This week, I met a former Marine who reminded me of a spontaneous encounter I once had with a returning veteran.
The war was over. We were victorious in the Persian Gulf. Washington D.C. was crawling with twenty-something military veterans who were marching in a victory parade.
In 1991, I won the coveted position of Advertising and Sales Promotion Assistant for one of the largest in the oil and gas companies in the world at their corporate headquarters in Northern Virginia. I had six months to show my stuff, working on all facets of national advertising and sales promotion campaigns. If I earned rehire status from all eight of my upper-middle level managers , I'd leave with an offer for a full-time, coveted marketing rep position.
After five months at corporate, I felt like a veteran myself. First, you had to have the required uniform: navy blue, black or gray suits with skirts only, stockings and heels.
Your desk was to be tidy or spotless at all times with no personal items, except a coffee mug. You were allowed to work with one of two files at a time, as long as they were neat. Everything else was to be out of sight. If you looked too overwhelmed with your current position, you would never get promoted to a higher one.
Corporate employees were required to begin their day no later than 7:30 a.m., but, if you were looking to get rehired, you got there before everyone else and were the last to leave.
Because we worked at U.S. Marketing and Refining division, everyone was required to drive to work separately, no car pooling. The only exception to this rule was the people who were transferred to Virginia from New York. They were so accustomed to public transit that a special shuttle was provided for them from the Metro to the office. The higher-ups overlooked my lack of car ownership because I was still enrolled in college in Philadelphia, where, like New York, it was a detriment to own a car.
Lunch was to be purchased at the corporate lunch room. The food was fresh and cheap, but eating lunch in the cafeteria was the best way to network with the VP's. You could get noticed and invited to join one of them at any time. This type of invitation could alter the trajectory of your entire career.
The U.S. Marketing and Refining division was comprised of various levels of middle to upper-middle management. Most had been with the company for more than thirty-five years. They were hired as marketing reps after the World War II. They had all begun their careers in the infantry as marketing reps. They were hardened by the politics of their service. They were all men.
As an attractive blonde, I got a lot of attention at corporate, simply because there were so few of us. The only women employed at U.S. Marketing and Refining were secretaries. Since they were getting pressure to promote women, they would have to hire some at the entry level. When I went out into the field, I noticed that the women marketing reps all looked like me. Blonde hair worn in the big, organized mess-style of the day, perfect makeup, well-fitting suits and very high heels. Basically, we looked like we had just walked off the set of Murphy Brown or Designing Women. We were all hired by the same guy. He was into blondes with big hair.
After I had assimilated all of these corporate rules and morés, I was supposed to be creative. I was so worried about blowing this opportunity that I was a nervous wreck. I thought that if I didn't do it perfectly, that I would lose.
My favorite thing to do was ride home from work on the Metro. I'd go exploring around town, meeting people and then inviting myself to join them socially. I didn't know anyone in Washington D.C. so unless I wanted to spend all weekend working or obsessing about work by myself. I fell into a group of three other women about my age. We were the Sex in the City girls in training.
I rode the subway to meet my friends the Friday night before the victory celebration parade when I noticed a very cute guy with short hair. I had become accustomed to introducing myself to strangers, but girls, not guys. Still, I had this strong feeling that I would deeply regret it if I didn't say hello. I prayed for the courage to talk to him, but he was sitting on the other side of the Metro car.
Then we exited at the same stop. We stood next to each other on the long escalator up. I took a deep breath and said, "Nice weather we're having," or some equally lame line.
He looked relieved that I had said something first. He smiled and said, "Yeah."
"Are you in school here?"
"No, I just got back from Iraq. I'm a Marine. We're marching in the parade tomorrow."
I gasped happily and said, "Really? Oh thank you so much. I'm so glad you are home."
He smiled. "Do you have plans tonight? I have to get back to the hotel. They let me go visit my parents in Virginia, but I have to have dinner with the guys. Then I might be able to get away, but I have to be back by 11:00. Could I meet you?"
"Well, I'll be busy for an hour or so. If you want to hang out, meet me outside the building at 7:00."
For an hour, I wondered and hoped that he would show up. I couldn't think of anything else.
June 30, 2008
June 22, 2008
Emotional Constipation
I am feeling emotionally constipated. I have some things on my mind. A good friend of mine is in the hospital. The next two weeks mark the losses of my dear grandmother, and my first baby. I will be attending the wedding of my niece whose sister was killed last October.
I think I want to cry, but I'm not ready. Mostly, I am reminding myself to breathe. I have been affirming that I rest in God. I am almost able to recall that God created all of the people involved here and that God's love is eternal, and, therefore, so are they.
I miss my family and I want my friend to come home from the hospital and have coffee with me like we do every Monday. I really want this all to be resolved tonight. This is perhaps the biggest source of pain - wanting to be in control of the schedule, of the whole thing really.
When I feel emotionally constipated, I don't want to breathe or pray because when I do, it hurts worse. I feel like a little kid who is not getting her way and so I am holding my breath until things resolve the way I want them to. In other words, I am having a sorrow-induced temper tantrum.
Just writing that is helping the whole thing seem more workable. I think I'm going to set a goal of breathing deeply and feeling whatever comes up for the rest of this evening.
If you feel like it, say a prayer for my friend, oh heck, and for me too.
I think I want to cry, but I'm not ready. Mostly, I am reminding myself to breathe. I have been affirming that I rest in God. I am almost able to recall that God created all of the people involved here and that God's love is eternal, and, therefore, so are they.
I miss my family and I want my friend to come home from the hospital and have coffee with me like we do every Monday. I really want this all to be resolved tonight. This is perhaps the biggest source of pain - wanting to be in control of the schedule, of the whole thing really.
When I feel emotionally constipated, I don't want to breathe or pray because when I do, it hurts worse. I feel like a little kid who is not getting her way and so I am holding my breath until things resolve the way I want them to. In other words, I am having a sorrow-induced temper tantrum.
Just writing that is helping the whole thing seem more workable. I think I'm going to set a goal of breathing deeply and feeling whatever comes up for the rest of this evening.
If you feel like it, say a prayer for my friend, oh heck, and for me too.
June 19, 2008
Mulch Your Neighbor
We hung Tibetan prayer flags on Kiddo's swing set, sending blessings of love and compassion and some other stuff in Tibetan that I can't read. The kid says, "The wind is blowing the prayers through the whole neighborhood. Push me, Mommy."
Blessing the neighbors while pushing the kid is a cool meditation. I considered this for about 30 seconds, then I thought hard about herbicide and mulch.
Blessing the neighbors while pushing the kid is a cool meditation. I considered this for about 30 seconds, then I thought hard about herbicide and mulch.
June 18, 2008
Change or Die
Suffocation is not the way I want to die. Not at all. I have not always thought this way, but in the last few years I have gotten very clear about not wanting to die by suffocation. But why do I feel this way, I wondered.
Turns out, I have been suffocating a little bit every night in my sleep. I have sleep apnea. I had the sleep study and I have seen the printouts recording me not breathing several times per night. I also have records of my oxygen levels which drop very low.
I must have this belief because I know exactly what it would feel like to suffocate. I don't like it.
I tried the CPAP machine. The hose slapped me in the head every time I moved. Also, my room is cold at night and the humidity gathers in the top of the mask and rained on me every night. I also know a little bit about what it would be like to be water-boarded. No thanks.
I was told to try an oral appliance. I found an oral surgeon with terrific credentials who makes such things and accepts my insurance. They actually only accept my secondary insurance so I went into this process knowing I was going to pay for 80% plus other stuff that wouldn't be covered at all.
And so began our relationship.
They made me the appliance and it worked pretty well. Then we started fine tuning. There were some major lab errors, miscommunication, and misunderstandings. At one point, my jaw was so messed up that only my two front teeth would touch. Despite all of the challenges, the appliance did help some so the worst part of the pain was that I couldn't wear the thing. Those nights were just like most of the last 20 years, sleepless, except now my body had a taste of a good night sleep. My body was demanding rest.
After two or three nights without adequate rest, I became desperate, overwhelmed, and frightened that I would be sentenced to live out my days without rest. So, I did what I do when I feel frightened and powerless. I tried to control.
I started building my case. I watched all the bills come in and lamented how the charges were adding up with no solution. I gnashed my teeth and wrung my hands over the wasted gas. And they still couldn't get it right. The self-righteousness kicked in big time, and I was getting really angry.
I walked in there demanding that they fix it. I felt resentful every time I had to go to the office for them to try and fix. So basically, I had my right foot to the floor on the gas pedal, and my left foot to the floor on the brake pedal. I was totally revved up, wasting gas and stuck.
Since I walked into the office demanding a solution, everyone in the office stopped looking me in the eye. I could see and feel their pity. I hate pity. Pity says, "I'm better than you, you poor pathetic thing. Your situation is just terrible, awful. I wish there was something we could do for you, but you are beyond human aid."
The dentist called me a problem child. I'm sure he was joking. I wanted to press his throat.
It seemed to me that they did not know what they were doing. They were ruining my teeth and jaw, depriving me of sleep, and charging me a couple thousand dollars plus travel expenses. And, they were making fun of me. I had lost perspective.
I had to admit; I didn't know what to do.
I lost confidence in them, and I lost confidence in my ability to avail myself good care.
I prayed for a miracle.
Then, I called the insurance company to find out about filing a complaint that would result in me not having to pay for this experience. I found out that I can file a complaint, but then I will have no sleep and a long, drawn out hassle with no guarantee that I could get out of paying for what had been done so far.
I also called a couple of other offices who had doctors or dentists who do this sort of thing. These other people said that they made this appliances, but they did not specialize in making them for sleep apnea. Plus, the others wouldn't take my insurance.
I thought about it. Treating sleep apnea with dental appliances is what he does all day long. He is a diplomate for the professional academy of folks who treat sleep apnea with dental appliances. He does accept my insurance.
I figured, I am already into this mess. Let's see what happens.
I called my guy, left a message. He actually called me back. I prayed, and told him how I felt when he called me the problem child. I told him I was concerned about the rising costs. I told him that since acrylic was chipping off of my appliance into my hand, I wasn't so sure it would last.
He apologized. He told me his plan to help me. Then he told me he would make me a new appliance for free.
I thanked him, but I still didn't know what to do. I hate that.
I asked myself what my part in this situation really was. I was blaming them. I needed to stay in the office until I felt comfortable with the changes they had made, even if I felt like I was taking up too much of their time. I wasn't communicating either.
I set aside the case I had been building. I went over there having made the decision that I would show up believing that we were going to work this out together. I knew I couldn't force the solution, but I brought my best attitude.
I got my miracle.
The entire office staff was so kind to me. They listened and spent extra time with me. They answered my questions. They talked to me like I mattered. They told me that they hadn't given up on anybody yet. The doc said that he would make me a new appliance and then he would fix the old one to match the new one. Yes, I am paying more than I thought I would, but I am getting a $2000 appliance for free.
As she was making new molds of my teeth, the assistant shared with me that she had experienced a miscarriage one month ago. I got it. I understood why she was offering me pity. She was having her own sorrow and pain. Pity was the best she could do under those circumstances. She probably couldn't be confident because her confidence had just taken a huge hit. She was powerless too.
I have heard that we should be kind to others because every one of them is fighting some kind of battle. Having experienced a miscarriage 12 years ago, I knew a bit about what she was going through. I was devastated when it happened to me.
I talked a little about my experience of losing a baby. I didn't pity her at all. I just wanted her to know that I knew what it was like. We were equals.
When I left, I felt like I had been to a completely different office. The only that had changed was me and my attitudes.
I felt so happy and grateful. I can change. I have other options beside cut my losses and run. For the longest time, I had two choices in stressful times - fight or run. It felt so good to have some other choices. This way of thinking makes every disagreement a crisis. What an insane way to live.
There is no guarantee that the new appliance will work better, but I know that I can take of myself while being respectful. I don't have to feel resentful about going to the office. I can be as serene as I decide to be.
I could have created a huge dramatic mess of this situation; I was on my way. Instead, I got proof that my new way of thinking and acting works. Sanity has returned to my life because today I can learn from my mistakes and try something new.
I feel like a grown-up. My kiddo has a grown-up for a mother. Aren't we lucky?
Turns out, I have been suffocating a little bit every night in my sleep. I have sleep apnea. I had the sleep study and I have seen the printouts recording me not breathing several times per night. I also have records of my oxygen levels which drop very low.
I must have this belief because I know exactly what it would feel like to suffocate. I don't like it.
I tried the CPAP machine. The hose slapped me in the head every time I moved. Also, my room is cold at night and the humidity gathers in the top of the mask and rained on me every night. I also know a little bit about what it would be like to be water-boarded. No thanks.
I was told to try an oral appliance. I found an oral surgeon with terrific credentials who makes such things and accepts my insurance. They actually only accept my secondary insurance so I went into this process knowing I was going to pay for 80% plus other stuff that wouldn't be covered at all.
And so began our relationship.
They made me the appliance and it worked pretty well. Then we started fine tuning. There were some major lab errors, miscommunication, and misunderstandings. At one point, my jaw was so messed up that only my two front teeth would touch. Despite all of the challenges, the appliance did help some so the worst part of the pain was that I couldn't wear the thing. Those nights were just like most of the last 20 years, sleepless, except now my body had a taste of a good night sleep. My body was demanding rest.
After two or three nights without adequate rest, I became desperate, overwhelmed, and frightened that I would be sentenced to live out my days without rest. So, I did what I do when I feel frightened and powerless. I tried to control.
I started building my case. I watched all the bills come in and lamented how the charges were adding up with no solution. I gnashed my teeth and wrung my hands over the wasted gas. And they still couldn't get it right. The self-righteousness kicked in big time, and I was getting really angry.
I walked in there demanding that they fix it. I felt resentful every time I had to go to the office for them to try and fix. So basically, I had my right foot to the floor on the gas pedal, and my left foot to the floor on the brake pedal. I was totally revved up, wasting gas and stuck.
Since I walked into the office demanding a solution, everyone in the office stopped looking me in the eye. I could see and feel their pity. I hate pity. Pity says, "I'm better than you, you poor pathetic thing. Your situation is just terrible, awful. I wish there was something we could do for you, but you are beyond human aid."
The dentist called me a problem child. I'm sure he was joking. I wanted to press his throat.
It seemed to me that they did not know what they were doing. They were ruining my teeth and jaw, depriving me of sleep, and charging me a couple thousand dollars plus travel expenses. And, they were making fun of me. I had lost perspective.
I had to admit; I didn't know what to do.
I lost confidence in them, and I lost confidence in my ability to avail myself good care.
I prayed for a miracle.
Then, I called the insurance company to find out about filing a complaint that would result in me not having to pay for this experience. I found out that I can file a complaint, but then I will have no sleep and a long, drawn out hassle with no guarantee that I could get out of paying for what had been done so far.
I also called a couple of other offices who had doctors or dentists who do this sort of thing. These other people said that they made this appliances, but they did not specialize in making them for sleep apnea. Plus, the others wouldn't take my insurance.
I thought about it. Treating sleep apnea with dental appliances is what he does all day long. He is a diplomate for the professional academy of folks who treat sleep apnea with dental appliances. He does accept my insurance.
I figured, I am already into this mess. Let's see what happens.
I called my guy, left a message. He actually called me back. I prayed, and told him how I felt when he called me the problem child. I told him I was concerned about the rising costs. I told him that since acrylic was chipping off of my appliance into my hand, I wasn't so sure it would last.
He apologized. He told me his plan to help me. Then he told me he would make me a new appliance for free.
I thanked him, but I still didn't know what to do. I hate that.
I asked myself what my part in this situation really was. I was blaming them. I needed to stay in the office until I felt comfortable with the changes they had made, even if I felt like I was taking up too much of their time. I wasn't communicating either.
I set aside the case I had been building. I went over there having made the decision that I would show up believing that we were going to work this out together. I knew I couldn't force the solution, but I brought my best attitude.
I got my miracle.
The entire office staff was so kind to me. They listened and spent extra time with me. They answered my questions. They talked to me like I mattered. They told me that they hadn't given up on anybody yet. The doc said that he would make me a new appliance and then he would fix the old one to match the new one. Yes, I am paying more than I thought I would, but I am getting a $2000 appliance for free.
As she was making new molds of my teeth, the assistant shared with me that she had experienced a miscarriage one month ago. I got it. I understood why she was offering me pity. She was having her own sorrow and pain. Pity was the best she could do under those circumstances. She probably couldn't be confident because her confidence had just taken a huge hit. She was powerless too.
I have heard that we should be kind to others because every one of them is fighting some kind of battle. Having experienced a miscarriage 12 years ago, I knew a bit about what she was going through. I was devastated when it happened to me.
I talked a little about my experience of losing a baby. I didn't pity her at all. I just wanted her to know that I knew what it was like. We were equals.
When I left, I felt like I had been to a completely different office. The only that had changed was me and my attitudes.
I felt so happy and grateful. I can change. I have other options beside cut my losses and run. For the longest time, I had two choices in stressful times - fight or run. It felt so good to have some other choices. This way of thinking makes every disagreement a crisis. What an insane way to live.
There is no guarantee that the new appliance will work better, but I know that I can take of myself while being respectful. I don't have to feel resentful about going to the office. I can be as serene as I decide to be.
I could have created a huge dramatic mess of this situation; I was on my way. Instead, I got proof that my new way of thinking and acting works. Sanity has returned to my life because today I can learn from my mistakes and try something new.
I feel like a grown-up. My kiddo has a grown-up for a mother. Aren't we lucky?
June 17, 2008
Beat the House
I spent the day beating on my house - with wiffle balls. I bought my kid about 30 wiffle balls for batting practice. As with many of the toys I purchase that I think the child will love, I end up have more fun playing with it than the kid does. I started smacking them around the back yard, and it was very satisfying. Tossing the ball, swinging, and connecting so that it flies across the yard and bangs into the house is inspired. It really feels good to hit something and experience "cause" and then watch it crash into something (without breaking anything) "effect."
Watching it crash on the neighbor's house is just exhilerating. I feel like I am being sneaky, breaking the rules, being bad. The ball bounces off of the siding and into a planter. I giggle. Then, I have to run over, and let myself into their yard to collect it. I feel silly. So, here I am with the 4 year old who is enjoying the swingset, and I am the one who is acting out. What fun.
It's a great way to work out some of my aggression about the neighbor's "perfect" house and yard. I drop my ball into their yard and think, it's not so perfect now is it?
I truly believe that I have an inner 8 year old who likes to cause trouble. She is a lot of fun. She body surfs in the ocean at high tide. She cracks my bubble gum in public places. She likes to fart, and blame someone else. She laughs at dick jokes, and bathroom humor. She is snotty. She is nasty. She likes to be dirty, and tell everyone that she smells. She burps loudly. She flips off inadament objects because they are annoying. She runs naked past the picture window, hoping to grab the clean clothes before the neighbors see her. She uses the men's room if the ladies' room is occupied. She picks her nose. She picks fights, just because. People find her annoying, and she doesn't care. She whines. She makes fun of people she likes. She swears as often as possible.
Finding an opportunity to have fun with my inner 8 year old while hanging out with my 4 year old is a challenge, and, today, I found a way: batting practice.
Watching it crash on the neighbor's house is just exhilerating. I feel like I am being sneaky, breaking the rules, being bad. The ball bounces off of the siding and into a planter. I giggle. Then, I have to run over, and let myself into their yard to collect it. I feel silly. So, here I am with the 4 year old who is enjoying the swingset, and I am the one who is acting out. What fun.
It's a great way to work out some of my aggression about the neighbor's "perfect" house and yard. I drop my ball into their yard and think, it's not so perfect now is it?
I truly believe that I have an inner 8 year old who likes to cause trouble. She is a lot of fun. She body surfs in the ocean at high tide. She cracks my bubble gum in public places. She likes to fart, and blame someone else. She laughs at dick jokes, and bathroom humor. She is snotty. She is nasty. She likes to be dirty, and tell everyone that she smells. She burps loudly. She flips off inadament objects because they are annoying. She runs naked past the picture window, hoping to grab the clean clothes before the neighbors see her. She uses the men's room if the ladies' room is occupied. She picks her nose. She picks fights, just because. People find her annoying, and she doesn't care. She whines. She makes fun of people she likes. She swears as often as possible.
Finding an opportunity to have fun with my inner 8 year old while hanging out with my 4 year old is a challenge, and, today, I found a way: batting practice.
June 15, 2008
The Witch is Dead
After months and months of prayer and meditation, I heard a rumor that the "difficult" neighbors are probably moving to Eden Prairie.
Could it be? Is it possible? I don't usually get off that easy. Difficult people usually stay around until I don't care anymore. I am happy to report that I pretty much don't care anymore, unless I am using them as an obsession to avoid being in the moment.
What a miracle. I feel like singing: Ding, Dong, the witch is dead. I am, of course, the witch.
The rumor also included a report that they want to ask for $400,000 for their house. If that is true, we are all going to grow old together.
Could it be? Is it possible? I don't usually get off that easy. Difficult people usually stay around until I don't care anymore. I am happy to report that I pretty much don't care anymore, unless I am using them as an obsession to avoid being in the moment.
What a miracle. I feel like singing: Ding, Dong, the witch is dead. I am, of course, the witch.
The rumor also included a report that they want to ask for $400,000 for their house. If that is true, we are all going to grow old together.
June 12, 2008
Starting Over
Thank God for do-overs. This morning, I raised my voice so that my kid would get dressed so that we could go to the gym and have fun. I felt like a jerk. I was standing there saying hurry up, I told you we needed to go. Why do I have to raise my voice?
I had to ask myself why? I suppose I had run out of tools. I created a little crisis to get the energy moving. Only problem, it through me off center. I don't like to be on the receiving end of someone's fake crisis. It is really uncomfortable to feel like the other person is forcing me join me in their crisis.
Anyway, I created this crisis for the kid so we could get to the drum class on time. Kiddo got upset, but so did I. I felt like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia when he becomes the sorcerer. With a flip of the wrist, he creates a mighty wave which impresses him. Then, the water completely overtakes him.
I summoned the energy to make someone behave the way I wanted, then I felt awash in anxiety as if I should make the rest of the day conform to my will. Oddly enough, nothing went well. When we got to the gym, I learned that we should have signed up 24 hours in advance. I had pushed for nothing. I felt guilty, and I had too much juice. I just couldn't settle down. My serenity had been swept away in a wave of contrived crisis.
I spent the morning trying to catch my breath. There seemed to be at least 15 things which needed attention right now. I was in react mode.
Meditation gave me a way to start over, even though it was kind of nutty. I know I had at least 4 breaths that didn't involve thinking. I'll take it.
I told the kid, "You know, I didn't like raising my voice. What is another way I could let you know that we need to get going? How 'bout a special word like popcorn?"
"Mommy, just say - we have to get going."
"So the next time we need to roll, I should just say, we have to get going?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Let's give it a try."
We ended up having a great afternoon painting the house with Crayola paints, playing wiffle ball, and jumping in the bounce area. After dinner we road bikes up and down the side walk.
I had to ask myself why? I suppose I had run out of tools. I created a little crisis to get the energy moving. Only problem, it through me off center. I don't like to be on the receiving end of someone's fake crisis. It is really uncomfortable to feel like the other person is forcing me join me in their crisis.
Anyway, I created this crisis for the kid so we could get to the drum class on time. Kiddo got upset, but so did I. I felt like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia when he becomes the sorcerer. With a flip of the wrist, he creates a mighty wave which impresses him. Then, the water completely overtakes him.
I summoned the energy to make someone behave the way I wanted, then I felt awash in anxiety as if I should make the rest of the day conform to my will. Oddly enough, nothing went well. When we got to the gym, I learned that we should have signed up 24 hours in advance. I had pushed for nothing. I felt guilty, and I had too much juice. I just couldn't settle down. My serenity had been swept away in a wave of contrived crisis.
I spent the morning trying to catch my breath. There seemed to be at least 15 things which needed attention right now. I was in react mode.
Meditation gave me a way to start over, even though it was kind of nutty. I know I had at least 4 breaths that didn't involve thinking. I'll take it.
I told the kid, "You know, I didn't like raising my voice. What is another way I could let you know that we need to get going? How 'bout a special word like popcorn?"
"Mommy, just say - we have to get going."
"So the next time we need to roll, I should just say, we have to get going?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Let's give it a try."
We ended up having a great afternoon painting the house with Crayola paints, playing wiffle ball, and jumping in the bounce area. After dinner we road bikes up and down the side walk.
June 11, 2008
Can We Get Off It?
I voted for Hillary. Yes, I did. I really thought that she would be the most formidable candidate to go up against McCain.
I can't seem to get off it. I know I need to move on and support Obama, but I am just not ready yet. I feel really dragged out after 16 months of campaigning, and I don't even watch television news.
When I heard Hillary's final speech as a potential nominee on Saturday, I cried. As far as we have a nation have come regarding women in leadership positions, we as a society can't see a woman president. I am amazed that I got to see a woman go after the nomination for the Presidency. I was pretty certain that would never happen. Still, I felt really sad that even a woman with experience and strength couldn't get out from under the way the press depicted her. If Hillary can't break the glass ceiling, who can?
I remember growing up with my father who did not believe that women could compete with men. Period. He thought my sports and activities were a nice way for me to pass time, but could not compare to those of my brothers. Boys sports were worth committing the entire family to long weekends at hockey arenas or ball fields. Girls sports were a waste of a sunny Saturday when he could have been on his boat. No matter how accomplished I would become, it wouldn't compare to what the boys were doing. It seemed so unfair. It still does. Back then, it made me want to achieve and show them that girls' pursuits did matter. With this line of thinking, I put so much pressure on myself that I would under perform.
This is an old hurt of mine which has been brought to my attention in the last month as my kid begins extracurricular activities. I have been spending time sitting with these feelings of disappointment instead of getting angry and feeding into the wanting to "prove them wrong" or change or control how they think about me, girls and women.
Personal feelings aside, I feel really sad that she didn't get the nomination. I felt she was a leader who could stay focused despite all of the muck that would be flung at her. I felt that she would stand strong in her national agenda without waffling. I felt that she had the wisdom of years of experience that would guide her in dealing with nations around the world in a fair and firm way.
I just don't get that from Obama.
My hope is that Obama will be able to assemble a team of the best advisors, as well as a kick-butt running mate.
I am going to pray for an open mind and a new experience with Obama. I am going to pray for the willingness to see him as the next President of the United States. Maybe I will need to watch TV news to hear some of his speeches.
My hope is that the Obama supporters whose candidate will get the nomination will bear in mind that Hillary supporters are going to need convincing. I hope that they will see that bad-mouthing Hillary will not make me or folks like me get behind Obama, just the opposite in fact. Even after Hillary said she was withdrawing from the contest, these people are still speaking ill of her. Enough. They need to get off it too.
I can't seem to get off it. I know I need to move on and support Obama, but I am just not ready yet. I feel really dragged out after 16 months of campaigning, and I don't even watch television news.
When I heard Hillary's final speech as a potential nominee on Saturday, I cried. As far as we have a nation have come regarding women in leadership positions, we as a society can't see a woman president. I am amazed that I got to see a woman go after the nomination for the Presidency. I was pretty certain that would never happen. Still, I felt really sad that even a woman with experience and strength couldn't get out from under the way the press depicted her. If Hillary can't break the glass ceiling, who can?
I remember growing up with my father who did not believe that women could compete with men. Period. He thought my sports and activities were a nice way for me to pass time, but could not compare to those of my brothers. Boys sports were worth committing the entire family to long weekends at hockey arenas or ball fields. Girls sports were a waste of a sunny Saturday when he could have been on his boat. No matter how accomplished I would become, it wouldn't compare to what the boys were doing. It seemed so unfair. It still does. Back then, it made me want to achieve and show them that girls' pursuits did matter. With this line of thinking, I put so much pressure on myself that I would under perform.
This is an old hurt of mine which has been brought to my attention in the last month as my kid begins extracurricular activities. I have been spending time sitting with these feelings of disappointment instead of getting angry and feeding into the wanting to "prove them wrong" or change or control how they think about me, girls and women.
Personal feelings aside, I feel really sad that she didn't get the nomination. I felt she was a leader who could stay focused despite all of the muck that would be flung at her. I felt that she would stand strong in her national agenda without waffling. I felt that she had the wisdom of years of experience that would guide her in dealing with nations around the world in a fair and firm way.
I just don't get that from Obama.
My hope is that Obama will be able to assemble a team of the best advisors, as well as a kick-butt running mate.
I am going to pray for an open mind and a new experience with Obama. I am going to pray for the willingness to see him as the next President of the United States. Maybe I will need to watch TV news to hear some of his speeches.
My hope is that the Obama supporters whose candidate will get the nomination will bear in mind that Hillary supporters are going to need convincing. I hope that they will see that bad-mouthing Hillary will not make me or folks like me get behind Obama, just the opposite in fact. Even after Hillary said she was withdrawing from the contest, these people are still speaking ill of her. Enough. They need to get off it too.
June 7, 2008
The Rebate
I find myself easily wounded the last couple days. I haven't meditated, other than 5 minutes with the Holy Spirit, and, frankly, I am sensing a rebate on my neurosis.
I noticed it yesterday when my kid slipped on the floor whilst playing with her cousins. Boom, kid down. One of the cousins started laughing hysterically. It seems that any time the cousins fall, they laugh and that keeps them from crying when not absolutely necessary. With 4 cousins under the age of 7 in the house, I can see the wisdom in this theory. It gets pretty loud, especially when you throw in the kiddo.
Anyway, she slipped, and cousin laughed. I noticed that I felt somehow mortally wounded. I just felt sad, like crying sad. I think that I must have had one of those not-in-this-moment flashbacks where my brothers were laughing at me and I wasn't laughing, but I didn't know that yesterday. I just felt like my feelings were hurt, and I felt this way for way too long.
I thought, you must be tired. And, wow, I'm not (spiritally) well today. Implied in this last thought, I better relax and take it easy. This is not the time to complain or get into gossip or get into debates. When I am spiritually off the beam, I will defend my opinion to the last. I start the war innocently enough. "Can you believe that people actually vote based on whether someone is pro or anti abortion rights?" I seemed to forget that I know that members of my family, to whom I am speaking, vote this way. Guess what? All other things being equal, so do I.
Luckily, I was spared the pain of starting the right v. wrong war. This is progress. Still, I thought it was weird that I would be so hurt when the cousin didn't laugh at me.
This is the epic story of my life prior to age 38 1/2 or so. In at least the last few months, I have been lifted out of this pain. Since I altered my spirital practice including watching daytime TV, I got a rebate. A neurotic refund.
I noticed it yesterday when my kid slipped on the floor whilst playing with her cousins. Boom, kid down. One of the cousins started laughing hysterically. It seems that any time the cousins fall, they laugh and that keeps them from crying when not absolutely necessary. With 4 cousins under the age of 7 in the house, I can see the wisdom in this theory. It gets pretty loud, especially when you throw in the kiddo.
Anyway, she slipped, and cousin laughed. I noticed that I felt somehow mortally wounded. I just felt sad, like crying sad. I think that I must have had one of those not-in-this-moment flashbacks where my brothers were laughing at me and I wasn't laughing, but I didn't know that yesterday. I just felt like my feelings were hurt, and I felt this way for way too long.
I thought, you must be tired. And, wow, I'm not (spiritally) well today. Implied in this last thought, I better relax and take it easy. This is not the time to complain or get into gossip or get into debates. When I am spiritually off the beam, I will defend my opinion to the last. I start the war innocently enough. "Can you believe that people actually vote based on whether someone is pro or anti abortion rights?" I seemed to forget that I know that members of my family, to whom I am speaking, vote this way. Guess what? All other things being equal, so do I.
Luckily, I was spared the pain of starting the right v. wrong war. This is progress. Still, I thought it was weird that I would be so hurt when the cousin didn't laugh at me.
This is the epic story of my life prior to age 38 1/2 or so. In at least the last few months, I have been lifted out of this pain. Since I altered my spirital practice including watching daytime TV, I got a rebate. A neurotic refund.
June 5, 2008
Emptiness - A New One on Me
Emptiness. I am sitting with it. Since I am wishing that I knew what was on the other side of the emptiness, I am obviously not sitting with it entirely well. The hardest part is that I've decided it's kind of boring. It's the absence of drama, of anything really. I am just not that familiar with this feeling. It doesn't feel like depression. I still want to participate with life, and do what needs to be done.
I have never really tried to describe this feeling, I suppose because I think it is boring. When I was working as a writer, when we weren't currently assigned to a project, we called it, "on the beach." I would usually be so exhausted that I couldn't enjoy the beach. Today, I'm not so tired anymore. I feel peaceful. I like my peace with some edges of joy or happiness.
My chest feels relaxed. My body feels warm and rested. My head is clear. I am breathing.
It's lightening here; I think I'll go do window.
I have never really tried to describe this feeling, I suppose because I think it is boring. When I was working as a writer, when we weren't currently assigned to a project, we called it, "on the beach." I would usually be so exhausted that I couldn't enjoy the beach. Today, I'm not so tired anymore. I feel peaceful. I like my peace with some edges of joy or happiness.
My chest feels relaxed. My body feels warm and rested. My head is clear. I am breathing.
It's lightening here; I think I'll go do window.
June 4, 2008
Demographically Speaking
Neilsen ratings called us tonight. They asked me a couple questions, and, as soon as they heard that my husband knew about some new Jackie Chan movie, they said they had met their quota for my age range. Is there another person in the household between the ages of 12 and 65? Then, they asked him all of these questions about the movies he was going to see and why. I felt insulted.
I resent that the demographic that advertisers are aiming for is white male, aged 18-35. I think that this over-focus on the white male is not good business. Women have money, and we spend it. If we really enjoy a movie, we'll see it again with different friends.
Also, I do not like the movies that this demographic selects. They are typically all form and no substance. Forgive me, I like character and plot.
Finally, I seem to have a virus today so I haven't really spoken to anyone except the cable company. I feel lonely. Daytime TV is soul sucking. In 8 hours of programming, I discovered one program that I might watch again. It's a new modeling contest show for women 35. These are gorgeous women who seem to be stepping out of their comfort zones. They seem to be trying to see themselves in a different way. I also noticed that they all seemed to have really wanted to pursue fashion, but felt that it was not available to them. The fact that they are older and have some life experience behind them actually adds some substance to the form. The best ones have the ability to project a little bit of unguarded spirit. Since the show just started, there wasn't any cattiness or fighting. The hosts seem credible, professional, and not bitchy.
I may watch this one again. I wonder if there are any more of my demographic out there?
I resent that the demographic that advertisers are aiming for is white male, aged 18-35. I think that this over-focus on the white male is not good business. Women have money, and we spend it. If we really enjoy a movie, we'll see it again with different friends.
Also, I do not like the movies that this demographic selects. They are typically all form and no substance. Forgive me, I like character and plot.
Finally, I seem to have a virus today so I haven't really spoken to anyone except the cable company. I feel lonely. Daytime TV is soul sucking. In 8 hours of programming, I discovered one program that I might watch again. It's a new modeling contest show for women 35. These are gorgeous women who seem to be stepping out of their comfort zones. They seem to be trying to see themselves in a different way. I also noticed that they all seemed to have really wanted to pursue fashion, but felt that it was not available to them. The fact that they are older and have some life experience behind them actually adds some substance to the form. The best ones have the ability to project a little bit of unguarded spirit. Since the show just started, there wasn't any cattiness or fighting. The hosts seem credible, professional, and not bitchy.
I may watch this one again. I wonder if there are any more of my demographic out there?
June 3, 2008
Things To Do Today: Sleep & Eat
I didn't panic. I felt like sleeping most of the day, again, and it was okay.
Typically, if I have two low energy days in a row, I start to look for causes and conditions. Do I have a cold? Did I overeat? Am I going back into a depression? I obsess about what could be the cause of this downturn. Thus, I do not rest, and then feel worse. I get resentful and impatient with my family, demanding that they respect that I feel yucky. They don't like this type of Some kind of mother. They like different kinds of Some.
Today, I thought, what would I tell a friend who called and said that they were tired and wanted to sleep all day? I would tell them to rest and see what happened.
I actually applied this idea to myself. I took a shower. Dealt with the phone man. Made an apple pie (frozen, thank you very much - though someone else's mom made it). I read a chick novel, and dosed on the couch while my kid played paper dolls.
Then I went to see the dietician. I have been trying eating when I am hungry and then eating what I am hungry for. This sounds rather elementary. Having spent 18 years attempting to heal from a nasty strain of bulemia/binge eating disorder, this is college level work. Eating food as fuel and for no other reason is radical.
Self, are you hungry? If yes, how hungry are you? Based on that answer, what do you want to eat?
Trusting the answer to those questions is a huge leap. My fears slap me in the head: what if I go back to mindless eating? What if I make myself sick? What if I get fat again? What if I end up in the mental hospital?
This line of thinking really takes the fun out of meals. It is exhausting. Anyway, all of those questions can be dodged if I simply eat whatever I want mindfully and stop when I am hungry.
The question of being hungry is interesting. I used to keep myself so busy that I wouldn't register I was hungry until I was about to pass out. It's like my belly was trying to tell me to eat, it was getting a busy signal from my brain. I was told that the feeling of impending death was not hunger. Oh. Now that I have stripped as much craziness out of my day as I can tolerate, I'm getting the message earlier.
This weekend, I enjoyed whatever I wanted to eat when I felt hungry. I had homemade brats & beef bourguignon. Old Dutch Carmel Corn Puffs & homemade blueberry pie. I ate red licorce, pancakes, scrambled eggs & toast. Chips & hummus. I ate until I felt I had enough, and then stopped. It was a glorious weekend.
After two days on the couch, I thought my weight would be up, and that the dietician was going to tell me to reel it in & go back to my exchanges. Quite the opposite. I lost weight. I do not understand this not dieting process at all.
What's more: I explained to her that I am premenstrual, and it seems that all I want to eat is bread & chocolate so maybe this eat what I want thing isn't such a good idea right now. She said, "Well, it's two days before your period. Why don't you try eating whatever sounds good to you and see what happens. Its just two days."
That was the most uncomfortable thing she could have possibly suggested. I felt terror. Oh no! This is too hard. What if I go nuts? What if I just go off the deep end? Is this really how normal people eat?
Yes, it is. Normal people do not use exchanges for all their meals. If they are hungry, they eat. If not, they don't. If they need a snack, they have one. They don't eat everything that is put in front of them just because they paid for it. Huh.
This just seems like entirely too much work. I am so used to following these prescribed plans that I have remained disconnected to what I really want in the moment. I have trusted the plan. I have defended the plan. I have forced my family to conform to my meal plan, which for most of 17 years has excluded sugar, flour, friend foods, with weighed and measured portions. When I started eating dessert, my husband had a spiritual awakening.
This eating thing is another extension of my mindfulness practice, and, let me tell you, letting go and trusting my body to let me know what to do is still uncharted territory a great lot of the time. After so many years of out of control and then over control, I am a rookie at feeding myself.
What I know for sure is that I am not hungry right now. I think I'll just stick with that until it changes.
I rested today. I did not die. We ate dessert first, before the lovely dinner my husband made for us. I did not die. Maybe this is part of living. I don't have to panic right now. Actually, some decaf sounds good. Maybe some water. Maybe I'm starting to get the hang of this feeding thing.
To sum it up for me today: sleep when tired, eat when hungry.
Typically, if I have two low energy days in a row, I start to look for causes and conditions. Do I have a cold? Did I overeat? Am I going back into a depression? I obsess about what could be the cause of this downturn. Thus, I do not rest, and then feel worse. I get resentful and impatient with my family, demanding that they respect that I feel yucky. They don't like this type of Some kind of mother. They like different kinds of Some.
Today, I thought, what would I tell a friend who called and said that they were tired and wanted to sleep all day? I would tell them to rest and see what happened.
I actually applied this idea to myself. I took a shower. Dealt with the phone man. Made an apple pie (frozen, thank you very much - though someone else's mom made it). I read a chick novel, and dosed on the couch while my kid played paper dolls.
Then I went to see the dietician. I have been trying eating when I am hungry and then eating what I am hungry for. This sounds rather elementary. Having spent 18 years attempting to heal from a nasty strain of bulemia/binge eating disorder, this is college level work. Eating food as fuel and for no other reason is radical.
Self, are you hungry? If yes, how hungry are you? Based on that answer, what do you want to eat?
Trusting the answer to those questions is a huge leap. My fears slap me in the head: what if I go back to mindless eating? What if I make myself sick? What if I get fat again? What if I end up in the mental hospital?
This line of thinking really takes the fun out of meals. It is exhausting. Anyway, all of those questions can be dodged if I simply eat whatever I want mindfully and stop when I am hungry.
The question of being hungry is interesting. I used to keep myself so busy that I wouldn't register I was hungry until I was about to pass out. It's like my belly was trying to tell me to eat, it was getting a busy signal from my brain. I was told that the feeling of impending death was not hunger. Oh. Now that I have stripped as much craziness out of my day as I can tolerate, I'm getting the message earlier.
This weekend, I enjoyed whatever I wanted to eat when I felt hungry. I had homemade brats & beef bourguignon. Old Dutch Carmel Corn Puffs & homemade blueberry pie. I ate red licorce, pancakes, scrambled eggs & toast. Chips & hummus. I ate until I felt I had enough, and then stopped. It was a glorious weekend.
After two days on the couch, I thought my weight would be up, and that the dietician was going to tell me to reel it in & go back to my exchanges. Quite the opposite. I lost weight. I do not understand this not dieting process at all.
What's more: I explained to her that I am premenstrual, and it seems that all I want to eat is bread & chocolate so maybe this eat what I want thing isn't such a good idea right now. She said, "Well, it's two days before your period. Why don't you try eating whatever sounds good to you and see what happens. Its just two days."
That was the most uncomfortable thing she could have possibly suggested. I felt terror. Oh no! This is too hard. What if I go nuts? What if I just go off the deep end? Is this really how normal people eat?
Yes, it is. Normal people do not use exchanges for all their meals. If they are hungry, they eat. If not, they don't. If they need a snack, they have one. They don't eat everything that is put in front of them just because they paid for it. Huh.
This just seems like entirely too much work. I am so used to following these prescribed plans that I have remained disconnected to what I really want in the moment. I have trusted the plan. I have defended the plan. I have forced my family to conform to my meal plan, which for most of 17 years has excluded sugar, flour, friend foods, with weighed and measured portions. When I started eating dessert, my husband had a spiritual awakening.
This eating thing is another extension of my mindfulness practice, and, let me tell you, letting go and trusting my body to let me know what to do is still uncharted territory a great lot of the time. After so many years of out of control and then over control, I am a rookie at feeding myself.
What I know for sure is that I am not hungry right now. I think I'll just stick with that until it changes.
I rested today. I did not die. We ate dessert first, before the lovely dinner my husband made for us. I did not die. Maybe this is part of living. I don't have to panic right now. Actually, some decaf sounds good. Maybe some water. Maybe I'm starting to get the hang of this feeding thing.
To sum it up for me today: sleep when tired, eat when hungry.
June 2, 2008
Some Kind of Mother
My new nickname is "Some," as in "Some kind of mother."
I took a 107 minute nap today. 107 minutes is the exact length of Enchanted, the movie. Yes, I am that kind of some kind of mother, at least some of the time.
I started to feel like I was melting after lunch today. I thought I needed some protein so I threw down a handful of hard salami to no avail. I was asleep on the couch within 5 minutes.
I am also some kind of mother who remembered and then forgot and then remembered and ultimately forgot to buy my in-laws a present for taking care of our kid this weekend.
I remembered that we forgot to buy them a gift as we pulled into our neighborhood to drop off our gear so that we would have room in the car for the child. We were already an hour late to pick up our 4 year old from two retired grandparents who have never really spent a lot of time with any children.
I called and sweetly told them that we would be there directly. I didn't tell them that we were making a pit stop at the mall to find them some black licorice as a present because we forgot to get them one because we were having such a great time thinking only of ourselves.
Turns out, there is no candy store at the mall. What? It can't be. We are already an hour and a half late. Desperation had set in. After a friendly, easy going weekend, we had fully injected ourselves back into the rat race.
Macy's, that's it. Macy's has a candy counter. We ran the entire length of the mall to find that Macy's does have candy, but not black licorice. We punted, and bought a few different things, including a bag of Swedish fish with a Macy's label and a price tag that read $8.00. The fact that we paid that much for a half pound of Swedish fish is truly more embarrassing than forgetting to by them a present. Anyway, since, appearances do matter, I simply pulled the labels off the cellophane bag which made it look like we had given them some Swedish fish that we had plucked from the mostly finished bratwurst and saurkraut in the dumpster behind the Das Wurst Hus.
Is it worse to not bring a gift or to give one that looked like some Swedish fish rejects?
We grab the black licorice substitutes, and sprinted to the car. About 4 steps away from the car, I feel all of my energy run out of the imaginary plug in the bottom of my left heel. I was starving.
I said to my husband, "Hon, I just ran out of gas 4 steps back. I have to eat something now."
Says he, "I ran out on the up escalator. Let's go to Wendy's."
As I shared yesterday, my husband and I spent an idyllic weekend in a lovely small town where fresh-faced, friendly people greeted us warmly and invited us to enjoy ourselves in their beautiful town. In Lanesboro, MN, the townsfolk stop to give directions and yield the right of way to other drivers, pedestrians, and bicycle riders, and then tell them all to enjoy their stay.
In Edina, MN, one neighborhood over from ours, old men in large Cadillacs tailgate behind starving parents who are driving the speed limit despite the fact that they are late to pick up their preschooler from Grandma's. Since we could not satisfy his need for speed as we were making a right hand turn into the Wendy's Drive-thru lane, said Cadillac driver attempted to run us off the road.
My husband laid on the horn for at least 25 seconds. I am not kidding. "I haven't heard a horn like that since I was in Manhattan," I howled.
"You haven't been in the car with my dad," says he, "Dad would lay on the horn until everyone in the car said his name.
"At least I didn't flip him off. He flipped me off."
"That old guy flipped you off? You are spiritually evolved."
And since I am Some, I graciously thanked my in-laws and handed them the fish. She looked confused so I said something like, oh I pulled the label off; it wasn't quite right.
We collected the child and headed home. Transaction complete.
After my nap, I am unpacking the kid's suitcase, and I find new pants, swimsuit, t-shirts. I report the extra clothes to my husband, and he says, "Oh, yeah. Kiddo and Grandma went to Target and the Kid told Grandma that Kid has no pants that fit."
Technically, this is true. Kid's pants from last fall are too small, but it is summer. No one wears pants in the summer in Minnesota. Most of us try to be as naked as possible from March until October when we adopt the all-upholstered look for 9 months.
This makes sense to me, but clearly I am Some.
I took a 107 minute nap today. 107 minutes is the exact length of Enchanted, the movie. Yes, I am that kind of some kind of mother, at least some of the time.
I started to feel like I was melting after lunch today. I thought I needed some protein so I threw down a handful of hard salami to no avail. I was asleep on the couch within 5 minutes.
I am also some kind of mother who remembered and then forgot and then remembered and ultimately forgot to buy my in-laws a present for taking care of our kid this weekend.
I remembered that we forgot to buy them a gift as we pulled into our neighborhood to drop off our gear so that we would have room in the car for the child. We were already an hour late to pick up our 4 year old from two retired grandparents who have never really spent a lot of time with any children.
I called and sweetly told them that we would be there directly. I didn't tell them that we were making a pit stop at the mall to find them some black licorice as a present because we forgot to get them one because we were having such a great time thinking only of ourselves.
Turns out, there is no candy store at the mall. What? It can't be. We are already an hour and a half late. Desperation had set in. After a friendly, easy going weekend, we had fully injected ourselves back into the rat race.
Macy's, that's it. Macy's has a candy counter. We ran the entire length of the mall to find that Macy's does have candy, but not black licorice. We punted, and bought a few different things, including a bag of Swedish fish with a Macy's label and a price tag that read $8.00. The fact that we paid that much for a half pound of Swedish fish is truly more embarrassing than forgetting to by them a present. Anyway, since, appearances do matter, I simply pulled the labels off the cellophane bag which made it look like we had given them some Swedish fish that we had plucked from the mostly finished bratwurst and saurkraut in the dumpster behind the Das Wurst Hus.
Is it worse to not bring a gift or to give one that looked like some Swedish fish rejects?
We grab the black licorice substitutes, and sprinted to the car. About 4 steps away from the car, I feel all of my energy run out of the imaginary plug in the bottom of my left heel. I was starving.
I said to my husband, "Hon, I just ran out of gas 4 steps back. I have to eat something now."
Says he, "I ran out on the up escalator. Let's go to Wendy's."
As I shared yesterday, my husband and I spent an idyllic weekend in a lovely small town where fresh-faced, friendly people greeted us warmly and invited us to enjoy ourselves in their beautiful town. In Lanesboro, MN, the townsfolk stop to give directions and yield the right of way to other drivers, pedestrians, and bicycle riders, and then tell them all to enjoy their stay.
In Edina, MN, one neighborhood over from ours, old men in large Cadillacs tailgate behind starving parents who are driving the speed limit despite the fact that they are late to pick up their preschooler from Grandma's. Since we could not satisfy his need for speed as we were making a right hand turn into the Wendy's Drive-thru lane, said Cadillac driver attempted to run us off the road.
My husband laid on the horn for at least 25 seconds. I am not kidding. "I haven't heard a horn like that since I was in Manhattan," I howled.
"You haven't been in the car with my dad," says he, "Dad would lay on the horn until everyone in the car said his name.
"At least I didn't flip him off. He flipped me off."
"That old guy flipped you off? You are spiritually evolved."
And since I am Some, I graciously thanked my in-laws and handed them the fish. She looked confused so I said something like, oh I pulled the label off; it wasn't quite right.
We collected the child and headed home. Transaction complete.
After my nap, I am unpacking the kid's suitcase, and I find new pants, swimsuit, t-shirts. I report the extra clothes to my husband, and he says, "Oh, yeah. Kiddo and Grandma went to Target and the Kid told Grandma that Kid has no pants that fit."
Technically, this is true. Kid's pants from last fall are too small, but it is summer. No one wears pants in the summer in Minnesota. Most of us try to be as naked as possible from March until October when we adopt the all-upholstered look for 9 months.
This makes sense to me, but clearly I am Some.
June 1, 2008
The Ape Hanger Sitting on a Hol(e)y Bike Seat
I rode my bike about 32 miles this weekend without pain. Discomfort, yes. Chronic debilitating pain, no! I prayed for a miracle, for the best possible outcome regarding riding a bike. I also asked that I be mindful of my seat so I could make adjustments as I rode.
I have suffered from chronic pelvic pain for several years. My lower back would ache and slide out of alignment constantly. One wrong move picking up baby toys, and I was on the couch for three weeks. My vulva burned with all of the symptoms of a yeast infection, but without the actual infection. I could barely sit. My bladder ached. I thought I had a bladder infection, but no infection. I was in pain, and, worse, I thought I was crazy.
The pain effected every area of my life, but, especially, my marriage. I really wasn't able to participate in the aspects of marriage that are just between the two of us. One of those things was bike riding, my husband's favorite passtime. When we were dating, he bought me a bike because he wanted to share his favorite thing to do with his sweetheart.
Having lived in Center City Philadelphia for years, where drivers flatten bikers for sport, and they end up on the 6:00 p.m. news, I gave up riding a bike. When I tried it again, I found I really enjoyed it. I didn't have to be in the best shape to feel the sun and the wind on my face. I had to remind myself to keep my lips closed while smiling because the gnats were smashing into my teeth.
I liked that I had a bike that was mine, and I rode on the trails surrounding Minneapolis by myself a lot. I even rode in the Minnesota State MS150, a bike tour raising funds to help those suffering from Multiple Sclerosis. I didn't ride 150 miles, I rode a manageable 40 miles. On the last leg of the ride I crossed the finish line where hundreds of people, including many in wheelchairs holding thank you signs, cheered. It was really exhilirating.
Then the pain began. I had bascially given up ever riding a bike again. We debated selling my bike and helmet in the garage sale last fall, but I couldn't do it.
Over the last year, changes have occurred in seemingly unrelated areas of my life and health. For example, for at least twenty years, I didn't sleep through the night due to sleep apnea. As I began to sleep through the night, the pain improved. I also worked closely with physical therapists to stretch and strengthen my core abdominal muscles so that the pelvic floor wouldn't have to do all the work. I started walking, 15 minutes, three times per week, last year. I eventually was able to join a gym and begin weight training.
I addressed my nutrition, and, with the help of a dietician, learned how to eat snacks so that my blood sugar stayed stable so that my body didn't have to go into spasm in a perceived threat of starvation. I also began a very helpful protocol for supplements that really gave me energy that I needed to get through the day.
There were other treatments and many difficult setbacks given the level of system failure going on with my body. I was very discouraged a lot of the time. In fact, I still have setbacks, but today I can accept what is happening so it is not that bad. This attitude allowed me the freedom to try. I knew that if I did have a setback, I could recover.
My husband and I hadn't celebrated our wedding anniversary for six years. It was time. We chose Lanesboro, a charming little town in Southern Minnesota. They have gorgeous bike trails that follow the Root River and wind through rolling hills and farmland.
In addition to prayer, I got a new seat on my bike with a big hole cut in the middle, and "ape hanger" handle bars that allow me ride sitting up straight. I practiced at night on the flat streets of my neighborhood, which accounts for my lack of blogging in the last few weeks.
I came prepared with three ice packs, two small, one large enough to cover my entire lower back. I also squeezed my big blue exercise ball in the backseat of our sedan so I could bounce and relieve pressure to the perineum. I brought a large therapeutic wedge so I could lie inverted in a supported bridge pose to further relieve pressure.
I packed herbal pain medicine as well some ibruprophen.
Mostly, I focused on the possibility of a miracle, that this bike ride could only work with divine intervention. I had done all of the getting ready to give the bike ride a good college try. Even though I was nervous, I felt peaceful. The kind of peace that I feel when I am stepping out on faith.
I received a miracle. I got to enjoy a glorious summer day with my husband, sharing in his favorite passtime. I'm sure he could tell that I was still nervous. My mind was really on "think" mode. I chattered about all sorts of things for the first 11 miles. Then I got more comfortable and too tired to talk so I just focused on my exhale like I do in my mindfulness practice. Turns out, I didn't need all of my backup pain plans. The only discomfort I had was the same as everyone who is a rookie bike rider: my sit bones were tender. In total, I only used one ice pack. I stretched, bounced on my ball and swallowed a couple of herbal pain pills.
I have never had a more peaceful and completely fun weekend with my husband. This experience isn't a guarantee that I will never have pain again. What I do have is success that I can put in my back pocket. I can use all of the tools that worked this time; hopefully, I'll have similar results. I'm just going to wait a couple days until my sit bones are less tender.
I am amazed. Before I started meditating, I used to only learn from the pain of my mistakes. Today, I get to learn from the joy of my successes as well. I never had it so good.
I have suffered from chronic pelvic pain for several years. My lower back would ache and slide out of alignment constantly. One wrong move picking up baby toys, and I was on the couch for three weeks. My vulva burned with all of the symptoms of a yeast infection, but without the actual infection. I could barely sit. My bladder ached. I thought I had a bladder infection, but no infection. I was in pain, and, worse, I thought I was crazy.
The pain effected every area of my life, but, especially, my marriage. I really wasn't able to participate in the aspects of marriage that are just between the two of us. One of those things was bike riding, my husband's favorite passtime. When we were dating, he bought me a bike because he wanted to share his favorite thing to do with his sweetheart.
Having lived in Center City Philadelphia for years, where drivers flatten bikers for sport, and they end up on the 6:00 p.m. news, I gave up riding a bike. When I tried it again, I found I really enjoyed it. I didn't have to be in the best shape to feel the sun and the wind on my face. I had to remind myself to keep my lips closed while smiling because the gnats were smashing into my teeth.
I liked that I had a bike that was mine, and I rode on the trails surrounding Minneapolis by myself a lot. I even rode in the Minnesota State MS150, a bike tour raising funds to help those suffering from Multiple Sclerosis. I didn't ride 150 miles, I rode a manageable 40 miles. On the last leg of the ride I crossed the finish line where hundreds of people, including many in wheelchairs holding thank you signs, cheered. It was really exhilirating.
Then the pain began. I had bascially given up ever riding a bike again. We debated selling my bike and helmet in the garage sale last fall, but I couldn't do it.
Over the last year, changes have occurred in seemingly unrelated areas of my life and health. For example, for at least twenty years, I didn't sleep through the night due to sleep apnea. As I began to sleep through the night, the pain improved. I also worked closely with physical therapists to stretch and strengthen my core abdominal muscles so that the pelvic floor wouldn't have to do all the work. I started walking, 15 minutes, three times per week, last year. I eventually was able to join a gym and begin weight training.
I addressed my nutrition, and, with the help of a dietician, learned how to eat snacks so that my blood sugar stayed stable so that my body didn't have to go into spasm in a perceived threat of starvation. I also began a very helpful protocol for supplements that really gave me energy that I needed to get through the day.
There were other treatments and many difficult setbacks given the level of system failure going on with my body. I was very discouraged a lot of the time. In fact, I still have setbacks, but today I can accept what is happening so it is not that bad. This attitude allowed me the freedom to try. I knew that if I did have a setback, I could recover.
My husband and I hadn't celebrated our wedding anniversary for six years. It was time. We chose Lanesboro, a charming little town in Southern Minnesota. They have gorgeous bike trails that follow the Root River and wind through rolling hills and farmland.
In addition to prayer, I got a new seat on my bike with a big hole cut in the middle, and "ape hanger" handle bars that allow me ride sitting up straight. I practiced at night on the flat streets of my neighborhood, which accounts for my lack of blogging in the last few weeks.
I came prepared with three ice packs, two small, one large enough to cover my entire lower back. I also squeezed my big blue exercise ball in the backseat of our sedan so I could bounce and relieve pressure to the perineum. I brought a large therapeutic wedge so I could lie inverted in a supported bridge pose to further relieve pressure.
I packed herbal pain medicine as well some ibruprophen.
Mostly, I focused on the possibility of a miracle, that this bike ride could only work with divine intervention. I had done all of the getting ready to give the bike ride a good college try. Even though I was nervous, I felt peaceful. The kind of peace that I feel when I am stepping out on faith.
I received a miracle. I got to enjoy a glorious summer day with my husband, sharing in his favorite passtime. I'm sure he could tell that I was still nervous. My mind was really on "think" mode. I chattered about all sorts of things for the first 11 miles. Then I got more comfortable and too tired to talk so I just focused on my exhale like I do in my mindfulness practice. Turns out, I didn't need all of my backup pain plans. The only discomfort I had was the same as everyone who is a rookie bike rider: my sit bones were tender. In total, I only used one ice pack. I stretched, bounced on my ball and swallowed a couple of herbal pain pills.
I have never had a more peaceful and completely fun weekend with my husband. This experience isn't a guarantee that I will never have pain again. What I do have is success that I can put in my back pocket. I can use all of the tools that worked this time; hopefully, I'll have similar results. I'm just going to wait a couple days until my sit bones are less tender.
I am amazed. Before I started meditating, I used to only learn from the pain of my mistakes. Today, I get to learn from the joy of my successes as well. I never had it so good.
May 23, 2008
Sit & Stay
As much as I dislike grief, in the past several months of sitting with it, I have discovered a gift. The gift of sorrow is that when I actually notice and accept that I am feeling it, I stop. I take it seriously. I find the moment. It is as if there is a part of me that has me in training, sort of like a puppy. I hear a voice say calmly, "Sit. Stay." I have a very kind and loving owner.
Making space for grief is easier than I thought it would be. I never tried before because I spent a lifetime trying to appear busy. Busy people are important and necessary. Busy people are more valuable. Busy people matter. Plus, I liked accomplishing goals. I had proof that I mattered. See this, I did this. I made this.
Busy is fine unless you never stop being busy. Any time I took a break, I felt pain, deep sorrow. I'd feel sad, and think, this is not a good time. I didn't like the powerlessness of sorrow. I liked the powerful feeling I had while being busy. So, I kept busy. I stayed a half step ahead of the pain. You can even stay busy in therapy. I sounded like I was evolving, sharing things that were incredibly painful. I would dump this painful drama, and get some approval. I felt relief on my way back to work.
I would hear people talk about peace and serenity. I thought that peace and serenity was the feeling I had when a project came off on-time and under-budget. I thought peace and serenity was getting awards, getting approval from bosses, parents, partners, anyone, everyone.
About five years into the full-court press, I collapsed. My body, mind and spirit went down. Total shutdown, oh, this must be peace. It was as close as I had ever been. I slept for 2 years. Total shut down masquerading as peace.
I seemed to have 2 speeds.: 150 mph, dead stop. I had 2 choices: change or die. Maybe a third, stay this way for a very long time and wish I was dead. They all sounded bad to me.
I thought I wanted change, but really I wanted to do the busy plan a little less so that I could avoid sorrow and also avoid landing flat on my butt again.
In the last year, two very important women in my life died. One was 93 years old; the other was 24. One was anticipated; the other was a catastrophe. The pain was undeniable. What I needed to do was obvious. The pain made me willing to do it.
Sit. Stay.
The result of sitting and staying is that I have felt a lot of pain. Strangely enough, I have also felt a lot of joy, and anger, and just about every other feeling a person can have. Best of all, I have felt peace and serenity, more than every. Unprecedented.
So the gift of the grief is sitting and staying. My prayer is that I will more and more remember to sit and stay with all the other feelings. None of them requires any immediate action. I can't seem to remember this when I am angry or scared. However, there is progress. I'll get busy with the dandelions or running errands, feel powerful for an hour, get exhausted and sit. The process takes a day or two instead of a decade or two. I actually use my level of business as a clue. If I am really enjoying being busy, I'll ask myself, is there something that I am not wanting to feel?
The only way for me to really figure it out is to sit and stay.
Making space for grief is easier than I thought it would be. I never tried before because I spent a lifetime trying to appear busy. Busy people are important and necessary. Busy people are more valuable. Busy people matter. Plus, I liked accomplishing goals. I had proof that I mattered. See this, I did this. I made this.
Busy is fine unless you never stop being busy. Any time I took a break, I felt pain, deep sorrow. I'd feel sad, and think, this is not a good time. I didn't like the powerlessness of sorrow. I liked the powerful feeling I had while being busy. So, I kept busy. I stayed a half step ahead of the pain. You can even stay busy in therapy. I sounded like I was evolving, sharing things that were incredibly painful. I would dump this painful drama, and get some approval. I felt relief on my way back to work.
I would hear people talk about peace and serenity. I thought that peace and serenity was the feeling I had when a project came off on-time and under-budget. I thought peace and serenity was getting awards, getting approval from bosses, parents, partners, anyone, everyone.
About five years into the full-court press, I collapsed. My body, mind and spirit went down. Total shutdown, oh, this must be peace. It was as close as I had ever been. I slept for 2 years. Total shut down masquerading as peace.
I seemed to have 2 speeds.: 150 mph, dead stop. I had 2 choices: change or die. Maybe a third, stay this way for a very long time and wish I was dead. They all sounded bad to me.
I thought I wanted change, but really I wanted to do the busy plan a little less so that I could avoid sorrow and also avoid landing flat on my butt again.
In the last year, two very important women in my life died. One was 93 years old; the other was 24. One was anticipated; the other was a catastrophe. The pain was undeniable. What I needed to do was obvious. The pain made me willing to do it.
Sit. Stay.
The result of sitting and staying is that I have felt a lot of pain. Strangely enough, I have also felt a lot of joy, and anger, and just about every other feeling a person can have. Best of all, I have felt peace and serenity, more than every. Unprecedented.
So the gift of the grief is sitting and staying. My prayer is that I will more and more remember to sit and stay with all the other feelings. None of them requires any immediate action. I can't seem to remember this when I am angry or scared. However, there is progress. I'll get busy with the dandelions or running errands, feel powerful for an hour, get exhausted and sit. The process takes a day or two instead of a decade or two. I actually use my level of business as a clue. If I am really enjoying being busy, I'll ask myself, is there something that I am not wanting to feel?
The only way for me to really figure it out is to sit and stay.
May 18, 2008
To Yank or Not to Yank
The dandelions are back. Last year, I considered every physical challenge carefully, evaluating it's impact on my tricky lower back. Digging out dandelions didn't make the cut. I was not about to risk of losing my summer to back pain over a temporary problem.
One Saturday morning, I went to a memorial service, and when I arrived home, the dandelions were gone. I felt relieved that we wouldn't be perceived as the trash of the neighborhood, and thanked my husband for the wonderful surprise.
"I didn't do it," he said, "I think you know who did."
The neighbors. The ones who inspired the blog, No Put Downs, Just Put Ups.
My interactions with them have brought me to the bleeding edge of my spiritual growth. I have learned much from them in the last year. All of it has been painful. I am not grateful. I do not like this pain. I do not want to soften and heal. I want them to move. I never get that lucky.
I have felt attacked by their words, their actions, their offspring.
On that sunny Saturday in May last year, they depleted my lawn of dandelions, without asking. I'm sure they thought they meant well. They were doing something nice which also protected their lawn from our dandelion spawn. Funnily enough, they hosted a large gathering at their home a couple of days later. I rewarded them with a pie, and my silence. I have avoided speaking to them for a year.
I must remember that the key to successfully doing something for someone else is that they not find out who did it. Otherwise, it feels disrespectful, such as, you do not have the skills or the smarts or the money to do the job right, so I will do it for you. I am better than you. I know what's best. The person receiving this kind of help, ends up helpless, and in my case, embarrassed and angry.
I spent the fall and winter lifting weights at the gym. I am on my way. I am strong. I have more physical options when it comes to my back. So, I purchased a weed puller. Ingenious gadget. There are nails stuck to a stick that you step on and then pull up the weed.
I started focusing on the dandelions. With the first 50 or so, I repeated the mantra, screw you. I was meditating on attack. This can't be good, I thought.
When I finished yanking for the day, I went in the house, and, instead of feeling a sense of accomplishment, I felt even more irritable. Worse yet, every time I blinked my eyes, I saw the imprint of dandelion leaves on my eyes. The image had burned onto my eyeballs like computer screen without a screen saver.
I had to ask myself, why am I doing this? Is this the same as popping zits on my face? It seems like I am taking care of myself, but I am creating scars and spreading bacteria? Am I doing this for myself or to keep them out of my yard?
Clearly, I am conflicted not just about the dandelions and neighbors. The importance of appearance rears it's ugly head, again.
A couple of days ago, I decided to deal only with the dandelions that had produced a flower. This felt more manageable, and I had a sense of accomplishment when I finished. I thought of it as maintenance instead of punishment. I actually had fun.
There are plenty more out there today. To yank, or not to yank? This is the question.
One Saturday morning, I went to a memorial service, and when I arrived home, the dandelions were gone. I felt relieved that we wouldn't be perceived as the trash of the neighborhood, and thanked my husband for the wonderful surprise.
"I didn't do it," he said, "I think you know who did."
The neighbors. The ones who inspired the blog, No Put Downs, Just Put Ups.
My interactions with them have brought me to the bleeding edge of my spiritual growth. I have learned much from them in the last year. All of it has been painful. I am not grateful. I do not like this pain. I do not want to soften and heal. I want them to move. I never get that lucky.
I have felt attacked by their words, their actions, their offspring.
On that sunny Saturday in May last year, they depleted my lawn of dandelions, without asking. I'm sure they thought they meant well. They were doing something nice which also protected their lawn from our dandelion spawn. Funnily enough, they hosted a large gathering at their home a couple of days later. I rewarded them with a pie, and my silence. I have avoided speaking to them for a year.
I must remember that the key to successfully doing something for someone else is that they not find out who did it. Otherwise, it feels disrespectful, such as, you do not have the skills or the smarts or the money to do the job right, so I will do it for you. I am better than you. I know what's best. The person receiving this kind of help, ends up helpless, and in my case, embarrassed and angry.
I spent the fall and winter lifting weights at the gym. I am on my way. I am strong. I have more physical options when it comes to my back. So, I purchased a weed puller. Ingenious gadget. There are nails stuck to a stick that you step on and then pull up the weed.
I started focusing on the dandelions. With the first 50 or so, I repeated the mantra, screw you. I was meditating on attack. This can't be good, I thought.
When I finished yanking for the day, I went in the house, and, instead of feeling a sense of accomplishment, I felt even more irritable. Worse yet, every time I blinked my eyes, I saw the imprint of dandelion leaves on my eyes. The image had burned onto my eyeballs like computer screen without a screen saver.
I had to ask myself, why am I doing this? Is this the same as popping zits on my face? It seems like I am taking care of myself, but I am creating scars and spreading bacteria? Am I doing this for myself or to keep them out of my yard?
Clearly, I am conflicted not just about the dandelions and neighbors. The importance of appearance rears it's ugly head, again.
A couple of days ago, I decided to deal only with the dandelions that had produced a flower. This felt more manageable, and I had a sense of accomplishment when I finished. I thought of it as maintenance instead of punishment. I actually had fun.
There are plenty more out there today. To yank, or not to yank? This is the question.
May 8, 2008
No Put Downs, Just Put Ups
My kid got the first 2-wheeler, plus 2 training wheels yesterday. This was thrilling for all of us, especially my husband whose favorite pastime is biking. He got a little moist watching one of the inaugural runs.
We were having a grand time. I was laughing and clapping as the kiddo practiced starting and stopping and turning around. There were three minor blowouts on the turns, but no blood.
We were joined by a neighbor boy who saw the new bike from across the street and announnced, "My bike is way better than yours." Then he counted the ways.
I was sitting on the front step with the phone on my ear, on hold with Qwest. I cautioned, "Keep riding." I really hoped that somehow this situation would go differently. Isn't that what they call denial? I watched this boy verbally piss on my kid's new bike.
I was angry. I have been angry with this family for a year.
Mostly, I was afraid that if I spoke to the boy that I would invite the wrath of his parents. I find these people emotionally abusive, and erratic. Every time I leave their company, I feel slimed. These people are the biggest bullies I have ever known.
After a very long summer last year of me trying to make nice, I did the only thing I could think of - I stayed away. If they come out, we go in. It has gone well, especially since we haven't been outside for 6 months. I have managed not to speak to any of them since last fall, until today.
I have prayed for these people. I have visualized white light around them. I have affirmed their innocence. I have tried to focus on the good in them, but I am tired of their behavior.
Just writing this makes me feel sick with resentment. To date, the only thing that made sense to me was to retreat. Last fall I told my kid, "We aren't going to spend any time with them anymore because we want to be treated with kindness and respect. We deserve to be treated with respect." Kiddo agreed.
I was mad. I knew I had to let it go. I called a friend and shared my anger. Puked it up, actually. Not surprisingly, it escalated. I forgot that staying in the moment would have been to feel the anger and let it pass without making it real. Oops.
I asked for a miracle.
Then another friend called. She shared with me that in her family there is a "No Put Downs" zone. If anyone in or around her family starts belittling anyone, they simply say, "No put downs. Just put ups."
The thought of having another way to deal with difficult people was so mind blowing that I had to write it down.
No Put Downs. The thought that I could claim this truth is radical. Could the solution be so simple? Usually, for me, they are just that simple. I'm just too jammed up to see it.
I feel scared to try it. I would prefer to use a large, tangible stick instead of an affirmation, but seems like lately the answers to my most difficult problems come in the form of these simple, implausible solutions. Sit instead of run. Forgive instead of resent. Feel instead of talk. Listen instead of fix. Change the subject instead of confront.
I could see the No Put Downs zone working, but only of I were detached from the situation. In other words, not keeping score, blaming, or harboring old feelings of hurt and victimization. Now that would be a miracle.
So, if there are only Put Ups, what woud that look like?
I heard recently that if you want to experience uninterrupted joy, celebrate the joys of others. If I am happy for other's blessings, I will always be happy. This is the root of happiness.
Do we teach our children this principle or do they already know it? I suspect that each of us has both joy and jealousy hard-wired in us. We can choose either one at any time.
I want my kid to see me choose joy, and, choose it for herself as the default setting; therefore, we celebrate.
God bless us all.
We were having a grand time. I was laughing and clapping as the kiddo practiced starting and stopping and turning around. There were three minor blowouts on the turns, but no blood.
We were joined by a neighbor boy who saw the new bike from across the street and announnced, "My bike is way better than yours." Then he counted the ways.
I was sitting on the front step with the phone on my ear, on hold with Qwest. I cautioned, "Keep riding." I really hoped that somehow this situation would go differently. Isn't that what they call denial? I watched this boy verbally piss on my kid's new bike.
I was angry. I have been angry with this family for a year.
Mostly, I was afraid that if I spoke to the boy that I would invite the wrath of his parents. I find these people emotionally abusive, and erratic. Every time I leave their company, I feel slimed. These people are the biggest bullies I have ever known.
After a very long summer last year of me trying to make nice, I did the only thing I could think of - I stayed away. If they come out, we go in. It has gone well, especially since we haven't been outside for 6 months. I have managed not to speak to any of them since last fall, until today.
I have prayed for these people. I have visualized white light around them. I have affirmed their innocence. I have tried to focus on the good in them, but I am tired of their behavior.
Just writing this makes me feel sick with resentment. To date, the only thing that made sense to me was to retreat. Last fall I told my kid, "We aren't going to spend any time with them anymore because we want to be treated with kindness and respect. We deserve to be treated with respect." Kiddo agreed.
I was mad. I knew I had to let it go. I called a friend and shared my anger. Puked it up, actually. Not surprisingly, it escalated. I forgot that staying in the moment would have been to feel the anger and let it pass without making it real. Oops.
I asked for a miracle.
Then another friend called. She shared with me that in her family there is a "No Put Downs" zone. If anyone in or around her family starts belittling anyone, they simply say, "No put downs. Just put ups."
The thought of having another way to deal with difficult people was so mind blowing that I had to write it down.
No Put Downs. The thought that I could claim this truth is radical. Could the solution be so simple? Usually, for me, they are just that simple. I'm just too jammed up to see it.
I feel scared to try it. I would prefer to use a large, tangible stick instead of an affirmation, but seems like lately the answers to my most difficult problems come in the form of these simple, implausible solutions. Sit instead of run. Forgive instead of resent. Feel instead of talk. Listen instead of fix. Change the subject instead of confront.
I could see the No Put Downs zone working, but only of I were detached from the situation. In other words, not keeping score, blaming, or harboring old feelings of hurt and victimization. Now that would be a miracle.
So, if there are only Put Ups, what woud that look like?
I heard recently that if you want to experience uninterrupted joy, celebrate the joys of others. If I am happy for other's blessings, I will always be happy. This is the root of happiness.
Do we teach our children this principle or do they already know it? I suspect that each of us has both joy and jealousy hard-wired in us. We can choose either one at any time.
I want my kid to see me choose joy, and, choose it for herself as the default setting; therefore, we celebrate.
God bless us all.
May 7, 2008
Dear Gentle Reader
Blessings to my one reader. I hope you experience a hundred-fold return of the blessing I receive from the loving attention that you pay to my noodling. I am doing my best to fulfill your requests to write more often.
∞
∞
Selfish! Who Me?
I really can be selfish. I've known this fact for some time, but I never saw it in quite this way. My husband and I bought a starter home a few years ago that was in need of a lot of attention. I participated in this fantasy that we would fix it up and then sell it.
My fantasy was that my husband would do all of the work, and I would make lunch. Not only did I have a fixed idea of how the work would get done, but I also had a timeframe in mind - yesterday.
My main strategy to get my husband to do what I want, when I want it done is control. This control has many forms. For example, we procured a wooden swingset at no cost for our kid. Again, I made the plan; he was supposed to execute it immediately.
The swingset is in the garage. Summer slips by quickly in Minnesota. This is the beginning of my case against my husband. I start the conversation: what day are you going to gather your friends and put up the swingset for kiddo? You better get it on the calendar because people book up. Oh I am so crafty. Doesn't sound like control, does it? Hmmm.
Then the nagging begins. When, when, when, when? All of these when's are spaced out over several weeks.
Next, the kid is outside playing on the large posts splayed on the backyard sidewalk that are too short to use. He says: get away from those posts; you'll hurt yourself. I say: that's the swingset; she likes it. If you don't want her to play on it, move them. Trust me, I said it kind of nasty.
Over the last months, the more I pushed for a resolution, the less he wanted to resolve it. I wonder why? Perhaps most folks are not inspired by sideways comments and demands for agreements.
I called a friend for sanity. He said to go to the lumber yard and get the posts. They would load them into my car, and we could carry them to the back yard. This sounded logical. If I wanted some movement regarding this situation, I had to get moving. I blurted out before I could sensor myself: But I don't want to do anything! I don't want to learn how to do this stuff! I want it to get done all by itself!
Typically, I would have edited those last thoughts so that I wouldn't have to see my own selfishness. I am not in the habit of acknowledging these type of character traits unless my back is in the corner. Even then, it was more like "uncle" than, "yes, you are right."
Meditation has shown me some truly beautiful, surprising things about myself. There has been tenderness, loving-kindness, faith, joy and more.
I have also opened to some other aspects of my character like pettiness, anger, crabbiness, and, now, selfishness. The good news is that I actually laughed out loud at my temper fit about not wanting to do anything. So there it is. All of my pushing and shoving to force a solution. Again.
Thank goodness that all of it is no big deal. The things I like and the things I don't like are the same. The difference is that with meditation, I can accept it all, little by slowly.
I hung up the phone, deciding that I would let it go and talk about it another time when I could be more loving without an agenda.
My husband walked in the room with sort of a plan. I think there was room for him to do this because I let go, and gave him a moment of psychic space.
I, in turn, took out some of the trash.
My fantasy was that my husband would do all of the work, and I would make lunch. Not only did I have a fixed idea of how the work would get done, but I also had a timeframe in mind - yesterday.
My main strategy to get my husband to do what I want, when I want it done is control. This control has many forms. For example, we procured a wooden swingset at no cost for our kid. Again, I made the plan; he was supposed to execute it immediately.
The swingset is in the garage. Summer slips by quickly in Minnesota. This is the beginning of my case against my husband. I start the conversation: what day are you going to gather your friends and put up the swingset for kiddo? You better get it on the calendar because people book up. Oh I am so crafty. Doesn't sound like control, does it? Hmmm.
Then the nagging begins. When, when, when, when? All of these when's are spaced out over several weeks.
Next, the kid is outside playing on the large posts splayed on the backyard sidewalk that are too short to use. He says: get away from those posts; you'll hurt yourself. I say: that's the swingset; she likes it. If you don't want her to play on it, move them. Trust me, I said it kind of nasty.
Over the last months, the more I pushed for a resolution, the less he wanted to resolve it. I wonder why? Perhaps most folks are not inspired by sideways comments and demands for agreements.
I called a friend for sanity. He said to go to the lumber yard and get the posts. They would load them into my car, and we could carry them to the back yard. This sounded logical. If I wanted some movement regarding this situation, I had to get moving. I blurted out before I could sensor myself: But I don't want to do anything! I don't want to learn how to do this stuff! I want it to get done all by itself!
Typically, I would have edited those last thoughts so that I wouldn't have to see my own selfishness. I am not in the habit of acknowledging these type of character traits unless my back is in the corner. Even then, it was more like "uncle" than, "yes, you are right."
Meditation has shown me some truly beautiful, surprising things about myself. There has been tenderness, loving-kindness, faith, joy and more.
I have also opened to some other aspects of my character like pettiness, anger, crabbiness, and, now, selfishness. The good news is that I actually laughed out loud at my temper fit about not wanting to do anything. So there it is. All of my pushing and shoving to force a solution. Again.
Thank goodness that all of it is no big deal. The things I like and the things I don't like are the same. The difference is that with meditation, I can accept it all, little by slowly.
I hung up the phone, deciding that I would let it go and talk about it another time when I could be more loving without an agenda.
My husband walked in the room with sort of a plan. I think there was room for him to do this because I let go, and gave him a moment of psychic space.
I, in turn, took out some of the trash.
May 6, 2008
Let Her Be
I understand Miley Cyrus being essentially naked in a photograph in Vanity Fair. She has to launch her career into the adult world, growing up her current fans in the process before they move on. Of course. Strategically, I get it.
Our girls want a role model who is smart, talented, cute and worldly.
Parents want to believe that our daughters ought to have a role model who is smart, talented, cute and worldly without being sexual.
I don't have a problem with Miley Cyrus as a sexual being. We all are sexual beings. I have become so used to young women using their sexuality to their advantage that it really doesn't faze me. It would surprise me if she didn't. Heck, I did the same thing myself. Using sexuality for attention is a cheap thrill, a temporary ego boost. It's a way in which can work in the short run, but the young woman needs to back it up with substance.
So what if she is a role model. She's got role models, most recently Britney Spears, and Christina Aguilara. There is a well worn path for transforming from the girl next door to "I'm all grown up," hot girl next door. It's a bore.
What I want to know is why no one is asking why this role model is so thin that her ribs are protruding from her back. This is how we treat our role models: a young girl can waste away before our eyes as long as she preserves the illusion of purity.
Instead of concerning ourselves with her image as a role model, maybe we should concern ourselves with the girl and her well being. We have lost of lovely and perfect role models in pursuit of image management such as Judy Garland, or Karen Carpenter.
Let us all take the focus off of the Miley we think we need her to be, and let her be a lovely young girl who needs protection, love and understanding as she discerns who she really is. The rest of us don't get a vote. If we can give her this kind of support, we would be the true role models. I am happy to wait for you Miley.
Our girls want a role model who is smart, talented, cute and worldly.
Parents want to believe that our daughters ought to have a role model who is smart, talented, cute and worldly without being sexual.
I don't have a problem with Miley Cyrus as a sexual being. We all are sexual beings. I have become so used to young women using their sexuality to their advantage that it really doesn't faze me. It would surprise me if she didn't. Heck, I did the same thing myself. Using sexuality for attention is a cheap thrill, a temporary ego boost. It's a way in which can work in the short run, but the young woman needs to back it up with substance.
So what if she is a role model. She's got role models, most recently Britney Spears, and Christina Aguilara. There is a well worn path for transforming from the girl next door to "I'm all grown up," hot girl next door. It's a bore.
What I want to know is why no one is asking why this role model is so thin that her ribs are protruding from her back. This is how we treat our role models: a young girl can waste away before our eyes as long as she preserves the illusion of purity.
Instead of concerning ourselves with her image as a role model, maybe we should concern ourselves with the girl and her well being. We have lost of lovely and perfect role models in pursuit of image management such as Judy Garland, or Karen Carpenter.
Let us all take the focus off of the Miley we think we need her to be, and let her be a lovely young girl who needs protection, love and understanding as she discerns who she really is. The rest of us don't get a vote. If we can give her this kind of support, we would be the true role models. I am happy to wait for you Miley.
May 5, 2008
The Up Side of the Down Turn
Talk radio has gone hysterical. Today, most of the hosts talked about how to save money. People called in with suggestions: I got rid of my cell phone. I trade books with friends. I stopped buying DVDs. Seems to me that, if there can be an up side to the economy, it's that folks will maybe be better stewards of what they have. Maybe we will all do with our money what we should have been doing all along.
I think that is the approach I want to take. I am getting really tired of the drama because, frankly, I can escalate into hysteria quite easily. I seem to forget that I lack nothing. I have all I need, especially when I rely on the media for my sense of well-being and security.
A few months ago, Northwest and Delta Airlines announced that they were considering a merger. Someone said to me, "It's just awful. The merger would be just awful."
Huh, I thought. Why? I asked.
"Because plane tickets are going to go up," said she.
"What do I care?" I said, "I don't go anywhere."
I realize that there are plenty of people who do fly, that there are businesses that have to pay for employees to fly. Prices of everything go up when fuel prices go up. Rising prices effect us all. I get it. However, the fact for my life is that my husband and I have a small child, and we are on a budget. Our trips are centered around weddings and funerals. So, for us, the fact that plane tickets are going to cost more doesn't really affect our bottom-line. I am concerned about covering our needs, some reasonable wants, paying down debt, and saving.
I don't have enough serenity to worry about other people's plane tickets.
Affirming the abundance of the universe is always difficult, but it is basically impossible when the T.V. is on. So, I mostly abstain from relentless media coverage which feeds our fear and sense of lack. I try to protect myself from images and ideas in the same way I try to protect my kiddo from scary images on TV.
Last winter, I decided not to watch the news. I began the information detox. I was getting comfortable with the not knowing. I was almost clean, and then I thought that I ought to check out the weather. I need to know how to dress my kid in the morning, I told myself. I tuned in for the weather report during the 10 o'clock news. I saw hysteria: there will be 18 inches of snow tomorrow. It will be -50 degrees below zero, windchill.
I panicked. Oh my God. Why do we live here? How can I send a small child out in these arctic temperatures? Do we have enough groceries? What did I do in a past life to deserve this? And so the serenity goes. This is real. I saw it on the news. The world is closing in on me.
I get the groceries. I fill the gas tank. I buy salt for the walk. I am ready for the storm. I commiserate with ladies in the sauna at the gym. Isn't it awful? I am swept up into the drama. Since I had been living this way for at least thirty years, I feel completely cozy with fear, dread, and victimization. This is war. Me v. the weather.
Then the storm turns out to be about 2 inches and no colder than it has been lately. I feel manipulated. For me, living according to what the media tells me is the same as living with an alcoholic. It's always unpredictable, sometimes entertaining, and, ultimately, a collosal and demoralizing waste of energy.
My plan is to focus on my own checkbook, and stick my head out the door before I leave the house. I will put my energy into what I value the most: my serenity.
I think that is the approach I want to take. I am getting really tired of the drama because, frankly, I can escalate into hysteria quite easily. I seem to forget that I lack nothing. I have all I need, especially when I rely on the media for my sense of well-being and security.
A few months ago, Northwest and Delta Airlines announced that they were considering a merger. Someone said to me, "It's just awful. The merger would be just awful."
Huh, I thought. Why? I asked.
"Because plane tickets are going to go up," said she.
"What do I care?" I said, "I don't go anywhere."
I realize that there are plenty of people who do fly, that there are businesses that have to pay for employees to fly. Prices of everything go up when fuel prices go up. Rising prices effect us all. I get it. However, the fact for my life is that my husband and I have a small child, and we are on a budget. Our trips are centered around weddings and funerals. So, for us, the fact that plane tickets are going to cost more doesn't really affect our bottom-line. I am concerned about covering our needs, some reasonable wants, paying down debt, and saving.
I don't have enough serenity to worry about other people's plane tickets.
Affirming the abundance of the universe is always difficult, but it is basically impossible when the T.V. is on. So, I mostly abstain from relentless media coverage which feeds our fear and sense of lack. I try to protect myself from images and ideas in the same way I try to protect my kiddo from scary images on TV.
Last winter, I decided not to watch the news. I began the information detox. I was getting comfortable with the not knowing. I was almost clean, and then I thought that I ought to check out the weather. I need to know how to dress my kid in the morning, I told myself. I tuned in for the weather report during the 10 o'clock news. I saw hysteria: there will be 18 inches of snow tomorrow. It will be -50 degrees below zero, windchill.
I panicked. Oh my God. Why do we live here? How can I send a small child out in these arctic temperatures? Do we have enough groceries? What did I do in a past life to deserve this? And so the serenity goes. This is real. I saw it on the news. The world is closing in on me.
I get the groceries. I fill the gas tank. I buy salt for the walk. I am ready for the storm. I commiserate with ladies in the sauna at the gym. Isn't it awful? I am swept up into the drama. Since I had been living this way for at least thirty years, I feel completely cozy with fear, dread, and victimization. This is war. Me v. the weather.
Then the storm turns out to be about 2 inches and no colder than it has been lately. I feel manipulated. For me, living according to what the media tells me is the same as living with an alcoholic. It's always unpredictable, sometimes entertaining, and, ultimately, a collosal and demoralizing waste of energy.
My plan is to focus on my own checkbook, and stick my head out the door before I leave the house. I will put my energy into what I value the most: my serenity.
May 2, 2008
The Anti-Reality Show
I've been wondering lately what it would be like to live in a world where there was no second guessing of myself. Seems like I have reviewed every exchange I have had with every person I meet. How did that go? How did I act could I have done that better? Ugh. It is very exhausting. And boring. And comforting. And slightly strange. Definitely beyond constructive.
Most embarrassing of all, I sometimes do this review out loud. My husband has actually caught me repeating entire conversations with myself where I act out my part as well as the other person's under my breath. He'll ask me, "What?" Oh nothing. I feel scared even writing this for fear someone take my kid away.
I seem to be creating my own personal reality show. I was the star, director, producer, and narrator. So the review would begin, was that exchange worth mentioning to my friend? Would this one make the cut in terms of entertainment value? I always felt that I had to have something really fascinating and sexy to share or no one would listen. Maybe this is why I like the Bravo & the E channel so much. Reality, but better.
Even if I didn't think something was worthy of repeating to someone else, I would repeat them to myself as filler in my inner reality series. I think it used to be comforting to live the past; it was over and wouldn't change when everything else was so unknown and scary. I knew how the story ended. The current moment was new and therefore not to be trusted. Something really fun and spontaneous was just too big a risk. I'd rather have nothing happen at all than have it turn out not to my liking.
Meditation seems to be increasing my tolerance for not knowing. Still the events with peaks and valleys seem to be most likely for review.
Today, I shared some stuff with a group of about 70 people. I feel pretty satisfied with what I said, but I took some risks. I actually claimed my happiness in front of all of them. I said, "I am happy. I have never been happier. This is what I've always wanted." As I said it I was afraid that someone would criticize my happiness and then I wouldn't get to be happy anymore. Being at the effect of someone else's actions or reactions is an old habit of mine.
So, I felt vulnerable. I spoke the truth as I see it today. I put it out there, no bullshit.
I also felt quite elated. I was done. This fact contributed greatly to the elation. Also, taking a risk, revealing the things I like about myself as well as the things aren't so pretty is pretty thrilling. I think it's probably the most dangerous thing I do anymore.
After I was finished, I said to myself, let's not review the whole thing. Let's move on with your day. The producer came in anyway, but today I know that there was nothing wrong with what I said. I was thinking because I didn't want to feel the vulnerability and elation. It was pretty intense so I naturally control with thoughts of the past.
I did myself a favor and went to coffee with some of the folks who were there. The conversation was very grounding. It was fun to celebrate. I had a couple hours to myself. I decided to continue the celebration of progress. I treated myself to lunch and a trip to the bookstore. I was able to have a nice lunch all by myself without a complete internal video replay. It was so fun. Good food, good coffee and good books. These are a few of my favorite things.
Letting this old habit go is sort of like the landing of a plane. It comes in for a landing and touches down. It bounces up and touches down again and again until it rolls to a stop. If the plane just landed, it would be totally jarring to everyone on board. When I think of this habit of reviewing the past as in the process of landing, it's manageable. I can relax knowing it will land in time.
Most embarrassing of all, I sometimes do this review out loud. My husband has actually caught me repeating entire conversations with myself where I act out my part as well as the other person's under my breath. He'll ask me, "What?" Oh nothing. I feel scared even writing this for fear someone take my kid away.
I seem to be creating my own personal reality show. I was the star, director, producer, and narrator. So the review would begin, was that exchange worth mentioning to my friend? Would this one make the cut in terms of entertainment value? I always felt that I had to have something really fascinating and sexy to share or no one would listen. Maybe this is why I like the Bravo & the E channel so much. Reality, but better.
Even if I didn't think something was worthy of repeating to someone else, I would repeat them to myself as filler in my inner reality series. I think it used to be comforting to live the past; it was over and wouldn't change when everything else was so unknown and scary. I knew how the story ended. The current moment was new and therefore not to be trusted. Something really fun and spontaneous was just too big a risk. I'd rather have nothing happen at all than have it turn out not to my liking.
Meditation seems to be increasing my tolerance for not knowing. Still the events with peaks and valleys seem to be most likely for review.
Today, I shared some stuff with a group of about 70 people. I feel pretty satisfied with what I said, but I took some risks. I actually claimed my happiness in front of all of them. I said, "I am happy. I have never been happier. This is what I've always wanted." As I said it I was afraid that someone would criticize my happiness and then I wouldn't get to be happy anymore. Being at the effect of someone else's actions or reactions is an old habit of mine.
So, I felt vulnerable. I spoke the truth as I see it today. I put it out there, no bullshit.
I also felt quite elated. I was done. This fact contributed greatly to the elation. Also, taking a risk, revealing the things I like about myself as well as the things aren't so pretty is pretty thrilling. I think it's probably the most dangerous thing I do anymore.
After I was finished, I said to myself, let's not review the whole thing. Let's move on with your day. The producer came in anyway, but today I know that there was nothing wrong with what I said. I was thinking because I didn't want to feel the vulnerability and elation. It was pretty intense so I naturally control with thoughts of the past.
I did myself a favor and went to coffee with some of the folks who were there. The conversation was very grounding. It was fun to celebrate. I had a couple hours to myself. I decided to continue the celebration of progress. I treated myself to lunch and a trip to the bookstore. I was able to have a nice lunch all by myself without a complete internal video replay. It was so fun. Good food, good coffee and good books. These are a few of my favorite things.
Letting this old habit go is sort of like the landing of a plane. It comes in for a landing and touches down. It bounces up and touches down again and again until it rolls to a stop. If the plane just landed, it would be totally jarring to everyone on board. When I think of this habit of reviewing the past as in the process of landing, it's manageable. I can relax knowing it will land in time.
April 27, 2008
My Husband Says I look Sexier When I Meditate
My husband says I look sexier when I meditate.
At first, I wanted to control. I asked him what exactly does that mean? I figured if I understood exactly what he meant that I could reproduce the results when it suited me. Or, I could avoid the doing whatever caused the symptoms as necessary.
Somehow, in less than a nanosecond, I have turned a lovely compliment into a problem that requires careful management.
Once again, there is no problem, only the moment. I think I felt vulnerable, and somewhat surprised. Vulnerable is a feeling that I have spent a lifetime and at least $100,000 of therapy trying to avoid, but mindfulness means being with what is going on. I am practicing.
But not before I asked him what exactly does that mean.
"I don't know. I just noticed. I don't have anymore information. It is not to be figured out. I am just enjoying it," says he.
Oh, that's right. I said that I wanted a joyful, in the moment husband. That's why I encouraged him to take that meditation class. I don't have to understand. I can just relax and take it in. No need to figure it out. I think "thank you" is the appropriate response here. I am practicing that also.
I must admit, when he shared his observation while sitting across from me on the sofa, he started looking pretty sexy too.
When I was single and dating, I was told to "stay off the sofa" so that there wouldn't be any unplanned sexual activity for at least 30 days. The idea was that you need at least that long to get to ascertain whether this person was worthy of emotional entanglement. It's very hard to go back to holding hands once the deed has been done. The thinking here is that perspective & logic get drowned by lovely brain chemicals like dopamine and oxytocin. The body and brain mistakenly decide this is "the one." I was told that a having a plan would help buy some time as I sought the answer to the question: would he be Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now or, dare I hope, both?
As long as I sat in the chair, it worked. However, not everyone practiced that suggestion, and there were times that I would forget to mention it. Like I said, it was hard to go back to holding hands. I was so attracted to my husband on our first date that I sat on the cold, hardwood floor. I even tore a hole in knee of my jeans. He was my most difficult sofa-challenge. He was my personal Olympics of sofa-challenges.
Having been married nearly seven years, the emerging mystery has faded into something less than an emergency. I now know with certainty that my husband is worthy, and the deed has been done and then some. The sofa-challenge has evolved from let's enjoy "dessert" on the sofa to let's eat a rice krispy bar on the sofa, and watch Idol.
Oddly enough, since he mentioned it, I noticed that I am actually feeling sexier after meditating, in addition to looking sexier. I am going to take my meditated, sexier-looking self over to the sofa and enjoy my Mr. Right, right now. But first, lemon cake.
At first, I wanted to control. I asked him what exactly does that mean? I figured if I understood exactly what he meant that I could reproduce the results when it suited me. Or, I could avoid the doing whatever caused the symptoms as necessary.
Somehow, in less than a nanosecond, I have turned a lovely compliment into a problem that requires careful management.
Once again, there is no problem, only the moment. I think I felt vulnerable, and somewhat surprised. Vulnerable is a feeling that I have spent a lifetime and at least $100,000 of therapy trying to avoid, but mindfulness means being with what is going on. I am practicing.
But not before I asked him what exactly does that mean.
"I don't know. I just noticed. I don't have anymore information. It is not to be figured out. I am just enjoying it," says he.
Oh, that's right. I said that I wanted a joyful, in the moment husband. That's why I encouraged him to take that meditation class. I don't have to understand. I can just relax and take it in. No need to figure it out. I think "thank you" is the appropriate response here. I am practicing that also.
I must admit, when he shared his observation while sitting across from me on the sofa, he started looking pretty sexy too.
When I was single and dating, I was told to "stay off the sofa" so that there wouldn't be any unplanned sexual activity for at least 30 days. The idea was that you need at least that long to get to ascertain whether this person was worthy of emotional entanglement. It's very hard to go back to holding hands once the deed has been done. The thinking here is that perspective & logic get drowned by lovely brain chemicals like dopamine and oxytocin. The body and brain mistakenly decide this is "the one." I was told that a having a plan would help buy some time as I sought the answer to the question: would he be Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now or, dare I hope, both?
As long as I sat in the chair, it worked. However, not everyone practiced that suggestion, and there were times that I would forget to mention it. Like I said, it was hard to go back to holding hands. I was so attracted to my husband on our first date that I sat on the cold, hardwood floor. I even tore a hole in knee of my jeans. He was my most difficult sofa-challenge. He was my personal Olympics of sofa-challenges.
Having been married nearly seven years, the emerging mystery has faded into something less than an emergency. I now know with certainty that my husband is worthy, and the deed has been done and then some. The sofa-challenge has evolved from let's enjoy "dessert" on the sofa to let's eat a rice krispy bar on the sofa, and watch Idol.
Oddly enough, since he mentioned it, I noticed that I am actually feeling sexier after meditating, in addition to looking sexier. I am going to take my meditated, sexier-looking self over to the sofa and enjoy my Mr. Right, right now. But first, lemon cake.
April 23, 2008
No Big Deal?
Yesterday's epic battle of good v. evil has mellowed. I realize that I have a habit of treating these thoughts like a cancer that must be eradicated or else my life as I know it will fall apart. Maybe it does not have to be this high drama. Could I notice and attend to the situation without reacting in fear? I really don't know.
In theory, if I am present in the moment, then I will be able to relax into these darker thoughts. Maybe even find them funny.
This notion is completely counter to my entire life experience. I have been reacting and making things a big deal for at least three decades. I have been in a war with my own shadow, basically beating it down when it appears. I am tired.
What would it be like to treat these thoughts with friendliness instead of fear. Could I survive without taking myself so seriously?
I'd like to try it, but now is not a good time for me to be light and fun. I am spending the evening with my husband.
Okay, now I'm ready.
In theory, if I am present in the moment, then I will be able to relax into these darker thoughts. Maybe even find them funny.
This notion is completely counter to my entire life experience. I have been reacting and making things a big deal for at least three decades. I have been in a war with my own shadow, basically beating it down when it appears. I am tired.
What would it be like to treat these thoughts with friendliness instead of fear. Could I survive without taking myself so seriously?
I'd like to try it, but now is not a good time for me to be light and fun. I am spending the evening with my husband.
Okay, now I'm ready.
5 Little Monkeys Jumping in My Head (at least)
We kicked it to Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed at Math Night at kiddo's preschool. These sort of events are like speed dating. You have under two minutes to make a connection with the parents of the favorite classmates. We agree to get together and never do. I would give up trying to hook my kid up with her friends, but I get requests daily for friends to come over.
I feel blocked about the playdate thing. First, I don't like the name. It sounds like child-version of a To-Do. Since I am trying to move beyond the To-Do List, I hear the word play date, but I really hear forced fun. We had to do forced fun in eating disorder treatment. Sing-a-longs and games after a day of pounding pillows, screaming at imaginery people who had seemingly caused us pain. I really needed rest.
Also, I have house shame. Our house is cute and small. It needs more TLC than I care to give it. In fact, it seems like an endless series of projects. Again, the To-Do list presents itself. When given a choice, I'd rather write, meditate, workout or watch a movie. Or, I'd rather rest.
But kiddo keeps asking, and there is a best friend who we think is terrific. They have been in the same class for two years.
So, I asked the parents one more tiime if we could get together. Now that our world is no longer the frozen tundra that it was only 3 weeks ago, we can go to the playground. No house pressure.
Then I asked what room the friend will be in next year. Chameleons. I felt stomach tighten; my face pinch. Chameleons? My kid is in the Platypus room. This is a crisis. My kiddo loves her friend. I felt afraid. What if she doesn't have any friends?
The other mother saw my face and said, "Well, they'll see each other on the playground." A perfectly logical response.
I heard: What a relief. I am so glad that my child is going to be free of yours.
I went over to the dark side. This time, however, I knew it was a lie. Pretty much. The lie seems pretty real, especially if it keeps repeating in my head. My next step in the old way would be to make them bad and horrible, and decide we will never hang out with them.
Sometimes, being a parent is a moment by moment re-enactment of the epoch battle of good v. evil. Faith or fear. It's my kid so it's hard to keep perspective and remember that there are no big deals. I know I must trust the professionals who put the classes together. They work hard to accomodate a child's needs with the appropriate classrooms.
More importantly, I need to trust God. My child will be given everything needed to move from success to success. If she doesn't have these challenges now, when will she have them? When she goes to college and has no support? I've seen overly protected children end up dating and marrying really sick codependents who will take care of them. Do I want this for my child? No.
For today, I know I will be given the ability to sit in my own fear and grief based on my own growing up. However, calmly sitting with my feelings seems a lot harder than believing the lie I told myself about what the other parents said.
I will call them today, and invite them to the park. I will choose to believe the truth: All is well. I'll let the monkeys in my head jump until they take a rest.
I feel blocked about the playdate thing. First, I don't like the name. It sounds like child-version of a To-Do. Since I am trying to move beyond the To-Do List, I hear the word play date, but I really hear forced fun. We had to do forced fun in eating disorder treatment. Sing-a-longs and games after a day of pounding pillows, screaming at imaginery people who had seemingly caused us pain. I really needed rest.
Also, I have house shame. Our house is cute and small. It needs more TLC than I care to give it. In fact, it seems like an endless series of projects. Again, the To-Do list presents itself. When given a choice, I'd rather write, meditate, workout or watch a movie. Or, I'd rather rest.
But kiddo keeps asking, and there is a best friend who we think is terrific. They have been in the same class for two years.
So, I asked the parents one more tiime if we could get together. Now that our world is no longer the frozen tundra that it was only 3 weeks ago, we can go to the playground. No house pressure.
Then I asked what room the friend will be in next year. Chameleons. I felt stomach tighten; my face pinch. Chameleons? My kid is in the Platypus room. This is a crisis. My kiddo loves her friend. I felt afraid. What if she doesn't have any friends?
The other mother saw my face and said, "Well, they'll see each other on the playground." A perfectly logical response.
I heard: What a relief. I am so glad that my child is going to be free of yours.
I went over to the dark side. This time, however, I knew it was a lie. Pretty much. The lie seems pretty real, especially if it keeps repeating in my head. My next step in the old way would be to make them bad and horrible, and decide we will never hang out with them.
Sometimes, being a parent is a moment by moment re-enactment of the epoch battle of good v. evil. Faith or fear. It's my kid so it's hard to keep perspective and remember that there are no big deals. I know I must trust the professionals who put the classes together. They work hard to accomodate a child's needs with the appropriate classrooms.
More importantly, I need to trust God. My child will be given everything needed to move from success to success. If she doesn't have these challenges now, when will she have them? When she goes to college and has no support? I've seen overly protected children end up dating and marrying really sick codependents who will take care of them. Do I want this for my child? No.
For today, I know I will be given the ability to sit in my own fear and grief based on my own growing up. However, calmly sitting with my feelings seems a lot harder than believing the lie I told myself about what the other parents said.
I will call them today, and invite them to the park. I will choose to believe the truth: All is well. I'll let the monkeys in my head jump until they take a rest.
April 15, 2008
Heroin Chic, Preschool-style
When I look into the face of my angel child, I see the kind of eye bags found only among the heroin chic. The pediatrician and an allergist (twice) told me nope, no allergies. I figured this was another example of how allopathic medicine doesn't have all the answers, unless you have a problem with your penis.
One of my friends insisted that I get the kid off dairy because it is evil. She has been doing research on the internet, which is not always ideal. "It's horrific," she said, "I am going on Oprah [to expose the conspiracy]." Perhaps she's right, but I am not exising an entire food group from my kid's life until there is some profound evidence to do so. I spent 17 years compulsively avoiding sugar, white flour and caffeine, and now that I have been restored to sanity, I just refuse be the food cop.
I have a kid who was not sick once all winter, despite the fact that her parents were laid out for a month each with the flu. Being sick when child is not, it a full slice of hell. Fed mostly organic food, healthy snacks, not too much juice, this kid also sleeps at least 12 hours every night. I have been racking my brain trying to figure out why my child looks, to use a horse analogy, like she's been rode hard and put away wet.
After the third refrain of "this just happens to fair-skinned children," I gave up. I had to admit that I was powerless, yet again. I let it go, sort of. I mean, I did let go of my insane need to understand the inner workings of her sinuses - for right now. Let's just say I left the issue on the desktop of my brain for review if something seemed relavant to the topic.
I learned today that it is not evil organic dairy that is causing the allergic shiners. Turns out, peanut's room is a hot zone.
I haven't spent much time in the room with my new prayer and meditation schedule. Kid gets mandatory break time to play haircutter and put stickers all over the new windows, while I get mindful. I change the sheets, read bedtime stories, pray, kiss, and I'm out of there.
It was time. There were two-inch locks of hair amid various doll clothes, sippy cups and plastic food mixed in with clean clothes. I started in the closet. My nose began to run. I started to feel faint. I was having a non-allergic rhinitis reaction to my daughter's room.
I only felt complete shame and horror for about 22 minutes. I wanted to cry that I had unknowingly let my child sleep in a room that made me feel sick. This line of thinking is the first step into the shame-pit that only a mother could understand.
I opened the windows, flipped in a meditation CD, and kept working.
When I made my list of Why Meditate yesterday, I left one thing out. The missing link. The key to this incarnation is - no big deal. Okay. Just as I was about to cry, I thought: you can cry and get all upset about this and wear yourself out and torture your family while you finish this job OR finish the job. The bad-mom talk persisted. This is not helping, I said to self.
We meditate to see clearly everything about ourselves, even the truly embarrassing things. For many years, I could see what I considered my embarrassing or shameful thoughts or actions, and then used them to build my case against myself. Normally, I would have beaten myself up for at least a month, sharing my inadeqacies as a mother with anyone trapped in the sauna with me at the gym. The thought of laughing at myself and thanking God that she is healthy is a radical approach to mothering for me.
Otherwise, I could continue with the self-flogging and then book a bed at the local mental hospital. Now we have another, well-worn aspect of the case against myself as a mother: I knew I had mental illness before I had her, I should have never subjected a child to this. Might as well book the ECT suite. Just writing this old belief is so painful that my legs go numb.
I am a very attentive mother, who makes mistakes. I am so grateful that God gave me the willingness to reorganize her room so it didn't go on forever or make her truly sick.
I got everything sorted and took an IKEA break. We had a great time laughing and picking out nice storage containers with lids that can be dusted in a lovely shade of Pepto-pink. We had lunch at the cafeteria. Organized some more. Then went to Fat Lorenzo's for pizza, and a trip to the playground.
Knowing how this day could have gone and experiencing what actually happened, reminds me of those mystery books that I used to read in the sixth grade. If you want to go to the mental hospital, turn to page 45. If you want to go the park, turn to page 6. The action of turning the page is similar to choosing my thoughts. There is no good or bad, only options. Meditation gives me the ability to remain detached so I enjoy choice. Today, I can shoot some steroids up my nose and have some fun.
One of my friends insisted that I get the kid off dairy because it is evil. She has been doing research on the internet, which is not always ideal. "It's horrific," she said, "I am going on Oprah [to expose the conspiracy]." Perhaps she's right, but I am not exising an entire food group from my kid's life until there is some profound evidence to do so. I spent 17 years compulsively avoiding sugar, white flour and caffeine, and now that I have been restored to sanity, I just refuse be the food cop.
I have a kid who was not sick once all winter, despite the fact that her parents were laid out for a month each with the flu. Being sick when child is not, it a full slice of hell. Fed mostly organic food, healthy snacks, not too much juice, this kid also sleeps at least 12 hours every night. I have been racking my brain trying to figure out why my child looks, to use a horse analogy, like she's been rode hard and put away wet.
After the third refrain of "this just happens to fair-skinned children," I gave up. I had to admit that I was powerless, yet again. I let it go, sort of. I mean, I did let go of my insane need to understand the inner workings of her sinuses - for right now. Let's just say I left the issue on the desktop of my brain for review if something seemed relavant to the topic.
I learned today that it is not evil organic dairy that is causing the allergic shiners. Turns out, peanut's room is a hot zone.
I haven't spent much time in the room with my new prayer and meditation schedule. Kid gets mandatory break time to play haircutter and put stickers all over the new windows, while I get mindful. I change the sheets, read bedtime stories, pray, kiss, and I'm out of there.
It was time. There were two-inch locks of hair amid various doll clothes, sippy cups and plastic food mixed in with clean clothes. I started in the closet. My nose began to run. I started to feel faint. I was having a non-allergic rhinitis reaction to my daughter's room.
I only felt complete shame and horror for about 22 minutes. I wanted to cry that I had unknowingly let my child sleep in a room that made me feel sick. This line of thinking is the first step into the shame-pit that only a mother could understand.
I opened the windows, flipped in a meditation CD, and kept working.
When I made my list of Why Meditate yesterday, I left one thing out. The missing link. The key to this incarnation is - no big deal. Okay. Just as I was about to cry, I thought: you can cry and get all upset about this and wear yourself out and torture your family while you finish this job OR finish the job. The bad-mom talk persisted. This is not helping, I said to self.
We meditate to see clearly everything about ourselves, even the truly embarrassing things. For many years, I could see what I considered my embarrassing or shameful thoughts or actions, and then used them to build my case against myself. Normally, I would have beaten myself up for at least a month, sharing my inadeqacies as a mother with anyone trapped in the sauna with me at the gym. The thought of laughing at myself and thanking God that she is healthy is a radical approach to mothering for me.
Otherwise, I could continue with the self-flogging and then book a bed at the local mental hospital. Now we have another, well-worn aspect of the case against myself as a mother: I knew I had mental illness before I had her, I should have never subjected a child to this. Might as well book the ECT suite. Just writing this old belief is so painful that my legs go numb.
I am a very attentive mother, who makes mistakes. I am so grateful that God gave me the willingness to reorganize her room so it didn't go on forever or make her truly sick.
I got everything sorted and took an IKEA break. We had a great time laughing and picking out nice storage containers with lids that can be dusted in a lovely shade of Pepto-pink. We had lunch at the cafeteria. Organized some more. Then went to Fat Lorenzo's for pizza, and a trip to the playground.
Knowing how this day could have gone and experiencing what actually happened, reminds me of those mystery books that I used to read in the sixth grade. If you want to go to the mental hospital, turn to page 45. If you want to go the park, turn to page 6. The action of turning the page is similar to choosing my thoughts. There is no good or bad, only options. Meditation gives me the ability to remain detached so I enjoy choice. Today, I can shoot some steroids up my nose and have some fun.
April 14, 2008
Why Meditate?
I have spent the last few days working with a sore heart. I really like being present when I like it; I don't like being present when it is painful.
Why meditate? My answer is focused on results: to have a clear, peaceful mind and heart and to never experience feelings that I don't like. I want to feel safe and loved continuously. Also, I would like to be practically perfect in every way and know the exact right thing to do at all times.
This definintion has resulted in my total failure to meditate, and, thus, experience very little peace and plenty of feelings that I don't like. I also have the bonus of a lot of unwanted, destructive behavior toward self and others.
I am throwing out my answer to the question, and trying another way:
1. To foster a friendly, steadfastness with myself. A really strong friendship where you stay friends, even when the friend behaves in a way that I don't like.
2. To have clarity about the moment and myself to which I will apply the aforementioned friendliness.
3. To be present and work with emotional distress, instead of numbing out.
Now, there is very little opportunity to fail. The only way to meditate wrong, is to not do it all. This is helpful.
Being present, friendly and clear has allowed me to notice some wrong ideas experience their correction. I felt God using me as the right person for a certain job. I liked this stuff. It's easy to write about.
A couple of days ago, I noticed an old feeling. The first time I remember this feeling, I was growing up.
The feeling is an empty, soreness, like a dry socket in my heart. It is really painful.
When I first felt this way, I thought - something is wrong. I must be a bad person to feel this awful. I must have done something bad. I thought maybe if I figured out what was wrong that I could fix it and then I wouldn't have to feel this way again.
I began a journey of solving the problem. Either I am lacking. There is something I don't have (a boyfriend, girlfriends, love, thinness, beauty, etc.), and, if I can get it, I will be at perfect peace. Or, there is something I am doing for which I am being punished. If I can figure it out and apologize, I will be okay.
I couldn't have been more wrong. The truth is, there is no problem. Whatever I am feeling just needs to be witnessed and released.
The last few days I have been suffering so much that I haven't been able to write about it. The heaviness is uninspiring.
I have kept up with my meditation, and I do not feel like a failure because I am back to the same old soreness. I am doing my best to treat it like an sick, old dog. I make a fire, put down a rug, and rub beind it's ears. I make him comfortable. We enjoy the peace and warmth of the fire together. I do not leave the dog just because it is sick. I stay with him even though it is painful to see him in such agony. I love this animal so much that I don't want him to be alone in this pain.
Yesterday, I asked God to be with me while I am feeling this pain. I affirmed that other peopel feel this way. I proclaimed that all is well, despite the conflicting evidence.
There has been a softening to the pain. Knowing that I am growing in friendliness, clarity and distress tolerance, little by slowly actually is a comfort. I never thought that progress would be enough in the face of suffering. I am so grateful to have been wrong.
Why meditate? My answer is focused on results: to have a clear, peaceful mind and heart and to never experience feelings that I don't like. I want to feel safe and loved continuously. Also, I would like to be practically perfect in every way and know the exact right thing to do at all times.
This definintion has resulted in my total failure to meditate, and, thus, experience very little peace and plenty of feelings that I don't like. I also have the bonus of a lot of unwanted, destructive behavior toward self and others.
I am throwing out my answer to the question, and trying another way:
1. To foster a friendly, steadfastness with myself. A really strong friendship where you stay friends, even when the friend behaves in a way that I don't like.
2. To have clarity about the moment and myself to which I will apply the aforementioned friendliness.
3. To be present and work with emotional distress, instead of numbing out.
Now, there is very little opportunity to fail. The only way to meditate wrong, is to not do it all. This is helpful.
Being present, friendly and clear has allowed me to notice some wrong ideas experience their correction. I felt God using me as the right person for a certain job. I liked this stuff. It's easy to write about.
A couple of days ago, I noticed an old feeling. The first time I remember this feeling, I was growing up.
The feeling is an empty, soreness, like a dry socket in my heart. It is really painful.
When I first felt this way, I thought - something is wrong. I must be a bad person to feel this awful. I must have done something bad. I thought maybe if I figured out what was wrong that I could fix it and then I wouldn't have to feel this way again.
I began a journey of solving the problem. Either I am lacking. There is something I don't have (a boyfriend, girlfriends, love, thinness, beauty, etc.), and, if I can get it, I will be at perfect peace. Or, there is something I am doing for which I am being punished. If I can figure it out and apologize, I will be okay.
I couldn't have been more wrong. The truth is, there is no problem. Whatever I am feeling just needs to be witnessed and released.
The last few days I have been suffering so much that I haven't been able to write about it. The heaviness is uninspiring.
I have kept up with my meditation, and I do not feel like a failure because I am back to the same old soreness. I am doing my best to treat it like an sick, old dog. I make a fire, put down a rug, and rub beind it's ears. I make him comfortable. We enjoy the peace and warmth of the fire together. I do not leave the dog just because it is sick. I stay with him even though it is painful to see him in such agony. I love this animal so much that I don't want him to be alone in this pain.
Yesterday, I asked God to be with me while I am feeling this pain. I affirmed that other peopel feel this way. I proclaimed that all is well, despite the conflicting evidence.
There has been a softening to the pain. Knowing that I am growing in friendliness, clarity and distress tolerance, little by slowly actually is a comfort. I never thought that progress would be enough in the face of suffering. I am so grateful to have been wrong.
April 9, 2008
Tender Moment
A mindful moment happened at my kid's preschool. I joined the class on the floor where they were singing along with a tape to Lou, Lou, Skip to My Lou, Miss Mary Mack and the Lady with the Alligator Purse. I grabbed my kiddo and held her like a baby, rocked her back and forth and sang along with the tunes. One of the friends looked over at me and said, "Will you rock me?" This 4 year old child lost her mother a few months ago. I was told she got sick and died.
After my kid's turn, I cradled her in my arms, rocked and sang to her. I kissed her on the forehead.
I thought about my own experience being a child who lost a parent. Although my own father was gone, I see now that I received "fathering" from other people just when it was needed. It wasn't the same, but I wasn't entirely abandoned either.
As I rocked this little girl, I thanked God that for the length of a children's song, I got to be the one offering some mothering to a motherless child. I got to be there for this child in the same way that other's had done for me. I felt a rush of tenderness that comes when I feel a fraction of the extent of God's love and mercy for me and for us all. We are loved and cared for.
She smiled and said, "Mama, Mama," but not to me. She said it with her face out to the universe.
The song ended, and the rocking line had formed. Today I had six little girls in my arms who seemed quite delighted and one who appeared quite relieved. I know the feeling. Getting "parented" even though your parent has died is a bit like a cool sip of water when you've gotten so thirsty for so long that you forget that you ever were in need of drink. It's a relief, but it hurts going down at first. Most of my "other father's" kindnesses have brought me to tears.
She sat in my lap along with my kid during story time. I told her it was time for us to go. I thanked her for letting me hold her. She slid off of my lap. Then she said, "Can I come to your house?"
"Anytime you like," I said.
Later, I felt myself slipping into the drama of pity for her, second-guessing God's plan. How could God let 4 year old be separated from her mother? Isn't it awful? Then I realized that she asked me to rock her. If she knew today that she could ask for mothering and receive it, she can do it again and again as needed. She is going to be just fine. God bless her and all of her "other mothers" who are standing by.
After my kid's turn, I cradled her in my arms, rocked and sang to her. I kissed her on the forehead.
I thought about my own experience being a child who lost a parent. Although my own father was gone, I see now that I received "fathering" from other people just when it was needed. It wasn't the same, but I wasn't entirely abandoned either.
As I rocked this little girl, I thanked God that for the length of a children's song, I got to be the one offering some mothering to a motherless child. I got to be there for this child in the same way that other's had done for me. I felt a rush of tenderness that comes when I feel a fraction of the extent of God's love and mercy for me and for us all. We are loved and cared for.
She smiled and said, "Mama, Mama," but not to me. She said it with her face out to the universe.
The song ended, and the rocking line had formed. Today I had six little girls in my arms who seemed quite delighted and one who appeared quite relieved. I know the feeling. Getting "parented" even though your parent has died is a bit like a cool sip of water when you've gotten so thirsty for so long that you forget that you ever were in need of drink. It's a relief, but it hurts going down at first. Most of my "other father's" kindnesses have brought me to tears.
She sat in my lap along with my kid during story time. I told her it was time for us to go. I thanked her for letting me hold her. She slid off of my lap. Then she said, "Can I come to your house?"
"Anytime you like," I said.
Later, I felt myself slipping into the drama of pity for her, second-guessing God's plan. How could God let 4 year old be separated from her mother? Isn't it awful? Then I realized that she asked me to rock her. If she knew today that she could ask for mothering and receive it, she can do it again and again as needed. She is going to be just fine. God bless her and all of her "other mothers" who are standing by.
April 8, 2008
Not Your Daughter's Jeans
I may have stepped over to the dark side. After 3 years of mother overload sweatpants and t-shirts, I am trying to let my personal style reflect my burgeoning sense of joy. I obtained a copy of "How Not to Look Old" from the library to reflect upon which of my old ways are passe. Turns out, most of the rules that I have been practicing since childhood are no more. Fewer rules is always good news.
Linen pants before Memorial Day? What a concept. I spent the morning looking for cute shoes with arch support that would allow me to wear linen pants next week, despite the fact that today we reached a balmy 37 degrees in Minneapolis. To live in Minnesota is to demonstrate our faith that spring does follow winter, that we are blessed with sunshine even when we can't see it behind a cold, gray sky. The fact that I shave my legs on days like today is a radical act of faith.
I found the shoes, but I had to free my mind that these jazzed up bo-bo sneakers were not just for the geriatric set. Mine have a lovely grapevine design with sequins and cross strap with velcro. The good news is that my wide leg linen pants will mostly cover them. Linen may be okay any time of year, but I simply cannot expose my toes until it is at least 65 degrees or until we have had two hard rains to clear the gravel and salt reside from the streets. Without these shoes, I will have to wait until to July to wear my linen pants.
However, the linen pants are two miles too long because I had to accomodate my butt. Buoyed by my shoe find, the kiddo and I skipped over to the tailor who turned out to be a kind, Russian man who has been in the business for 28 years. I asked him if he remembered the JCPenney store that used to be at the other end of the mall. Oh yes, of course. I told him my father managed that store. I figured he couldn't possibly remember my dad from so long ago. It had been 24 years since he died. The man said, "I'm not sure [if I remember him], but we did all of the alterations for JCPenney, thousands of dollars for us. Actually, your dad told all of the other store owners to use us also. I got a lot of business from your dad." After twenty four years, I rarely meet anyone who even knew my dad. Close friends and relatives who do speak of him usually do so with a serious tone through a tight jaw, I assume, because he died by suicide at the impossibly young age of 40. Though the tailor didn't remember him personally, he did remember my father's loyal and generous way of being which helped him get his new business started. He remembered my dad, not his personality, but how he lived, and without the heavy exhale.
This was an unplanned gift that left me feeling quite tender. Meditation has caused a freakish increase in these types of moments.
Things were going so well that I decided to try on jeans. Or, I couldn't tolerate the tenderness of the moment so I decided to try on jeans. This is when things began to turn delusional. How many times have I said to self, "This time it will be different. This time you are going to find the jeans. These will actually look good from the front and the back and cost less than $50." The fact that I brought my 4 year old to a clothing store where everything costs $8.88 to find the illusive jeans was the single most insane thing I have done in weeks. I put my faith in Sarah Jessica Parker. I lost perspective. The first couple of pairs fit, though not from the back. Then the thought: how long can my kid stay with this process before she freaks. I check my watch. I am breathing quite shallowly, and the sweat has begun to form on my upper lip. 11:30 a.m. I have 10 minutes, 15 tops. To walk away would have been the path to serenity, I chose to press on. I tried on 3 more pairs of jeans, a dress and two shirts in 5 minutes. I was possessed. I will force this solution. I deserve victory. I will find those jeans and then I will have the peace that passes all understanding or at least not this vulnerable sadness that I cannot control.
I cried in the car on the way home, and then spent an hour on-line looking for the perfect jeans. I may have found them, Not Your Daughter's Jeans. That delusion of victory is for another day.
I kept my date with self to meditate and I only looked distractedly at my clock 10 times. I gave myself a hug, said good job and went to the gym. While on the cross-trainer, I felt heavy with grief. I asked the Holy Spirit to lift me out of the darkness. I am on my way.
Linen pants before Memorial Day? What a concept. I spent the morning looking for cute shoes with arch support that would allow me to wear linen pants next week, despite the fact that today we reached a balmy 37 degrees in Minneapolis. To live in Minnesota is to demonstrate our faith that spring does follow winter, that we are blessed with sunshine even when we can't see it behind a cold, gray sky. The fact that I shave my legs on days like today is a radical act of faith.
I found the shoes, but I had to free my mind that these jazzed up bo-bo sneakers were not just for the geriatric set. Mine have a lovely grapevine design with sequins and cross strap with velcro. The good news is that my wide leg linen pants will mostly cover them. Linen may be okay any time of year, but I simply cannot expose my toes until it is at least 65 degrees or until we have had two hard rains to clear the gravel and salt reside from the streets. Without these shoes, I will have to wait until to July to wear my linen pants.
However, the linen pants are two miles too long because I had to accomodate my butt. Buoyed by my shoe find, the kiddo and I skipped over to the tailor who turned out to be a kind, Russian man who has been in the business for 28 years. I asked him if he remembered the JCPenney store that used to be at the other end of the mall. Oh yes, of course. I told him my father managed that store. I figured he couldn't possibly remember my dad from so long ago. It had been 24 years since he died. The man said, "I'm not sure [if I remember him], but we did all of the alterations for JCPenney, thousands of dollars for us. Actually, your dad told all of the other store owners to use us also. I got a lot of business from your dad." After twenty four years, I rarely meet anyone who even knew my dad. Close friends and relatives who do speak of him usually do so with a serious tone through a tight jaw, I assume, because he died by suicide at the impossibly young age of 40. Though the tailor didn't remember him personally, he did remember my father's loyal and generous way of being which helped him get his new business started. He remembered my dad, not his personality, but how he lived, and without the heavy exhale.
This was an unplanned gift that left me feeling quite tender. Meditation has caused a freakish increase in these types of moments.
Things were going so well that I decided to try on jeans. Or, I couldn't tolerate the tenderness of the moment so I decided to try on jeans. This is when things began to turn delusional. How many times have I said to self, "This time it will be different. This time you are going to find the jeans. These will actually look good from the front and the back and cost less than $50." The fact that I brought my 4 year old to a clothing store where everything costs $8.88 to find the illusive jeans was the single most insane thing I have done in weeks. I put my faith in Sarah Jessica Parker. I lost perspective. The first couple of pairs fit, though not from the back. Then the thought: how long can my kid stay with this process before she freaks. I check my watch. I am breathing quite shallowly, and the sweat has begun to form on my upper lip. 11:30 a.m. I have 10 minutes, 15 tops. To walk away would have been the path to serenity, I chose to press on. I tried on 3 more pairs of jeans, a dress and two shirts in 5 minutes. I was possessed. I will force this solution. I deserve victory. I will find those jeans and then I will have the peace that passes all understanding or at least not this vulnerable sadness that I cannot control.
I cried in the car on the way home, and then spent an hour on-line looking for the perfect jeans. I may have found them, Not Your Daughter's Jeans. That delusion of victory is for another day.
I kept my date with self to meditate and I only looked distractedly at my clock 10 times. I gave myself a hug, said good job and went to the gym. While on the cross-trainer, I felt heavy with grief. I asked the Holy Spirit to lift me out of the darkness. I am on my way.
April 7, 2008
A Mindful Mother
I am jodysatva, the mindful mother. I spend my day with a preschooler while my husband works downstairs. I do best when I do major running around in the morning, lunch, meditation, and then off to the gym with the family. While my house is not squeaky clean, I have never been happier or more able to deal with the trials of the day. Frankly, I take 100% responsibility for the fact that my daughter does not have allergies. She has never been subjected to an antibacterial world.
Often, we have to make adjustments, but this basic schedule really helps me. I thrive on loose structure, form with flexibility. Luckily, my kid seems to be the same. I also like that there is a lot of room for play with the kiddo and an occasional chat on the phone.
My goal is to enjoy every moment of the day. My intention is that serenity is my first priority. My biggest challenges are my decisions. When I decide exactly how the day should unfold, I am a mess because there are too many variables while mothering. My other wrong decision is making other folk's opinions of me or my family more important than taking care of myself and my family. Making choices based on how we or I will look is a class-A serenity buster. Game over.
When I attend to myself first and then to my family, I do enjoy every moment. The unexpected becomes fun. I like my life. I am happy.
When I think, my butt is too big; my yard is too messy; my kid has jelly on her face and her clothes don't match... I only want to move, run, explode. Keeping the focus on what God's will is for me and minding my own business is the key.
At any given time, I have a decision to make: where am I going to put my focus? If I do not feel peaceful, I need to make a different choice. Take a breath. Ask God for help. Do something else.
Being a preschooler at this way of living, I keep things simple. I get thrown off a lot, but instead of months of chaos, I have 10 minutes or less. The rest of my time has become fascinating. I am so curious about my little world. I am rediscovering my passions in life, like writing or Dancing with the Stars which is really heating up now.
Often, we have to make adjustments, but this basic schedule really helps me. I thrive on loose structure, form with flexibility. Luckily, my kid seems to be the same. I also like that there is a lot of room for play with the kiddo and an occasional chat on the phone.
My goal is to enjoy every moment of the day. My intention is that serenity is my first priority. My biggest challenges are my decisions. When I decide exactly how the day should unfold, I am a mess because there are too many variables while mothering. My other wrong decision is making other folk's opinions of me or my family more important than taking care of myself and my family. Making choices based on how we or I will look is a class-A serenity buster. Game over.
When I attend to myself first and then to my family, I do enjoy every moment. The unexpected becomes fun. I like my life. I am happy.
When I think, my butt is too big; my yard is too messy; my kid has jelly on her face and her clothes don't match... I only want to move, run, explode. Keeping the focus on what God's will is for me and minding my own business is the key.
At any given time, I have a decision to make: where am I going to put my focus? If I do not feel peaceful, I need to make a different choice. Take a breath. Ask God for help. Do something else.
Being a preschooler at this way of living, I keep things simple. I get thrown off a lot, but instead of months of chaos, I have 10 minutes or less. The rest of my time has become fascinating. I am so curious about my little world. I am rediscovering my passions in life, like writing or Dancing with the Stars which is really heating up now.
Meditation Monday
Typically, my formal meditation practice consists of 7 minutes of mindfulness, then 7 minutes of loving kindness, 7 minutes of compassion and 7 minutes of mindfulness. I chose 7 minutes because 10 seemed way too long. Since I am just getting started, I am giving myself a lot of space to enjoy the practice without making it yet another to-do.
I must be making progress because I was interrupted by my groceries delivery right before the last mindfulness section and felt tired the rest of the day. The fact that I wanted to finish the meditation feels really good. Some days, I just want it over.
The fact that I am willing to do it at all is fairly astonishing to me because I am a stay-at-home mom of a 4 year old and my husband works at home. I finally just decided that if I wait until my house is quiet, I won't meditate until I die. Or do anything that is just for me. The way I look at it, even one breath of meditation is more than I did before. When I finish sitting I tell myself, "Good for you," no matter how I think it went. So I can't lose. I love that there is so much room to practice.
One day, my daughter and my husband were reading in the other room while I was meditating. They started laughing hysterically. What a great distraction. Of all the things that could distract me, laughter is one of the most pleasurable.
I also got a kick out of my husband's girgling tummy. He and I were sitting together and I hear rumbling and burping and I started laughing and could not stop. The last 5 minutes were mindfully belly laughing.
I must be making progress because I was interrupted by my groceries delivery right before the last mindfulness section and felt tired the rest of the day. The fact that I wanted to finish the meditation feels really good. Some days, I just want it over.
The fact that I am willing to do it at all is fairly astonishing to me because I am a stay-at-home mom of a 4 year old and my husband works at home. I finally just decided that if I wait until my house is quiet, I won't meditate until I die. Or do anything that is just for me. The way I look at it, even one breath of meditation is more than I did before. When I finish sitting I tell myself, "Good for you," no matter how I think it went. So I can't lose. I love that there is so much room to practice.
One day, my daughter and my husband were reading in the other room while I was meditating. They started laughing hysterically. What a great distraction. Of all the things that could distract me, laughter is one of the most pleasurable.
I also got a kick out of my husband's girgling tummy. He and I were sitting together and I hear rumbling and burping and I started laughing and could not stop. The last 5 minutes were mindfully belly laughing.
April 6, 2008
Lead with the positive
I spent the evening with my husband and 1,000 other people attempting to live according to spiritual principles. I spoke with some of them and I was really surprised a common theme. They lead with the problem. Ask them how they are and you get: Good, but. Then you hear the pain, the things that they haven't accepted about themselves. The times that they fell below the mark.
We do that. How many times have I led with my pain? After many years of living for "appearances," I learned in therapy that when people ask me how I am I should tell them. I feel sad about this, bad about that. I thought I was being honest, but I wasn't telling the truth.
But is it? When asked, I could have responded, "Well, I scolded my daughter for shaking cumin all over the kitchen while trying to make me dinner and I feel bad about it." Just writing this makes me feel bad. However, I have accepted forgiveness. I made a mistake. I admitted it and I told her that I was sorry, that I didn't understand that she was trying to do something nice for us. I consider the matter closed, except to share it here.
Having been forgiven, this does not define how I am as a person or even a mother. It is not how I am. Actually, I am well. I am peaceful. I am a beautiful, intelligent woman. I am loved deeply. I love deeply and growing in love. I am passionate, interested and excited about life. I am curious about my world. I am a devoted wife and mother. I am happy, joyous and free.
This is the truth of how I am today.
I suppose I could have shared about the tremendous well of grief today that I can feel now that I meditate daily. I could have shared my back and pelvic pain. I could have shared all the fear I feel because I don't know or understand what is going on most of the time. And on and on. This version of truth is only part of the story, the fleeting moments of insecurity and pain. They pass. They are not real. They are just some weird idea I hooked onto today.
I used to think that if I share this personal drama, I would get some credit for working my program in the face of such adversity. They would think I have grown spiritually. I am a giant. I am dealing with life on life's terms. In my desire to appear spiritual, I got it wrong.
Even though we are taught in therapy that we are supposed to share exactly what is going on in our minds at the exact time this question is asked, I will not. I share the hurt and pain with those chosen, trusted few who can give me the gift of listening without judgement and without trying to fix the situation or cheer me up. These folks listen without pity, but with love and concern.
Most folks are not up to the task of this kind of love. I pray to be worthy to truly listen and comfort those in pain today. However, trying to do this with all responding to the question would be exhausting, spiritually exhausting. This level of sharing with a virtual stranger would probably just make them feel overexposed. Then they would just beat themselves up some more. Just like I do sometimes when I gossip about myself while answering the question, "How are you."
God, let me answer the question with the honest answer: I am well. I am enjoying my days, most moments of my days. I have never been happier. I am blessed.
April 5, 2008
Faith in Fashion
My security is shaken. Last night I dreamt that my husband died and left me in my college dorm with our toddler and nothing to wear to a family wedding. I sat at the end of a long banquet table tugging my pale pink blouse trying to cover the juicier areas of my midsection and yanking a skirt fashioned out of a dried scab over my round hips. I kept leaving the table because I knew that everything would be alright if I could just find something to wear. I ran down the long, dark dorm hallway only to discover that this was no home for me or my child and there was nothing else to wear. I woke up exhausted.
I have always believed that one could survive anything if properly attired. I remember what I wore and what most people wore at every major event of my life. What I wore was the preferred object of my attention because typically the inner experience was just unmanageable. For example, Dad dies by suicide? Pale gray pants with lavendar angora sweater for the wake; navy skirt with white blouse for funeral. Perfect.
The world is an unsafe, scary place, but you can have faith in fashion. Find the right uniform and keep the other participation to a minimum. The day we buried my father, everyone said how sorry they were and how much they loved him or look at the beautiful flowers. I took comfort in the words of my aunt, "I am glad you wore a skirt." I got it right and she understood what was really important at a time like this: appearance.
I have always believed that one could survive anything if properly attired. I remember what I wore and what most people wore at every major event of my life. What I wore was the preferred object of my attention because typically the inner experience was just unmanageable. For example, Dad dies by suicide? Pale gray pants with lavendar angora sweater for the wake; navy skirt with white blouse for funeral. Perfect.
The world is an unsafe, scary place, but you can have faith in fashion. Find the right uniform and keep the other participation to a minimum. The day we buried my father, everyone said how sorry they were and how much they loved him or look at the beautiful flowers. I took comfort in the words of my aunt, "I am glad you wore a skirt." I got it right and she understood what was really important at a time like this: appearance.
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