Oh, Ireland, I came to you on my knees. A wounded woman, you seemed to glow through my teary eyes. I was enticed by your promise of Family and Community and Culture. Oh, they were beautiful! A solitary kitchen table I have not seen so many times before. A stew of dancers, from so many walks of life, pulsing together… on one rhythm, one beat, one sound. Practice, I met for what felt like the first time in years… I met her Former and her After, and she became me. And those smiles… oh, how they wooed me. Happiness, to you, seemed so effortless. An equation to simply fit myself into. I met you, Ireland, and fell in love.

And then my wounds began to heal. The tears dripped down my cheeks and my vision cleared. I suddenly noticed, like everywhere else I’ve been, the strain in the smile. I began to see the weary shadow dance across the eyes as they twinkled upon a laugh. I witnessed a professor look in the mirror only to stop professing, his magnificent voice fading to a whisper.

My dear Ireland… how I wanted you to be my ending. I was waiting for you to fall to your honorable knee and ask my hand. I would have said Yes. I would have pulled you into my arms and danced and cried and rejoiced. We would have been a single cell then, you and I. We would have become one. Yet you never did descend to this beautiful green earth. To me. You just kept walking. Even when I stopped and asked you to wait, you trudged forward with your chin sober and stiff.

Still, my Eire, I hold you with affection. I came to you to cure me, to alleviate the pain of not knowing Me. But you didn’t. And you never could. You simply held open your welcoming arms and embraced what was always going to be. You guided me… back to me. And for that, my heart is endless in its gratitude.

I am happy to have known you as I did.

Gra

Photo by Gordon Wolford via Google.com

I am hoping to do this insane obstacle course, the BraveForce Challenge (aka “Assault on Puddenhill”), in less than two weeks’ time on June 11th. It is a series of crawling-in-mud, jumping-in-water, climbing-up-steep-inclines, running and other seriously physical challenges (awesome!) in Ashbourne, Co. Meath. The entry fee is 60 euro and, as most of you know, I am on super-budget. And so, I was wondering if you would like to sponsor any or all of my participation in this event? If you can’t make a contribution, all is well… any and all support will be sufficient soul-sponsorship Or, better yet, if you think you would like to do this challenge yourself– JOIN ME! The only thing better than completing this challenge would be to do so with family and friends!

I hope this reaches you in positive spirits,

Julia Rose

Sponsor Me: click here!

I was asked by Irish American News to write an article about my Rose of Tralee experience for the February issue of the publication. And here it finally is, for you to read and share with all your Irish connections!

Enjoy!

Irish American News article, February 2011 issue (click to download)

OR go to link:

My Rose of Tralee Experience
(just click on photo to download)

This is what those several hours looked like:

Around half midnight we received a call from her owners. They had seen one of the two-dozen fliers we had posted.

It was sad to let go of our baby Vegas (who turned out to be baby “Tiny”), yet its better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

Can I get an AMEN!?!

SO, without further ado… here’s Julia Rose chattin’ up Oprah!

http://myown.oprah.com/audition/index.html?request=video_details&response_id=5094&promo_id=1

Crumbling to dust
And evaporating into heavy air
In the place they just stood.

Oh, the shadow can no more protect.
The vulnerable flesh now exposed to the sun.

She sits in piles of gray
Not looking to her feet to guide her
Not looking to her hands to rebuild.

She looks to the sky and draws a breath
Of most fearful hope
That the Earth might halt
For just a moment
So that she may grieve
Her fallen pillars.

I was supposed to complete this trip in four and a half hours, yet managed to slice through an entire hour of the trip by way, of course, of speeding. If you’ve ever driven through the desert-strewn states in this country, you’ll notice that the Speed Limit signs increase from the city-usual 60 miles per hour to a thrilling 75 MPH standard. This, to me, meant that I had license to fly down the empty highways at 80-100 miles per hour. At one point, I glanced down at the dashboard and read 115 on the odometer. Five minutes later, I passed a silver BMW that has swerved off of the road for whatever reason and had come to a halt in a bundle of overgrown bushes. I immediately humbled my driving back down to a lesser I-am-invincible pace. Thanks be to God I made the journey safely and sound. (And, to my great amazement, without a ticket!)

This mini road-trip was underway as I was returning from an action-packed week in Las Vegas. A week of which was spent with a clan of Irish people who are quickly becoming dear friends. A dozen or so of them had flown out to this city of unabashed indulgence to celebrate the 30^th birthdays of Colly (Colm) and Davey (Dave). These folks were joined by other friends and family from New York, New Zealand, Canada, Australia, and of course, me from the sunshine state. The celebrations- and subsequent hangovers- began immediately upon arrival. I have seldom heard such fluid banter and constant hearty laughter from a group of this size. Nor have I ever witnessed such rapid consumption of Yager-bombs and straight Vodka, ever. To say the least, Vegas-style partying, clubbing, dancing, shopping and enjoyment was on the menu and served in full.

Which, of course, was a blessing in disguise for me. You see, this five-day affair preceeded (by one day) my moving across the world to Dublin, Ireland. Yes, in less than 24 hours I will be handing my one-way ticket to an Aer Lingus travel agent, five or so bags in tow, my journal ready at my side for what I’m sure will be the next great adventure of my life. The blessing here was that Vegas took my mind off of the list of fears that accompany this risk-taking endeavor of mine.

Risk-taking itself, of course, is not a foreign practice for me. I’ve given speeches in front of large audiences, sang on stage in front of judges, fallen backward out of an airplane strapped on by only two inch-wide tethers to a South African skydiving instructor, only to free fall for 60 seconds before blasting open a parachute and steering against the Wisconsin winds to the solid, grassy ground. No, risk-taking is not new subject matter for me.

Yet with every risk comes the ever-present thought: What if I fail? What if I trip and fall on the way up to the podium? What if I don’t hit the right notes in the song? What if my parachute doesn’t open? We all ask ourselves these questions to varying degrees of complexity whenever we are faced with the option of taking a risk. These fear-of-failure questions can be both important to acknowledge in the decision-making process, and paralyzing if given too much weight.

The fear-thoughts that arose with regard to my Dublin-move felt especially weighty. What if I can’t find a job? What if I don’t find a community? What if I don’t figure out what the heck my purpose is? These questions that, in hindsight, seemed to present some pretty normal fears for a recent college graduate, would magnify under the expectation that I was already supposed to be “successful” and/or be well on my way to some extraordinary accomplishments. I’ve been learning that its this expectation of “greatness” (in the superficial, public sense of the word) that was so agonizing. Because when I was in a balanced place, I already know the simple, truthful answers to all of these questions: I will find a job- probably many jobs- that are both financially and intellectually rewarding, and that will fall into line with my passions. I will find a community for myself. I already have my family there, and I just spent the last five days in Vegas building some seriously solid relationships with some seriously remarkable people; all of whom are serving as the foundation of this community. And I will find my purpose. I know from experience that the Universe has a tendency to designate a unique purpose for each of the different chapters in my life, and just like a book, as each page turns, more is revealed.

This is what I thought about while tearing down the desert highways of Nevada surrounded by a skyline of mountains against the glorious blue sky and the pearly-white clouds. Instead of indulging in the What if I fail? thoughts, I remembered for perhaps the thousandth time that week to ask the question: What if I succeed? With that one question, the mood shifts. I didn’t feel bad that I’ve been out of touch with my career- and life-passions for several months now- I knew it would all come rushing back when the time was right. I didn’t worry about the roller-coaster of emotions I will ride as I sort through some grim family baggage and as I continue to work on my own internal stuff in the process- I’ve been doing this Self-work for six years now, and I’ve always made it through to the other side. Head high and feet planted firmly on the ground.

No, as I was zipping down that highway I only envisioned myself steadily crossing each new bridge that appears before me. I imagined all the laughter I will have, all the bits of wisdom I will pick up, all the tears I will cry, and all the scary-unknown steps I’ll take in the new relationships I find myself in… all of which will inch me closer and closer to the healthiest, happiest person I can be. Yes, life will continue to unfold its delicate tissue paper wrapped around its precious stone. Every experience will be a new layer to unfold and a new gleam of light revealed. And just one day at a time, these wings will expand and these feathers will tilt. My tipped toes will leave the ground and I’ll begin to truly soar above that highway… just as I am meant to.

Just as we all are.