2010 was the year life showed me I had no conscious control. It was the year I learned to allow, to take my hands off the wheel and realize I was in the passenger seat, despite the map in my hands. It was the most painful year of my life. For 2011 I chose the word ease to signify my hopes and dreams, my vision for the 365 days to follow. I wanted life to be easier and I wanted to handle it better. It was the second hardest year of my life. 2011 came bearing great gifts and big challenges. These last two years catapulted me into growth, into change, into myself. I’ve been reluctant to admit how hard it’s been. When I do, tears spring instantly to my eyes. As the final days of December ticked by, I felt a loosening, as though my torso had been wrapped in a harness I wasn’t aware I was wearing. It was a physical sensation, accompanied by the most beautiful feeling of lightness. It moved me deeper into trust, and into the knowing that I am loved and all is well.

I wasn’t going to choose a word for 2012. Nothing came to mind anytime I tried. It felt forced, something I should do. I’m cutting should and try out of my vocabulary so I let it go. Just before Christmas, as we entered our final deep relaxation, or savasana, in yoga my teacher invited us to either relax as usual, or imagine contacting our higher self to see what she had to say. As I drifted into that lovely space of inner connection that has become familiar over the last year, images flooded my mind and then came the word, celebrate. It hung, crystalline, inside me and my entire being breathed, yes. It encompasses joy, gratitude, lightness and play and in my mind at least, takes them a step beyond. This is the energy I want to take into 2012. This is my word.

We’ve started to get acquainted over the past week and a half, celebrate and I. I’ve realized I don’t know much about it. The first associated thoughts that come to mind are have a party and have a drink, as those have been my celebration go-to’s as an adult. I don’t  drink much alcohol anymore and I’m not about to throw a party every day, so my exploration begins with the following questions:

What does “celebrate” mean to me? (i.e. what counts as a celebration?)

What and how do I want to celebrate?

What is mindful celebration?

What happens when the thought of celebration makes me want to hurl dishes at the wall?

I wondered too, about focusing on celebration here, where my writing as been so much about grief, as well as the fullness and beauty of life. Are they incongruent, celebration and loss? We threw a birthday party for Ada eleven days after Ben died because it was vitally important to me, but is that wise? I was reminded of Brene Brown’s wonderful TEDx talk where she says that the research shows we can’t numb emotions selectively. If we numb grief, we numb joy. If we close ourselves off to vulnerability, we close ourselves off to connection and love. We flat line. The world becomes shades of gray. My willingness to stay present with my grief has allowed me to grow in ways I never could have imagined. My ability to sit in the muck when I needed to has given me a greater capacity for joy, for gratitude, for living with an open heart. It’s also made me even more keenly aware of my brain’s negative bias (a human trait) and my tendency to dismiss my successes as I stay focused on my desires and what’s still to come.

Looking back on 2011, I am amazed at what I accomplished while still being immersed in my own grief process. I made huge dreams come true. I’m done dismissing them. I want to celebrate everything – from the little moments with my daughter that break my heart wide open with an aching joy, to the hard-to-miss moments like my 40th birthday, a long-awaited vacation, and career visions turned reality. In the spirit of spontaneity, I launched “Celebration School” on Facebook and Twitter (hash tag is #celebrationschool). It will start out as a daily post and tweet about celebration and who knows where it will go. I will revisit it periodically here on the blog as I answer the above questions and more. I invite you, no matter what’s happening in your life, to add a little more celebration. If that feels impossible, then I encourage you gently to turn your face in the direction of joy.

May 2012 bring us all ease, healing, light and full permission to be who we are. Shine brightly this year. Celebrate the imperfect, beautiful fullness of all that you are.

Life keeps laughing at me, but it’s okay because I’m laughing along.

After my big declaration in yesterday’s post, I woke up this morning to a deluge of emails and Facebook posts letting me know the TEDxOjaiWomen talks are finally up on the TED site. So for those of you who’ve asked, here it is.

If it resonates at all, please share it. The more we can stay present with grief, the more open our conversation can be around it, the better off we all are.

Check out the other TEDxOjaiWomen speakers: Dyana Valentine, Instigator (I’m Not Sorry), Kira Ryder, Yogini (Slip Into Something More Comfortable), Colleen Wainwright, The Communicatrix (Are You Sure It’s Impossible?) akka b, Poet (Permission to Play), Gloria M. Miele, PhD, Business Consultant (What I’ve Learned Being a Girl Scout), and Alison Ivy, Money DeMystifier (The Gift of Money Know-How).

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On another note, I’ve been meaning to share Raising Roses with you all too. I’ve written before about my friend Roos in Amsterdam (or Rose, to translate her name). Her husband Kenji has acute lymphoblastic leukemia and is fighting for his life after a double cord blood transplant. Though they are lucky to live in a country with socialized health care, some of his new cocktail of drugs is not covered. Roos will have to return to work soon, but right now she is full-time mama, wife and caregiver. Zen author and teacher Karen Maezen Miller (whose words have also helped me navigate the last 18 months) launched Raising Roses in order to help defray some of their costs. There are hundreds of worthy causes that could use our money, particularly at this time of year. If Roos and Kenji’s journey touches your heart, please consider supporting them as well. You can do so here.

Doing the dishes the other night, I chuckled as I realized how far I’ve come from the December I’d imagined. The holiday cards that arrived in their shiny yellow boxes right after Thanksgiving have yet to be finished. The “25 days of giving” has turned into 3 or 4. The homemade gifts still need to be, well, made.

I’ve decided to be okay with all of it.

The last few weeks have brought a resurgence of grief. Perhaps it’s from stepping into the holiday season. Perhaps it was preparing for the TEDx talk that pulled so many memories to the surface. Perhaps it was simply time to peel another layer of scarring away and expose a deeper wound to the sun. My writing right now is about a part of my life that is not ready to be shared. My focus is being pulled inward. Soft voices are urging me to give myself space to do this deep, healing work.

I am choosing to listen.

This space will be quiet for the next two and a half weeks. I am going on a social media fast: no blogging, no tweeting, no Facebook. I’ll check my email twice a day instead of compulsively every time I see a green flashing light on my phone. The hours feel precious and my soul is calling out to be nurtured and fed. I feel trepidation – a wondering about what I will miss – but it is time.

With a heart full of gratitude and love, I wish you deep peace and exquisite joy this holiday season. Take good care of your hearts and in the quiet moments, notice if there is something your soul is calling out for. Perhaps it is time to listen.

I’ll see you in the new year.

My friend Kristin Noelle has released a wonderful e-book called Unspiking the Holiday Punch. It is full of her lovely illustrations and contains seven gentle practices to help you navigate the emotional minefield of the holidays. If you are someone who struggles when spending time with family (as much as you love them), I highly recommend this simple, loving and wise little book.

In December of 2010, I chose the word I wanted to represent the coming year, this year. I chose ease.

Early in 2011 I realized that what I had hoped for was not ease, but easy. A year that would allow me to coast through, waving and blowing kisses like a Disney princess in her nightly parade. Here is what I wrote then:

“Easy wouldn’t have kept me growing, wouldn’t have forced the healing, wouldn’t have pushed me harder and farther than I thought I wanted to go. Easy could have been handed to me on a silver platter and I would have enjoyed it immensely, but ease is up to me. Ease will take me from seed to flower, because it’s about my level of trust, my faith in myself and the world around me. Ease is about sleeping peacefully with earthquake and tsunami predictions and an ocean 100 yards from my bed. Ease is trusting that I will wake up in the morning when the anxiety I don’t even know that I’m feeling is pounding in my chest. Ease is knowing that if I don’t wake up, those who love me will be okay. Ease is focusing on the weight lost and the health gained, not the ache in my neck and the numbers still to go. Ease is living with gratitude for all that I have been given, when I’m being pounded by grief and swallowed whole by anger. Ease is letting go of the story that has held me together and held me back, without having a new one to tell.”

I began to step into the word. It became a touchstone, like the rubber band on a reformed smoker’s wrist that she snaps to get through the craving. I would find myself whispering it, wondering about it, praying for it. Ease became a practice, another way of entering into the present moment and letting go of my fear, my attachments, my beliefs. Like the word trust, it has become a mantra, a reminder to let go and enjoy the lessons, however painful they might be.

As I sit at the cusp of another year, attempting to wrap my head around the magnitude of the changes brought by the last two, I want to choose a new word, bring in a new energy, slip into something a little more comfortable than what’s surrounded me recently. But I can’t. Or rather I could, but I am ready to admit I have no idea what’s coming, despite my big dreams and intense visions. I have a feeling it’s going to be epic. I plan to put on a little lip gloss and enjoy the ride.

What word sums up 2011 for you? Is there one that encapsulates your dreams for 2012? I’d love to know.