Personal Growth Through Travel

I left Toronto to fly via Paris to Madrid. How wonderful to sneak away between snow storms and arrive to flowering trees and bushes and singing birds.

After two days exploring Madrid we drove to the coast of Portugal near Faro for a week at an exchange timeshare. Oh bliss!

A two night stopover in Seville before another timeshare exchange on the beach of the Mediterranean near Malaga and the tastes and experiences were feeling very familiar. Life in the slow lane was really catching on for me.

Granada for a day then back to Madrid through Don Quixote country preceded a flight to Paris. The cold winds of March were not as enjoyable as the more tropical climate but the excitement of visiting the top of the Eiffel Tower and returning on a river cruise to see the lights come on as a full moon rose behind that famous structure was magic!

I gathered lots of material for writing and recharges my spirit.

How wonderful to return home to find all well cared for and my family happy and healthy!

I am blessed! Hurray!

Questing Marilyn, is a very personal non-fiction self help book that invites the reader to share a group journey through sacred and historical sites of England and Ireland.

On my Quest I struggle between living out the expectations of others or following my own heart.

From climbing Glastonbury Tor to walking the coastal path to Mousehole, shopping in Bath, crossing the Irish Sea by ferry, musing in Kilkenny Castle and entering the burial chamber at Newgrange, readers will feel like they are on the tour.

I ask; "Who am I when I am free to be Me?"

Quest Publishing

Living is about learning. It is a lifelong Quest. Come with me on a part of my journey and discover living with a new point of view.

As a young child, I learned things from my parents. By their words and actions, they taught me their way to live. In general, I believed what I was told to believe and usually behaved as I was coerced into behaving. I was fearful of making decisions for myself. I feared I might make a wrong decision. When I trusted in my own decisions, I expected criticism and was filled with terror. I was bewildered. I tried to make sense of my experiences. Anxiety was often my companion.

I was taught that if I followed certain rules, acted in specific ways, and did certain things, my life would be happy and calm. Happy and calm was the goal. Keeping my parents happy and calm was part of my perception of my responsibility too. Being nice was a big part of achieving this goal.

In my childhood years, I feared that if I made choices for myself that were different from those that others expected me to make, my life might go wheeling out of control into chaos. At that time, I didn't understand that it was the adults who had difficulty with me because they couldn't control me. I thought that I must do the right thing, according to the definition of right set first by my parents, then by the priests, and later by my teachers. I must, at all costs, be good, by their definition of what that meant. When I managed to conform to their ways, I escaped their emotional reactions which I found so disquieting.

The safety and security of being directed, parented, and protected is seductive. However, as I grew in age and experience, I realized that those who were trying to show me how to live did not have a corner on the truth. I learned that other people did not live as we did. Our way was not the only way, or necessarily the right way, to go about the experience of living. I began to question those who told me that there was only one way to live. I asked many questions. I was not always given satisfactory answers.

Living within the controlling limits set by others is comfortable for a while. The cage of these restrictions confines me as much as a cage confines an animal in the zoo. For me, it eventually becomes unbearable. When feeling safe and comfortable with the familiar is no longer enough, I must break the "rules" listen to my own inner drummer, and move to that beat. I must create my own path. I must follow a spiritual Quest.

I was called rebellious. I was rebuked, punished, and avoided by some people when I did not behave like one of the "nice" girls. When I did not follow the expected norm and maintain the status quo, I was criticized. That was when I first experienced loneliness.

When I roamed the fields and woods near my childhood home, I found my Self in the solitude of nature. I did not feel lonely because I had my Self and my imagination for companionship. I could pretend to be anyone and act any way I wanted. The birds and squirrels never scolded, and when a blue jay sounded as if it was doing so, I could laugh at the imagined rebuke and carry on with my play. This was not the way I handled it when others were present. I learned that, by using my imagination, I could be led to a healing of my Self and the sadness of not being accepted just didn't matter. I sometimes thought of my companion as my guardian angel. I also heard her referred to as a guiding spirit.

Travelling through the process from dependent child to self-responsible adult has been a hazardous journey, fraught with pain and fear. Taking this journey has brought me face to face with some of the vital lessons of a fully lived life. The freedom to make decisions for myself and live with the consequences is often frightening and lonely. However, as a critical, thinking being, I have the power to analyse, observe, and decide for myself. I can develop the flexibility to look at alternative choices. I can create my own life.

The foundation of how I live my life is built on my beliefs. The ideas I was originally taught about how a life should be lived have often come into conflict with the life I want to live. It is the tension between these two forces that I now recognize as the anxiety that leads me into the decision-making process. Knowing my inner conflict is about my beliefs and wants versus the norms expected of me by others, I can look carefully at the choices I face. My beliefs and the myths I have learned guide my steps and shape and limit my choices.

My fears keep me from stretching too far beyond the way I was in the past, while my desire to learn and grow leads me to new ways to be my Self.

When I dare to listen seriously to my inner Self, I often feel fear. I know this fear. It has become familiar and it has power in my life. As I live with it, I discover I can venture forth into the place where I feel it most acutely. It leads me into territory that has previously been only a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. In the past, I have been told that everything is possible, and I have been told that some of my dreams are unattainable. The contradiction between these two concepts creates tension within me. Sometimes I just want the tension to go away so I can keep on doing the same old things that are familiar and safe. This is when I try to bury it with busyness.

I sometimes think that my life choices are unique to me; no one has been in my position before me, no one really understands me. I believe my life and my choices are as diverse as I am as a person. I am special.

As I have matured, I have gradually realized that there are common elements to life and developmental stages through which we all progress. I am travelling a route others have travelled before me. This awareness calms and comforts me. I need not feel isolated. The knowledge that I am at a normal and predictable stage that countless others have experienced and survived, stretches me from the disappointment of realizing that I am not so special after all, to the joy of not being totally alone.

Like a formless ghost gliding just ahead of my awareness, the next stage of growth beckons me to follow. My spirit sees the apparition and senses the adventure. I follow just at my growing edge, travelling where I have never dared to go before. The excitement of the anticipation pulls me onward. I am not the only factor that controls my destiny. I hear a drum beat, a calling from deep within. Some force to grow lures me on.

There are those who have travelled this way before me and those who will travel after me. Life has order. There is a grand design. Those who travel behind can learn from my experience. I can learn from those who went into this territory before me. I am part of the flow of human existence and the flow of the evolution of our species.

I can actively seek like-minded others to share my time and experiences. I have discovered that I can choose my friends. If I have no sense of choice, then I am not living my life in full consciousness. Sometimes, those who think like me drop into my life as if by magic. When I spend time with these like-minded soul mates, my previous panic settles into a sense of common adventure. Sharing personal stories of triumphs over oppression, conquered terrors, and fresh ways to be alive in the world, stirs my imagination.

I am choosing to flow with the current of life rather than lying in a tide pool experiencing the same things again and again. To do this, I must be brave. I must accept that at times there will be chaos. I will have to let go of needing to be in control and trust the universal forces.

Living life with purpose and meaning is exciting. The energy of the universe flows through my being and creates more energy. The experience of this process is contagious. Sharing this universal life force is the essence of being truly alive and present in the act of living. The results are well worth the trials and tribulations I have met on the way. Journeying has become my way of life.

I now actively search for the next phase of my personal growth. I know I am planning to visit a "land" that is not entirely foreign, only foreign to me. As an adventurer, I am on a journey that I believe will last me my whole life. A new relationship, discovery, or awareness excites me. I then apply the new skills and ideas in my life. This is how my life experience expands and changes.

When I realize I am doing something I have never done before or thinking in a way I have not experienced thought before, I practice the new-found skill to test it. Once I realize it has a broad spectrum of applications, I want to share my new discovery with anyone who is interested. I want to be your guide on this journey. This is my intention in sharing this personal Quest with you.

Please read, learn, and enjoy.

Marilyn

I arrive home just after eleven o'clock, tired and listless. I am a therapist with a private practice in Oakville. I do some of my work about an hour's drive away, in Toronto, where I lead a weekly therapy group of incest survivors. The house is unusually dark. I am surprised and slightly disappointed to see that all the house lights, inside and out, are off.

I turn my key in the front door lock and gently push the door open. My little white dog, Pickles, has heard my car. He has been watching through the window. His tail is wagging noiselessly in greeting. I pick him up for a wet lick of a kiss, turn the outside lights on, and then release him for a moment to the lawn outside the front door. I turn on the hall light and flip through the mail as I stand at the open door. Pickles runs back inside and wiggles to be picked up. I close and lock the door.

My husband and three children are all in bed and appear to be quietly asleep. Everything looks in order, school bags are on the counter and the breakfast table is set. Save for the seemingly loud ticking of the kitchen clock, silence.

Even though I feel physically tired, I am too emotionally charged to
sleep. I put Pickles down and pour myself a glass of cold white wine from an open bottle in the refrigerator. I take it into the family room. Pickles follows. I am glad of his company. I start to question Jack's early retiring and the darkened house. This is not usual. Some lights are always left on when one of us is out after dark. I leave the lights off in the family room and move about by the dim light reflected from the hall.

Not wanting to stir feelings that lie buried in the place where I hide my troubles, I make a mental excuse for him. To block further questioning, I settle myself on the couch and turn on the television with the volume low. Pickles hops up and burrows in beside me. Flipping channels to see what will catch my interest, I stop at a peaceful scene of luxuriant green English countryside. The tranquillity, soft music and the sight of gently rolling hills soothe my spirit. I recline further into the comfort of the couch. The lilt in the narrator's voice describing the legend of King Arthur and the Quest for the Holy Grail rings familiar in my ears. Something touches somewhere deep inside me. I feel an emotional jolt. I watch and listen with a new intensity that surprises me. I feel as if I know these stories as well as I know my own name. Like a call from home, a feeling of warm familiarity courses through me. I mentally search for the source of my arousal.

Is it the excitement I felt in reading Mary Stewart's tales about the legends of King Arthur and the Grail, or Marian Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon? Both of these authors captivated my interest. I lost myself in the stories they wove and felt touched by the lives they created with their words.

Memories of travels in England with my husband and the wonderful, close times we shared also stir my emotional soup. We have enjoyed some particularly close and happy experiences, undisturbed by the responsibilities of parenting and daily living. In the stillness of my home, that intimacy is now acutely absent. My breast aches with yearning. I drink the cold wine, feeling the chill of it in my mouth and throat. I let myself feel the effects of the alcohol as it softens my rigidity. I start to relax.

The program credits roll up the screen and, as they conclude, the music fades. I push the control button to shut off the television. I do not want to break my reverie with commercials or station identification. As the screen darkens, I am left in the quiet stillness of my own home. The words I want to go scream in my head.
A swelling of emotion fills me like warm water flowing from some inner depth. The intensity of the desire shocks me. I really, really want to go. I want the change, the adventure, and the challenge.

What is happening to me?

I am shocked by the suddenness of my thoughts and the intensity of my feelings. Somewhere deep in my breast, there is a tender place that has no physical existence. Unexpectedly, when something stirs my spirit, there is a resonance that registers itself only in that place. The first stirring is sometimes muted, a mere flutter, like a soft longing faintly heard, yet unmistakable. At other times, like a shock of electricity aimed straight at my most vulnerable spot, I am jolted into awareness. This is a jolt!

Is it that I want to run away from what I have or do I want to run to somewhere or something else?

I know that the process of change is often triggered by a response to stress. Flight from the cause of the stress is natural. In this flight response the direction of escape is not pre-planned. It is a panic reaction. I have too much responsibility with a sense of too little power. I am struggling to make my life more the way I want it to be. This is stressful. I feel an intense desire to run away, to just start running and run and run and run.

I also know that creative change can be the result of a desire to explore and experience a place that was previously thought to be out of reach. This is the reaction that comes as a calling to follow a dream. I want a dream to chase. I feel as if both the desire to run away and the desire to follow a dream are occurring within me at the same time.

What am I planning now?
I whisper the words into the semidarkness.

The question inside my head implies that I have already started in a new direction. I sit and let my mind and emotions create without censure.

Is this about escape or Quest?

I know I have a busy life. I regularly deal with other people's wants and needs. I know I am stressed. But my stress keeps me going. Has my life become too predictable? Am I doing enough for myself outside my responsibilities for others? Do I even feel connected to who I have become?

In this quiet moment of self-indulgence, I imagine going to England on a Quest for the Holy Grail, the cup of salvation. I will go on a Quest.

This silent declaration results in a feeling of power. I am making a firm decision. I can and will make something happen that is just for me. I do not know how or when, but I will look for an opportunity.

Whatever is coming together for me at this moment lights a fire in my heart. Scalding tears flow silently down my cheeks and I leave them unchecked. I know this is a very significant moment. How and why is not yet clear, but I am certain that this is the beginning of something that will change my life.

I have learned over the years that when I let some previously unrealized idea just flow through me, a tingling radiates throughout my body and my eyes often fill with tears. The tears tell me: This is important!

I shift my mind into neutral. This is easy to do in the muted light.

Pickles is asleep and motionless beside me. I become focused in the
present moment, keeping my mind first on my breathing, then on the centre of my forehead just above the bridge of my nose. I am both receptive and intensely aware of myself. I learned this skill in a workshop at a professional conference and I have found it very useful when I want to settle and focus myself. From this position, I can feel my feelings and hear my thoughts as if they were sitting on my shoulder. This sensitivity leads me to recognize the signposts that only I can discern on the way to my next transformation. I must make something change. I can feel a change coming but not quite see it yet.

Some people know what I am talking about. They have told me their stories. Sometimes clients come to therapy in this pre-awareness state wanting to know why they feel such restlessness and an anticipation of something yet unknown. When they discover what the next step is, some do not heed the call. Their instinct is not given serious consideration. They feel too much fear to change. They bury their feelings and deny the pull of their psyche. They wipe their tears and apologize. When they remain oblivious to their intuition they are avoiding opportunities for transformation. They stay rigid and stuck in known territory.

They stubbornly cling to the familiar and try in vain to control their world so change does not encroach. They act as if they can avoid what is a necessary part of being human. This denial may work for a while, but inevitably they will lose their grasp on their known universe.

The shift may come gradually at first or be sudden and shocking, like an earthquake along a tense fault line. I regularly work with people who are in the process of change and crisis. I do not want to resist this opportunity in my own life. I let go of any remaining self-control.

Let go and let be, let go and let God be my guide.

Pickles stirs and pushes at my arm with his nose. He scratches my leg with his paw, sensing my turmoil. I pull him close and cry softly into his little furry body. I slowly relax as the tears flow. Crying can be a good release of inner tension. Finally I sit in silence, my mind stilled. After a while, I feel sleep scratching at my eyes. I resist the wandering of my mind and try to quiet the chatter in my head.

I slowly and quietly climb the stairs, change into a nightgown, and slide into bed beside my apparently sleeping husband. I feel purged, tired, and a new sense of something creative growing inside me. This is the beginning of my next rebirth.

John Matthews, in his book, At the Table of the Grail: Magic and the Use of Imagination, describes nostalgia as the most powerful impulse underlying the attractiveness of the Grail stories.

"There is a common language, a mode of consciousness, almost a secret sign which can be read and recognized by all who are similarly engaged. Such realizations help fend off the feeling of isolation which can dog the steps of those who seek the Grail."

Was there a secret sign for me in the television show?

Read Chapter Two Free

Quest Publishing

Judging by the distance to Tintagel Castle, I know I can run to catch up with the others even if I take a few minutes to try to call home. Again, no line is available. Turning from the call booth with blurred vision from my own tears of disappointment, I follow the packed earth path downward to the castle. My sadness is the result of my loving feelings for my family. I am glad I have someone to love.

I walk beside a gurgling stream, more slowly than intended, not really trying to catch up. It is easy going and I breathe the clear ocean air deeply. The path flattens for a short distance before climbing up to the castle gates. I quicken my steps and lift my chin. Jack's words flash through my mind, "Keep your chin up!"

I smile at the familiarity and helpfulness of the phrase. I feel his affection in the memory of his encouragement. With a warm smile consciously placed on my face, I step through the gates to find myself on the high edge of a cliff that overlooks the sea and a magnificent towering island. The island is connected to the mainland by about fifteen feet of rock. The ruins of Tintagel Castle create a silhouette against the sky.

I have read stories set here of storms and horses, love, and passion. My immediate thrill of the expansive view is cut short by Tom calling me. He is about to recite another one of the long historical monologues.

I want to daydream my own visions and feel the energy of this place first hand. I do not want to stand and listen. I position myself at the edge of the group. Only half listening to Tom's words, I scan the vista. Barely tolerating the drone of his voice, I stay put as long as I can. I slowly edge away.

Once free, I wander alone down the very steep steps, holding fast to the iron railing. I am filled with a tense excitement that draws me right down to the beach.

I look back up the cliff and see most of my companions scattered along the steps, making their way down to the sea. Barbara and Joanne have decided not to climb down. A few other tourists are on the beach, but it is virtually deserted. I stand at the edge of the churning water and smell the salty damp air. I love the energy!

There is a cave to my left and I tingle with anticipation as I move alone along the rocky beach and into the massive stone vault. The surrounding rocks are dark and wet. Moving into the shadows, I see that it is an archway and not a closed cave. Massive waves from the incoming tide are smashing the beach, both behind and in front of me. I walk into the edge of the waves. The swirling, foaming water laps at my boots, threatening to get over the tops. I am determined to get into the centre of the arch, without getting wet feet. It is a powerful spot, full of the noise of crashing waves and the distant cry of seagulls. I have a sense of being deep in the earth, on the very frontier between water, land, and air. The challenge is met and I retreat from the swirling torrent.

I can feel the wetness of the salt sea on my smiling face. I know this is an experience that has returned me to the innocent excitement of my childhood. Like a carefree and careless youth, I have scampered into the danger of the crashing water. I feel no fear. Only now, as I see the tentative approach of the others who hang back on the steps, do I reassess my actions.

A sea otter is frolicking, just off shore, in the wavy water. I laugh at the sight and point him out to the others. A large black Labrador retriever is playing with stones about the size of tennis balls. They are being rolled in by waves. Sally tempts him to leave the rock and chase a piece of driftwood. He leaps into the waves, retrieves it, and then drops it at her feet. She throws it again, and the dog again drops it on the shoreline. As Sally stretches to catch the stick, it retreats on an ebbing wave. She steps forward, her hand clasping the wet, slippery wood as a wave crashes into her and soaks her running shoes and pants.

The group gathered to watch start to laugh at her plight, but soon stop as we hear her angry cries of surprise and disdain. The water is cold and the wind is cool. I turn and climb back up the many well-worn steps until I reach the stone gateway where I started. I can see Sally trudging up behind me. I turn to go up the steep, narrow steps that lead to a small stone archway into the remains of what was once the castle.

Having just been to the centre of the opening under this island, I am determined to go to the very top. I scramble up a combination of rough stone steps and grassy slopes. I look about the rugged terrain to find the highest point on which I can stand. I want to talk to the wind and thank God for the beauty, the majesty, and the power of this place.

The wind is blowing so strongly I feel as though I will lift into the sky. My plastic raincoat billows out, trapping air like a kite. I imagine soaring high into the sky like a great, pink bubble and sailing with the seagulls, which appear to be having such a wonderful time riding the wind.

Here I can feel my inner readiness to say YES to life, to transcend my insecurities, fears, and the limitations I put on myself and have allowed others to put on me. I feel free enough to fly from my past conditioning and open myself up to any opportunity the world can offer me.

As I free myself in a fantasy flight, I realize my Quest is inward. I know at this point that what I am seeking does not lie in some soggy field or damp cave at the edge of the sea. What I am seeking I carry like a secret within. Like the sculptor, who speaks of freeing the being from within the block he is about to carve, I am on a Quest to free the being that is my Self.

Questing France continues with my story as I embark on a personal journey to understand marital infidelity and my roles as wife, mother, sibling, friend, and businesswoman. It has been called "a profoundly cathartic book that shows the reader how to look deep within and focus upon the most important things in life."

I ask; "Can I hold on to me when I am with you?"

I assist my readers with creating and maintaining relationships with integrity. It poses serious questions and provides answers.

Quest Publishing

NOTE

Questing France is a great book for those who have never experienced infidelity to gain insight into the feelings and the decisions that accompany betrayal.

Some of our journeys are taken by choice. Some are taken by chance. Others are ones where the choices other people make change our course.

I am about to tell you a story that covers several years of my life and travel to a variety of locations. Travelling is a way to experience new and interesting places. Travelling can also present opportunities for personal growth. We can move through physical space and we can move intellectually, emotionally and spiritually. How we are on the outside is a mirror of our inner Self. While looking outward, we can also learn to look inward and discover our Self.

My purpose in telling you my story is to share what I have learned. Learning is part of our life journey. I have used notes, journal entries, correspondence and photographs to create this story.

I have included life skills that I have learned through my experiences and my professional training. I want to help others recognize the characteristics in their relationships-both those they have with others, and their relationship with themselves. We can learn from our history and make changes to our ways of relating, so our future is one of choice not chance.

Emotional intensity can distort memories and put greater meaning into them for the person most affected, while others who were present may not even recall the specific incident. I know some facts are lost. Some may appear exaggerated. This is my story.

In order to tell this story, I need to include other people and my version of the relationships I have had with them. This is not about their versions of events. It is about my experiences and my honest interpretations of what happened. It is my truth.

I went to England and Ireland and returned to write Questing Marilyn. I challenged my conditioning-the beliefs instilled in me.

I learned to think for and about my Self. I came to know myself at a deeper level. I found my Holy Grail.

In Questing France, I write about the process I have been through as I worked toward creating an honest loving marital relationship.

I want to intimately share my life with my husband, conquer the hurdles and challenges of our lives, and create a bond based on honesty and mutual respect. I seek to have an adult/adult relationship as the core of my life, where we each strive for personal fulfillment as loving people. A romantic tour of France, celebrating twenty five years of marriage, was an important time for working toward this goal. Hence I have chosen the title Questing France.

Over the years of this story, I also worked to grow with my children as a responsible parent. I seek a lifelong relationship with them and to teach by my examples. Even though children grow into adults, there are many areas where they turn to their parents for guidance, support and love. Travel provides opportunities to strengthen parent/child relationships.

I also believe we grow in depth through loving. Being able to not only find, but also to hold onto my Self, while in committed intimate relationships with others, demands that I deepen the search. The Holy Grail that is my Self is richer and more varied when I share it with love.

Everyone experiences similar events in different ways, depending on who they are and what they have done. There are common threads to all of our human experiences. If these threads have not woven their way through your life, I'm sure you will find some experiences that have woven through the life of someone you know.

In my work as a therapist, I have taken many journeys with my clients. Rather than tell stories of other people's lives, I have chosen to tell my own life as it is the one I know best. Enjoy!

Marilyn

Read Chapter One Free

Quest Publishing