ghost letters
October 9, 2014 § 4 Comments
I sometimes whisper a remembering I do not tempt with sound least I conjure ghosts I dare not wake. Trespassing thoughts that intrude upon the tender places of memory.
Like letters drafted, but never sent, I write these knowings in a language of silence. Beautiful pieces of a past scattered across the fullness of the present, pregnant with good fortune.
I wonder if our children know we are all storytellers made of love. Whispers on the wind.
caution & care
October 8, 2014 § 4 Comments
This morning, paused at a familiar intersection, I noted the flashing red light of a broken stop light cautioning drivers to allow for cross traffic. The pattern of light communicated a singular message to drivers from each corner of the same place, changing the rhythm of expectation. As I replaced the car in front of me in waiting, I noted a green light abruptly challenging the current of assumptions, interrupting the slow progress of forced politeness with new permission. To my left a driver had yet to note the change and moved into harm’s way while behind me another driver impatiently advanced. Trapped between other’s confusion and my own caution, I thought of the serendipitous paths of so many strangers crossing in a perfect accident of intention each day.
I wonder, how many times have I missed the person exercising caution who needed a moment’s patience, or misjudged the anxious individual rushing across my path? How many times have I reacted to assumptions without first understanding a message of need or request for care? How many times have I moved blindly through routine, missing a change in the patterns around me?
(un)dressed
October 4, 2014 § 2 Comments
I harbor a genuine admiration for a beautiful expression of style, an appreciative recognition of an artistically authentic statement of personality in the fabric of individual fashion. I admire other women’s ability to infuse self with eclectic articles of clothing that underscore a quieter confidence or curious expression of creativity. For some the physical becomes an extension of something intangible, an outward representation of an internal awareness.
Lately I have been struggling to piece together a wardrobe. The act itself feels almost ridiculous in its self-importance. However, the material value of the endeavor is far less significant than the personal cost of undressing old insecurities.
It is a dirty secret I carry beneath the carefully contrived and often uncomfortable efforts at dressing, the layers of unkindness for the body I live in. I hide behind threadbare t-shirts and unassuming forms that belie a hyper sensitivity with a false air of detachment. Other times I escape beneath more formally intentional ensembles that mask vulnerability with invisibility.
As my favorite jeans were recently retired for time well served and my t-shirts and sweaters have become exhausted with overuse, I am facing the self I cannot escape in the harsh light of uncertainty in unforgiving dressing room mirrors. There are no paper doll costumes to dress the secrets of old harm. The choices are too many when you are lost within your own skin.
I want to feel beautiful and strong, comfortable and self-assured; to move between activities unbound by old insecurities and informed with an elegance of confidence. It is a raw and vulnerable experience, undressing old wounds while building an image of self.
faith
October 3, 2014 § 2 Comments
Yesterday I held my breath, pensive in a moment of doubt. I labored over broken pieces of confidence trying to capture a picture that might promise the reassurance of easier days to come. Too close to the sharp corners of an experience I had to move outside the moment, releasing myself of the burden of tidying what could not be so neatly swept into place. Hope felt too fragile to bear the weight of so many uncertainties and so I balanced myself with a quieter strength; faith in self, faith in the goodness of others, and appreciation for the experiences that shape life lessons and invite change.
Today is a season of possibility.
empty fullness
October 2, 2014 § Leave a comment
There is a hollow aching. Days and times when the fullness of a worry empties the joyful places, spilling the beautiful pieces of our spirit. The recklessness of unforeseen harm scatters our thoughts and disorients our energy until we crash into an exhaustion that begs care. Slowly and thoughtfully, with tenderness for our doubts, we gather joy and fear into the wholeness of our understanding in search of strength. It is a delicate rebuilding, as we replenish within what we must then generously share.
to my son
September 30, 2014 § 6 Comments
When you were first born the moments between your birth and our introductions were an impossibility of hurried anticipation. You were so long a part of me that I felt unfamiliar alone, the cradle of my arms vast and hollow in your absence. When at last I could marvel over the perfection of your familiarity I squandered endless moments memorizing the lines of your emotions, unguarded in your innocence.
I still look to the shape of your posture and the melody of your gait for the truth of your experiences. I do this with your sister, too, but I learned this language with you. Even now, as you preserve thoughts and dreams for yourself, I read the untold worry and barely contained enthusiasm in a language you do not know you speak.
There is an often stubborn angle to your shoulders, an amusing indignation reminiscent of your toddler self, assured and undeterred in your persistence. You wear love with the unguarded bright eyes of newborn devotion that boasts loudly and unapologetically of loyalty. Humor and harm are more fleeting sentiments, sketched in dimples and furrowed brows that punctuate the truth of your tenderness.
I think of our first day on so many end of school days, waiting for a delayed hello as I wonder at the story behind the swing of your limbs and marvel, still, at the miracle of love that we cannot name and yet read so fluently without language.
Love you.
Mom
finding finish
September 29, 2014 § 5 Comments
Yesterday my daughter participated in her first 5k. The day began with a celebratory spirit and heightened anticipation, friends fell in and out of animated conversations as the crowd waited eagerly on the cusp of a fluid, infectious energy.
As a family we cheered from the sidewalks of our neighborhood, marking our daughter’s path as she wound her way through Sunday morning sunshine. When at last she rounded the corner to our home in the final lap, she tossed herself heavily onto our driveway and planted her hands and feet flat against the familiar surface. Red faced and aching, she listed the tender places of her body ready to remove herself from the day’s event.
It was a moment so familiar to the experience of mothering; reaching for a child mindful of a fall, eyes and heart spotting dangers they cannot see as they leap. To let my daughter walk away from finishing would undermine her beginning, leaving too much room for remorse and messages of inability. Instead I reached out for a hand that accepted my own and we walked toward the end together.
To my daughter,
Your distance was shy of finishing, but I was measuring a different span; the space between giving up and persisting. Beginning something new is as important as finding your way to finishing something difficult. Soon the sore muscles will subside, but you will remember the sense of accomplishment that comes from completing a commitment. Each ending builds courage for our next beginning.
Love you.
Mom
little things
September 24, 2014 § 11 Comments
This day, tiresomely burdened with worries and uncertainties, doubts and hope all too cumbersome to be contained by logic left me dangling from the end of an imaginary seesaw craving the feel of earth beneath my feet while dreading the fall.
Like a child peering at the familiar from a borrowed perspective, there were so many little things that sparkled beneath a more intentional gaze. Stuck, immobile as I hovered between crisis and confidence, I looked to unexceptional details for direction as I chose my path.
It is a messy kind of wonderful the too often disregarded details of average days. Dishes that pile inside the belly of the sink while we squander early morning moments. Evening tasks bookmarked between the pages of a new bedtime story. Things that cannot be ignored forsaken for a moment that cannot be recaptured.
The fall from worries to wonder stole my breath and I felt the firmness of the ground beneath me as I pushed once more against the sky.
to my daughter
September 21, 2014 § Leave a comment
I wish I could press my finger against a moment and keep time from pushing us so quickly into the next distraction; I would sit a little longer on the sidelines of your last game. Over the past three weeks you have grown from lost to found. The doubts that kept you so firmly rooted in place were missing yesterday from your form. Watching you chase after the game and track the ball, moving between plays, there was a lightness of self and fullness of presence.
Post-game you had the infectious energy of someone too soon extracted from an experience. Tired and proud you didn’t linger boastfully over the win, but rather shuffled funny insights from the field. You rattled off nicknames and playbacks, injuries and inside jokes while stripping off shoes and shin guards. The uniform remained.
This alone, your team colors, best represents the evolution of your experience.
After your first game you quickly shed and scattered your uniform into the forgotten discards that litter your room. You washed the experience from the day and cloaked yourself in emotions that fought for freedom from an uncomfortable commitment.
One week later your uniform became a badge of honor, evidence that you were part of something. Uncertain in your position but certain in your placement among your teammates. It was the first time you wouldn’t remove your team colors.
This past week your jersey traveled to school and became a new marker for self, a symbol of belonging, and a hallmark around our home. Late Friday night I was washing it in anticipation of yesterday’s game.
Belonging doesn’t happen independently of challenges or uniquely by way of happiness. You have created a place for yourself with effort and accountability, determination and persistence. It has been complicated and uncomfortable, confusing and even overwhelming. Without natural talent or experience, you have had to create trust by showing up to each practice ready to work and willing to learn.
Similarly, success is often a collective endeavor measured by individual growth. Your coach could have allowed you to hide on the sidelines as easily as we, your parents, could have offered you escape. Instead we stand on either side of the same field, looking for strength without ignoring error.
We are only halfway through this new endeavor and I anticipate there will be more challenges as you grow more fully into this experience. Remember, win or lose, it is enough to watch you play the game.
Love, Mom
bound
September 12, 2014 § 6 Comments
These past few weeks I have found myself happily entangled in accidental good fortune, bound to individuals whose place in my life informs a wealth of possibility. I see the boldness of this fiber connecting chance and destiny to gift me wisdom and patience, strength and community; the richness of each invitation so subtle I might have overlooked the fullness of fate’s offering had my attention been otherwise guided. Today I am pausing to give thanks for the intricate path of life that presents us with moments of choreographed chaos and uncluttered clarity.
