looking for the loophole

jodi sh. doff : onlythejodi : looking for the loophole : loopholeIf I’m calling around to see if what I have in mind is ethical or not, I already know the answer.

When I ask, “Is this ethical?” what I really mean is “Hey, there’s this thing I want to do and we both know I shouldn’t, that it’s unethical or immoral or just plain wrong, but there must be some way around that, isn’t there? Something? Some loophole? Can you give me an easy out on this one? Would you co-sign my bullshit?”

Really. That’s what I’m saying. I know it. And you do too.

A friend told me about a job recently, one she thought she might be interested in, but the universe was just not aligning. Phone calls were missed. Interviews were scheduled on impossible days. And it sounded like exactly what I’d been looking for.  She couldn’t show up for it, but I could. Only she really wanted it and was trying to figure out a way to make it work.

I made the phone calls looking for a co-signer. It took a few before I got someone on the line and as the words were coming out of the mouth I was liking myself less and less. Honestly, I only called people I knew would not give me a walk, because you can always find someone to tell you what you want to hear. These days, what I want to hear is the truth, even when I don’t want to hear the truth.

The truth is there is something out there just right for each of us, the universe is a place of abundance & friendships are harder to come by and keep than jobs, at least for me. Trust matters more than convenience.

I’d forgotten for a brief moment, that I already knew all that. Sometimes I need a little crisis of faith to remind me of my faith. So, it bears repeating.

There is something out there just right for each of us.

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thank youse

I’m momentarily speechless.

Actually, the truth is I’m momentarily self-conscious. Mostly, I write for me, and try to give little thought to an actual audience or readership, afraid of ego stepping in, of sounding writerly, or worse, like a pompous ass. I write to see what I really think and feel because I don’t always know until it comes out my fingertips.

This week some actual flesh and blood people touched my actual fingertips and said things that could turn my writerish head, wonderful touching things that made me cry in a good way. Thank youse, all of youse.

jodi sh doff : onlythejodi : thank youse : savage chickensNow the temptation to write “to” things is pretty overwhelming and I don’t want to do that. It’s overwhelming to know that my words can touch someone, make them laugh, be a comfort or an inspiration, but then, knowing, the trick is to just let go and continue doing what’s been working, taking the actions and letting go of the results.

Easier said than done, but that’s my intention. I needed to get that out of the way so I could write this.

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dancing with god

jodi sh doff : onlythejodi : dancing with god : play-dohI used to say I was looking for a cowboy who knew when to ride me hard, when to give me some sugar and when to simply dance me. Big Edie always said dancing is all about relaxing into the arms of a good leader and just going along with the music. I’ve been looking for that all my life, that ability to relax and feel safe in someone’s arms.

Lately, I feel like I’m dancing with God.

That doesn’t mean I know where I’m going. I’m not throwing this party, I’m just wearing my party shoes and trying to say yes every time I’m asked to dance.

My white board gets clearer every day. There are fewer things on, less distractions, I still don’t have a job (and honestly, I haven’t been looking very hard) and yet I’m booked day after day after day. My days are filled with the things I put on the board and have yet to erase.

I’m writing. Every day.  And reading when asked.
I’m writing with other people and creating new things, new platforms, drawing other people in, allowing myself to be drawn into and learn from other people’s processes.

I’m in graduate school on Tuesdays and that may or may not continue looking the way it does now, but I’m pretty sure I’ll always be a student somewhere.

Wednesday nights I’m training to be an end-of-life companion, which is exactly what it sounds like and I haven’t figured out how to talk about that yet.

I have my Fridays at the Green Chimneys’ farm with my senior sheeps (Phoebe, Hazel, Tommy & Laverne), the baby goats, our cows & emu, the sows & potbellied pigs, the bunnies and their unexpected babies because apparently Walter was not actually fat and probably should have been named something a little frillier, the chickens with the fancy pants and the ones with the church lady hats, the peacocks and never ending broods of peacock babies, the chattering guinea hens  and even the vulture after vulture after vulture that line the wooden fences.

I have mounds and pounds of Play-doh in dozens of colors with which to build a life. An embarrasement of riches and while I’m excited to see what it’s going to look like in the end, I know, the joy is in the journey…

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