also take care of my future.

So, once again I offer the following words to everyone. Let them serve as a mantra in your daily efforts to live earnestly in the moment: Living for tomorrow distracts me from what I need to do today. Seek beauty in this moment, and tomorrow will take care of itself.

Rus VanWestervelt is a writer, photographer, owner of Ravenwater Press, and Teacher-Consultant with the National Writing Project. He is the founder and editor of Maryland Voices, a creative nonfiction journal for high school writers and educators. Rus has published hundreds of articles locally and nationally, and nearly all of them relate to writing and living an inspired life. His latest work of fiction, Cold Rock, was released December 9, 2011 and can be ordered at Amazon or at ravenwater.com. For more information about Rus and his work with writers, you can contact him at rusvw13 (@) gmail.com.

It is nearly 7:30 in the morning, and it is still quite dark outside despite the snow and icestorm that is passing through. I have been up for several hours now, writing and studying music.

In other words, kindling the muse.

There is a song by James Taylor off of the New Moon Shine album called “Like Everyone She Knows,” and it struck me this morning at the right time. Here’s the point to the song:

Hold tight to your heart’s desire

Never ever let it go.

Let nobody fool you into giving it up too soon.

Tend your own fire.

Lay low and be strong.

Wait it out, let it come along.

These lyrics come to me at a time where I am returning to a simpler approach to life. I know this sounds crazy. Next week, I begin teaching a writing course in Howard County, and the following week the semester begins at Towson. My brother-in-law’s book comes out in a few months, and I’m preparing for my own official launch of my book, Cold Rock, in late March or April.

It seems like I should be forgetting all that muse stuff and that babble about simpler living, right? I need to be on autopilot and just push through these next sixteen weeks and survive. Isn’t that the right way to get through this craziness?

No. It’s not the right way at all.

I think that a return to the muse is the best way to stay focused, the best way to remain balanced through these busier times.

Writing and music touches the core of who I am. To lose contact with that core cannot be healthy for me (or for anyone else). It is through my strength, my connection to that higher spirit that I am able to do any of these things.

To abandon that now would be foolish in all ways.

So I am holding on tight to my heart’s desire. I am reconnecting with my muse and higher spirit through my own writing and music, and cherishing the simple joy and beauty it brings to my day.

The Gretsch G5120 Electromatic Hollowbody that I have pictured above is a beautiful guitar that I am looking at for late spring, early summer. Until then, I have an incredible acoustic guitar that I will play with daily, learning all I can, and reconnecting with my muse.

Playing guitar is the greatest complement to my writing for me; together, they open doors within me that I never knew existed. Through those open pathways, I find strength and balance to experience life fully, in the present.

But all I am doing is tending my own fire, laying low and being strong, and waiting it out.

The only way to letting it come along, come along. . . .

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I stuck my hand in an old brown Panera Bread bag and pulled out this state — Missouri, so far from my comfort zone that I am left dry of experiential springboards for my writing. It forces me to look forward and not back, look to places in my life where I have not been — but where I need to go.

When I was younger, a walker among wooded paths pitching a tent anywhere level ground afforded me a place of rest, I planned on hiking in all 50 states, placing my feet on some path in the woods 50 different times, and then capturing that experience to share with the masses. What would each walk bring me? Each step on soil that existed not for my feet but for the many souls (soles?) before and after me. The communion with the Earth, the terrain that is not yours or mine, here or there — there is humility, isn’t there? Humility in stepping off of familiar ground and venturing north, south, west — and then realizing that it is not the dirt itself that is so unique and special, it is the making of memories, of thoughts and dreams born, shared, and realized — To take you there, to bring life to such experiences is necessary to live that life loudly –

I am suddenly a Crier for movement, for the stillness and solitude that can come from such movement — the vibrancy of motion, action, as it gives birth to a settling of the soul’s mud, a rising of clarity and focus–

To move. To make the ripples that push out the detritus of a live unlived, to exhale impurities so that the inhaling of new life is possible.

We live in a life of opposites — so dependent on each other for the possibility of realizing that crystalline clarity of LOVE.

I feel like there’s been some kind of explosion in my life, a bursting of energy that is giving me strength like never before. I am finding the strength to write, to exercise, to journey, to live.

It could just be that I have the time to do these things. It is nearly 9:30 on a Sunday morning, and I have been up since 6, writing, practicing yoga, writing some more, reading, editing, and enjoying a light breakfast with my son–the first to awaken.

But it also could be that I am constantly focusing on renunciating old habits and replacing them with better behaviors; these are lifestyle changes that must stay at the center of my path, regardless of how much, or how little, time I may have, especially when school resumes in the fall. By replacing these bad habits with healthy choices, I feel a certain momentum, a current of strength and confidence to continue boldly along this path.

I think it’s the yoga, though, that is making the biggest difference. I’m a very big guy, with a lot of weight to lose. My weight issues prevent me from practicing the poses exactly as they are shown, and I have to accommodate with yogic modifications. I can feel the limitations and restrictions that my excess weight places on me. In my mind, I understand exactly what I am supposed to do for each pose, but I can’t make my body follow through.

I have patience, of course. I can visualize where I will be in a few months, a year from now, even 3 or 5 years. I just need to hold on to that focus, that vision.

And I will do that through writing, practice, and renunciation. It’s a wonderful explosion of energy, even with these weight limitations that I need to overcome! I do not let that discourage me; I am grateful for what I can do, for what I will be able to do, and for what I have not yet discovered or imagined.

Enjoy the day! May it be explosive for you as well….

I’ve always been fascinated with Chinese characters, and the symbol for Tranquility is one that means a great deal to me.

Quite literally, the symbol depicts male dominance in the Chinese tradition, where the smaller symbol of a man’s “roof” hovers over the symbol for “woman.”

I like the explanation provided in The Spirit of the Chinese Character, by Barbara Aria. She writes, “…[the symbol] has a richer meaning, reflecting the parallel between microcosm and macrocosm. Just as a harmonious relationship between man and woman brings tranquility to the heart, peace comes when universal energies are in harmony—the forceful, creative energy of heaven above, and the gentle, receptive energy of the earth below.”

Growing up in the Chesapeake Bay region, I have lived my life surrounded by the more natural forces of tranquility, as land and water constantly battle for domination among the brackish tributaries of Chesapeake. I know. That sounds so contradictory, doesn’t it? Talking about forces and battles and domination when it comes to tranquility just seems so…unnatural.

Tranquility, though, is rooted in discipline and respect; it is the reward for the efforts put forth to achieve such a balance.

The hard part, of course, is reminding ourselves that the battle to find that balance is well worth the tranquility that follows.

My wife is gifted in the kitchen; she has the patience and natural talent to take somebody’s culinary creation and make it her own. It doesn’t come without a great deal of labor, though. She might spend hours contemplating the right spices—and their exact amounts—to compliment the main ingredient and make the meal just exactly perfect.

After all the hard work is over and we finally sit down at the table to enjoy the meal, we savor the labor and the sweat used to reach such perfection. Tranquility achieved.

Tranquility does not come without that hard work. We all yearn to find that peaceful view atop that faraway mountain or shore when the sun descends into the horizon, leaving us breathless; we forget the labor it took to take the long walk to get there in the first place.

As writers, we face that battle all the time, struggling through drafts and revisions to reach that moment of order where our writing might be considered even marginally close to providing a sense of tranquility for our readers. There’s nothing more comforting than finishing a good story and appreciating that order, that balance. We forget about the struggles the writer went through to achieve such balance.

As individuals, though, we don’t get the opportunity to display our “final drafts” of who we are on a daily basis. We live our lives in draft mode, battling that balance in full view to find those rare moments of tranquility as a result of our hard work to find that balance. Understanding that we are all in “draft mode” striving for that balance, that tranquility, might make us all a little more aware that our friends and loved ones (and even those we struggle with) are not too different from who we are.

We’re all just trying to get it right. We’re all looking for that moment that takes our breath away.

Let’s help each other breathe, so that we may enjoy the tranquility of being breathless.

One of the first things I did upon returning home was to re-read Lisa Knopp’s essay, “Braided,” from her book, The Nature of Home: A Lexicon of Essays.* In the essay, she writes of her braided hair (down to her waist) and compares its braiding (loose or tight) to the central Platte (winding through Colorado, Wyoming, and Nebraska) as well as to the plurality of God, most traditionally in the form of the trinity. Knopp points out that braids, in any form, must be balanced and appreciated for their overall effect. Break it down into individual strands of hair, and suddenly the effect is lost. The balance of the braid, as well, is equally important.

She writes that the central Platte, once balanced well for its braids of water, life, and land, has been thrown out of balance, and the damage has been significant.

According to Knopp, in the 1990′s, the Platte’s braid loosened due to manipulation for “flood control, power generation, and the growing urban centers that demand water for showers, dishwashers, washing machines, green lawns, and golf courses.”  Man’s contribution was detrimental to the nicely woven braid that nature had made for many hundreds of years.

A once-thriving place for migratory birds was now an overgrown forest with nothing more than a creek running through it.

Knopp states: “[Migratory birds] prefer broad channels and shallow water because they are protected from such nighttime predeators as coyotes, dogs, and foxes and not so long ago, wolves and cougars. They prefer wet meadows to woodlands because of the greater food supply. If the river becomes too loosely braided, more land than water, more trees than light, the birds will go elsewhere–though I don’t know where that might be.”

The very same thing happens to us in our own lives, doesn’t it? We get too stressed about one aspect of a project or aspect of our lives, and it throws everything else out of balance. A bad day at work can derail even the best of us, when we think that what we need to reset ourselves is a moment of indulgence–food, drink, maybe even a new outfit. After all, we deserve it. But too many bad days at work means too much of that compensation; you gain weight, you become too dependent on alcohol, or you start missing bill payments because you’re spending too much on those new clothes or electronic gadgets.

Thank goodness that the weave of Life, Love, and Home is not centered geographically for us, as we might believe. Coming back from Ocean City yesterday, I realized that I’m in control of how tightly weaved my braid is–a braid that I take with me as if it were literally flowing down my back. My attitude toward my projects is not geographical at all; in fact, our beliefs need to transcend the notion that their success lies within the physical boundaries of a workspace. The challenges we face are not the variables; what we bring to them are. With these three refreshed (life, love, and home), I am ready to handle the challenges that await, one at a time, and allow each of them to resolve in a wonderful new light.

*Lisa was one of my mentors in grad school (Goucher College, Master of Fine Arts Program in creative nonfiction) and lives in Lincoln, Nebraska. She, like all of my other mentors at Goucher, was patient, inspiring, and supportive with my writing.

I know that, for each of us, the title of this post means something a little different.

And I am sure, as well, that nearly immediately after reading the title, you thought a little to yourself what that means: Returning home.

For me, I did that yesterday morning, just a little after sunrise, on the NCR Trail (now dubbed the TCB Trail officially, but that’s probably the last time you’ll ever see or hear me refer to it that way), in northern Baltimore County.

I have always felt a great affinity for the woods, the shore line, the mountains. And it doesn’t take much immersion for me to feel like I have returned home to a place that is both as natural and comforting to me as any childhood dwelling might be for others.

I am at greatest peace, and feel my strongest, when surrounded by nature.

To those of you who know me, it is my Querencia.

First, the history, then yesterday’s ride.

I spent more than half of my childhood days in the outdoors. At just six months, I was tenting all over the region with my parents and older sister (I’m not sure if any of my brothers were still camping with us when I started; they were all in their teens when I was born). My parents had a few favorite spots they would go to when I was older, like Morris Meadows, Gettysburg, Harper’s Ferry, Cape Henelopen, and various places along the Susquehanna in Pennsylvania. We also stayed close to parks along the Chesapeake as well as the Appalachian Trail.

Life didn’t change much when we got rid of the tent and started using a truck camper. These were the memories with my sister that I will treasure forever. It seemed like there was never enough to do once we arrived at the campground: fishing, swimming, community center, miniature golf, hiking, and meeting and reuniting with camping friends.

The pit fires in the evening were nearly spiritual, as we all stared into the flames, sharing stories and just absorbing the moments, both personally and together. There’s something about the campfire that transcends most other community experiences. The silence, broken at times by the crackle of the fire, is reverent. You just can’t get that in front of a television or computer, no matter what might be airing.

As I got older, I started camping on my own, taking hikes still along the Chesapeake and the Appalachian Trail, communing with nature with close friends as we day-tripped or sojourned for three days or more, immersed in all that was natural, peaceful.

Along the trail or on the shores, I always felt like I understood my place in this world, where I remembered that I was never greater than all that surrounded me. Having this respect, this reverence, was a wonderfully humbling experience that I was able to hold on to when I was back on concrete walks and in man-made buildings.

That’s how I knew–and still know–that my true home, my querencia, is in the woods, along the trail, and on the shores. For it is here that I am most spiritual and cognizant of my place in this world.

Yesterday morning, I went for a short, 8-mile ride, and I felt that spirituality again, that calling to return home. The call is so great in my heart today, and I am scrambling, looking for the time to get back there.

Immersing myself in nature is a constant for me. It’s something that is as natural as breathing, and when I make the effort to shift a few of my priorities and return to the woods, I find that the rest of my life falls into place simply and without effort.

I’ll do everything I can to keep centered in this, to thread the experiences close enough together so that my return home is not a a day-trip reunion but a longer walk, a thru-hike through life, that helps me handle the day-to-day stresses along those concrete walks and in man-made buildings. . . .

Yesterday, I learned that my inner critic (aka the judge, the censor, the watcher-at-the-gates…we all have one) feasts off of my emotions and seizes each and every opportunity to lash out against me when it senses the slightest instability in my emotions or in my wellness. I actually heard my critic launching its barrage of insults yesterday afternoon when I felt a little stuffed from a magnificent lunch.

The critic started in about my weight, how nobody could respect somebody so out of shape. It quickly followed with an onslaught of “who do you think you are” attacks, and within a minute or two, I started doubting my abilities as a writer, as a father, as a human being.

Crazy!

I stopped that critic in mid-attack, slammed on the mental breaks, and started laughing at the realization of how much control I’ve given to the inner critic. For years–maybe even my whole life, I have allowed that critic to persuade me that I am incapable of doing some of the things that I set out to do.

What’s most crazy about this is that I teach my writing students about the inner critic and how it can stop you from being a better writer. But what I realized yesterday is that the inner critic does not limit itself to attacking my writing (this I have known for years); my inner critic is, well, unbiased when it comes to matters worth judging. Apparently, every aspect of who I am is fair game.

Or should I say….was fair game.

After that brief but powerful epiphany yesterday, I feel more empowered than ever to reach my goals. Traditionally, I would have had a relapse (such a loaded word, but I think appropriate here) and would have had to rebalance myself in other ways (diet, writing, exercise). But just recognizing the inner critic and sending it away (realizing its existence was more than enough to send it off, scowling) was enough to resume my focus for my writing, my teaching, my living.

I often cite this quote (it’s one of my favorites) from Henry David Thoreau. But when I do, I  apply it to others and the ways in which they let the smallest things in life slow them down:

“Let us spend one day as deliberately as Nature, and not be thrown off the track by every nutshell and mosquito’s wing that falls on the rails.”

I imagine my critic sitting in a tree above me, tossing little nutshells and mosquito wings in my path, watching me be bothered and derailed so easily. It’s nice to know that, now in my life as much as in my writing, I’ve got my critic under my control, and I won’t be so quick to let it invade my focus or my emotions.

Give It A Try…

Take a moment and think about who the critic is within you. How often does it make an appearance and try to derail you and take you away from success? Where are the cracks in your armor that it seeks out? Write about those weaknesses and then, with the utmost authority, draft a letter to your critic, informing it that you are now in control, and it will be summoned when you need it, and not a minute more.