Devynation

Due to an expanding vision of devynation, it’s now moved onto bigger and better things! Like this site and want to continue reading? Just head to huesofblue.org and find the devynation blog there! Same as always, just in a new home Cheers!

Passion and Grace,
Devyn

The presents are unwrapped, there are no more under the tree, and you think Oh, no, here it comes those famous words from your Mom, “Well take this list for the thank you notes.” You’ve received all these amazing things and your hand is already cringing, your tongue sore, just thinking of the thank you notes and envelopes you’ll need to write and lick. How many creative ways can you say to your relatives, “Thanks for the generous check, it’s going into my bank account for college!” when really it’s headed to the new surfboard fund. Despite the tediousness they sometimes require, thank you notes, becoming more and more rare, are such a sweet surprise when they arrive. Not the thank you from an email or a text message, but from a note card. Handwritten, that penmanship from your friend is a piece of art and connection that’s slowly getting lost. This weekend you may have been showered in gifts of love and beautiful days and some fun material things too, but it’s soon to be the New Year, claiming the end of another holiday season. The trick to not letting all these beautiful days blend together? Thank you notes. But this time, the note you write is to you. Wake up and all day long make mental notes of the gifts you receive, so that you can go home and create your thank you card. Whether it’s on a ripped piece of paper or in a tiny book, write the thank you note for the gift of your day to yourself. Say thank you to what you allowed yourself to experience and to receive marking this holiday as one of the best; the one you claimed in gratitude. If you’d like to share, we’d love to see some of your cards! Send pictures of them to devynation@gmail.com, or hang them on the tree!

Not as crafty as I would’ve liked, but even in a hotel I managed to pull mine off! Have fun with it!

That 4-letter word, no not love, Home. It’s the place you were born, the place you moved to, and the place your memories live. Enter your chosen cliché here, as their are tons, to try and bottle up and explain the special place in which the highest amounts of love, people, and joy all meet up.

Some of us may be on our first move, or in the last home we will ever live in, but as soon as I started traveling and transferring I realized the struggle wasn’t to keep connected to that place of home I started out in, but to create home as space inside of me.

This time from November to the New Year has an interesting complex, more than peace people feel stress and chaos at a time they’re supposed to be traveling back to this sacred space of home. What to see instead is the amazing opportunity to define what home is for yourself, create it as a space you live in everyday, and then bring it back to the 4 walls you also want to label home. For me it’s the place I feel of the of most truth, where I feel safe to take risk, and supported to express the ideas of my dreams. This is my definition, but my favorite definition comes from Jack Johnson, “Home is wherever we are if there’s love there too”. So define it for you, or take on someone’s cliché,  and act from this place everyday, even when you step out of those 4 walls.

Home is not just a house, it’s that place, as you define it, where you operate from love and are willing to be in truth.

Life isn’t about how hard you work yourself, or how fast you accomplish your work, it’s about how you allow those around you (strangers, neighbors, friends, family) to love you, and how limitlessly you give love in return. This has been said in dozens of different ways, through quotes, prayers and proverbs, but in this daily experience of life I think it’s necessary to be reminded just as frequently.

Giving is the trend today and marketing campaigns tell us, “Give all that you are and work hard to keep giving,” but often we lose sight of participating in the other half of this whole—receiving. Celebrities are shown promoting their favorite charities and nonprofits, yet overlooked is the fact that, to get to where they are, these successful people had to learn to receive. At some point someone reached out a hand to help pull them up to the pile of accomplishments they are standing on, and they were willing to grab it. They know the secret to receiving: being willing and vulnerable to take risks and open to the support of others. This, being supported, is harder than all the giving in the world. It’s completing the circle and operating in the wholeness of the giving/receiving exchange. To experience all that is grand, it is essential to participate in both parts. I was able to do this for myself once I moved away from thoughts that told me my strength was shown only when I faced a challenge alone. I started (and am continually working toward) holding the same compassion for myself as I hold for others; in doing this I experience life in an entirely new way.

Everyone needs to invest in a hammock. We have beds for sleeping—time to shut out reality, and couches for comfortable rest—socializing with a cushion under our bums. So when is it that we can put ourselves in a space where our feet aren’t connected to the limitations of our world and our minds can be swinging back and forth in imagination, and how do we get there? By buying a hammock. A hammock is a daydream session set with intention. Not the one that spurs out of a desperate need to escape the boring meeting. So go out this week and get yourself one, post it at a place with a view or a place totally hidden. Leave your phone and grab a book, a pen, paper, and swing away. You’ll be surprised what comes out of that time spent hovering above ground.  Maybe like me, it’s your next devynation post ? A chair is more than the object under your butt; it is the intention of your time, in that space, in that moment.

Swing On

Passion and Grace,

Devyn

I regularly misspelled the word losing with two os. Until last Monday, when I learned how to spell it.

My day was so busy and I just wasn’t feeling that great. A paper to write. A film to edit. People to meet. And not much sleep the night before. I felt like I was sprinting next to the tracks alongside a runaway train that represented my life, and I couldn’t quite catch it to jump on. Despite my frustration, I started in on my daily list, going through the motions to accomplish what I needed to get done. The day was almost wrapped when extreme discomfort came over me. It was late at night and I was in my dorm room rolling on the floor in pain. I knew I had to drive to my parent’s home so I could see my doctor in the morning. But I also couldn’t stop thinking of the tasks I hadn’t completed and all that I was going to lose. I drove home disappointedly and thought, Another day lost, more things unfinished.
The next morning, after seeing my doctor, I was waiting for my prescription to be filled, in Walgreen’s parking lot. The book I was reading opened with the poem “One Art” by Elizabeth Bishop. It talked about the art of losing. I noticed the word losing (with only one o) again and again, in the poem. From now on I’d remember how to spell it. As I read the poem, I smiled at the irony of the loss of time I had insisted on affirming, yet here is this gorgeous sunny October day I had gained, even if I was enjoying it in the parking lot of a Walgreen’s. My windows were down and a warm breeze drifted through the car. I glanced in my rear view mirror to see the owners of the neighboring car approaching. They were done with their shopping and ready to go. I thought this might be a little awkward. Helping the elderly woman into the passenger seat, the middle-aged man directed a “Beep beep,” toward me, breaking the ice of being in such awkward, close and personal space of each other. I tried not to stare, but I wanted to capture the story of these people I was offered such close insight to. He closed the car door for the woman. “What’re you reading?”

“The Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing,” I said. “A book of short stories.”

“I just finished a marvelous book, True Grit,” he said.

“Would you recommend it?” I asked.

“You’ll read the first sentence and devour the rest, such a brilliant author she is.”

I went straight home and checked out the book. I’m sure I’ll love it.

Today I learned why losing only has one o. Because nothing is ever lost or gained, it’s just one experience exchanged for another; always one experience. Now I see that the art of losing is not losing at all. I gained a book, a sunny afternoon, and the fact that I’ll never forget how to spell losing again because of the new meaning it holds for me.