We do "Highs and Lows" each night at dinner. When we're together. And lucky enough to eat together.
It's not an idea I originated. I admit I stole it from the elementary school teacher years ago. But at that time, I was having our last baby, and life was being lived at light speed, and it provided a way for me to check in with my kids, get the basic facts in an easy-to-understand and efficient format. We merely go around the table and share. What was the best thing that happened today? What wasn't so great? Simple.
With four kids? Profound.
I've learned over the years that the lesson of the highs and lows isn't necessarily the checking in on their day-to-day lives. That's important and heard and respected. But what the lesson has been -- for me at least -- is the way their perception has seemed to shift over time. Or perhaps mine has.
More often than not, our collective dinner time makes it on the list of at least one boy.
"What was the best part of the day?"
"This is right here, right now."
I'm not sure, before kids, if I understood the value of being in the minute. They embody this and remind me of this daily.
They've gone from one high to many...long lists, involved lists. Time with friends, treats, staying in their pajamas all day, hiking, biking, talking, time spent together.
More remarkable still is that many times they have no reportable lows. They can no longer, on many days, call forth those things that bothered them so much, were sad or depressing, were worth remembering until the end of the day. It's as if their focus has shifted internally to recognizing and remembering the good things of their days and their time here on the planet. It's as if they've re-centered their focus on the worthwhile, and become resilient against the grind of this life.
I can only hope I learn from them.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Personhood
The last two weeks of my life have been intense. Internally, there has been a shifting of my person. Externally, there has been work and life demands, plus the added bonus of training for a marathon (http://www.slomarathon.com/) and the not-so-added bonus of poison oak. I'm not complaining about any of it, but it does take a toll.
The internal rearrangement of personhood feels exhausting to me...its sound is amplified in my spirit, not like clanging of drums or explosions, but like the loud, overtaking sound of a passing train...a train that, oddly, doesn't seem to pass. It doesn't seem to pass. And then it does. When I'm in these states of rearrangement, redevelopment, realignment, I'm aware of it, but the process consumes me. I become an observer of myself, quiet in reflection, protective of my time and energy.
It's at these times, however, that I find that life doesn't let up its demands on me. In fact, she increases them. Perhaps it's a good thing she does. Otherwise, I might need medication to successfully deal with my internal life. So what's the outcome of a week-plus of inner turmoil?
Glad you asked.
1) I can only be myself. There is no one else inside.
2) Being me is just being, not good or bad...just honest.
3) Unless someone is bleeding uncontrollably, things can wait.
4) Sitting and feeling the feelings rumble around inside of me is a powerful tool for disspelling old notions and ideas. They can wash over me and I can come through the other side.
5) Instead of being dramatic and victimized, I can be calm and dignified.
6) All is as it should be, or it wouldn't be.
7) Kindness rules and compassion is freedom.
8) There is a line where I end and others begin.
9) I am responsible to speak my truth, simply and plainly.
10) I am responsible for being kind and loving in my interactions.
I learned a prayer years ago, a prayer of thanksgiving, really. It is simple and plain and at the heart of my week. It's merely a thank you for everything I've been given, everything that's been taken away, and everything that's been left behind. In weeks like this, it's the mantra that makes the most sense to me.
The internal rearrangement of personhood feels exhausting to me...its sound is amplified in my spirit, not like clanging of drums or explosions, but like the loud, overtaking sound of a passing train...a train that, oddly, doesn't seem to pass. It doesn't seem to pass. And then it does. When I'm in these states of rearrangement, redevelopment, realignment, I'm aware of it, but the process consumes me. I become an observer of myself, quiet in reflection, protective of my time and energy.
It's at these times, however, that I find that life doesn't let up its demands on me. In fact, she increases them. Perhaps it's a good thing she does. Otherwise, I might need medication to successfully deal with my internal life. So what's the outcome of a week-plus of inner turmoil?
Glad you asked.
1) I can only be myself. There is no one else inside.
2) Being me is just being, not good or bad...just honest.
3) Unless someone is bleeding uncontrollably, things can wait.
4) Sitting and feeling the feelings rumble around inside of me is a powerful tool for disspelling old notions and ideas. They can wash over me and I can come through the other side.
5) Instead of being dramatic and victimized, I can be calm and dignified.
6) All is as it should be, or it wouldn't be.
7) Kindness rules and compassion is freedom.
8) There is a line where I end and others begin.
9) I am responsible to speak my truth, simply and plainly.
10) I am responsible for being kind and loving in my interactions.
I learned a prayer years ago, a prayer of thanksgiving, really. It is simple and plain and at the heart of my week. It's merely a thank you for everything I've been given, everything that's been taken away, and everything that's been left behind. In weeks like this, it's the mantra that makes the most sense to me.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Value of Work
Written while I was working, but not posted then, as I had to rush off to work some place else. And such is life being lived.
I have a few different jobs, none of which has set hours. They're all on-call positions, usually with pretty pressing time limits and demands. I never know when I might be working or off. I'm always ready, and sometimes called.
I love this kind of work. It allows me to re-focus my attention in a minute's notice to something other than I had been focusing it on. It calls for my mental preparedness, my intellect, my attention to detail. Since it comes at random times, it often feels like it's a direct message from the universe, "Quit worrying about that. Look over here and be useful."I have a tendency to get fixated -- on my kids, my interests, the goings on in my life. Then I get a call or an e-mail, and I have to quit thinking about whatever I was thinking about and attend to the business at hand.
My work life gives me respite. It clears my head. It re-centers me. It gives me much needed perspective when I'm being far too subjective about my own life. I'm thankful for the reprieve I get from dealing with the day-to-day life of single-motherhood, personhood, citizenship. I'm thankful for the re-direct, the cue from the universe to let things go, be patient, take a breath, let it ride for now.
I'm not sure how people with set schedule jobs view their work-life. Mine's an interactive path. It's alive and lively and constantly shifting. I'm thankful for the variety and I'm thankful for the people in my life who understand last minute plan changes. I'm thankful for being able to work from home. I'm thankful for working away from home. I truly love it all.
I have a few different jobs, none of which has set hours. They're all on-call positions, usually with pretty pressing time limits and demands. I never know when I might be working or off. I'm always ready, and sometimes called.
I love this kind of work. It allows me to re-focus my attention in a minute's notice to something other than I had been focusing it on. It calls for my mental preparedness, my intellect, my attention to detail. Since it comes at random times, it often feels like it's a direct message from the universe, "Quit worrying about that. Look over here and be useful."I have a tendency to get fixated -- on my kids, my interests, the goings on in my life. Then I get a call or an e-mail, and I have to quit thinking about whatever I was thinking about and attend to the business at hand.
My work life gives me respite. It clears my head. It re-centers me. It gives me much needed perspective when I'm being far too subjective about my own life. I'm thankful for the reprieve I get from dealing with the day-to-day life of single-motherhood, personhood, citizenship. I'm thankful for the re-direct, the cue from the universe to let things go, be patient, take a breath, let it ride for now.
I'm not sure how people with set schedule jobs view their work-life. Mine's an interactive path. It's alive and lively and constantly shifting. I'm thankful for the variety and I'm thankful for the people in my life who understand last minute plan changes. I'm thankful for being able to work from home. I'm thankful for working away from home. I truly love it all.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Country Roads
Part II. Early morning to text to one of my dearest friends:
"Oh, and the notions of 'blindness' and 'guidance' have come up several times today as well. Just food for thought.
"And in the middle of the night, #4 (my youngest son) said, in his sleep, "Now THAT was tasty." I'm not sure what it means, but I think it might be the secret of the universe."
And then I went running.
I have a few favorite runs, but my favorite of all is a meandering country road, a loop near my house. I run it as often as I can. Today, when it came time to turn off the usual way, I kept running. As I passed the road, I thought, "I guess I'm running it backwards today." Sometimes, I have to let my feet do the deciding. Sometimes they know best.
Here was the lesson...
On this route, I always run with the flow of traffic. It breeds a certain kind of faith, running in the direction of traffic, back to oncoming cars, on a country road. It's a kind of blind faith. It's a trusting that the cars traveling at 60 miles per hour aren't going to veer slightly into the bike lane and hit me. I've needed to grow this kind of faith. I've needed to trust in that which cannot be seen. I've needed to cultivate the sure belief, through compounded experiences, that I will be taken care of.
But there's a flip side to this kind of faith...it's kind of passive. Not in a zen way either. It takes the responsibility I can shoulder and puts it in the hands of someone else. It has value, this kind of faith. BUT it also has its limits.
So today, I was facing traffic head-on. If a car was going to hit me, I was going to see it happen. It was frightening. Seeing the dangers coming toward me. Feeling the powerlessness of other people's actions. Being open to witnessing, continuing on, and following through. And it was a different kind of faith I felt being born today, a guiding faith -- a faith that I can accept my life, I can accept those challenges, I can accept those separate passing beings without necessarily altering my course. I can assess those seconds as they pass, make worthwhile decisions, and take responsibility for myself and my actions, my reactions and alter my course as needed, if needed.
I have run this loop for years. I couldn't count the number of times my feet have been on that road. We are old friends. I have come to rely on her for the certainty I know she provides. She gives me space and security to be. But today, she challenged my very notion of self. Today she showed me a new part of me. Today she gave me a glimpse of the woman I am -- new to taking responsibility for herself in a lot of ways; new to feeling confident and capable; new to having certain faith and newfound trust in the world around me. Today it was like meeting a new friend, with new perspectives and new offerings.
And this is the way it works for me...some ideas, emotions, feelings, words are circling in my brain or in my heart, and as I pass the miles, they reveal their meaning.
So 'blindness' and 'guidance' have shown themselves. Now I'm just waiting for 'tasty.'
"Oh, and the notions of 'blindness' and 'guidance' have come up several times today as well. Just food for thought.
"And in the middle of the night, #4 (my youngest son) said, in his sleep, "Now THAT was tasty." I'm not sure what it means, but I think it might be the secret of the universe."
And then I went running.
I have a few favorite runs, but my favorite of all is a meandering country road, a loop near my house. I run it as often as I can. Today, when it came time to turn off the usual way, I kept running. As I passed the road, I thought, "I guess I'm running it backwards today." Sometimes, I have to let my feet do the deciding. Sometimes they know best.
Here was the lesson...
On this route, I always run with the flow of traffic. It breeds a certain kind of faith, running in the direction of traffic, back to oncoming cars, on a country road. It's a kind of blind faith. It's a trusting that the cars traveling at 60 miles per hour aren't going to veer slightly into the bike lane and hit me. I've needed to grow this kind of faith. I've needed to trust in that which cannot be seen. I've needed to cultivate the sure belief, through compounded experiences, that I will be taken care of.
But there's a flip side to this kind of faith...it's kind of passive. Not in a zen way either. It takes the responsibility I can shoulder and puts it in the hands of someone else. It has value, this kind of faith. BUT it also has its limits.
So today, I was facing traffic head-on. If a car was going to hit me, I was going to see it happen. It was frightening. Seeing the dangers coming toward me. Feeling the powerlessness of other people's actions. Being open to witnessing, continuing on, and following through. And it was a different kind of faith I felt being born today, a guiding faith -- a faith that I can accept my life, I can accept those challenges, I can accept those separate passing beings without necessarily altering my course. I can assess those seconds as they pass, make worthwhile decisions, and take responsibility for myself and my actions, my reactions and alter my course as needed, if needed.
I have run this loop for years. I couldn't count the number of times my feet have been on that road. We are old friends. I have come to rely on her for the certainty I know she provides. She gives me space and security to be. But today, she challenged my very notion of self. Today she showed me a new part of me. Today she gave me a glimpse of the woman I am -- new to taking responsibility for herself in a lot of ways; new to feeling confident and capable; new to having certain faith and newfound trust in the world around me. Today it was like meeting a new friend, with new perspectives and new offerings.
And this is the way it works for me...some ideas, emotions, feelings, words are circling in my brain or in my heart, and as I pass the miles, they reveal their meaning.
So 'blindness' and 'guidance' have shown themselves. Now I'm just waiting for 'tasty.'
Let Your Freak Flag Fly
Part I. Here's an early morning text I sent to a dear friend:
"Thought for the day: Let your freak flag fly."
(There is a Part II to this text, but that's the next post.)
I'm not sure who coined this phrase, but I wish it was me. Be yourself with all your warts. Be pleased with who you are. Let yourself shine. There's only one you. But I digress....
I run. I'm not graceful or fast or even good. I run for sanity, for belief, for accomplishment. I'm working something out. I'm not sure what. But when I run, it becomes clear. That which I didn't understand, is suddenly no longer a struggle. The world, in all her glory, gives me gems -- cash and prizes -- along the way. I take them. I give some back. Here, I shall record some, share some, leave some, take some, bare some, and keep quiet about some.
Run -- I use it loosely, meaning only something faster than a walk. I'm not speedy by any means. Slow and steady wins the race in my book. I've seen pictures of me running. I look ridiculous. Running is prime breeding grounds for humility for this girl. In the last few years, I've logged probably close to 2,000 miles running. It's not a lot by many standards, but it's a lot to me. And it proves to me that, one step at a time, I can travel great distances.
My taking to the road was merely a means of escape from a house full of kids. It was the only quiet, the only alone time I had. It's transitioned into a spiritual practice for me. It's allowed me access to parts of myself that were covered and hidden -- that ARE covered and hidden. I'm so grateful for the lessons of the road and the trails. I'm thankful for a capable body free of injuries that carries me to so many different places. I'm so appreciative to live in one of the most beautiful locations on the planet, an area that loves to showcase her beauty in a way that feels like she's doing it for me and me alone. I'm thankful to the angels in my life who see fit to litter my path with treasures. It's a relief to know that those souls are so close to me, to us. It's so comforting to be looked after by this universe in so many unexpected ways.
I am the almost-40-ish woman out there with the pigtails, singing at the top of her lungs while she runs, randomly stopping to hock a loogie or break into a brief and inexplicable dance or stretch in a prayer of thanksgiving.
It's out there on the road that I actually let my freak flag fly.
"Thought for the day: Let your freak flag fly."
(There is a Part II to this text, but that's the next post.)
I'm not sure who coined this phrase, but I wish it was me. Be yourself with all your warts. Be pleased with who you are. Let yourself shine. There's only one you. But I digress....
I run. I'm not graceful or fast or even good. I run for sanity, for belief, for accomplishment. I'm working something out. I'm not sure what. But when I run, it becomes clear. That which I didn't understand, is suddenly no longer a struggle. The world, in all her glory, gives me gems -- cash and prizes -- along the way. I take them. I give some back. Here, I shall record some, share some, leave some, take some, bare some, and keep quiet about some.
Run -- I use it loosely, meaning only something faster than a walk. I'm not speedy by any means. Slow and steady wins the race in my book. I've seen pictures of me running. I look ridiculous. Running is prime breeding grounds for humility for this girl. In the last few years, I've logged probably close to 2,000 miles running. It's not a lot by many standards, but it's a lot to me. And it proves to me that, one step at a time, I can travel great distances.
My taking to the road was merely a means of escape from a house full of kids. It was the only quiet, the only alone time I had. It's transitioned into a spiritual practice for me. It's allowed me access to parts of myself that were covered and hidden -- that ARE covered and hidden. I'm so grateful for the lessons of the road and the trails. I'm thankful for a capable body free of injuries that carries me to so many different places. I'm so appreciative to live in one of the most beautiful locations on the planet, an area that loves to showcase her beauty in a way that feels like she's doing it for me and me alone. I'm thankful to the angels in my life who see fit to litter my path with treasures. It's a relief to know that those souls are so close to me, to us. It's so comforting to be looked after by this universe in so many unexpected ways.
I am the almost-40-ish woman out there with the pigtails, singing at the top of her lungs while she runs, randomly stopping to hock a loogie or break into a brief and inexplicable dance or stretch in a prayer of thanksgiving.
It's out there on the road that I actually let my freak flag fly.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Running in the Dark
It's my new guilty pleasure...running in the dark. No lights. I've only done it a few times, but it's exhilarating. Out there, alone, encompassed by the night. It gives me the sense of being blind. I can't see where I've been. I can't see where I'm going. I get little glimpses of roadway or pitfalls, but that's it -- just glimpses. It cultivates in me a deeper kind of faith, of believing without seeing, of trusting.
And it gives life to that invincible, youthful, naive part of me, that reckless girl from way back. She's still in this old body somewhere. I think.
This morning was exquisite. The full moon accompanied me on my miles, ridiculous in her beauty. As I rounded the corner to come home, the east was starting to light up with day. I couldn't have felt more at peace, more content. It's at those times that I know I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.
So today, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings singing Humble Me, I'm aware that my job in this life is to keep moving my legs, whether I can see them or not, in a direction, whether I can see it or not, and to trust that at some point I will get to where I'm going. And if I'm lucky enough in the minute, I'll realize that the place I'm going is the place I'm at. Right now. Right here. Just like this.
And it gives life to that invincible, youthful, naive part of me, that reckless girl from way back. She's still in this old body somewhere. I think.
This morning was exquisite. The full moon accompanied me on my miles, ridiculous in her beauty. As I rounded the corner to come home, the east was starting to light up with day. I couldn't have felt more at peace, more content. It's at those times that I know I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.
So today, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings singing Humble Me, I'm aware that my job in this life is to keep moving my legs, whether I can see them or not, in a direction, whether I can see it or not, and to trust that at some point I will get to where I'm going. And if I'm lucky enough in the minute, I'll realize that the place I'm going is the place I'm at. Right now. Right here. Just like this.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Hollowware?
Today is, technically, my 16th wedding anniversary. I am, unfortunately, in the middle of a protracted and often icky divorce. Honestly, today passed without sadness or even much thought or reminiscing. What's to say? It happened. It's over. Move on.
I did get one sincere wish for a Happy 16th from someone who, I think, was serious, even though she knows my situation. And after that, I finally said something to a close friend about the reality of today, the date anyway.
My friend's response? What's the proper 16th wedding anniversary present? Who the freak knows that? So, of course, I look it up. Silver. And hollowware. Whatever that is.
So, of course, I look it up. Anything that's not flatware (duh) and suitable to go on the table, such as creamer, sugar bowl, butter dish, etc. A vessel. Empty. A container for other goods.
Makes. Perfect. Sense.
My non-sadness at the day is the years' long realization that the value of this union is not in its content, but in its structure. The value of this marriage, this union, this undone relationship is the empty. That empty brought forth children, a grown woman, a suitable life. That empty brought out personhood, triumph, small, wordless joys.
As the Tao states, being is borne out of non-being. This is the blessing of this day, this history, this undoneness, this limitlessness that is mine. I'm forever thankful. In ways I'm only beginning to understand.
I did get one sincere wish for a Happy 16th from someone who, I think, was serious, even though she knows my situation. And after that, I finally said something to a close friend about the reality of today, the date anyway.
My friend's response? What's the proper 16th wedding anniversary present? Who the freak knows that? So, of course, I look it up. Silver. And hollowware. Whatever that is.
So, of course, I look it up. Anything that's not flatware (duh) and suitable to go on the table, such as creamer, sugar bowl, butter dish, etc. A vessel. Empty. A container for other goods.
Makes. Perfect. Sense.
My non-sadness at the day is the years' long realization that the value of this union is not in its content, but in its structure. The value of this marriage, this union, this undone relationship is the empty. That empty brought forth children, a grown woman, a suitable life. That empty brought out personhood, triumph, small, wordless joys.
As the Tao states, being is borne out of non-being. This is the blessing of this day, this history, this undoneness, this limitlessness that is mine. I'm forever thankful. In ways I'm only beginning to understand.
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