Learning the Gentler Lifestyle ~ Dave

Learning the Gentler Lifestyle ~ Dave

           For over a year I have lived in a small 7’-6” x 20’, 150 sqft. shipping container on an acre of land. Prior to moving to my container I had a spacious 3 bedroom condo, a 10,000 sqft. warehouse and 1 acre of land. Two years ago, on this day Jan. 10, I lost it all in a sheriff’s raid (except my one acre) and although this painful catastrophe was difficult to work through, today I am grateful for my loss as it reset my lifestyle and rebooted my psyche on a path of gentler healthier living.

           Rewiring my brain from a lifestyle of financial spoil (having whatever I wanted) in my larger comfortable home, to a lifestyle of constant organization and minimalist living in my small steel box, has been a struggle and a joy as I agonized (and still do) over letting go of emotional attachments and a large volume of physical stuff that overwhelmed my environment. Suddenly I didn't need so much furniture, suddenly I didn't need so many cloths, 4 bicycles, a computer in every room and a 52” plasma TV; rather I needed the right furniture and the right clothing that fit in with my smaller living arrangement.

           The psychology of living in a large space is different than the psychology of living in a “Tiny Home”. Small home psychology has forced me to be poignantly aware of how one relates to the square footage one resides in and has helped me to contemplate sustainable architecture and how we interact with our surroundings; versus when living in a larger home with enough space to just throw stuff around the house, my environment didn't matter because there was always enough space to live large, stock pile stuff, and have junk everywhere! Living in a small space with less possessions has been difficult, but it has also caused me to practice better personal habits and live more gently.

What Did I Learn?

My coach said, "I've worked with you for nearly ten years. You were very different when we started. You took on the Home of the Future project to learn something. What is it? What was so important? What did doing this teach you?"

In the space of two heartbeats, I recalled who I'd been, who I became as I tried so hard to fit into the life I'd arranged up until then; I recalled the changes wrought in me through yoga and meditation, through my permaculture class, through buying and living in this home in this cohousing community; I recalled what I'd put my family through, the sacrifices they made and continue to make; I recalled the gifts of the Spirit and companionship that have been bestowed upon me; I recalled the various housemates and meetings and challenges and celebrations and conversations and healings I witnessed and participated in; I recalled the children I'd played with, the women I'd loved, the men who befriended me...

A lump rose in my throat.

"I learned that I'm 'Dad.' Not some autocratic figure, but 'Abba;' nurturer, holder of space, appreciator of what is and what is becoming; teacher, student, facilitator; the bringer of something to the planet that didn't exist until I called it into being with the help and inspiration of those people around me."

"That's huge," she said.

Back into Foreclosure

I was very depleted after five years of so much effort to manifest the Home of the Future. I took a break. Last week I decided to come off break. I made a list of pros and cons regarding making the effort to keep this project going in this incarnation, and what actions I would need to take in order to sustain it.

The pros outnumber and outweigh the cons.

As if to reward me for pulling my head out of my navel, I got a Notice of Trustee Sale taped to my front door yesterday. The timeline is super short; December 13th. I'll call the bank and see what's up.

I'm in a pretty good mood about it. I really feel God's love and support. The "right" thing is going to be the thing that happens. The right thing is already happening. I'm feeling His presence within me. With Him as my center, my heart, my shelter, my shield, whatever happens out in the world cannot undo me.

Litho-capture

This journey towards true sustainability has taken some big twists and turns. I've learned I feel sustainable when powerfully supported by other people. Yet when those relationships fall away, where is my sustenance?

Just this past weekend during a Reiki session I found a connection to my own rootedness that is brand new to me. I've ached for it since birth, and sought to fill it with so many diversions and delusions.

I've been pinwheeling out over the chasm for so long, Wile E. Coyote-style...

It feels good to let the earth rush up to enfold me.

Not sleeping

I'm not sleeping much.

I've a rash that itches and pinches by turns.

After more than three years of amazing experiences growing the Home of the Future, my family simply cannot afford the loan payments. We were in the loan modification program for six months and were finally denied (just after the banks paid all the bail-out money back).

So we are short-selling the house. No guarantees there either; many banks are getting in to the real estate business by foreclosing and holding properties, in some cases even renting them back to the homeowner for about the cost of the mortgage payment.

Wacky times.

I have mad coping skills: yoga, Netflix Instant Watch®, breathing, receiving chiropractic, meditating, hiking, or driving down the freeway screaming for a few minutes. None of these are sufficient to overcome the multiple stressors in my life right now.

Short selling the house is just one source of stress. But it's pretty much the final straw.

I am being powerfully supported by the community. Even Karl and Nini came over to help clean up the place so we could show it. Friends are helping and family is supportive. My mom wishes there was something she could do, so she prays.

I am so full of grace and prayer that sleep is almost not necessary. Some nights I get two hours; some nights four. and I might be a bit groggy during the day but I'm moderately functional. Then as I lie down the fluids shift and the itching starts.

We are receiving a huge amount of interest in the home. I am receiving constant whisperings from God that He loves me and will provide for me and my family's needs. His power and steadfastness are being demonstrated over and again. I have every confidence that His plan is grander and better than anything I can develop. My job is to show up and say yes.

I do wish He'd do something about this rash so it was easier for me to sleep, though.

End of the Year

I'm doing some hard, internal work right now. My trust is that I'm uncovering a new depth and commitment and capacity to work for sustainability.

Tired

After a couple of months away from the blog, I find my skills rusted. Where will I find that delicious pithiness, that juxtaposition of hope with reality, or merely a well-turned phrase, sparking an "aha!" for my visitors?

The thing of it is, I am tired.

There's a concept known as "cosmic timing." It's being the right person in the right place at the right time with the right skills, and you get swept along into the great rushing river of Success.

I see people expending less effort than I expend and they achieve better stability, better financial success, better familial harmony... sure, most of them are blind to the effects of a consumptive lifestyle on the opportunity for others, but is that what it takes? Is that what Abundance demands of her disciples?

Where is my ease?

Where do I yet sabotage myself?

Frontlines of Permaculture

This is not the frontline I want to be on.

I do not want to live where gunmen kill, and fleeing authorities, slam through busy intersections killing more people.

I do not want to hear sirens passing, heralding another violent tragedy.

I do not want a helicopter bristling machine guns circling a point just a few blocks from my home, pounding away the peace of twilight with its thwop-thwop-thwop and pushing back the night with its searchlight.

I want to live at the frontline of unmaking the system that has institutionalized classism, ableism, sexism, globalism, and whatever "ism" stands in the way of people treating each other humanely. I want to live at the frontline of spreading seeds of future greatness, of future opportunity, of future abundance. I do not want to live at the frontline of this urban violence.

And yet, I do live here.

People are dying by violence in Pakistan, in Gaza, in Darfur, in Sri Lanka... and in Berkeley and Oakland. Caitlan notes the irony of requiring an illiterate parolee to fill out and mail a postcard to the parole officer who tracks addresses; Betsy notes the lack of choices available to low-wage earning parents with children enrolled in public schools that are failing under the "No Child Left Behind" program; my black neighbor struggles to distance himself from the black thug that sometimes roams our street, to create for himself a future where "black" does not equal "criminal."

In permaculture, there is no away. You cannot throw trash away, because the whole world is your backyard. I submit that in urban permaculture, we are all on the frontline. There is no place you can "escape" to, because the problems are all around us. The problems belong to all of us.

We've made our street safer, through diligence and connecting with neighbors who value working together, through parties and food and sitting in each other's yards. Prejudice is not vanquished, but there is grace and tolerance here. We have yet to take on a larger task, such as ensuring children in the area get access to fresh produce, or that parents in the area have energy left to attend parent's night at school after an emotionally wearying workday. Were I to live in a place removed from violence, would I be safer? Or simply less at risk? What use is my mortal life if I've forsaken the task and destiny of my immortal soul? Am I allowed to risk my children? What choice does a parent in a refugee camp have? What choice do I have? What is my choice?

I'll choose to see that I am at the frontline. Of Oakland violence. Of Sri Lankan violence. There is no away. There is no shirking from choosing to help. This permaculture, intentional community, food justice and opportunity for all demonstration project that I am part of, is what I am doing and will continue to do. It's small. It's slow. But it is change.

Small. Slow.

Change.

Living in a Venn World

Dear God,

I love You for your irony. Over and again, You tighten the circles of my worlds around me. This is Your answer to my prayers? To make my world smaller and more interconnected and richer? Or am I being squeezed out of life altogether, superfluous to the flow?

In 2009, Lord, grow me a larger set of relationship spheres, and continue to bring me into harmony with all my loved ones.

Amen.

Many Hands

I noticed today that I finally (finally!) feel like I'm part of a community. This community. Today I don't feel like I'm at the apex of "Who's in charge around here" (otherwise known as Who Can I Complain To) nor at the nadir of "Who wants to go play?" (or Who Other Than Bob Wants to Go to San Francisco and Party All Night). An avalanche of small things added up and I simply toggled.

Xena and Betsy laughing in the kitchen.
Karl and Aaron taking on constructing the first six feet of french drain.
Xena making two crockpot cook-ahead meals for the coming week.
Nicholas making cookies.
Little girls running underfoot.
Trying to get a haircut from Jess.
Jess and Betsy running around the lake together.
Nini showing off the markings Crafty Girl applied to her flesh "so the fairies will recognize me."
Having help to install toilets.
Sitting down to yet another delicious meal, this one cooked by Kevin.
Borrowing Karl's wonderful power tools without asking.
Tim asking how things were going.
Jori coming home early from work.
Betsy asking me to keep an eye on the bus as it aired out after she cleaned it.
Liz setting up movie night under the willow, and all I had to do was provide speakers.
Getting a "Hi, I haven't seen you in a while" hug from Christine.
Xena and Karl reviewing all the projects around here and discussing possible schedules.
Nini rubbing her pregnant belly.
Harvesting tomatoes with Karl. In November. And eating them.
Chickens scratching in the yard.
Karl and I talking about sharing cars . And bicycles.
Liz and Nini plotting how to have a Freedom School here.
Karl and Aaron reviewing the vegie oil settling tanks.
Aaron trading me a drinking-water quality barrel for a vegie-oil quality barrel.
Hanging out in Nini's café waiting for dinner to be ready.
Xena buying me beer.

Such a glorious life I am blessed with.

Root Canal Release

Ah, the marvels of tooth care.

More than a dozen years ago, my dentist sold his practice and the new guy didn't do such a great job. He used the new (at the time) resin fillings, and they really weren't very good yet (my amalgam fillings are thirty+ years old and doing fine). The resin fillings broke down, decay set in, and I've just completed a pair of root canals.

Yippee.

I worked hard to not need those root canals; I got the fillings replaced (but not in time), I did a bunch of visualization (yet I could feel the Universe sending me the "No, you've got to go to the endodontist" message), I took Chinese herbs and had acupuncture (which probably helped keep the infection down). All of these alternate treatment modes did help postpone the inevitable, and if I wanted to lose my teeth they were fine therapies.

I've been in chronic pain since... oh, perhaps July.

I've got the new job, I've got my design business ramped back down to hobby status, I've initiated construction projects around the home, and it just feels good to take care of this problem. Like most people, having someone else root around in my mouth is about the last thing on my list of how I want to spend time (I suppose open-mouth kissing is an entirely different category, since I do want more of that).

I explored my hesitation about the procedure and realized it was the lack of control of my circumstance that made me uncomfortable. So I re-cast the experience, choosing to think of the endodontist as an extension of me. I focussed on the idea that I hired him, I delegated this care to him, that I chose this course of action. Do I have time and inclination to learn to do this myself? Ha! DIY dentistry is not on my horizon. Would I rather have someone with thousands of successes at work deep in my molars? Absolutely.

I did such a good job of becoming less fearful and more trusting that I even fell asleep in the chair for a little while.

He told me I'm likely to have another couple of days with significantly more pain, but then I should be pain free. Ahhh, that will be nice. It's been interesting being my positive, outgoing, inspirational self while also holding the pain at bay.

On Politics

Recently Steve advised me to keep my political bias out of my business pursuits. He typically tries very hard to stick the label "Liberal" to me, as though it were an epithet or had any accuracy as a descriptor.

I am far too complex to be reduced to a simple Left or Right label. Anyone who tries to do so is perhaps just using a mental shorthand so they can move on to thinking about more important things (of which surely there are a multitude). Here in the Bay Area, I am especially struck with how quickly people want to know the label for a new person they've met: "Are you Gay? Bi? GOP? Dem? Vegan? A Moose-killer? Breeder?" Why do we need to pigeonhole someone in order to relate to them? What if we just let people reveal themselves slowly, and we didn't make assumptions about how they showed up? Are we really forced to move so fast that we can't spare the time?

It's really rather offensive.

My political views are as all over the map as my morality, my parenting style, and my vocabulary. These are parts of who I am, who I show up as; shall I create a fictional self to move through the world? That seems sick. No, I would rather be my full-volume self and encourage others to do the same.

Out of Place

About a month ago, I made a choice from among a suite of options. It seemed the best at the time, and I still don't see a different or new choice that can yet be made...

But at the same time the choice I made has not been easy, fun, or life-giving to me. I hope hope hope that it has been lifegiving to someone I care about. I also hope that the day will come when I can revisit the decision, and choose a different option from the suite of options.

I guess the point is that sometimes I feel crabby and disconnected right now, and it's of my own doing, and I am not wise enough to see how to have it be different.

Finally made it to the ocean

"There's the beach!"

"I can only see the ocean."

"The beach is before the ocean."

"I know, but I can't see it yet."

"Well, I'm taking you to the other beach, anyway. That's the tourist beach, in front of us."

"I want to go to the warm water beach."

"It's all warm. Didn't you know? Santa Cruz beaches are warmed by volcanic springs."

"Ha ha. I want to body surf."

"We're walking to the surfer beach."

"Oh goody, so all the surfers can laugh at your old man's farmer tan."

I drove down to Santa Cruz yesterday to help Caitlan get her stuff out of the trailer she lived in over the summer. She amost has a new place to live lined up. Sensing the seam-straining discomfort of moving out before having a place to move to, and congruent with my own need to get into the ocean at all this summer, I suggested a quick walk to the water.

Passing the karoake bar, a woman was monotoning Madonna. "Like a vir-ir-gin" she toned, like a Gregorian Monk. Caitlan and I admired her for trying, but I especially yearned for an ear-washing.

At the water's edge, I shed shoes, shirt, glasses... "Daddy, you're old! Old people take so long to get into the water!" Caitlan's pants were rolled up to the knees. "Eek! It's cold!"

I followed a moment later. The familiar numbness spread trhough my calves, thighs... Ahhh, I thought, it's really rather nice. Almost as warm as a Southern California beach. Dunking my head was a bit of a shock, but I really wanted to do a little body surfing.

I caught a couple of small waves, then swam out beyond the swells. The surfers were all a quarter mile up the beach, where the small surf was slightly larger. The salt water penetrated my nostrils, my eyes... I bobbed in the calm Pacific.

Swimming back to shore I caught one more tiny wave. The air was cold. I know Caity and I talked some more on our way back to the car, but all I recall is trying to dry off and then spraying us both all wet again with the shower. "That's a real effective shower," Caitlan squealed as it misted all over us and the wind blew cold.

Last night I slept with the saltwater dry on my skin.

Xena Is Backpacking

I just delivered my wife to the train station. Later today she'll be in Yosemite, and tomorrow she'll start her three week backpacking trip on the John Muir Trail, traveling north to south, arriving at the top of Mount Whitney around September 29th.

This is zone 0 traveling through zone 5, for those of you who are learning about permaculture.

I am keenly aware at the moment of how much effort it takes to plan and execute the plan, while doing all the things you'd normally be doing, especially when your "normal life" is the sort that includes adding a bunch of stuff to your schedule already.

She worked more than full time, helped Caitlan find housing, helped Nicholas get enrolled in High School, and she bought equipment and supplies and cooked 3 weeks worth of dinners (with extra, for us to sample or share for dinner that evening) and she dehydrated all that food, and she planned out her days and her transportation.

I did help somewhat, with doing a little bit of her laundry and dishes and shopping. As I look around this morning, I can see the trail of chaos left in the wake of final preparation: food trays stacked about, waiting to be cleaned. Packaging and clothes and gear that didn't make the space and weight cut are piled into heaps. This will be a little bit more that I contribute to her hoped for success on this journey: cleaning up here at home, making sure this is all nice to come back to.

From now on when I see someone receive an achievement award of some sort, I will certainly be imagining the part of the story that often isn't told, of slotting the effort into the schedule of an already full life.

Making Room Inside

Mariposa Grove and Willow House members are in various stage of prep to hie off to Black Rock City. I'll miss them while they are gone. I know they will all have fun and come back to me in that special flavor of burnt and recharged.

Many people in my life are choosing self-assessment and personal growth right now. Wonderful; terrible. I have to put extra attention in to staying on my own foundation-- the energies are just all over the map, so one day is really hard and the next is ecstatic.

I really appreciate you who have commented, here, in emails, and to my face, about issues I raise. These thoughtful people have finally pierced my obstinancy about my ENFP communication style. I'm... shifting? broadening? eager? ...to incorporate, erm, a gentility into my conversations, to allow that other people need a bit more space to give voice to their truths.

I'm still very much me: the inner dialogue goes something like "That person hasn't reached the same level of intimate self-awareness that I have and so I have a responsibility to pause for them to complete their self-check and speak up." Eh, it's a start. There is some grace there, and soon perhaps I'll be able to see my own specialness as well as the specialness of others, without assuming that either is more developed or deficient.

One key bit for me is I am unwilling to amputate some of who I am in order to allow space for someone else to have their full experience. And yet that is often the message that gets delivered: Bob, you're using up all the air. Leave some for other people.

As a Champion, an Inspirator, my view is that I'm creating abundance by being myself at full volume. I don't understand the scarcity view that if I am full, that I am somehow diminishing another. Rise up! Join the fray! I don't yet know how to be inviting to the meek. But I am beginning to understand that I really do need to be.

Found my Joy

I am now aligned with God's abundance. His Universe of Joy. I feel great.

When I started this journey to recover from affluenza, I asked God to align me with the Tipping Point. "God," I prayed, "will You please echo in my life, what the future holds for humanity?"

Hey, it seemed a good idea at the time. I wanted to know. Will we recover? We are His hands here, specifically tasked with bringing His Kingdom to earth; will we succeed? Will we restore the earth?

I don't want to know anymore. Knowing is tiring. I learned a bunch of stuff along the way, experienced brief encounters with joy so intense it consumed me, and experienced depths of pain I didn't know I could survive. I have an answer, of sorts. It is time to move forward. I am part of the solution. I am now cause, not effect.

I've got a new prayer (which is still private) leading me to an inner place filled with joy, lightness, enthusiasm. I like it very very much.

Way Too Fragile

Darn it, I just lost the second half of a job. I just didn't move fast enough. Although I started before I got the deposit, just to help ensure that I got ahead of the curve on this one, that wasn't enough. The client panicked, and hired someone else to finish the job over the weekend.

Would I have worked over the weekend, if I had known she was panicking? I don't know.

How could I have spent my time differently? She says a phone call on Friday would have set everything to rights-- I could have done that. I'm working on returning phone calls within one business day; in her mind, it took me four days because I was "out of reach" on Saturday and Sunday, too. Calling first thing Monday morning was too late.

How can I balance staying in constant contact with someone and getting the creative work done? I wonder if I could set up a standard 30 minute time block, each day, to just go through the roster and tell people... what? That I'm still here? That's my least favorite kind of call:

"Hi, it's me, Robert."

"Oh good, nice to hear your voice, glad you didn't fall off the planet."

"Still here. Still working on your job. Still going to get it done."

"Okay, thanks, that's such a relief."

The signal to noise ratio on these calls is effectively Zero. Waste of my time. Except, not really, because apparently we're a civilization full of middle-managers who panic if we don't get reassured that nothing has happened, and then I lose money. Can I escape the realm of middle-management? How can I make my nature work for me, instead of against me?

Crap, our finances were going to be helped by getting paid for this work. Now what? God, can you please show me the way to honor all my time commitments and bring in enough cash to keep everything going? I am really mystified. And hurt. This is a bad combination for me, to then get back on the horse and keep trying. It's like that pounding concrete to no effect experience of a week ago.

I'd better find how to get my head back in the game and earn some income and be open to revenue. I am so tired of being so fragile.

Envy

I admire, nearly to the point of envy, those people who are able to work harder when they are feeling blue. I'm wired entirely the other way: I work harder and better when I'm on the upward part of the spiral.

The Right Tool for the Job

I find myself, not jealous, but envious of other people's successes. I don't want them and their lives to be diminished in any way, but I do want what I see to be added to my days. I go to Mass alone, and see the families gathered. I go to the market, and I see husbands and wives, parents and children, friends, shopping together. I end up feeling: God, where do I misstep? Am I not strong enough, not right enough for Your work?

I feel like a slotted screwdriver in God's hand, trying to drive a phillips head screw, or worse, trying to find purchase on a hex-head bolt.

Then Heaven sends me messages to stop seeing with human eyes. My strength is an illusion; it is God's strength that flows in me. I have only weakness to offer. When some good thing happens and I am a part of it, it's me as tool, God as do-er.

I broke a 2kg sledge yesterday busting concrete to no effect-- other than breaking the sledge. I went and bought a bigger 4kg sledge and made short work of the concrete. Hours I had spent with the tiny tool, and minutes with the large one. I often feel like a tiny tool in God's hands. I often get very down about that. I want to be one of His big tools. Would I remember to always give the glory back to Him? In my deepest heart, I would rather be a tiny tool that did its job really well and knew that the strength and action came from above, than a powerful tool that mistakenly assigned its success to its own self.

God, if you are going to give me hard things to do, then please, please support me and don't withhold Your strength, either.