Finding my place in the snow...

This morning, I awoke to a landscape of snow and falling flakes. I would have loved to nestle up with a warm cup of tea, but instead I pulled on some warm clothes, nestled into a jacket and took my pup out into the snow.

I think that we have children and pets in our lives to remind us of the things that we take for granted. When I was teaching, I would be presented daily with a child who found wonder in a flower, crayons and colour, the food presented to them, or a new book's crisp pages. Everyday, I was reminded to slow down and take it all in.

Today, my dog reminded me to do the same. She stuck her head into every mound of snow she could find, danced in the falling flakes, turned her face into the wind.

It was cold, I won't lie. It's getting near the end of November... and its Canada. It's a little nippy outside. But the snow is also just beautiful and the air is so crisp. It feels like Christmas. Like home.

I decided to head to the new library and study for a bit. This place is incredible. Floor to ceiling windows, concrete, glass, metal, art on every wall, books filling the shelves. I have missed the feel of a beautiful library. But the thing that I notice most as I put my books down at a desk near a huge window, is the plethora of interesting people around. Holding textbooks, reading newspapers, catching up with friends. It's sort of fantastic.

It is true, I am a bibliophile. I love books more than I can explain. And although my favourite bookstore in the world is also located in Canada (McNally Robinson Booksellers), there is something freeing about a library in particular. Books, information, education, offered free of cost. A beautiful place to sit and read. The perfect equalizer.

I have often thought, if only we spent more time in libraries... perhaps we'd all be a bit more humble... more kind.

See, your money doesn't matter here. Neither, really, does how much you know. Libraries are about potential. Endless possibilities. You could come here, everyday, for your entire life, and still not read every book housed within these walls. You could know everything there is to about one topic, and you'll turn around and see another section you want to explore. You can walk in naive, and after a few hours reading on the topic, have a better understanding.

There are people here studying to get their university degree, or their high school diploma. There are people here to learn how to cook, or how to fix their car. There are people here who are trying to expand their mind, learning about the places they want to travel, and there is a gentleman sitting across from me, smiling while reading a book I've read, who is looking to get out of the cold for a few hours.

This particular library is in the heart of downtown Winnipeg. People are polite, a bit awed, open to learning new things. How much money you have, how big your house is, how many degrees you have posted on your wall... it doesn't matter here. You will sit at the same desks as everyone. You will touch the same books hundreds have touched before and since. You have the same card in your wallet that allows you to take what you want from this place. And the same rules apply to everyone.

Today, I am grateful for snow, for family, for love, for books, and for my hometown.

The places you go...

A funny thing happens as you travel. As you sit at airports, watch the highway rush by, pack and unpack suitcases...

You realize that places matter. But the things you truly need... you already carry with you.

I put my husband on a plane this morning, bound for our home near the Mexican border. Tomorrow, I will be back on the road in order to have some more time with my family before I head back to my home. I will watch my brother perform with the symphony accompanying him, have sushi with my mom, talk business strategy with my dad, catch up with old friends, and visit a few places that recall a different time.

It is incredible really. How far you can go, and still return. It's true that things are always a little different when you try to go back. But I think I am learning that once you try to stop fitting in where you once did, you find a new place to inhabit.

I am not the same as I was 10 years ago... two years ago... eight months ago. But I am the same person. I am still weak and strong, happy and sad, always struggling with looking too far back and too far forward.

I miss you, but I will revel in this time with my family so that when I drive those 1,800 miles back to you,

I will finally be there.

Life is funny... this much I have figured out. Just when you think you understand, you don't. Just when you've made up your mind, the landscape will change completely.

At the moment, I am reading a Pema Chodron book called "When Things Fall Apart". The title sounds pretty fatalistic, but basically the book is about those moments when you have to face your fears. Face yourself, really.

It is a small book... and I have just begun it, but already it rings so true for me. I have had to face my fears again and again since moving to Texas.

Waiting for immigration papers and permission to work here kept me facing my fear of who I was if I was not working. I have had to face the fear of how I can still exist when I am so caught up in someone else's world. I have faced possibly losing him to deployment, and losing myself to this place where I simply can't seem to fit in.

In facing myself during this time, in honestly taking a good look at the things I am afraid of, I finally understand what they are. And although I am not yet sure what to do to overcome them, I can finally admit to them...

I am afraid that I am losing myself here. There is a quote that I love from a book called "The Dance" that goes:

"I am afraid that if I'm not accomplishing something, I will disappear."

I am afraid of this. I am afraid that I will forget what I am capable of... what I am able to do. I am afraid that I will be muted, grayed out... if I stay in the desert much longer. I am afraid I will forget what the bricks of the Great Wall felt like against my fingers, the way the sun turned orange in the sky over Seoul... the way that the air smelled so sweet before the rains in Osaka... the way the fruit tasted while I sat on the beach at sunset on Koh Yao Yai.

Here are a few quips from the book that particularly struck me:

"Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us."

"We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and they fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy... Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all."

This is the first time in my life where making plans really doesn't matter. I cannot move my family from this place right now. I cannot find a job elsewhere and bring Chris with me. Where we live is controlled by the army... which has been a very hard realization. A little bit like running full speed into a brick wall, actually. 10 months ago, I had the world at my fingertips. I could go anywhere, see anything, try something new every single day. I never imagined that by marrying Chris, I was handing the next two years of my life over to the U.S. government, but that is what I've done, essentially.

I have tried to tell myself that it's only two years... it's only a short time in all the years that Chris and I will have together... but I still have to wake up everyday in this place. I still have to feel the solid ground beneath my feet and know that there are no exotic islands, lush forests, or bustling cities in the coming year of my life.

This book, however, is teaching me that I needn't try to fix it. That I have much to learn by simply turning, sitting down, and facing it.

I have something substantial to learn here. I know this. I have felt that for some time. I just wonder how much of me will be left to face it once the lesson becomes clear.

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am."
(Sylvia Plath)