accomplishing everything
March 7, 2012 § 1 Comment
Today began with a list, a quick itemized account of tasks and errands that needed to be done. In the early minutes of my morning I gathered my thoughts for the day ahead, scribbling items onto scratch paper. Then, distracted by the business of waking sleepy children and herding them through the motions of breakfast, I became distracted. Sitting at the table with my children I stopped thinking of what came next and enjoyed the spectacularly common experience of beginning our day together.
Driving my daughter to school she filled the brief trip with a stream of unrelated banter. Just before popping out of the car and waving a spirited goodbye she declared a little boy in class keeps making a handsome face to try to make her fall in love with him. I was in love with my daughter’s voice sharing a story from her adventures in Second Grade.
Late morning my phone registered a missed call. Checking my messages I was surprised to hear the sound of my son’s voice. He had called from school to request my permission to apply for a Presidential grant in hopes he would be given a job that might help fund his research. Before the message cut off he assured me we could talk about it after school and then ended with I love you. I love the dreams of my eleven-year-old son.
At noon I invited my husband out to lunch. A neighbor had given us a gift certificate to a popular restaurant and I seized the opportunity as an excuse to escape our chores and play. Indulging in a savory entrée and decadent dessert in the middle of the day for no special occasion we sat still and talked about everything and nothing at all.
My laundry waits in mountainous piles, but the people I love most shared pieces of their day with me. I have accomplished nothing and everything all at once.
out to lunch
March 3, 2012 § 1 Comment
Two weeks ago my daughter was ill. I kept her home for an extra day of rest before returning her to the school day routine. Her first day back was a Friday and on this particular day her father and I found our lunch hour free. Having promised my daughter a warm lunch to build her strength we invited our little girl out to lunch.
The weekend passed and my daughter’s cough lingered enough that by Monday I decided to schedule Mom & Me lunch dates for the week to make certain my daughter was eating a balanced meal and keep her out of the cool air over recess. Noon became a special treat for me; sitting in the office I would wait to see my daughter bounce around the corner. She would hold my hand as we walked the short distance to the car filling the air around us with a steady stream of information about her morning.
As her cough improved and the week drew to a close my daughter became quiet, eyes wide with uncertainty she said I am confused. On one had I don’t like begin sick, but then I am going to miss our time together. Lunch. Barely an hour out of our day had come to mean something more to each of us.
I have promised my daughter a place at our table on special days, our kitchen and my company staples. I know she will return to school lunches and recess with friends, aware of the importance of this social hour, but I am happy for the borrowed time.
on bended knee
February 25, 2012 § Leave a comment
Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary, today I am remembering the day I became friends with the man I married. My husband and I crossed paths accidentally at an off-campus St. Patrick’s Day party two years after having met in a college English class. I was dating his friend.
I had conceded to setting aside my studies that evening just long enough to experience the festive consumption of tinted beer with strangers camouflaged in waves of green; my perfunctory attendance a compromise between my boyfriend’s plans for the evening and my disinterest. Biding my time for a discrete exit, I watched with amusement as the boy I was dating engaged the crowded apartment with his infectious good humor and easy laugh.
Then my husband took a knee. We had been classmates and the familiarity of his face was a happy surprise. Reintroducing ourselves my husband settled by my side grounding me in a comfortable conversation. In the coming weeks he would continue to appear on my dates keeping me company. The school year ended as did my relationship and we all parted ways in the early days of summer.
I celebrated a newfound independence making room for myself between work and studies, relishing solitary endeavors. I sent a note to my future husband from a place of independent contentment and so we began a conversation that covered miles between us and created a new journey in friendship.
Long phone calls and handwritten letters documented our beginning, but I always return to the simple gesture of pausing on bended knee. When my daughter sings the timeless refrain of How do you know? I share my husbands willingness to meet me patiently, resting beside me in friendship. This is how I know.
written wishes
February 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
This week my daughter’s school celebrated the multicultural diversity of our community with an evening dedicated to honoring the customs of our school’s families. A photojournalist shared his extensive travels; eclectic collections of music were performed and traditional dances demonstrated; art activities and game stations provided an occasion to learn through play; the library was littered with fairy tales from across the world. Around each corner the building was bustling with curiosity and acceptance.
Making my way among the displays shared by families from our school I found myself drawn to a cardboard wall sprinkled with tiny pieces of paper and messages scribbled in the whimsical penmanship of children. A dear friend had contrived a mock Wishing Wall engaging student’s curiosity for her culture by encouraging them to write a wish for the world and then placing it on the wall.
A wish.
My heart swelled and something resonated in the quiet unconscious corners of my mind. In the chaos of a school function I felt myself emotionally drawn to more than an endearing exercise that shared a custom from a different culture. The gift of giving voice to a wish weighted me serenely in a place centered in the written word. The feeling of peace followed me home after a joyful evening of learning and sharing.
The next day my heart full of wishes I came across another sharing. An author I respect and admire shared an article about creating and using a God Box, a safe vessel to store written prayers. I found this lesson on letting go of hopes and fears with faith on Facebook. Much like the space of a crowded gymnasium, I was amused to uncover a moment of spiritual insight outside a traditional place of worship, but acknowledged the relevance of a timely chorus giving voice to a personal moment of growth rippling the surface of my consciousness.
I have come to believe life, God, the universe speaks to us in moments of uncertainty lending us the wisdom of the wind. Truths that fill the air around us and as old as time itself. In these moments my heart swells and I pause to center my spirit, acknowledging the power of listening to silence around me. In these moments of awakening I try to uncover the value of an unexpected lesson.
My heart has been heavy recently with concerns outside of my control. My spirit centered peacefully welcoming the suggestion of giving voice to my deepest hopes and fears in the simple act of writing them and letting go in faith. I won’t name these private hopes and fears, rather I want to acknowledge the beauty of lessons woven intricately into the fabric of our daily activities with a wish for each of you: Be still. Listen. Be present that you hear your own lessons whispered to your heart. Know when to give voice to that which you cannot control and let go in faith.
the gourd next door
February 22, 2012 § 2 Comments
I feel a little like a pumpkin wishing for a magic spell to transform me into something phenomenal. Change as a vehicle to confidence. I am lacking inspiration.
Gone are the days of spontaneous self-indulgent shopping. Shoes no longer spin daydreams of stepping out past the stroke of midnight. I no longer feel confident in clothes that hug stray curves. Hiding pieces of myself behind clothes, I feel lost in a nondescript cloak of invisibility. Worse, sometimes I fear my invisibility is quite visible.
Lately I catch myself wishing for something else, a quick pulled together style that reflects the woman I am on the inside. Looking at basic pieces in my closet or window shopping on sunny days, I am struck with the realization that I do not remember where to begin. I try to begin with basics, but get lost in simple addition. Combining pieces result in mismeasured mixtures of shape and style.
Is there a chic cheat sheet for creating a timeless, elegant image? Something mature and spirited, playful and appropriate. A look that balances my role as mother and partner.
I have exercised the option of personal shopper to the unfortunate exhaustion of the patient young woman who endeavored to play fairy godmother. Her magic cast an image that fell short of Me. Apologetic and uninspired I retreated to familiar creature comforts. As my trusty wardrobe of denim and t-shirts softens with signs of wear, I am ready for something new and hopelessly lost among the racks and shelves of options.
This gourd wants to feel like a girl, feminine and confident in her own skin.
day by day
February 21, 2012 § 1 Comment
Calendar days pass in tidy, equal squares of time. Mundane moments of routine activities and spontaneous pockets of play create a rhythm of predictable tides. Some days I feel as though I am racing forward moving quickly between errands, household tasks, and miscellaneous commitments. Other days time seems to slumber and the minutes pass in aching stillness as if Father Time’s hands are mischievously holding each second greedily.
Gray skies and cold rain drops have mired today in a lengthy sigh and I catch myself daydreaming of days ahead; sunshine and the anticipation of adventure. Like a child I am counting calendar squares between this day and a days of play. In the weeks ahead my daughter will share a camping adventure with her father; my husband and I will celebrate another wedding anniversary with a quiet night to ourselves; our family will travel for a long anticipated visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s home.
Lost to anticipation my daughter’s dry cough stirred me from daydreams and I found my way to the dark, quiet room where she is resting today. Her lopsided smile beneath watery, sleepy eyes make her seem smaller and younger than her years. Her typically headstrong, playful antics are buried beneath tired limbs and propped up with piles of pillows. It is a quiet day, one whose minutes pass with the forced progress of one walking against a current.
Rather than busy myself with tasks, I am settling into the space beside my daughter. Absorbing a borrowed day from the routine of school and setting aside thoughts of tomorrow. Let the hours pass slowly today, my little girl grows all too quickly.
music of silence
February 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
In music a rest is an interval of silence. In life music rests in the quiet pauses between the business and noise of the day. Reflective moments of stillness, the quiet company of my children; togetherness void of distractions. Rest balances and centers us physically, emotionally, and mentally with restorative intervals of silence.
This past week my son’s emotions overflowed, splashing sloppily into moments of rest. So often I write these moments releasing them from my mind, examining them for pathways to comprehension and care. This week I sat present in my son’s unrest giving my son silence to match his crescendos of anxiety. I listened, questioned, witnessing his frustrations without endeavoring to preach words of wisdom, answer rhetorical questions, explain injustice, or solve perpetual problems. In the interval of silence I listened to my son’s song.
Carrying his words in the quiet space of my heart I welcomed my own silence. I set aside errands and busied my body with activities that were mindlessly repetitious in an effort to foster silence and stillness. I ran to calm my nerves and read to still my worries. I avoided writing uncertain how to capture my thoughts and content to let them settle like weightless flecks of dust momentarily caught by stray strands of sunlight as they landed soundlessly in the space of my day.
At week’s end my uncertainty clamors noisily against my peace, but I am listening to the day as it unfolds. Finding music in the silence.
self truth
February 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
I welcome moments of insight that foster greater consciousness. In theory. Philosophy and practice are sometimes divided by truth despite the best of intentions. I speak of truth in this context as a tool rather than a measurement of honesty; a conscious acceptance of specific characteristics that require awareness to live mindfully. This lesson is ongoing and often humbling.
Recently my husband accused me of being inconsistent. My mind audibly slammed shut and I began mounting my defense. Arms crossed and feelings hurt every inch of my body screamed I am not! while something deep within whispered Yes, you are. Despite indignation and wounded pride, I felt the familiar discomfort of a personal truth. This feeling of unrest alone was enough for me to be still and center myself in the problem, looking for the uncomfortable truth behind my husband’s words.
Some of my greatest revelations have been cloaked in moments of denial. The more forcibly I push away a thought, dissociating myself from an unflattering quality, the greater the truth. Marriage is a safe place for difficult truths. My relationship with my husband is built on an expectation that we accept challenges as opportunities to live better.
Eyes wide open I began to see moments of inconsistency. Shame or guilt lent me excuses, but truth offered me an opportunity to create calm from chaos. Inconsistencies linger, but awareness and accountability inspire me to consciously try my best to speak and act with intent.
Just as I was celebrating this personal truth I found myself noisily fighting a larger truth. Inconsistency was symptomatic of a greater illness. Old insecurities cause me to gather defensive measures close until I can neither see nor hear over the wall in the middle of my relationships. I am reacting from a place of defensiveness rather than welcoming perspectives that conflict with my vision.
In fairness to my family and the life we share I am standing firmly and accountably in these moments of consciousness. I am mapping the places where I am inconsistent to create more mindful routines that foster calmness. I am trying to take down walls, opening myself up to vulnerability to better hear those I love. I am penning my thoughts to hold myself accountable, welcoming humility, and endeavoring to accept these truths that I might live my best life.
