Autonomy.

Autonomy. I'm embarrassed to say that "autonomy" is a word that I recognize, but always forget the meaning of. Why is that? Why is the word "autonomy" such a slippery little fish in my mental vocabulary? It's not even that difficult of a word and, well, having an English degree under my belt I often feel obligated to know the meaning of most words under four syllables (ha!)--and so it probably isn't very surprising that next to this week's chapter heading I wrote a note to myself in the margin saying: "Look up this word!"

Just in case there's anyone else out there sharing a similar mental glitch over the word "autonomy," I thought I would share this little bit o' knowledge:

au·ton·o·my {noun}
from dictionary.com:

1.	independence or freedom, as of the will or one's actions: the autonomy of the individual.

2.	the condition of being autonomous; self-government, or the right of self-government; independence: The rebels demanded autonomy from Spain.

3.	a self-governing community.

Or my favorite definition from Merriam-Webster's Medical Dictionary:

1. the quality or state of being independent, free, and self-directing
2. independence from the organism as a whole in the capacity of a part for growth, reactivity, or responsiveness

1623, from Gk. autonomia, noun of quality from autonomos "independent, living by one's own laws," from auto- "self" (comb. form) + nomos "custom, law." Autonomous is recorded from 1800 (from etymology.com).

It's one thing to know the definition of autonomy--but it's another thing entirely, to understand it.

In many ways, Week 5 is about finding our "true north." What are we grateful for? What do we love most? Julia writes that "freedom is disorienting" and that "so much of being sane and happy begins with the doing of things that are sane and happy" (133). Knowing what we are grateful for is what helps us keep our lives in perspective. Knowing what we love, and seeking those things out, can often be the antidote to an otherwise fuglie day. Doing this week's Divining Rods, I have begun to notice that gratitude and love are often made up of the same things and that getting out of the crumb-dumbs often requires little more than partaking in a loving action towards one's self. Why is that sometimes so hard to remember?

For me, going back to the basics means putting on comfortable clothes, taking my wolfie for a walk, and then sitting down with a good cup of coffee and getting to work. But it also means giving my fears a rest and offering myself a chance to just breath (this is the part I am still working on). I feel best when I am writing or creating something that, in some way, authenticates my true and autonomous Self. However, sitting down to write or taking time to paint is only part of it. My whole day (my entire existence) is made up of small actions--each leading up to the next.

One small action that I've started to take towards a more autonomous Self is stopping to do nothing. This is a very hard thing for me to do, but it is something that is having a profoundly positive impact on my attitude and perspective. Every day I walk out in the woods with my dog. It has become a habit. But, recently, I have started to include the habit of stopping to sit on a bench, a bridge, a log, a swing set...and do nothing but quietly observe and breathe. My dog doesn't know what to make of this non-action, but eventually she settles in next to me and we content ourselves with watching the antics of a squirrel or the passing of a cloud. Sometimes I sit there for 10 minutes, sometimes only for 1 or 2 or 3. But, for me, the length of time doesn't matter so much as the act of doing nothing--even if only for a moment.

In Week 5, Julia Cameron includes a quote by The Talmud:

"We do not see things as they are. We see them as we are."

For some reason, these words speak deeply to me. In the end, how I experience the world is largely up to me. In "Focusing on the Positive," Cameron writes that, for her, God lives in the tapping of her typewriter keys or in stacks of snowy white paper or cleaning supplies or the joyous leaps of a young dog. She writes, "God lives in the details, the concrete, the knowable facts of your life" (130). If "God" is a difficult word for you, consider substituting with whatever word does work for you. My point is that uncovering a sense of autonomy means to find ways of locating a sense of independence, enjoying a heightened level of artistic freedom, and benefiting from self-directed growth. I think it's safe to say that becoming autonomous is a process.

As Mahatma Gandhi once said:

"Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony."

Things I've been thinking about this week:

• What brings you peace?
• Where does God live for you?
• What do you love?
• What are you grateful for?
• How do you escape the dull-drum fuglies?
• What part of your life and yourSelf could use a little more compassion?
• Where does your "true North" point to?

What is your definition of autonomy?

Feel free to share your thoughts.

Peace and happiness to you on this (yes, for real!) SPRING day,
Jessie