priority: maintain balance

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rage, tears & eczema

When my daughter unintentionally veers off course in life, she becomes filled with inexplicable rage. The smallest infraction can trigger an unwelcome and overwhelming wave of it, and it’s always a clear indication that something in her life needs immediate attention. As soon as she isolates the problem and adjusts her life accordingly, the anger dissipates and pieces fall harmoniously into place. Another one of my girls will cry copious tears at the drop of a hat. And the third has skin issues that flare wildly out of control.

Personally, I think we all come equipped with such triggers. Warnings that we're straying from the path that our Soul wants us to travel. With a little introspection, we realize their repetitive consistency is the clue. With a little more introspection, we can come to understand precisely what we need to adjust—even if we're not sure exactly how or why yet—in order to get ourselves back on track. Recently, I was caught up in my own whirlwind of triggers and they were all prodding me in the same none-too-gently way that they always do. And, once again, I find myself in another standoff with a familiar character trait that so often rules the roost.

Sometimes that's good.

Sometimes that's not.

relentless chewing

PASSIONATE FOCUS (to the exclusion of virtually all else) is both my strength and my weakness. Sometimes (like when you have panic disorder) that focus might just turn your whole life around. It also helped me to write a novel, raise a family, stay married, become Level 3 certified in aromatherapy, and create a home that I adore—to name just a few. That's the bright side of my laser focus, and it's a part of my personality that I'm forever relying on and grateful for. Honestly, it's probably one of the things that I like most about myself. I take enthusiastically big bites and then I chew them. Relentlessly. Even after I've lost all feeling in my jaw.

But then there's the other side. The side I've found to be far less helpful. In fact, it's often my downfall. For some reason, when I'm wildly passionate about one thing, that focus can't just live in harmony with the rest of my life; instead, it needs to steal the entire show. Like, the whole kit and caboodle. And so the very first thing it does every time I've chosen an exciting new something to funnel my energy into is: inflate it. Until it's enormous. Larger-than-life huge. Next, with nary a twinge of remorse, it finds the steepest cliff around and pushes all of the mundane, day-to-day tasks of my life ruthlessly over the edge. But quietly. Like maybe I won't notice.

And for a while, I don't. Or at least I don't care. Hell, I'm probably even grateful that it eliminated all of my distractions. That wildly enthusiastic focus fills me with purpose and energy but, at the same time, it consumes me. Because who wants to clean a toilet when the next chapter of your book just started writing itself in your head? Who wants to mop the floors when you just had an awesome new soap design flash to mind? It's also true that my Passionate Focus walks hand-in-hand quite happily with endless persistence and can really, really haul ass and get things done, but there's an urgency that accompanies it that has little patience for anything else.

This lack of patience becomes consistently and abundantly clear when it comes to me and my inexplicable attraction to... businesses.

girl party

My past is littered with small businesses. My very first was at the tender age of twenty-one when Scott and I were freshly married and I started my home-based pet grooming shop—Pampered Pets. It did really, really well, but when Baby Girl No. 1 came along just a short time later, I found that while I loved being financially successful, I was far more invested in my adorable, little cherub. I kept working because money is, you know, nice, but this got so progressively frustrating for me that by the time Baby Girl No. 3 came along, I decided to close up shop and make a go of it on Scott’s income alone. Scary, yes (especially for my fiercely independent spirit), but we managed just fine.

family vacation: 2005

And while money was sometimes tight, I felt like I was exactly where my Soul wanted me to be. Right on track with its mysterious plans. I had made my choice; my priorities were focused firmly on family and home, and my life reflected that. Maybe there are some who can successfully navigate both family and career, but I definitely ain’t one of them. Did I mention that I’m also something of a perfectionist? Because I am. Which means that I’m not really designed to give my priorities less than 110% which tends to drastically limit them in number. Again, both a blessing and a curse.

For decades my home/family choice fit me like a glove, and I made a 24/7 career out of being a full-time homemaker. I homeschooled all three of my girls until graduation. Wholesome, fresh cooked meals were served on the daily. The house was clean, organized, and cozy. Animals filled every corner—inside and out—and I managed to keep them all fed and happy as well.

I was funneling the majority of my energy into these areas, and it gave me a concrete feeling of meaning and purpose. And every time I found myself growing stagnant, bored, and/or in need of a passionate outlet, I'd either adopt a new pet (goats were my fave), take up a new hobby, read a new book, or redecorate a room. Most of the time, this worked. Except, of course, for the times when it didn't.

And when it didn’t? I’d open shop.

Percy the (meanest) goat & Wilma the (sweetest) ferret

seriously? again?

I really have no idea how many small businesses I've opened—and subsequently closed—over the past two and a half decades. For me, it was natural to want to turn all of my newfound hobbies into profit (remember, money was tight). Unlike my grooming shop, these businesses were only supposed to complement my life, not become it. But eventually, that’s exactly what they tried to do. Stealthily, they demanded more and more of my attention (a.k.a: the whole kit and caboodle), while simultaneously sending everything else tumbling over that cliff edge.

Some, like my first Etsy shop, did really well whereas others barely made it off the ground. Successful or not, I would eventually walk away from each and every one as my warning triggers made themselves increasingly clear. I could ignore the warning signs, sure, but only for so long. Inevitably, the truth would eventually clobber me, and I could no longer deny that somehow, somewhere, I'd gotten off course.

I wasn't proficient at recognizing my triggers back when I was younger, but after being miserable for long enough I'd finally get my priorities back in order and simplify my life (i.e. shut down the business), restoring inner and outer harmony once again. Once that business cord had been cut, the calming effect was often immediate. To celebrate, perhaps I'd give another room a makeover. Or learn how to quill. Or try that new recipe. Or adopt ferret No. 7 (which was a big mistake, btw). I needed to always focus my abundant energy and passion into something but, for some reason, it could never be a business. They were too big. Too demanding. And unlike writing a book, there was no "end" date.

Do you see where I'm heading with this yet? Because there should be a clearly visible, neon road sign that reads: I'VE STARTED YET ANOTHER SMALL BUSINESS.

But there's another part. One you can't see. And this sign is blinking just as rapidly: MY TRIGGERS JUST REAPPEARED.

i'm the problem?

Sigh. It’s true. My Soul is back to her gentle prodding because if I haven't already lost my way, I must be heading in that direction. But I don’t think my warnings mean quite the same thing this time around—at least I hope not. I get the feeling that I need to interpret them somewhat differently. Or, and this is more likely, I just need to respond to them somewhat differently because my life has changed. My home and family will always be priorities for me, but the girls are grown. The animals are gone. My marriage is solid. My home is (almost) just as I want it. Which means there’s a vacancy at the inn, and I want to assign Suds Me Up, Scotty! the room. I want to make THIS my new Passionate Focus. And honestly, I don’t actually feel like prioritizing Suds Me is the problem; I feel like the problem is… me. Which begs the question: Has it always been?

My biggest and most obvious warning is that I start moving at warp speed. I talk way too fast, which means that I’m always stumbling over my words and constantly sounding like I’m having a stroke. I eat way too fast, which translates to familiar and painful gut problems. I move way too fast, which means I stop appreciating the small wonders of every moment. I think way too fast, which means that my sleep suffers. Because I’m living life on fast-forward, I find myself impatient at anything moving along at a normal pace, which means I might start bickering with Scott. Or one of the girls. Or anyone who tries to slow me down. Thankfully, things never escalated to the bickering stage this time around because I smartened up a little quicker than usual. Like I said, I've had lots of practice.

Oddly enough (and this is what makes my trigger kind of irritating and tricky), I’m INCREDIBLY happy when I’m in this creative, passionate, and fast-moving place. I laugh more. Spontaneously dance around the kitchen more. I need less sleep (which is good, because I’m not always sleeping great anyway). The creative juices are flowing like crazy, and I jump out of bed every morning ready to tackle the ideas that crept in overnight. I’m actually having a blast (unless I've reached the bicker phase). I mean, today might be the day I figure out how to make orange soap, and who wouldn't be ridiculously excited about that? (that was rhetorical, btw)

But I’ve cycled through this cycle too many times to believe it can sustain itself. Eventually, something drags me back to the real world. Back to the rest of my life. Something reminds me that my personal world needs balance and a slower pace and more time spent outdoors. This time that something was: gut pain. And cobwebs. Lots and lots of them.

cobwebs, paint & tears

Recently, as I stood studying the copious gathering of cobwebs in every corner of every room, the paint peeling off the deck (also copiously), my girl who couldn't stop her own trigger-crying, the gardens that sorely needed weeding, and the toilet growing… stuff, I realized it was happening. I was doing it again.

My Passionate Focus was fixed directly on Suds Me to the exclusion of all else. It happens every damn time. Just like this. I mean, I can only assume that this drive and persistence will eventually mean great things for our soaps, but at what cost? I love being wildly enthusiastic about something, sure, because it's fun. But I love being wildly enthusiastic in a clean house and a healthy body even more. So I hit pause. Dove into a deep (and super satisfying) clean. Pulled out my paint scraper. And got to thinking.

I know myself pretty well. Years and years of meditating has meant a lot of time spent alone with only myself for company. So without having to dig too deeply, I realized right off the bat that half of my problem lies with my lack of ability (and often desire) to maintain balance in the face of something I’m excited about. Plain and simple? When given the choice between virtually every other thing and soaping: I’d rather make soap. Or write a blog post. Or adjust my website. And I get grumpy if something (or someone) tries to stop me.

But that's only half of the puzzle, and the other half of my problem lies in the fact that I have a Capricorn Moon. Which translates to: I love challenges. I love big and personally meaningful projects. And I love problem-solving. Like really love them all. And I have the staying power to see them through. If you come to me with a problem, then you either appreciate my approach or you find me to be a giant pain-in-the-ass, but either way I'm going to want to help you fix whatever it is that's got you down. We can talk about it first, sure, but then I'm going to spontaneously brainstorm ten different things for you to try and remedy the issue. And if those don't work? Then I can probably come up with ten more. My girls and Scott love this approach. Everyone else? Maybe not so much.

endgame: accrue wisdom

Anyone who's ever started a small business knows that they're one challenge after another. Which, I assume, is part of the allure but also part of the problem. Setting up an LLC. Finding insurance. Opening business accounts. Soap designing. Building a website. Starting a blog (my past is littered with as many defunct blogs as it is businesses). Creating a freebie. Building a subscriber list and newsletter. Figuring out how to sell soaps. Actually selling soaps. Paying taxes. Finding the people that want my specific type of soap. RE-designing soaps. RE-designing more soaps.

Every day there's a new "problem" to tackle and, eventually, solve. The satisfaction of emerging victorious is super, irresistibly sweet to me. And the cherry on top? With every problem solved, wisdom is gained. And, man, do I ever get stupid swoony over the possibility of being a Wise One in my elder years (the endgame of a Capricorn Moon ♥) . But the trap that I consistently fall into is that while channeling all of my freaking energy into the thing that is bringing me such joy (the good part), it's at the cost of all else (the bad part). The inevitable repercussions of this are that the rest of my life kind of… withers. And gets really, really cobwebby.

note to self: hug more trees

soaping = meditation

Every other time I've hit this point, my business or blog died a quiet and necessary death because it was never supposed to be my priority. There are only so many minutes in a day, which dramatically limits how many priorities I can choose. But this time? I want a different outcome. I’m on the cusp of a whole new and interesting post-mothering chapter of my life and priorities demand rearranging. My endless fervent energy needs to be funneled somewhere, yes, but without losing track of the other things that also matter to me. It's definitely a challenge, but you know how I feel about those.

When I first started making soap, I found it surprisingly stressful. The chemical reaction going on in soap batter means that your time to work with it is limited. Dilly-dallying isn't an option. What started out as stress, however, has become something else entirely. Somewhere along the way, soaping became the chillest part of my day. Surprisingly, it's morphed into a kind of moving meditation. Everything in me just settles down as I slowly prepare the oils, measure out the clays, lay out my tools, suit up, and step into the magic of what’s about to happen. I used to feel this kind of peace while working in my kitchen, but now that same tranquility descends in my soap room. It just feels too right to be wrong. Which means, I want Suds Me to be a priority—with conditions.

maintain balance

So over the past week or so, I've spent considerable time catching up on the things that have been sorely neglected. The cobwebs—minus the one still housing a spider—are history. The deck scraping is in progress. Windows have been cleaned. And the best part is that I've managed to keep making soap through it all.

My goal is to maintain this balance, to somehow master the art of directing my Passionate Focus instead of letting it direct me. And if I can manage this? Well, that would mean two-fold success—for me and for our soaps. Suds Me Up, Scotty! has been officially granted a room at the Inn, and I'm really hoping that's on point with my Soul's plan. As always, time will tell.

But if I succeed? You'll have witnessed history in the making (she says, chewing, chewing, chewing...).

Much love,

Melinda