How History Helps Us Endure Grief.

Alice in Authorland

“Acknowledging and letting go of these feelings brings us up to courage and, with that, finally acceptance and an inner peacefulness, at least as it regards the area which has been surmounted.” ~ David R. Hawkins, Letting Go: The Pathway of Surrender

I’ve fallen into grief’s pit again. I know; I’ll crawl out faster this time.

It’s temporary, but this is the place I miss him the most. Grief is a gross comfort.

In grief’s grip, no matter how magnificent my daily life, it pales in comparison to any moment, memory, or experience shared with my now-deceased beloved.

Before Kevin stepped up into the role of boyfriend, he hung around the sidelines of my life ever since my first career opportunity, where we met, and my first marriage, which I left.

Yep, Kevin was there decades ago as I burned rubber out of both.

He seemed to pop up in…

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Be Like Kevin

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Call. And call again. Take the calls—even when you’re driving to dinner with your girlfriend and looking for a parking space. Take the call, especially if it’s your dad. Not because he’s 85, because he’s your dad.

Connect with people. Laugh. Let your funny be infectious. Don’t be a hater. Speak your mind. Apologize when you screw up. And mean it. Move on.

OWN your anger. Be forthright, but be gracious. Love women. Really love them. And music. Listen to music-LOUD! Especially the 80s. Hard rock. KISS.

But take Etta James and the candles. Yeah, bring that old boom box to the beach. Play the game Washers.

Read. The Bible when you feel nudged. Take pleasure in reading. Find your guy. Kevin’s was Lee Child, but he also read Mark Twain, JR Moehringer and Alice Lundy.

Give people nicknames. ICE! ICE! ICE! Let it be your way of honoring them.

Pray. Out loud. In the morning. While drinking coffee and watching birds with your girlfriend.

Say, “I LOVE THAT!” often. Say, “I love you.” Write it. Write letters. Send Valentine’s Day cards with love to everyone.

Enjoy good food. Make memories, like taking your gal to Tony’s, where you used to go with your mom. But, also go to dive bars. Bring home Taco Bell sauce packets that say “Marry Me” and present them like a bouquet of flowers.

Seek love. Be romantic. Be real.

Follow your passions and applaud others. Take care of your business, but don’t be so serious. Make work fun. When it’s not, refocus. Readjust. Decide what you want and go for it.

Change. If you want to. Become better.

Be at peace with yourself. Take care of yourself. LOVE YOURSELF. And especially, BE YOURSELF. Kevin was totally himself, not imitating a soul.

Be emotionally courageous. Say: This is how I am. I have a temper and I can be selfish, but I’m the man for you. Yeah, be a man—in the best sense of the word.

Support your team and Diva’s team and your people. Show up. Be on time. And have some style!

LIVE your life. If it ever comes to your door, kick cancer’s ass!

Speak a different language with your brothers—one your girlfriend couldn’t understand if she wanted to. Make your cousin a brother and make the word BROTHER mean something. Make friendship and family mean something.

GO ALL IN. Whatever you’re doing: sex, drugs, rock-n-roll, sales, wooing a woman, loving your mom, hanging with friends, frying fish, developing relationships, telling a truth, listening,… damn, Kevin could listen.

I know he could talk, but he could really listen.

Open doors. Pull out chairs. Hug. Hold your partner tight through the entire night. Kiss too hard and love like this is your last chance and you want to get it right.

Buy little gifts. Don’t expect so much from others. Give because it makes you feel good.

Tell stories. And make them good!

Hang with your boys. Be wild when you’re young, but never grow old. Get out of the house, but spend time hanging at home, just chillin’.

Be like a kid. But be a man. Face life head on.

Be like Kevin, but you can’t. There was only one. So, be like you—the one Kevin loves. Still.

 

 

Dance Partner 2020

Soul seeks something divine.

Ego seeks everything. She’s a squirrel scrambling on life’s limb.

Soul sings and dances when I write, pray, meditate, walk in the woods, or look into baby Mia’s eyes and catch a glimpse of God.

Soul stretches in feminine containers and communities. She likes to hold hands and skip. She digs writers, artists, musicians, and sexy men.

When I dance and swing my hips, Soul and Ego kiss.

When I get grounded and attune with my angels and guides, I’m free.

But, this human American life costs money, as Ego likes to remind me. She’s not wrong.

And yet, I’ve been held by Grace’s hands of abundance and reminded what’s important.

“What’s that?” Ego Asks, “Did you say you volunteered to go broke? You don’t like money? You just want to sit around and meditate? Maybe learn to paint?”

Soul smiles. She always smiles.

“Oh Ego, I know you’re dying to get out and prove yourself worthy to this world. You’d go out—to the bar, the store, the sales job, anything to avoid Insecurity or Loneliness.”

Soul soothes, “It’s ok, honey. Come, sit with me. Together, we’ll smooth this out. Let me tell you a secret, Ego: I love you. You and I have a divine destiny.”

Going within is falling in love with Self, all her facets of brilliance, and imperfections of personality.

Soul continues, “Going within—and working on and toward our Big Dream is our courtship. So many dates to meditate, write, pray, practice Reiki and Kundalini, weave a history, the path we’ve walked through the forest of life. Thank you for joining me on this journey. Ego, I know you want to run. You resist my touch. It’s ok, baby. I know you’re scared.

Another year is ending, and you fear you haven’t done enough, been enough, or made enough progress. Sweetheart, come here. Come here. Come IN. Let Soul rock you.”

“See, Grace comes to turn the page on another year to give you a fresh perspective. You get to choose again. Do you want to come inside with me? Your friends are here.

Truth never looked so dazzling, like Lady Liberty covered in stars. And Destiny, she’s a queen, like Diana and Elizabeth. When you go in, you’ll find a thousand queens rising. Peace, she’s inside, too—lighting a fire and serving teas from faraway lands.

But Ego, you want to go outside to meet a man, or make some cash, or get drunk on distraction. You want to be entertained!

Trust me, Ego. Come inside. Let Love of Everything seduce you.

Where do you want to be? Noise and Chaos await you on the corner with their friends Judgement and Remorse. You can go out if you want.”

“Will you be sad?” Ego asks.

“It doesn’t matter if we go within or go without. We’ll be together. It’s just that when you go too fast and chase everything, I get quiet and you don’t hear me.”

“You’re right,” Ego says, “Sometimes I need the noise. I’m seduced by the drama. But listening to you, being with you, feels right. I’d like to come inside tonight.”

Soul smiles. She always smiles.

“Yes,” she says, “Let’s face the morning together, naked, happy and hungry to taste the new year.”

Cheers! May you find yourself dancing with possibility in 2020.

Letter to my Beloved, a Year and a Half after his Death.

Three and a half years after Kevin’s death, I think less, “Damn! I lost that!” I think more, “Wow! I had that!” Crazy, sexy, cool.

Alice in Authorland

“When good men die their goodness does not perish, but lives on though they are gone.” ~ Euripides

Dear Kevin,

Thank you. Thank you for embodying your authentic self and welcoming me to be the Alice Lundy you saw—not just my best self, but the real me: raw, vulnerable, smart, beautiful, jealous, funny, a writer worth reading, sexy, determined, feisty, intuitive, angry, weird, stubborn, free-spirited, and a terrible singer, but a great story-teller.

You saw me. You got me. All of me—the parts I wanted to deny, abandon, or project onto others, and especially the qualities about myself I believe on my best days.

You knew who I was back when the only thing I cared more about than selling books was the truth, and I assumed it was clear and simple.

So, I held truth against you for 20 years and you let me without pitting alternatives against me…

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Sometimes We Have to be Our Own Encouragers.

* Dedicated to my writer friends, especially the memoirists.

You, my dear, are the only one who can save yourself.

Save yourself from the lies.

Free yourself from the distractions and self-created stress.

Lean into what you love. Realign your values.

Ground in. Sit with yourself.

Listen to yourself. Hear your Self.

Look at yourself. See your Self.

Wake up. Wise up.

Come on up out of that fog!

Watch the birds, but work the plan.

Don’t give up, girl. Not now.

Not in the messy middle. This is the home of metamorphosis. In memoir and real life.

In our history—personal and societal, individual and collective.

Past, present, future, it’s all the same.

Inciting incidents. Indecisions, heartbreak and fear.

The f*cking messy middle!

Beginnings taste like taking flight. Yes, it felt like take-off when I started writing my memoir in the Summer of Alice in Santa Fe, NM in 2012, seven years ago!

The middle is like a food coma after consuming a box of donuts and a half dozen cups of coffee. It’s head on the desk, I want to go home! and Where the f*ck am I?!

The messy middle is living in a penthouse on the beach in Cancun while your boyfriend is gone all night doing cocaine.

It’s the juxtaposition that demands decision when all your decision-making capabilities feel maxed, your love story has turned tragic, and you don’t know where or how to get out.

Hello, messy middle!

Hang on, girl. Do your best. Fight like hell for your dream, but don’t make it harder than it must be.

Get on your knees. Get on your mat. Get grounded. Stay seated. At your desk.

Walk in the woods. Drink water.

TV is not your friend. And, even your friends can’t complete this book for you.

Your book is good because you’re a good writer and you have a good story, but you can make it better. Own that.

This is for you, my dear. Make it a badass book.

It’s not about being a bestseller (unless it is), but about putting out your best work for your professional debut on the playing field as an author.

Polish yourself and your baby up. Present yourselves to the world.

Bring your full Self into your new life. Leave your false self, like your first attempts before you changed the verb tense.

You alone must craft your art. Your sister can’t do it for you. Your writer friends can’t impose it upon you. Your parents can’t pray success into you.

But baby, you’ve got a gang of angels at your back applauding, whispering and arranging. They’ve got agents praying for your book and men praying for your love.

Marry yourself to your destiny. Go back in one more time.

Because baby, if it weren’t for the messy middle, the story has no tension, no juice, no life force defying the odds and fighting the obstacles, and going for the glory again, like you did in the beginning.

Babe, you’ve got this.

What the Elders and Sages Whisper in the Woods.

“As you get up in the morning, as you make decisions, as you spend money, make friends, make commitments, you are creating a piece of art called your life.” ~ Mary Catherine Bateson

I made a pact with myself. I promise to fall in love every day.

This morning, I fell in love with a hummingbird, a book, and an author I already loved.

I love her a little more after being seduced by one special passage. She called up my intimate connection to words, how they’ve kissed my lips and danced with my fingertips.

Words! I love words! And baby deer in my yard. Their spots ignite me!

Later, I fall in love with the ecstasy of my naked feet on lush green lawns sewn together by the twin hands of man and Mother Nature.

I listen to the trees tell me secrets of the ages. In the woods, I hear the voices of sages, elders, and wise women who came before, guiding me, helping me, loving me.

In these moments, I fall in love with my choice to take on this human life.

I fall in love with my divine destiny—in all its hardship and agony, desperation and senseless pain.

As a country, we’re like teenagers who keep getting drunk and driving into trees. We’re fighting about whether it’s the car or the alcohol.

It’s the stupidity! It’s the recklessness, the not valuing life.

We must value life again, fall in love with the joy of living, so we may fix what’s broken.

We know in our hearts—most of us—the daily onslaught of personal and collective chaos and sadness that comes with repeated mass murders is no way to live (or die).

We must stop the killing and stop emboldening an environment in which hate is part of the dominant conversation.

Watch enough news, you’ll get depressed and angry, too.

But, how do we turn away from what we know is wrong?

Why did we read Anne Frank and watch Schindler’s List?

Who are we, collectively and individually, as a country? Can we unite?

I alone cannot bring honor back to America again.

However, I can make this commitment: to fall in love with something or someone daily, to keep the love in my heart active so when I go into the world, I don’t stir up hate.

I consciously fall in love with a song on the radio, a new purple pen, or a full moon, bright in the darkness.

I enter the world with the intention to soften the air we all breathe.

One day, I’ll do more, but we must start where we are.

We can keep this commitment: love, consciously.

My resistance against the wretchedness killing our joy isn’t denial, but welcomes us to face the dichotomy of these historical times without shutting down or drowning out truth.

Let’s open the door to love daily. I’ll turn on the light, make some coffee, and let her settle in.

Won’t you join us?

How to Resist without being Resistant.

Alice in Authorland

Go boldly into your resistance.

In the morning, resist the temptation to turn on an electronic box to push your emotional and intellectual buttons—the things that stop you and start you.

Instead, reach for peace, prayer, poetry, and purpose—even before you pee.

Resist unedited thoughts, words, assumptions, beliefs, and reactions.

Resist knowing the answer before hearing the question. Fight the urge to always be right, be on time, and be the smartest person in the room. Even Abe Lincoln and Mark Twain had to learn to temper themselves, to be civil in their discourse.

Resist swallowing news like vitamins. Occasionally, we’ve got to reevaluate the choices, benefits, and costs of what we’re taking in.

Resist the urge to share what you’re unwilling to research. Resist through research.

Resist through writing and speaking. Resist by reading. Read like it’s a habit stronger than alcohol and you’ll never want to quit.

Resist…

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