Rains of Change

It is raining for the first time in perhaps six months, in Southern California. The soft grey skies and pleasant rhythmic plopping of rain soothe my heartbeat, slow my pace.
I miss the rain, I think. It's happening here, now, I am in it and yet I miss it.
I miss the sudden warm Connecticut rain showers of summer...thrilling thunder storm outbursts, days of cold constant wetness in the early winter, when I curled up by the window with a book in bed and read by the soft glow of the clouded sun, the nourishing rains of the spring where green and yellow forsythia and purple crocus spring up from the rain drops.
Like two streams of rushing water after a sudden downfall, merging together, my thoughts about rain merged with my thoughts about how we can cut out housing cost in half and plan and save for extraordinary experiences, like traveling around the world and volunteering as a family....these two thoughts merged together and began to flow forward...
my husband could get a job there...we could have the dream life...

My childhood state beckons now, as the answer to many of my dreams for our family.
The spacious home with character and charm that is a fraction of the cost of the one we have now. Great schools and stellar colleges. Seasons, ponds, ocean and wilderness. The big green back yard that goes on forever, lined with leafy Maple and Sassafras trees, protected by a few tall stately evergreen. A tree house stands towards the back of the yard where our three boys play for hours, having adventures and telling stories. An organic garden in the sunny part of the yard grows fresh herbs, tomatoes, corn, broccoli, brussel sprouts, sugar snap peas and lettuce. Flowers like fuscia peony's,Day Lily's, Iris, and Queen Anne's Lace surround the yard, which I collect every few days and bring into nearly every room of the house. A garden shed or small barn houses the garden tools, maybe even a guinea hen coop or small goat house...so I can make fresh goat cheese and have fresh eggs for breakfast.

My sister lives 25 minutes away and we see her often, her dimpled smile, clay pots she makes, her art, her funny and smart husband composing music and their adorable two year old daughter Kaia growing and playing with her cousins. My mother, father and brother are within 45 min to 1 hour...nestled deep in the lush rolling hills of green green Connecticut. My brother and his amazing Bride-to-be are artists, she is in marketing and is getting a Masters degree in Human Evolution.... how phenomenal! How fascinating! We could talk for hours with them by the campfire, and barbecue by the glassy pond to the hum of peep frogs and Katydids.
I see it all...and I see our pristinely planned California lifestyle we have now. I see it differently now.

I love what we have, I love what we do. I love our friends and family here and am so grateful for them. I don't want to move. I don't want to pack, change schools, not have this lovely weather all year round. I don't want to miss my friends, our cousins creating a thrilling chaos at Christmas or Trader Joe's. I don't want to miss the beach and the perfect parks and pools. I used to think California life was better.
But something has shifted in the way I see things. Something has shifted in what matters to me. It's been ten years, living away from my family of origin. I yearn for them and the lifestyle of the state I grew up in.
It's amazing, one day I didn't really, and then the next day, I did.

I feel a physical deep pull, like the undercurrent of a river, flowing in that direction. It may be this year or five years from now, it may be, I shall say with commitment to my lifelong partner and what matters to him, it may be never. But this compelling magnetic vision is there. It IS possible. He could get a job there ( because he is awesome he can get a great job anywhere), we could have a different kind of adventure. CT or CA is not better, just different.

In the meantime...as we create our life together, I will create those things that I value here. I am committed that whatever we do is a joint choice, not just MY dreams, not to steam roll him into this direction ( I used to be so Right, things had to go My Way..I did a lot of exhausting convincing), but to listen to what matters to him, to create with him, to be as clear as the crystal stream water about our future direction and be supportive of him. I am committed to, not to make moves based on feelings, but on fulfilling my husbands dreams as well, a powerful partnership, that my husband's and my rivers of ideas merge and flow together powerfully in a unified direction.
I am excited that, no matter what, we will come to a place where we choose newly to live here or there. That together we talk, share, create, that we can do anything and live anywhere. THAT is exciting, no matter what we choose.

I can do that, and when it rains, you may see me standing in it, soaking it up, savoring it...


Zen Honeycutt
www.zenspurplegarden.com

All...and nothing in a name

Yes my real name is Zen. Birth given.
I was going to be Zen whether I was a boy or a girl, my father says with some pride. He used to call us "People", no gender, not boy or girls. People. The other "us" are my brother Tao and sister Chi. All make sense now?
Tao means the WAY of life or the Path of life, Chi means the BREATH of life and Zen and life are so close in distinction that Zen is almost life itself.
Tao, Zen, Chi.

On top of that, those names were our middle names. No first names. On our birth certificate we all have an X where the first name should be. We were allowed to CHOSE our first names. Whatever we wanted. Our parents were obviously married in the 60's. Some people give me a knowing smile at this point... no, they were not pot heads..they were older....my Dad was nearly 49 when his last, my sister was born. My Mom was 35. They were too busy with having kids, running a family summer cottage resort and being teachers to be entrenched in the late 60's and early 70's music and marijuana scene...as far as I know anyway.

So whenever we wanted, we all chose our own first names. We were aware that this was slightly peculiar, but from my perspective anyway, it was empowering. Exciting. Also a bit daunting. To invent oneself brings alot of questions to the table..
Who am I? Who do I want to be? How does my name represent me?
People looked shocked " WHAT? You get to pick your name?" The looked disgruntled, cheated, and then I tell them that anyone can pick their name, just go to the court house and change it. Then they wonder what they would change it to...

I thumbed through a dusty old book of names, and came across a french name
"Mignonne or Mignon" I had a distant cousin named Mignon. Didn't know her, but at least the name was validated by her. My father is French. I was tired of getting picked on by the blond 6th graders on the school bus for being half Chinese. The ching chong noses rang in my head like a church bell, ominous and foreboding.
I wanted something different, something French might remind them I am just as much Causcasian as I am Chinese...maybe...

The name meant petite or darling and I weighed about 70 pounds at the time. It fit.
I took it on. When I transitioned to "Jr. High" ,meaning 6th grade...it just so happened that the one African American person in the whole town, probably the whole county, was in my class and finally had his adoption papers go through and he now wanted to be called Adam instead of Clay. We formed a pact. You call me Mignon and I will call you Adam. The teachers announced it, we kicked it off, and soon, with weird looks and frustrated sighs, it eventually caught on.
Not without some taunting though, after letting it slip about the "petite and darling" meaning, one of the other blond eight graders taunted in a sing songy "Mignon, me darling, me dogshit".
Later in high school, it was " Filet Mignon" or a big "YAWWWWWN" as I walked by.
In college, at noisy New York City bars...the soft "M" and unpronounced "g" and "non" melted into the city noises and was simply " WHAT???"

On a trip to France I received snickers, out right laughter, and a "talking to" by several concerned adults. Mignon meant "cute" or more modernly " hot"...guys would check out woman walking by and say " Ahhhh, Elle est Mignonne." I was literally calling myself hot. And oh, it should be spell in the feminine version.

When I backpacked around Asia at 19...I don't remember if I told the fellow travelers that my name was Zen or Mignon. Hence, I didn't communicate and follow up, keeping in touch as often as I thought of it. I was beginning to confuse myself.
After a while I got tired of all the drama around my name.

When the current position holder version of Tim Gund at Parsons School of Design was reviewing my final fashion design project, he saw my middle name was Zen and asked me if I would like to be called that. I sighed and released a huge burden of "Filets", miscommunications and confusion and said strongly "YES."

People often ask me now if I am "Zen" and in my twenties I never said yes, I said, in a defeated tone " No not really...I have a temper." and would smile sheepishly. Later I became mildly Zen-like, saying simply " Sometimes. "
Now I am Zen, I own who I am... and yet I might not be...what you think zen is. Names don't really MEAN anything about us, except what we make them mean. Who were are is simply created every moment. We are nothing and everything. I am Zen if I chose to be.

And there are implications to a name. I know I have received job interviews because my name is Zen. I know my company name is catchy because it has Zen in it. I even successfully negotiated with a 5.9 billion dollar company over the right to use my name in my company and won. It matters.
I get that it is important to name your children something strong, something good, something that, if possible, stands out with grace.


When it came time to have children, however, I got the most important name to change was my last name. I wanted to be unified as a family. This would make a difference for them, for us to be Team Honeycutt. I debated however, as my maiden name is french, melliflous and royal. La Bossiere. I love it.
When I read on a chat board, a posting that said " I would rather have the last name of the man I choose than the name of the man my mother chose." That struck me.
Nothing wrong with who my mother chose, nothing wrong with his name, and however, nothing better about his name either. It's just a name. I do however choose my husband now. Today. I choose him and his name is Honeycutt.
So I am Zen L. Honeycutt ( kept the last name as a middle name to honor my family of origin and dropped the Mignon)
And none of it matters and yet it does. It's a choice. Thanks Mom and Dad for the choice. Thanks Todd, for choosing me back.

Zen L. Honeycutt
www.zenspurplegarden.com