Joy

the work of joy

May 26, 2015 § 9 Comments

I think, too often, I anticipate joy will arrive in fleeting moments of superficial pleasure; something that acts upon me or interrupts the work of living. Some days I schedule excuses for joy, a cup of coffee with a friend or distracted escape into the pages of a new story. Yesterday pleasure came in measured efforts of work, tending to my home in tasks that I more often procrastinate.

Vacuuming the traces of a week’s busyness and pulling weeds that freckle my garden beds, washing my family’s clothes and sifting through cluttered paperwork were efforts that pushed against happier interruptions. It was only at day’s end that my muscles and mind relaxed into a content peacefulness that I recognized the work of joy; the purpose within pleasure that rewards effort.

Tomorrow I will undoubtably conjure new excuses to postpone those tasks I shuffle to the perimeter of my schedule, but for today I’m inspired to lean into the lingering places of neglect and dwell in a different sense of joy.

looking forward

January 22, 2014 § 8 Comments

In any community of thought, shared conversation or private musing, there is an invitation to wonder. Part of my exercise in embracing one word to guide the year ahead involved creating a space of meditative rumination so that my intentions might dwell in possibility. This year in an effort to exercise a greater self-awareness and consistency of intention I am using Ali Edward’s One Little Word program to guide me in monthly reflections.

Humbly and with an honesty born of a most intimate uncertainty I am sharing an unexpected fear. One line, an unpretentious prompt, has undermined my enthusiasm and sent me scuttering under the bed, flashlight in tow; not quite ready to own my fear but desperate to name that which I cannot hide from.

What am I most excited about in 2014?

The year ahead holds so many fears and worries. I have dressed my doubts in hope and paraded them through potential certainties, but I have not yet written on my calendar a place for anticipation; a day or activity that I might dress in excitement. Instead I have looked to the present and postponed my plans while shuffling maybes into predictions. Today I am looking forward, past uncertainties, that I might create reasons to invite Joy into the future.

choosing & claiming

January 2, 2014 § 4 Comments

Naming the New Year has become a tradition that travels over miles and connects me in spirit to the company of an old friend; a kindred soul who similarly seeks inspiration and growth in personal expression. Each year we gift the New Year a name that weighs our consciousness in accountability for our hopes, creates momentum with positive intention, and lends direction with clarity of perspective. It is an exercise created by Ali Edwards who crafted a movement of inspiration and a community of creativity around One Little Word.

This marks my third year naming the New Year. In the beginning the experience of choosing a word was intimate to my sense of self. My first year was a gift of certainty that arrived from recognizing potential in my struggle against uncertainty. In pledging to keep an open mind I embraced the word Open to guide me in my actions as I welcomed a year marked by change. The second year my word came from a place deep within and I could not shake its presence; Be formed on my tongue effortlessly inviting a stillness of presence that served me well this past year in moments of perseverance. This year my word came in my daughter’s voice, filling the silence with Joy.

Let me back up a moment to honor the story behind choosing and claiming this year’s word. In December I began exploring words, eventually testing possible choices in carefully constructed lists hoping to stumble upon a word that would speak to my heart. Unhurried I accepted the silence and revisited past words to map my experience. I immediately recognized themes of presence in past choices that honor my natural tendency toward reflection. In an effort to challenge myself with a new path I labored lovingly over a list of unfamiliar words, seeking the proverbial needle in the haystack. In the quiet morning hours on the last day of the past year, I read each word aloud sounding out a sense of self. I listed words I wanted to claim, beautiful words and uncomfortable words. On the eve of the New Year there was no one singular word that spoke to me.

Desperate and dutiful to the timeliness of this endeavor I looked to my family for inspiration. My husband sifted through words patiently and thoughtfully, choosing Embrace. The word resonated with familiarity and I pushed against its comfort. My daughter, without pause, said Joyful. In as much as I celebrated her perspective the word felt false in its exuberance. The certainty of my daughter’s voice was matched in equal measure by my unspoken uncertainty, but the disparity between our perspectives gifted me space to invite Joy to play a greater role in the year to come.

Embracing Joy felt like upending a box of crayons onto white paper and so I grabbed my pen and scribbled it against the emptiness of the New Year. My daughter’s voice spelling out a new challenge.

January 1, 2014 § 15 Comments

In the sleepy contentment of a New Year still drowsy with memories of last year, I am writing the word JOY into my calendar.

I am sweeping out the cobwebs of worry that suffocate light and making room for the uncomplicated company of wonder.

I am recognizing the potential in new opportunities over the threat of harm in the unknown.

I am making myself vulnerable to each experience and finding strength in tenderness.

I will move into this year marking the landscape of change with joy.

I will look first to ability over insecurity and see possibility in spite of adversity.

I will stand present in simple delights hidden in the noise of busy days, embracing each moment.

I am setting my heart and mind to mark the passage of days to come with joy, welcoming the New Year with resolve.

for joy

January 13, 2012 § 2 Comments

I was very young when I declared to my parents and a family friend that I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. My step mother was an elementary school teacher and this afforded me the gift of visiting a school in the quiet months of summer. I have a deep affinity for the space of classrooms, knowledge resting among the walls and tucked in reference books for the finding. My childhood declaration was met with doubt and adult reminders that prioritized monetary gain over dreams. I did what children do, I hid my wish keeping it safe from judgment until it was forgotten.

By the time I left for college, my future was mapped with others’ shoulds: You should be an attorney. I studied in preparation for law school; choosing classes dense with reading and writing, subjects that were diverse and demanded critical thought. I was hiding among subjects that I loved; my spirit whispering over others’ shouts. I was immersed in books that inspired me, sharing thoughts among peers and professors that lit fires in the quiet corners of my mind.

Then, before committing to a career, I became a mother. Each day I wake to life lessons and opportunities to guide my children. I gather them on adventures into books that push at the boundaries of their world. My tiny students with unique needs perpetually lead me to structure spontaneous lessons to help them understand their world. I am inspired and challenged on a path where I am neither teacher nor lawyer, ironically spending my days teaching and advocating for my children as I navigate school work and legal rights in an effort to provide for my children’s needs. My childhood dream found direction in motherhood.

As my children share their dreams, I try consciously to celebrate their statements of self. I want them to listen carefully to the whispers that come from within and to chart their lives with choices that resonate and bring them joy. I try to do this with words married with action, here. I am teaching my children to make room for joy in their lives, while creating moments of joy for myself.

For as long as I can remember I have written letters. Quick notes passed in classrooms, summer letters to school friends, love letters tied with heartstrings, and dreams scribbled in the margins of my days. I write for clarity and for joy. My children know that I do this and that writing is an expression that brings me happiness and comfort in the way building with LEGOs and creating artwork bring them pleasure and peace.

Slowly, I have invited my words to become a larger piece of my life. I do this cautiously, carrying with me an uncertainty born of those early statements of self among family and friends. I began here, where few could connect my words to myself, sheltering my feelings of joy from judgment. I still hear others’ shoulds. Throughout my life others have said: You should write. Should seems to shadow my joy, expectations suffocating pleasure. I have begun to internalize others’ opinions of how, what, when, why I write as measurements against which I gauge my ability and validate my efforts.

Then something special happened. My husband discovered pieces of me he didn’t know between the lines of my posts. My son serendipitously discovered a post and kept reading, celebrating my words with a hug. My daughter exclaimed proudly to a friend, my mother writes. People I love began to identify me by something I love to do.

I know my husband wishes this act of writing could evolve into a larger piece of our life, that someone would happily stumble into my words and open a door to something else. I know these are logical wishes and that his faith in me is a source of love. I am still growing, learning and dreaming; uncertain how to define why, how, when, and what. I am happy for a place to store my thoughts, for my children, for some day, for me. I write to invite joy and dreams into my day.

seasons & sentiments

December 21, 2011 § Leave a comment

Christmas Eve I will not sleep, eagerly anticipating the first sleepy footsteps of my children tumbling from their beds into the hallway. For now, I want to postpone the unraveling of ribbon and wrapping paper. Let the surprises linger a little longer. I’m not ready. Not yet. I want to rest suspended in anticipation and make-believe.

I know each gift by shape. I worked without lists trying to select items that would find a home in the hands of the right person. Now, I can only wait and wonder if the gift will fit their wishes. If the recipient will feel that sense of joy that comes from feeling appreciated and understood. The silent sound on rounded lips that fills their eyes with glee.

This year, I want to pack away our ornaments, but leave the spirit of the season scattered like pine needles in the corners of our home. To wake each day in celebration of small blessings and with faith in possibility. I want love and kindness to echo like remnants of carols and candlelight to reflect the magic of twinkling lights. This year, I am not ready to undo the tidings of the season.

Dear Santa, stop here last.

singing in the rain

November 8, 2011 § Leave a comment

This morning my daughter reminded me that behind every dark cloud is an opportunity for joy. My lesson began just before the school bell.

I peered out the windows of our home discouraged by the sight of rain. Gloomy and disheartened by dark skies I threw a spontaneous pity party, pouting at the inevitable mess and unavoidable complications to otherwise simple tasks. Loading my daughter into the car for school I marveled at neighborhood streets flowing with water, magnificent and chaotic. As I pulled in front of the school building, my daughter’s face lit up in sheer joy as she extracted her bright pink umbrella. The car door swung open and she lept from the car eager to experience the rain. What was cold, wet, messy and uncontrollable to me was an opportunity for joy to my daughter.

I watched my little girl navigate the puddles, choosing her path mindfully from under the shelter of her pink halo and took note: in life sometimes we have to get a little uncomfortable and embrace an opportunity to find our way, joy is within us.

optimist

April 7, 2011 § 2 Comments

For as long as I can remember my mother treated self-pity with sugary doses of Pollyannaisms; forced optimism disrupting splendid displays of youthful wallowing. As a child I wanted to sit in my bad mood, splash around a bit; I wore my temper like a blouse clinging against wet skin. My dramatic displays a shield of pessimism crafted by a child to ward off disappointment and loss. In truth, I was a cautious optimist.

I was six when my parents divorced, too young to remember the details of the daily adjustments. I recall rather a moment frozen in time as I glanced over my shoulder at classmates, saying goodbye to friends and joining my parents as they walked blindly in different directions. I look at this time through the filtered lens of my lifetime, a child letting go of the familiar and guarding herself against the unknown. Pieces of my pessimistic perspective have roots in this moment. More consciously I recall a summer day three years later.

On this day my father was driving my brother and I to visit our grandparents. In the aftermath of my parents’ divorce holidays and summer vacations were often spent at my grandparents’ home; a cornerstone of consistency as my brother and I transitioned between our parents’ homes. Eager to fall into tight hugs and familiar spaces I was lost to anticipation as we made the lengthy trip by car. Unexpectedly, my father detoured to a grassy park, unceremoniously informing us our grandfather had passed away. I stood in the sunshine unaware of the cemetery in the background as the air around me spun out of control distorting reality, death eclipsing the last traces of my familiar world. This was the moment I began constructing boundaries. I tucked my hope and faith away, to dull the ache of loss.

I could map the difficult moments of my youth; it is a terrain I, in part, created. Ever mindful of disappointment I often overlooked opportunities for joy. I held people at bay, safely detached until my first child was born. The moment I became a mother every carefully placed brick in the wall around my heart was dislodged with a joyful swelling, my hope and faith renewed. I catch myself spouting ridiculously confectionary sentiments, reminiscent of my mother’s. On occasion I attempt to stifle myself, but find the act is almost reflexive. It would appear I am my mother’s optimist, my half empty glass runneth over.

release

March 15, 2011 § 3 Comments

As we sat down to dinner, my son’s body crumpled into itself. Placing a hand on his back I felt him lean into me like the toddler that used to seek my lap. At the sound of my words, “Are you okay?” his face fell as quickly as his tears; recognition offering permission to let go. He holds so much of himself tucked away, like the treasures he gathers in his pockets. Thoughts flow more freely than feelings and I wonder often at those things left unspoken.

My daughter releases her emotions in powerful purging; words and tears, wholeheartedly, she shoves her emotions in front of her. Sometimes the storm of emotion whirling around her exhausts us both as she fights through feelings; her strength often keeping help at bay. I stand nearby, arms outstretched, trying to draw her through; offering comfort and a willingness to share the burden.

I wonder when we first begin to lock up our needs and how long each of us waits to share the burden of anger, hurt, even joy. This is a lesson I too struggle with. Joy so often feels fragile that I nestle it cautiously in my heart, terrified to grasp it firmly, fearful it might slip through my fingers. This truth came to me when my son, years ago, asked what my real laugh sounded like. It was such a pure question, laden with innocence and curiosity. He was looking for the joy I hide.

I cannot undo my mistakes any more than I can teach what I am still learning. Instead I am trying very hard to find my way as a mother, learning beside my children as we each embrace and share challenges.

grace

February 24, 2011 § Leave a comment

For the past week my body felt exhausted; my mind and heart heavy with distraction. Writing this morning I could feel myself relaxing into the day and joy leading my smile. I endeavor to smile, to see the world at its best, but today my happiness came from a quiet energy.

There is something divine in letting go; acknowledging grace and embracing humility. I moved from moment to moment fully conscious and eternally grateful for the people in my life and my unique sense of purpose. It was a blissfully, ordinary day.

Where Am I?