Saturday marked my 26th birthday--a number that takes me completely out of childhood and places me into the unforgiving, merciless world of adulthood (okay--it's not really that bad). As I look back at my life over the last 26 years, I realize just how blessed I have been and am to be living such a full, exciting and peaceful life. At 26, I'm working a dream job in the heart of our nation's capitol, surrounded by amazing coworkers and thoughtful, kind friends. It's true, I never imagined myself living this life in this place, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.
What I can never--and will never--forget is the fact that I did not get here on my own. Sure, hard work is essential to any success, but so is nurturing, caring knowledge and guidance from those who have gone before. This blog is dedicated to those who have so profoundly impacted my life; you know who you are.
The foundation for my life began at home, around a kitchen table that included thoughtful, provocative conversation from two dedicated, intelligent, loving parents. That base was strengthened by hardworking, sincere teachers who saw my potential and encouraged me to blossom in my own time and way. Today, the foundation of my life is strong, steady and overflowing with love thanks to multitude of people who have touched my heart in so many ways. From my kumu hula, Gina, the woman who patiently taught me that even a haole girl from Nebraska can be a beautiful hula dancer to Molly, the very best friend a girl could ask for, who's always there when I need a shoulder to cry on or have a laugh to be shared, I wouldn't be who I am without you.
But as much as these precious people have touched my life, there is one who continues to fill my inner being with grace, calmness, beauty and love that is beyond measure. I can undoubtedly say that at 26, the most important person in my life is the rock-solid partner who sees me and loves me for who I am and who I want to be. The connection we share makes me feel whole. It is as passionate as it is natural. It is beautiful and it is strong. The person I speak of is, of course, Cliff--ku'u kane. My sweet pea. My baby. Thank you for making life worth living. Nou 'oe, keia makana: a pau ko'u aloha. [For you, this gift: all my love].
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Back to Basics: The Healing Power of Touch
On a day when I'm feeling particularly stressed, I find it so important to take a step back, reflect, and reconnect with the natural world: no cell phones, no computers, no television, radios or other electronics. Just me and untouched, unspoiled, natural elements. I believe that feeling, finding, and keeping a connection with our Mother Earth grounds the mind, rejuvenates the body and cleanses the soul. Finding that connection is also a reminder that, despite all of our major modern advances, our synthetic creations, processed foods and motorized vehicles, we are still natural beings living, breathing, working and eating in, what is--under all that concrete and below all those skyscrapers--a natural world.
The natural world is simple, yet powerful, and one that, due to our own self-absorbedness, humans (especially those in Western societies) continually overlook. It never ceases to amaze me that, in a day in age where technological advancements are second nature, where new is best, and time is of the essence, the most powerful elements in life continue to be those that are most natural. Case in point: the healing power of touch.
A recent CNN.com article outlines all the ways in which touch--simple skin-to-skin or, in some cases, skin-to-fur contact--make us happy, healthy, and content. For hundreds of years the scientific and medical communities have touted the healing power of massage, which is know to release endorphins, cleanse the body of toxins and invigorate the immune system. The concept of touch as a healing art is one that humans are well aware--we are, after all, social creatures who crave interaction with others. But the fact that something as antiquated as hand holding can reduce stress and lower heart rates shows that no matter how hard we try to separate ourselves from the days of uncultivated civilization, we can never completely remove ourselves from natural elements.
I must give a shout out here to my good friend Nicky Haga and her husband, Ben, who have chosen to live a pre-industrial revolution lifestyle. Like many, I've followed their exploits via their blog, The Habit of Being, and often find myself intrigued by the almost magical romance of a life lived completely in tune with nature. Granted, while full submersion into an all-natural lifestyle may be difficult for many, there certainly are ways to incorporate the natural world into every-day life. It just so happens that touch--and lots of it--is a perfect way to do just that.
Here's to handholding, hugging and a little hot stone therapy.
For more information on massage and its healing benefits, visit:
http://www.massagetherapy.com/
www.massageenvy.com/benefits-of-massage-therapy.aspx
http://www.massageehealththerapy.com/
The natural world is simple, yet powerful, and one that, due to our own self-absorbedness, humans (especially those in Western societies) continually overlook. It never ceases to amaze me that, in a day in age where technological advancements are second nature, where new is best, and time is of the essence, the most powerful elements in life continue to be those that are most natural. Case in point: the healing power of touch.
A recent CNN.com article outlines all the ways in which touch--simple skin-to-skin or, in some cases, skin-to-fur contact--make us happy, healthy, and content. For hundreds of years the scientific and medical communities have touted the healing power of massage, which is know to release endorphins, cleanse the body of toxins and invigorate the immune system. The concept of touch as a healing art is one that humans are well aware--we are, after all, social creatures who crave interaction with others. But the fact that something as antiquated as hand holding can reduce stress and lower heart rates shows that no matter how hard we try to separate ourselves from the days of uncultivated civilization, we can never completely remove ourselves from natural elements.
I must give a shout out here to my good friend Nicky Haga and her husband, Ben, who have chosen to live a pre-industrial revolution lifestyle. Like many, I've followed their exploits via their blog, The Habit of Being, and often find myself intrigued by the almost magical romance of a life lived completely in tune with nature. Granted, while full submersion into an all-natural lifestyle may be difficult for many, there certainly are ways to incorporate the natural world into every-day life. It just so happens that touch--and lots of it--is a perfect way to do just that.
Here's to handholding, hugging and a little hot stone therapy.
For more information on massage and its healing benefits, visit:
http://www.massagetherapy.com/
www.massageenvy.com/benefits-of-massage-therapy.aspx
http://www.massageehealththerapy.com/
Monday, January 3, 2011
Homeward Bound
In middle school a seed was planted in my brain about home and its meaning. Granted, home can be anywhere, but in this particular case the presenters asked, what would you do if your home--a place of comfort and love--became your enemy? They used road kill to express their ideas. Today, this idea can be expanded to the war-torn countries of Iraq or Afghanistan, or, on this third day of 2011, the Ivory Coast. Regardless of whether home is dangerous or safe, the idea of the physical, mental, and emotional search for home made a deep impact. In my short life I've lived in four towns and have always tried to find my connection to home and what home means.
In this, my first blog entry, I will explore the meaning of home in the places I’ve lived and am currently living. And although this is my first entry exploring the meaning of home, I doubt it will be my last.
Lincoln
Lincoln
The place where I grew up, Lincoln to me will always mean and be family, friends, school, and childhood. It is a tostada from Taco Inn waiting to be devoured, a Saturday mother-daughter shopping trip, a skylight in the kitchen, dogs at your feet, and a blue, 1993 Ford Ranger in the driveway. Lincoln is a budding metropolis on the high plains exploding with leisurely activity. It was, for the first 18 years of my life, all that I knew and all that I wanted to know, where friends are abundant and life is easy. Calm, quiet, nestled, its uptown is non-existent and its downtown is a mixture of hayseeds, college students, and families. Lincoln is Big Red Nation, the unicameral, O Street, Jazz in June, fireflies on a sultry summer night, and, as far as I’m concerned, an undiscovered gem in the treasure-trove that is the United States.
Wayne
Home to Wayne State College, my first love, and my first taste of freedom, Wayne will always hold a special place in my heart. It was here where naps at 2 in the afternoon on a honey-colored bunk bed frame came easily and homework was downright painful. Where a cowboy in a large, cream-colored bucket hat could be found roaming the halls of the humanities building, no doubt inspiring my roommate with his Western-leaning poetry and proverbs. Where I first got a taste of rural life and believed that with a little hard work, I could save the world.
Aurora
Just the name itself—Aurora—makes me take pause. Aurora. A magical land with fascinating people who, in the just the year that I knew them, impressed upon me the meaning of friendship, love, good food and good wine. I fully believe that one could search the world three fold never find a community as uniquely wonderful as A-Town. It was here that I held my first job out of college (a major milestone) but more importantly, where I was mentored a small group of artists who dedicated themselves to their talents, their community and each other. For me, Aurora will always be a vibrant, blue art gallery in the basement of an old, German church, a coffee shop that welcomes the world, and a place where Normal Rockwell whispers to you through the trees in the town square.
DC
I’ve lived in DC for just over two years now and in that time, have been unable to capture the feeling or essence of home. Home here seems to be an idea that is fleeting and elusive—something just beyond grasp, almost mythical in nature. I find myself so often wondering why. Is it because DC is such a big city (5.3 million) compared to other places I’ve lived? Is it because DC is so far removed physically, ideologically, historically, and geographically from the only other place I’ve known? Perhaps it has something to do with my Midwest upbringing; after all, I still find myself in bed at night wondering is this great, fantastic adventure really my life? Or is it because of the unique culture of DC, which happened to be the focus of the Kojo Nnamdi show on npr today?
The fact of the matter is DC is home to two kinds of people: permanent residents and a transient population. There is no doubt about it—a transient culture is more prevalent and present here than, perhaps in any other place on earth. Made up of college interns, snotty prep-school kids, homeless folks just moving through, and those like me—foreigners looking for opportunity and the promise of a better life—the faces of DC are constantly fluctuating, like the current in a babbling brook. And while this transient population is a characteristic that makes DC unique, the constantly-fluctuating population makes the search for friends, neighbors, and community difficult. How long I’ll live here I know not. What I do know is that the quest for home will probably be on-going throughout my tenure in our Nation’s Capital. That’s not to say that I haven’t dug in some roots here. DC has become my umbrella for labor activism, hula and Hawai’ian culture, and ethnic cuisine. I can already assure you that who I am at this very moment would not be possible were in not for the impacts this city and its people—transient or not—have had upon me. But, does that mean DC is my home?
I’ve lived in DC for just over two years now and in that time, have been unable to capture the feeling or essence of home. Home here seems to be an idea that is fleeting and elusive—something just beyond grasp, almost mythical in nature. I find myself so often wondering why. Is it because DC is such a big city (5.3 million) compared to other places I’ve lived? Is it because DC is so far removed physically, ideologically, historically, and geographically from the only other place I’ve known? Perhaps it has something to do with my Midwest upbringing; after all, I still find myself in bed at night wondering is this great, fantastic adventure really my life? Or is it because of the unique culture of DC, which happened to be the focus of the Kojo Nnamdi show on npr today?
The fact of the matter is DC is home to two kinds of people: permanent residents and a transient population. There is no doubt about it—a transient culture is more prevalent and present here than, perhaps in any other place on earth. Made up of college interns, snotty prep-school kids, homeless folks just moving through, and those like me—foreigners looking for opportunity and the promise of a better life—the faces of DC are constantly fluctuating, like the current in a babbling brook. And while this transient population is a characteristic that makes DC unique, the constantly-fluctuating population makes the search for friends, neighbors, and community difficult. How long I’ll live here I know not. What I do know is that the quest for home will probably be on-going throughout my tenure in our Nation’s Capital. That’s not to say that I haven’t dug in some roots here. DC has become my umbrella for labor activism, hula and Hawai’ian culture, and ethnic cuisine. I can already assure you that who I am at this very moment would not be possible were in not for the impacts this city and its people—transient or not—have had upon me. But, does that mean DC is my home?
The only real answer to that question and the others I’ve posed here is simple. Home is and where you make it. For me, home will always be a beautiful sunset on a crisp, clear fall Nebraska day. Home will always be a summertime midday kitty parade down a rural gravel lane, where your friends are the sweet smell of alfalfa and the vibrant, green bean field that kisses a blue sky. Home will always be a brick, ranch home that sits on the south side of a whimsically-named road in a middleclass Midwestern neighborhood. And home will always be the strong, firm, but comfortingly gentle grip of Cliff's hand in mine. Need I say it? Maybe home really is where the heart lies.
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