Just came back from a retreat this weekend.  It was really good.  But strangely, I don’t really feel like talking (or virtually talking) about it.  Maybe later.  I think I just need to process everything I learned, everything I took in, before I can share it.  Suffice to say that I spent the weekend working on my values; what they are, and what they mean to me.  It was …good.  There’s four weeks of followup as well, which is nice.  It would be hard to do the kind of inner work that I started this weekend, and then be sort of dumped off at the end with a ‘Good luck!’ and that’s it.  There might even be further opportunities to continue with other groups after that, which I think will be qutie helpful.  And with that … I’ll leave you to ponder exactly what sort of cult I have joined.

Transition time again

I am in the middle of my personal transition time.  It comes every year, although some years are more impactful than others.  But every year, between the days of January 6th and January 9th, something, somewhere, happens that affects or will affect me.  For instance:

  • January 6th, 1990 – I get on a train in Boston with all my worldly possessions.
  • January 9th, 1990 – I arrive in Portland, Oregon for the first time.
  • January 6-9th, 1995 – My cat Jack was most likely born sometime around this date.
  • January 6th, 2001 – I met my recent ex.
  • January 9th, 2001 – We have our first date.
  • January 6th, 2006 – My dog Jessie was born.
  • January 6th, 2007 – I begin to recover from a crippling, soul numbing bout of depression.

I know there’s more, and it started with that train trip.  The pattern didn’t emerge until later, although for the first 5-6 years I would always remember on those days, that fateful train trip.  Something happened to me on that trip – I knew that within a few months – and it changed me.  I felt a shift in my psyche during that trip, I felt more grounded, more in touch, more thoughtful, more …aware.  And apparently the ripples of that experience are still…well, rippling.  Ever since I stopped consciously commemorating those few days, those days things happen to me.  Not every year, not that I can tell, but they’re usually good.

So the short version is….I’m feeling better.  Maybe it’s because I started working out a few days a week.  Maybe it’s because I’ve had good friends call me and say hey I want to hang out with you, just because, and we stole a wicked cool ash tray from a place called Chopsticks III .

Or maybe…it’s the power of those four days. 
I think it’s both.