Becoming Finnish

It’s been 165 days since I last shared a post.

The whole of summer has gone by, and almost all of spring before it. The garden emerged, thrived, settled and is now resting. There was a lot of change at work, which required my focused attention. Still, the pup and I took many walks on the beach. And I had the opportunity to travel to the east coast and met some of my Finnish family for the first time.

Which brings me to this post. Something new has emerged from these 165 days and all the golden hours within them. Yesterday I finally gave birth, in a sense, to a companion writing space to A Golden Hour:

This blog was born in an airport lounge, when the universe handed me five unplanned hours.

My flight home from a short trip had been delayed, so I found a cozy spot in a quiet place where I could relax and pass the time. I listened to music, read the newspaper, sent a few emails, and ate a small dinner. Then I settled deep into my chair.

Gazing out the window, an idea surfaced that had been stirring for a while. I think perhaps it has been gently rising for more than a decade, ever since my grandmother passed away.

I hope you will share in my journey, becoming Finnish (and enjoy the rest of this post).

And I have many new Golden Hour thoughts to share in the days ahead. I appreciate you being here!

Source: Humble beginnings.

A Life Well Lived

What does it mean to live a life well lived?

I think about this often (especially as I get older).

I know it essentially includes being open and traveling a spectrum of human experiences. To me, a life well lived is a life of expansion.

This morning, I came across a lovely 4-minute video featuring Jim Whittaker, first American to scale Mount Everest. He shared some of his philosophy on risk-taking, and getting outside to learn about yourself:

“Nature is the best teacher in the world …. it is in the wild places, in the damp clean air of an ancient forest, on a heaving ocean in unpredictable wind, on a snowy summit at the top of the world, that I enter my own personal cathedral and know where I fit in the vastness of creation.”

I understand when he says it is “an unconscious spiritual journey to be in the natural world.” I have only ever felt a sense of awe and wonder while outside in nature’s cathedral.

Moon June
I remember the first time I saw the northern lights dancing in ribbons across a dark winter sky … the first time I saw a shooting star, or watched the luminous orange globe of the full moon, rising slowly over the sea … or felt the vastness of the universe while standing under a million bright and brilliant stars.

My own personal cathedral is the night sky. And in this place, witnessing something special, I have felt very small but also connected to something much larger than myself. I have been overjoyed, stilled, filled with gratitude, and somehow reassured of my place in this world. These experiences have been profoundly expansive.

I will continue to think about this, and build my own definition for a life well lived. In the meantime, if you would like a few moments of thoughtful inspiration, here is Jim Whittaker’s perspective.

I Am Here

For the longest time, I wasn’t here.

I have always loved to write. A long held dream of mine has been to write publicly and share personal essays, to uplift or inspire or maybe just offer a little levity. But for many reasons, I just haven’t been ready. A person can be so confident, decisive and even fearless in certain aspects of one’s life, but unsure for something so deeply personal. I am only human after all. And in my uncertainty, the dream has been postponed. One day I will start a blog (when I come up with the right niche, the perfect name, a compelling first story). I just need more information, more advice, inspiration, and of course, much more time.

But the other day, as I was being my contemplative introverted self, quietly reading my Twitter news feed, a random tweet commanded my attention and held me spellbound.

It was philosopher Alan Watts. He looked me right in the eye, and spoke to me directly across time and space.

“Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.”

I was stilled by his message.

Words have the power to do this. They can transcend time, travel through space, and arrive at the most exquisitely perfect time, kicking you right in the pants.

This was the kick in the pants I needed, coming from a wise old friend I never knew, who wasn’t afraid to tell the truth. Stop trying to find the perfect title, and the perfect words, to be shared publicly at the perfect time. Stop waiting to learn more about WordPress or copyright, or sorting out what picture you want to feature on the front page.

I don’t really know what I’m doing yet, but I took Alan’s advice to heart. Stop aspiring and start writing. I registered the first good name that came to me, and wrote this post tonight, with the first imperfect words that came to me. The rest will undoubtedly work itself out.

So, I am here now. I am finally here. And it feels right and good.

Perhaps one day, my words will speak directly to another person across time and space. And something really good will happen afterwards. But in this moment, if I haven’t saved anyone else, I have at least saved myself. The writer in me will not have to perish from the regret of dreams unfulfilled.

Sharing in this space was easier than I thought. Thank you, Mr. Watts.

I am Here Mirror