Those of you that have been around a while know Cous-cous. We adopted him from PAWS. Paul and I wanted to pick out a pair of cats. We had already picked out the friendly, satiny black cat named Simon. He was an easy pick. He looked like the big brother to our kitten, Fabu, who died only 3 months earlier. He seemed to be waiting for us. We walked in to the room of cats waiting to be adopted. On a wall of cages, in the middle of the bottom row was a beautiful black cat pressing against cage reaching his paw out between the bars. We reached down and scritched his jet black head and were sold.One cat down, one more to go. It became obvious that finding the second one wasn’t going to be as easy. We were beginning to think maybe we were only meant to bring home the black beauty. One of the shelter volunteers heard us talking and piped up. She brought us to a cage on the side wall - the last one on the right. Inside, in a tight little striped silver grey ball, was Luther. A 9 month old domestic short hair. He was exhausted from a day of being held and played with. The volunteer shared with us that he was a sweet and affectionate young cat. And we had our two new furry family members.

Fast forward 11+ years…

This morning I filled out a two page cat release form and faxed it to PAWS. After trying everything (and I mean everything) - we haven’t been able to get Cous to stop scenting. He’s destroyed carpets, furniture and clothes. We’ve been working with him for 5+ years. My parents, who we share our home with, have been incredibly gracious. They’ve understood how much he means to us and that we didn’t want to have to give him up. As gracious as they’ve been, we’ve been too willing to take them up on it. We should have done something before now. I kept hoping something would change and Cous would quit. As further proof that this wasn’t going to happen… this afternoon, right after I sent the fax, I discovered he had scented on a pillow that had fallen off my side of the bed.

There’s a very real chance that PAWS will determine that he isn’t adoptable and decline to take him. I’ve tried other shelters, sanctuaries and tried to find individuals myself who might be willing to take a chance on him. I think he would probably be fine as the only cat in a home - but I have no guarantee of that. Therein lies the hitch.

I can’t express how much I hate being in this situation.

In the middle of everything, there is laughter, sunshine, beauty and grace. Her name is Amira. My lovely gorgeous girl.

I know queaze, as in queazy, isn’t a word. It should be. I have a distinct queaze factor going on in my life right now.

Paul and I just had our 13th anniversary on the 25th. As chance would have it, our 13th year was the hardest year we’ve had yet. Not just together, but as individuals (double whammy). Paul is trying to keep his equilibrium in the middle of running his freelance business, co-creating (he has 3 partners) and riding the roller coaster of building a promising start-up, being a part-time worship leader at our church, and somewhere in there being a Daddy (which he does a kick-ass job at) and husband. Where one’s personal equilibrium can be found when spun in the middle of this kind of hurricane is beyond me. He’s managed it successfully enough to keep on keeping on. I pray to God everyday that his courage and perseverance will be rewarded. In the face of my own fear, I have faith that it will be.

At the same time, we are at the scariest point we have ever been personally and financially. We are far enough behind that I’m not sure how we will catch up. Our once healthy credit rating is slipping away from us like a greased pig. We aren’t catching it and we are getting bruised and dirty trying.

I’ve been taking care of Amira and not working. I’ve been lightly working at my business as an independent marketing exec for Melaleuca. I haven’t treated it like a job, and so it makes sense I’m paid each month only very lightly. Paul & I discussed a couple of days ago that I need to be bringing in an income. We can’t keep hemorrhaging like we are. There’s a point, not too far away, that we won’t be able to recover from.

I’ve been creating a list of things that I can do to earn money but that will allow me to stay at home with Amira. A few ideas include web design, painting, submitting articles for magazine publication, etc. I told Dana yesterday in our coaching call that I’d make a list of as many ideas as I could think of. I’m working on that today.

Back to the queaze factor. My stomach is off. It’s not butterflies. It’s that feeling like something is in your stomach that doesn’t belong and your body is considering an eviction notice. It’s not just our finances that have me unnerved. It’s me. I’m afraid I’m not a woman of mettle.

A prayer I found online:

My Lord God, through whom strength is made perfect in weakness, I pray to you, give me the strength I need.

You have said, that to your children who have no might, you will increase strength. I am weak. Bless me with a measure of strength, as may be sufficient for me.

When I am tempted by evil, deliver me, by granting me the power to overcome it. When my daily work is too hard for me, give me the strength to be able to do it.

If my burden oppresses me beyond my bearing, lighten my load, that my strength may be equal to it.

You have helped many, I beg you to help me.

Thank you my Lord.

Rereading this, I’m afraid this post is too melodramatic and maudlin. But, it remains because it’s honest to how I feel.

Forgive my ramblings these days… I feel compelled to let my thoughts spill out and fall where they may. As you read them, keep the perspective that I am happy, loved, and live an incredibly blessed life. I really do. If anything, reading my errant and self-indulgent thoughts will give you insight into how different the landscape of the mind can be from reality. Reality is that life isn’t perfect and there are always things to learn, ways to grow and challenges to meet and goals to achieve.

The question that comes up for me… is there value in spewing the monkey-mind detritus that churns in my mind on a daily basis? In my coaching call with Dana yesterday, she suggested that giving attention and talking about these kinds of thoughts only magnifies and gives them credibility. I can see this argument. I’ve also heard that speaking your fears can take their power from them. I’ve experienced that before too.

I talked with Paul and later Dana about my wanting to take a break from coaching. In talking with them, I could see that I made the decision within the swirl-whirl of my own head. As I was sharing with them and they with me, I was amazed at the amount of time I spend in my own head and ergo in my own world. The thing is… my world isn’t the real world.

How much of the time do you connect with how much what you do impacts those around you? Me, not so much. That was the biggest lesson I took out of this episode.

More later…

A dear friend of mine, Dana Roc, has coached me for close to 4 years now.  She’s incredible and is a great coach.  I wish I could say I’m a great coachee.  I’m not.  In response to an email that she sent me to schedule a date/time for our regular coaching call, I replied to her and told her that I wanted to take a hiatus from coaching.  I’ve been thinking about it for a while.  It comes down to this.  It’s not fair to take her time and investment in me.  If I’m not going to be coachable and am unwilling and resistant to do what she coaches me to do - the obvious decision was, to me, to not go threw the motions.

She emailed me back upset that I made this decision without having a conversation with her first.  She was also not okay with the fact that I emailed it.

It didn’t dawn on me that it was the wrong way to go about it.  I didn’t even think about it.  I use email as a communication tool far too easily and often.  I’m very comfortable on email.  As it turns out, too comfortable.  I don’t think of it this way, but I’ve been told (by Dana for one…) that I hide behind email.  Like I said, I don’t think of it that way and yet I can see their point.

I am in hiding 85% of my life.  I hide behind email, behind my commitment to care for Amira, behind whatever I can find to hide behind.  I’m not willing to do what I’ve been coached and challenged to do because it calls me out into the open.  Out in the open is exactly that.  Exposing and vulnerable.

I called her (ended up not catching her in) and left her a message apologizing.  We haven’t connected up yet and probably will tomorrow.

Amira is a two year old. I remember looking at toddlers when Amira was an infant and thinking she’d never be that age. Yet, here she is. And I see other moms with infants look at Amira with those same thoughts that I had.

I want to write every last detail down of who she is. A snapshot. I can’t. I need high-speed film and a couple albums filled with pictures. I’m amazed at how much there is to a two year old. She’s not simple. She’s only two and there are already layers and nuances to her personality. That, I didn’t expect.

That’s a meaningless thing to say. I didn’t expect a single thing that Amira is. She left my expectations and suppositions right next to the best laid plans. And that’s a good thing. Great, even.

Those of you trying to check in on me at JaneceMoment.com - I’ve teleported you from there to here.

My JaneceMoment.com WP blog was moved to a new server and the WP version I was using didn’t work on it. I haven’t been able to upgrade it - so my blog has sat deathly still for weeks now.

Welcome to my temporary online home until I figure out what I want to do.

Countless times, I sit down to write and each and every time, I clam up. I picture the faces of people I know and am sure that when I reveal myself the horrible will happen. The definition of horrible changes with each face I see.

There are moments when I know that I am not who I want or wish to be. In those moments, I wonder just what it is I’m protecting by not writing, by not being authentic and exposed. The funny thing? I don’t really have deep or dark secrets. It’s not like I have a life that I love without reservation to protect. So just what am I trying to protect?

This all seems pretty ludicrous right this moment. I can promise you though, in just a split second from now, I’ll see the faces again. The question is, if I’m not excited about my life living it the way I am - what do I have to lose to try something new? It could get worse, my mind says. Yeah, it could. Although, that might not be such a bad thing.

I have been blogging for quite a few years now. And, I’ve always felt inhibited and censored. I know it’s my own doing and still I edit and omit. I haven’t had the courage to speak what is there for me. As I write, I see the faces of readers that I know are out there. And I fall silent.

This blog is for me - to practice speaking my voice without fear.

Come by and visit - interact and reply - I’m interested in having you be a part of my place.

People only see what they are prepared to see.

Ralph Waldo Emerson