Bad on the phone

yodaThis world is different. It’s shorter, it’s brief.

Technology has made it so we can have anything quickly. We are so busy we take full advantage of the instant communication we can have with our phone. We get messages and make plans, start relationships, etc over text. It’s easy.

Sometimes you meet people, and they are rare; that don’t buy in. They don’t text non-stop during the day. They have a thought,  that they just let fall away rather than blasting it across the inter-web. They don’t comply with the idea that if you are thinking about someone, you have to tell them. In little words, on a little screen. It can wait. They feel no need to send “good morning” messages, with a follow up “how was your day?” There is no “goodnight, sweet dreams” salutation. That maybe some are used to.

When you have one person who is used to communicating in sound bites, and they meet and start with a new person, that is not used to sound bites, what are the challenges?

Soundbite is used to reacting to many small bits of information, and responds quickly to the impetus. Enough words to convey the information, yet not sculpt it in a elegant way.

Non-soundbite’s takes their time. Not bound to their electronic device, they form thoughts that come and go, sifting through, so the important stuff sticks and can be expressed later.

Recently, I had someone I was talking to, who was a Non-soundbite. He liked or at least preferred talking on the phone, to texting.

For me personally, I am terrible on the phone. Have been for years. Other’s have commented. Sometimes there is a lag and I am not sure when the other person will speak, so I find myself interrupting or speaking out of turn. I will burst out with random things that make no sense to someone who does not have immediate access to my brain. I am a world class, colossal failure at leaving voicemail messages. Always have been.

I have gotten lazy. I don’t know how to talk to other people. I am bad on the fly, talking on the phone and man, if an issue comes up, I become a disaster. Can’t think properly, don’t know what to say, and a tornado comes out of my mouth. Then I almost immediately forget what I just said and have no way to retrieve it.

In my teens, when I’d talk to a guy, I could marathon chat, and it was easy.

I am way out of practice at this. Fail.

In life, I try to be accountable. I appreciate feedback and am always trying to be a better person than I was yesterday. Always working on stuff. Not only at work but in my personal life. Especially, my personal life.

I try hard with my daughters, to listen. Really hear what’s going on with them. I have had them with me from the beginning. They know how I talk, what I am trying to say and understand the tone of my voice and get my jokes. Our Seinfeld based common sense of humor, is one we all rely on for a quick jib or to sum up a situation. Sarcasm abounds.


My girls are busy, and I am busy. So, often I will send a funny Gif that they can see and relate to, as a way to connect without forcing my way into their day or interrupting whatever is going on. Long ago, I decided I was not going to be one of those guilt trip moms. You give them space and they come back.

But what to do now, as I’ve wrecked a possibility? One I was excited about?

Do they give talking on the phone lessons?

Is there any hope for those of us who have fallen into the black hole of technology?

Writing is so much better, because you can backspace over your mistakes and rewrite. You can think about what you want to say, sculpt it to sound exactly how you want it to. Use words you feel would fit whatever that situation is. Look them up to check your perceived definition or meaning. Make sure it’s relevant.

On the phone, you can’t see the person’s face. You can’t see their expression, their eyes. You can’t feel.  I hate it. And today, I hate my phone. I hate texting. I hate everything but face to face.

Time to take a deep dive into how I want to communicate with the people I care about. Grow out of this global obsession. Be intentional. Be thoughtful.




~World class colossal dorky voicemail of mine that comes to mind.

Years ago, I needed to leave a message with a contractor about the Frankenburn project.

“Hi Mike, I wanted to see if I could talk to you about the Frankenberry project. We are going to need to order more tile for them.” Proceeded with about thirty seconds of uncontrollable laughter, some snorting, and apologies.

He called back and we laughed. And then took care of the Frankenberry’s. 

Hoping it gets better now.

When you know better, you do better.

So it goes…

❤ hazel


Living with absolute thinking

DSCN2961I recently had someone say this to me. “I’m not _______________.”

It doesn’t really matter what word was in the blank, only the power and intention with which it was said.

The problem with making these absolute statements, is that it doesn’t leave room for any movement off that place. It the only way you will be, live or whatever.

I think of these statements, in a physical sense, as if you are putting a nail in the ground through your foot. You lose your total freedom of movement, and can now only rotate around that stance.

There are many ways to be, live, think, work etc. Limiting yourself to ___________ means having to make allowances, or giving up other things to stay there. Sometimes important things. Mind boggling possibilities.

It is one thing to have a preference. I would like to ________________. My wish would be to_________________.

But to say with absolute thinking and conviction that you will never move off of X, keeps you stuck. It’s isolating.

In relationships; one must be accommodating to their other person. In order to have true teamwork, an equal partnership; both parties must be movable. To think together for the greater good. To make space for the thinking and feelings of another.  To actually make space.

I am glad I am not attached to place. To one certain thing, or way of thinking. I have the freedom to go where I think I need to be, at any given time. And I am open to everything.

Things will come. I will feel the wind as it blows me where I need to go next. I am pliable and ready for anything.

❤   hazel

from devastation; rebirth

IMG_0491I sit near my window with the sounds of the dryer going on in the background. I am looking forward to an adventure tomorrow.

My friend Lisa and I will hike at Mt. St. Helen’s. It has been forty years since it exploded and thrust ashes all over the Pacific NW. When I was a kid, we had to wear masks for days, as the ashes fell quietly around us. The sky was dark. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The top blew off. Some people died and the area was devastated by the blast, the lava flows and by the circumstance.

I remember being given an incredible opportunity to fly over the crater as a child. It was calm, but nonetheless a total wreckage below. Trees were violently fallen, the whole area other than the light showing from the lava, was brown gray.

Animals had perished. Devastation.

And with time, and the seasons there are new flowers, trees and activity in the area. Elk visit and are seen through binoculars. They have found their place where there was no life for so long.

It’s like everything. Life is messy sometimes. The explosions, the different circumstances that can come,  and devastate.

Then there is the re-birth.

I feel that this trip will be a big moment for me. I am currently in devastation mode, but working my way out.  I will see firsthand the possibilities, the goodness that comes from time, and the miraculous process of regeneration.

It is a good reminder that now is not forever. That circumstances change and if a person has an open heart and believes in possibilities; magic can still come at any age.

Magic is happening on the mountain. It lives. Where there was incredibly catastrophic events, something new has come. It continues to grow. It is beautiful, and I am grateful to get to see it tomorrow.

To walk where the animals have. To see nature take back what was hers. To see what Mother nature has given birth to. To listen to the sounds of what is, and what will be.

With my memories from long ago, and with new memories  that I am building I will sit in awe and be grateful. I believe I will get through this. I will grow anew.

It is the way of things. All things.

❤ hazel

“Always working on something”

IMG_0858I spoke to a friend on the phone that I hadn’t talked to in many years. We were childhood friends and always wished each other well, but never really stayed in touch.

When we were talking, he said that from the look of my Facebook posts, I was searching for something. A job, a different type of life. Something.

“It seems like you are always working on something.”

These words hung in the air while I sat in my favorite spot. I had said almost those same words to my mother, many years ago.

I asked her. “Why can’t you just be,; why are you always reading a book, thinking about yourself or on a journey within?”

And I said it with some disdain about it. Like it was a bother to always be fielding some comment about how I should read this book or that book. That I should be taking this course or working on my stuff. I found the idea exhausting.

I am doing the same thing. Is it any wonder I am always on a quest for more, to understand things differently or seeking out that elusive key to life itself?

There is an undercurrent of this very thing restless in today’s society. I am in good company.

We are tired, we are separate, we are searching.  The day to day is not enough. Why are we so unsatisfied with the day? The life?

I guess some are, they don’t sweat stuff. Everything is “fine”.

I have a brain that loves to be teased. I want to figure stuff out. From ways to fix things that nag at me, to solving a problem at work. I want to help others figure out their stuff. I want to help them with their dreams. I listen. I figure. I dream.

What honestly would I do with my brain if I didn’t?

I sit in my room with my Spotify list playing Wings’ “Man on the run” and watching the fake fireplace DVD on my TV, over this screen.

I have the time and space to think. I have the time to read other’s points of view. I am in a place, where I can take this time. It doesn’t hurt anyone; my thinking about  my life.  Well, maybe some, but that was inevitable.

I will take this time to think. To search. To celebrate me, and my questions and thoughts.

Oh boy, I do not have everything figured out. I don’t know anyone who does.

Rather than making it wrong, I will just decide that this is the way my brain works and I will share. Maybe someone will need to hear just what I now needed to say.

It’s just part of me.

With love.


A heart- The symbol of love.

drywall heart

The heart. Symbol of love itself.

Think of the classic heart.

Two perfect lobes coming together at the center to a seamless union. It is the thing we all search for. Two coming together. The perfect union.

When one of the loves is larger than the other, the effort is uneven. One is working harder, one laying back. This happens so often.

People stay together because you do. It’s hard to break the heart.

When one is holding more than their fair share of the love together, they get tired. They wonder. They resent.

The lobe gets smaller and smaller and the other fights by giving more. Trying to hold the shape.

But it is unsustainable.

Destined to break.

The words all make sense. Breaking a heart. The symbol makes total sense. Two becoming one. Someone did it right. They set up this idea. As an idea, it is awesome.

But then we search for the perfect other half. And for some it doesn’t come. And for some, many come, but fail to fill the most important role.

So we search on. For our missing half. The one that completes us. As much as it is a mission to be complete, the shape of the heart.

Love itself needs another.


Becoming One.

Hazel out. ❤

*For so long, I have seen hearts. They come to me. Right now I am in a heart drought. And so it goes. But I will keep searching…

Big changes

IMG_0650 (1)There comes a time when you know you have to say goodbye. When you have tried and tried and the same things keep coming up. When the trying is exhausting and you realize you have built a wall around your heart without really knowing you did it.

I moved out. Packed up many of my possessions, the ones I had hid away in my private space because they were not welcome in the main part of the house. I took myself and my hopes and dreams and said no more and left.

I feel bad for the carnage I have left behind. The tears, the sadness that some are experiencing in my absence. Sometimes, no most of the time, it takes a gap, to appreciate the presence.

I remember years ago when I left my first marriage. I desperately wanted someone to grow with me. Be by my side, as I was by his to see what we could really do in this world. I had spent years taking care of others. My time used to help, be there, foster and mother my two daughters. I took care of the house.

Then as the immense needs of the girls lessened and gave me space to breathe finally; I took a look around and realized I forgot who I was.

What do I like to do?

Who am I?

The process of getting to know yourself all over again is a valiant one, but not one for the faint of heart. You have to get quiet. You have to be still, you have to try things.

Lots of things.

And you have to claim it. Demand that you will take the time, and your life has just as much value as everyone else’s.  That may be the hardest of all.

For the nurturer, we get a lot of our value by being in service to others. We see their successes and accomplishments as our own.

But then when they don’t need us so much, what’s left?

A shell of a person who has to figure it all out again. To say yes to what comes along in the hopes of finding our light again.

I had lost my light.

My daughter today, (she always tell me the truth, the kind that really stings) said to me.  “When you were there, I would be in the same room with you and wonder where my Mom was?”

I wasn’t myself. I had played a part that I learned and believed I needed to, in order to make things easy.

Not that anyone asked me to, but I fell in line and lost my self.

I cast no blame. If I was going to set blame, I would set it on myself as I allowed it to happen in the first place. Again.

I decided. Months ago, really.

But things weren’t lining up, I needed a job.

I leapt anyway. Into the unknown. Believing my wings would pop out on my way. And thankfully they did. The job came, the new place to live came; with a built-in friend and supporter and people were nice to me.

“You are so brave to do what is best for you.” “It will be ok.” They said and I believed it, and it is.

I am okay. I wish things were easier on the people I left. Even now, I know it is for the best. He will find someone that will be exactly what he needs. He will get to be himself too.

I have learned the importance of being able to be our one true self in the arms and heart of another person. To be able to dance to our own music. To reach for our dreams and believe we can have them. To explore every nook and cranny of ourselves.

These lessons we learn, they can be rough. But man, they are important.

Celebrating me. Again. And hopefully for the rest of my life. ❤ hazel


Two creatives

IMG_0294Had a conversation with a friend about what she wants to do with her art business. As I sat with her I asked questions to point her into a mission. What she really wants to see. What we could build upon.

I write a heart on my paper waiting for her to tell me what she loves about her business, so I can write a word or two, beside it. She goes on to tell me that she has postponed doing certain things and had filled her life up with stuff for others in order to avoid the new mission. Automatically avoiding the real success she could have if she just did it.

I push back, and say she can do it, then in my next breath I said I get it. I feel the exact same way. The excuses build up everyday until time is wasted that you can’t get back.

I have been “home” for almost six months. Plenty of time. A real long respite from everything. How did I spend it? Helping others with their dreams.

Working on my own creative endeavors; some, but mostly I would find projects helping others which very conveniently took me away from my writing.

“I’ll get back to it.” I’d say. “Tomorrow.” Then I walk away from the computer. And another day is gone.

I will make a generality here for the sake of this post but I do realize not everyone feels this way. ( Don’t argue with me about this. I don’t care.)

Many of us are absolutely terrified of living up to our full potential and we are all afraid of rejection.

I have two other novels I could have worked on, literally with outlines. Good concepts. If I sat down and really let the words fly, I imagine I could bust them out in about six months. But then what?

As a creative, you make things. Ideas come from your heart and your mind and you put them out into the world, and sometimes the world is not hospitable. It is like holding up your child to the family for the first time and having them say your baby is ugly or stupid. These big things that we share, are our children, are our very hearts. We have carried them with us for months or years. Maybe a lifetime.

Rejection is rough. I have over twenty rejections from years ago with my children’s stories. Now trying to play with the big boys with a novel that I feel, and believe with every part of my being, could give others a sense of peace and acceptance of us being one.

But, I have no audience. No one even gets back to me. The lack of answer is the standard rejection, these days. That in itself is painful. You are not seen. Not heard. Not a person, you stand vulnerable and naked in front of them, and they turn away. Ok, that was a little dramatic, but it feels like that sometimes. Dammit.

Getting up and finding someone else to hand your heart to, then more hopes or wishes that they will get you. Trying again. Then silence. More time goes by.

Then the thoughts that eat at you. Who am I to try to put something out there? Who am I to expect an invitation to Oprah’s house to talk about my book. ( I still see it)

A lot of creatives are also “afraid” of the other side too. What if I get totally successful? What if people will then expect more from me, than I can deliver? The original came from the heart, maybe from trying to heal a dark secret or get over a painful love. What if we can’t perform on command again. What if we can’t deliver?

Many artists are especially tortured with the idea of creation. It can feel like a burden. It is because you feel compelled to do it, you have to get it out of you. many times you cannot sleep, eat or do anything until it is done. Out of you.

I loved Elizabeth Gilbert’s story in her book Big Magic that someone relayed to her. I can’t remember who it was. He looked at ideas as if they are always floating around, just waiting for someone to land on. Once he was driving on a beautiful coastal highway, when the words to his next song came to him. He screamed back “Hey! can’t you see this is not the best time for me to write this stuff down?!”

Love that. I do believe that there are always more ideas and thoughts behind the ones that get away. Sometimes I don’t even write things down anymore, I just let it go on to land on the next person. You have to prioritize, man.

I don’t even know what I am writing about anymore. Basically it was two creatives, drinking tea at an antique oak table and venting about the crap, the excuses we come up with to not do our biggest art. And it was f*&n magical.

Love days like that.

Hazel out.