Nope. Not doing some vulgar post today. Although I am fully capable of it and may still in the forty days...or beyond.
The little paper tag on the string on my teabag (do those things have a name?) says, "May your mind learn to love with compassion."
"Um, may the scalding hot water I just poured over you hurt just a little bit?" was my initial reaction. Yes, I felt defensive against my tea bag. Which I guess proves that the little tea bag tab has some timely advice?
So, as the tea cools and I sit listening to the rain, I play the words over and over again. The heart is the organ normally associated with love, right? But, the heart can't work without the brain and vice versa. And, I am no doctor, but the mind isn't exactly the brain, right? The brain is the actual organ...the mind is more like all of the parts working inside of the organ? (If you are a medical professional, or someone who did well in Biology, or someone who is simply smarter than I am and you are reading this and think I am making no sense at all.. welcome into my mind. The mind that needs to learn to love with compassion.) And, if you are judging my inaccurate description of the whole mind/brain thing, may I gently suggest you pour a cup of tea and see if your tab tells you anything you might need to know? This is my cup.
So, it isn't just the heart that loves. It is is the mind as well. I guess I knew that, but the little tab (I do wish it had a name) was a little gift from the Universe today.
My journey of loving with compassion has been a bumpy one. Especially loving myself with compassion. I am impatient and quick to judge. Not just you...but me. Only recently have I actually started to actively hear the ugly words and opinions that play endlessly like bad elevator music in my mind. They have been there all along...but...now I hear them. I am not supposed to judge them....just acknowledge them and let them go. Doesn't that sound so easy?
"Acknowledge them. Let them go.
Like dropping a handful of leaves into a stream and watching them float away."
Yeah, right. (Feels more like grabbing for a branch as I sink in quicksand that I thought was stream.)
It sounds easy but it isn't easy. It is some of the hardest work that I have ever done. Cleaning out those dirty, dusty corners of my mind and letting the ugly, old stinky stuff that I have given rent free space for years is the work I must do to be better. Lots of days I don't want to do it. I let myself slip back into hearing, acknowledging and believing those thoughts. And, because I am so damned good at this, throwing in a big heaping pile of judgement for my misstep. Where is the compassion in any of that? It is pretty much exactly the opposite of compassion.
So, little tea bag tab, I thank you for being my reminder. I think when the tea is gone, I will keep you...maybe pin you up somewhere to read you every day.
I am learning to love with compassion. Maybe, when I get a little closer to it feeling just right, I can write for tea company?
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Seven
On day seven of a project where I am working to find my voice, I stop to visit a woman up the street who is sitting on her porch. It is a warm sunny day and I am out with the dog. I haven't haven't seen her in a while, so I wave and walk up the short driveway to see how say hello. I notice a cane next to her chair.
"Hey! I say. "How are you?" As I reach the bottom step of her porch...my heart jumps.
Immediately, I know something is different. I can see it in her face that although she looks the same as she always has, she is struggling. A stroke. She had a stroke. And she works to get the words out. "Stroke," she manages after a few seconds of stuttering.
"Oh, no. I am so sorry. I didn't know," I say.
"Are you doing OK?" I ask. My mind is rushing with the thoughts of...so, do I stay and ask questions of a woman who is obviously struggling to get a few words out or do I move along and let her relax in the sun....not having to fight to answer my cheery questions.
She smiles slowly yet sweetly.
"Was it recently?" I ask.
She fights for the word. The answer to my question is there...she is just having trouble getting it to her tongue. "September," she gets out...quietly. Each word is a fight but she just grips the arm of her chair and works it out.
She wasn't alone when it happened. (Thank God.) She knew exactly what it was right as it started. She held up three fingers when I asked how long she was in the hospital. "3 days. That is amazing." I say.
"Weeks" she says....again slowly but with a quiet determination.
Wow. Three weeks. And it happened five months ago. And, I just find out today?
(My inner mean voice says to me, "Nice neighbor, you dummy." I catch it and try without judgement, to just notice that it popped up.)
"You look good. Do you feel good?"
Another sweet smile and slight nod of her head.
During this whole exchange, the two giant mean poodles that live next door to her are wildly barking non-stop while on their back legs trying to get over the fence. Not kidding. Two huge dogs barking and barking and barking. Right next door to a woman who is recovering from stroke. They bark at anything that moves and have for as long I can remember.
"God, how do you stand that?" I ask, throwing my thumb in their direction and rolling my eyes. "It is awful."
She nods and rolls her eyes in agreement.
She is working hard to get out a word. I am working to not try to guess...knowing that although it may feel to me like that is being helpful...it is the worst possible thing to do to someone who is trying to tell you something. Just let them say it. I am so quick to want to fill the silence, give you my guess, make everything better. I suck at just shutting up. So... in my practice of slowing down and just staying....I waited. It wasn't very long....seconds....but it seems longer when you watch someone struggling.
She lifts her hand slowly and makes the gesture we all know that symbolizes a gun...index finger out and thumb up? "Squirt gun", she manages to say while smiling. Her eyes are dancing. She is in there. The same sweet woman with a great sense of humor. And then...she laughs!!!! It makes me laugh out loud, too.
In different ways, we are both finding our voice. (I am not at all saying we are experiencing the the same thing. She suffered a very serious stroke. I am very grateful to be healthy and know not to take one day for granted.) Here we are, neighbors for years...both working on being patient with ourselves. And, thankfully, keeping our sense of humor as we do it.
I will visit her again in the forty days...and beyond...and we can help each other to share. And speak. And most importantly...listen.
"Hey! I say. "How are you?" As I reach the bottom step of her porch...my heart jumps.
Immediately, I know something is different. I can see it in her face that although she looks the same as she always has, she is struggling. A stroke. She had a stroke. And she works to get the words out. "Stroke," she manages after a few seconds of stuttering.
"Oh, no. I am so sorry. I didn't know," I say.
"Are you doing OK?" I ask. My mind is rushing with the thoughts of...so, do I stay and ask questions of a woman who is obviously struggling to get a few words out or do I move along and let her relax in the sun....not having to fight to answer my cheery questions.
She smiles slowly yet sweetly.
"Was it recently?" I ask.
She fights for the word. The answer to my question is there...she is just having trouble getting it to her tongue. "September," she gets out...quietly. Each word is a fight but she just grips the arm of her chair and works it out.
She wasn't alone when it happened. (Thank God.) She knew exactly what it was right as it started. She held up three fingers when I asked how long she was in the hospital. "3 days. That is amazing." I say.
"Weeks" she says....again slowly but with a quiet determination.
Wow. Three weeks. And it happened five months ago. And, I just find out today?
(My inner mean voice says to me, "Nice neighbor, you dummy." I catch it and try without judgement, to just notice that it popped up.)
"You look good. Do you feel good?"
Another sweet smile and slight nod of her head.
During this whole exchange, the two giant mean poodles that live next door to her are wildly barking non-stop while on their back legs trying to get over the fence. Not kidding. Two huge dogs barking and barking and barking. Right next door to a woman who is recovering from stroke. They bark at anything that moves and have for as long I can remember.
"God, how do you stand that?" I ask, throwing my thumb in their direction and rolling my eyes. "It is awful."
She nods and rolls her eyes in agreement.
She is working hard to get out a word. I am working to not try to guess...knowing that although it may feel to me like that is being helpful...it is the worst possible thing to do to someone who is trying to tell you something. Just let them say it. I am so quick to want to fill the silence, give you my guess, make everything better. I suck at just shutting up. So... in my practice of slowing down and just staying....I waited. It wasn't very long....seconds....but it seems longer when you watch someone struggling.
She lifts her hand slowly and makes the gesture we all know that symbolizes a gun...index finger out and thumb up? "Squirt gun", she manages to say while smiling. Her eyes are dancing. She is in there. The same sweet woman with a great sense of humor. And then...she laughs!!!! It makes me laugh out loud, too.
In different ways, we are both finding our voice. (I am not at all saying we are experiencing the the same thing. She suffered a very serious stroke. I am very grateful to be healthy and know not to take one day for granted.) Here we are, neighbors for years...both working on being patient with ourselves. And, thankfully, keeping our sense of humor as we do it.
I will visit her again in the forty days...and beyond...and we can help each other to share. And speak. And most importantly...listen.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Day Six
This is becoming something I feel like I not only need to do but want to do. Six days in and it feels like an important part of my day. I like it.
Today, my youngest son turned 17. How the Hell that happened I am not sure? It was just about this time 17 years ago that I turned down the epidural and said I was feeling good and would be fine. Then, just as the door closed behind the anesthesiologist....I realized my mistake. "Too late," was the nurse's sing-song reply. "You can do this. You are almost there. I'll call the doctor." She was a either high or a liar...or both.
He was a 10 pound 11 ounce moose that made his way into the world with my screaming a stream of obscenities that would make a long shore man blush. I know there are certain religions that believe that birth should be silent...something about the baby entering the world peacefully? Well, this baby had a steady diet of chocolate chip ice cream, nachos and anything else that struck his big Momma as appealing while in utero, and a healthy introduction to words that he wouldn't be allowed to say on his way out. I was a ginormous (yes, I know that it not a real word..but I love it) waddling woman who was 8 days past her due date. I think the labor and delivery nurses had placed bets to see if it were really just one kid? Or if I were the first woman to have a baby in her uterus and one in her ass? I was huge. And miserable. And I broke the blood vessels in my eyes and cheeks and neck squeezing that sweet punkin' out of me. My husband (at the time) was smart enough not to say a word about any of it. My parents came down to meet the newest grandchild. My always-tell-the-truth Dad said, "What the Hell happened to your face?" I was basking in love for this big sweet honey baked ham that I was holding and completely unaware that I looked like I did.
"What?" I asked defensively.
"Have you seen your face?" he asked, laughing.
"No. Why?" I asked. I think there are plenty of women who do a full face of makeup and allow cameras...as if a birth is some kind of casting call...I did not have either. No makeup, no cameras.
My Dad pulled the mirror that is used to see your own kid squeeze out of a place that doesn't seem big enough for a kid to squeeze of to show me my face. The whites of my eyes were blood red. My cheeks and neck were peppered with broken blood vessels.
"Oh, my God." I said. Silently thanking the fact that no cameras were allowed. (Not in a "Blue Ivy" kind of way but in a let us just get this over with and who wants the video kind of way.)
"Why didn't anyone tell me?" I gasped.
My husband and the nurse both looked away. Their gesture indicated to me that as frightening as I was pushing that big boy out...no one was going to show me the results of not breathing correctly as I cursed and screamed. Seriously, if my head could have spun around it would have.
But now, in the calm after the storm...I didn't care. No one was paying $250K for shots of us. (Although he was worth every penny. And...I was really the one who gave birth to him...hence the Halloween face.) We were going to spend the night, get checked out and go home tomorrow. With a sweet big baby and an almost two year old waiting at home.
The good thing about big babies...they eat really well. And sleep really well. The bad thing about big babies who eat really well...boobs so big that they kept me from seeing my own feet. Jesus. We are talking BIG, BIG boobs...like feed the neighborhood big.
This many years later...17...that passed like minutes instead of years...I am so grateful. It in many ways a very painful path. I made lots of mistakes. But every one of them led me to today. In a home that I love, with a Prince that I love and two teenagers that I love. Life is not without heartache and regret and wishes for something different...but I am working very hard to drop the "if only...." from my life. I am healthy. My kids are healthy. My husband is healthy. And hard working. And, for whatever reason, completely in love with me. Yup. There are lots of sucky things in the world. But today, 17 years to the day from the introduction to my second son...I am lucky. I am blessed. I am humble. And I am continuing my work to be better tomorrow than I am today.
And, with the support of my new writing friends.... I will continue to explore.
Day Six. Out.
Today, my youngest son turned 17. How the Hell that happened I am not sure? It was just about this time 17 years ago that I turned down the epidural and said I was feeling good and would be fine. Then, just as the door closed behind the anesthesiologist....I realized my mistake. "Too late," was the nurse's sing-song reply. "You can do this. You are almost there. I'll call the doctor." She was a either high or a liar...or both.
He was a 10 pound 11 ounce moose that made his way into the world with my screaming a stream of obscenities that would make a long shore man blush. I know there are certain religions that believe that birth should be silent...something about the baby entering the world peacefully? Well, this baby had a steady diet of chocolate chip ice cream, nachos and anything else that struck his big Momma as appealing while in utero, and a healthy introduction to words that he wouldn't be allowed to say on his way out. I was a ginormous (yes, I know that it not a real word..but I love it) waddling woman who was 8 days past her due date. I think the labor and delivery nurses had placed bets to see if it were really just one kid? Or if I were the first woman to have a baby in her uterus and one in her ass? I was huge. And miserable. And I broke the blood vessels in my eyes and cheeks and neck squeezing that sweet punkin' out of me. My husband (at the time) was smart enough not to say a word about any of it. My parents came down to meet the newest grandchild. My always-tell-the-truth Dad said, "What the Hell happened to your face?" I was basking in love for this big sweet honey baked ham that I was holding and completely unaware that I looked like I did.
"What?" I asked defensively.
"Have you seen your face?" he asked, laughing.
"No. Why?" I asked. I think there are plenty of women who do a full face of makeup and allow cameras...as if a birth is some kind of casting call...I did not have either. No makeup, no cameras.
My Dad pulled the mirror that is used to see your own kid squeeze out of a place that doesn't seem big enough for a kid to squeeze of to show me my face. The whites of my eyes were blood red. My cheeks and neck were peppered with broken blood vessels.
"Oh, my God." I said. Silently thanking the fact that no cameras were allowed. (Not in a "Blue Ivy" kind of way but in a let us just get this over with and who wants the video kind of way.)
"Why didn't anyone tell me?" I gasped.
My husband and the nurse both looked away. Their gesture indicated to me that as frightening as I was pushing that big boy out...no one was going to show me the results of not breathing correctly as I cursed and screamed. Seriously, if my head could have spun around it would have.
But now, in the calm after the storm...I didn't care. No one was paying $250K for shots of us. (Although he was worth every penny. And...I was really the one who gave birth to him...hence the Halloween face.) We were going to spend the night, get checked out and go home tomorrow. With a sweet big baby and an almost two year old waiting at home.
The good thing about big babies...they eat really well. And sleep really well. The bad thing about big babies who eat really well...boobs so big that they kept me from seeing my own feet. Jesus. We are talking BIG, BIG boobs...like feed the neighborhood big.
This many years later...17...that passed like minutes instead of years...I am so grateful. It in many ways a very painful path. I made lots of mistakes. But every one of them led me to today. In a home that I love, with a Prince that I love and two teenagers that I love. Life is not without heartache and regret and wishes for something different...but I am working very hard to drop the "if only...." from my life. I am healthy. My kids are healthy. My husband is healthy. And hard working. And, for whatever reason, completely in love with me. Yup. There are lots of sucky things in the world. But today, 17 years to the day from the introduction to my second son...I am lucky. I am blessed. I am humble. And I am continuing my work to be better tomorrow than I am today.
And, with the support of my new writing friends.... I will continue to explore.
Day Six. Out.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
FIVE
I am torn between liking the simplicity of just having the number as the title and feeling like having just the number as the title is kind of lame?
An amazingly beautiful day in Cincinnati at the end of February. Sunny. Warm. Birds singing. We haven't been socked by snow this winter. Not once. I love snow. At least one or two good snow events. I am surprised EVERY year by how poorly local drivers handle the first snow...like it something they have never seen or driven in before? "What the Hell is this??!?!??! Oh my God, what do I do?" Slipping, sliding, speeding, skidding... It is actually kind of entertaining in the fact that it happens EVERY year without fail. So simple, folks....not too fast...and not too slow. Remember? But...as we round the corner to leave February...I think I can get by without snow this year. Yes. I know that means I just jinxed it and some big snow will cover all of the early flowers. We will have snow in April because I typed this. And it will be all my fault. A friend pointed out today that without a good freeze we will see many more bugs and such this year. Yuck. I don't need to see any more bugs this year. But...if a winter this mild means more bugs this summer...maybe I should just accept it? A reminder that it all happens for a reason.
Wait...you weren't looking for me to give you THE reason why we haven't had any snow and why there will be lots more moths, mosquitoes, spiders and flies this year, were you? I have no idea...I just use the "everything happens for a reason" because it is easy. I don't use it because I have even the most remote idea of the reason at all?
Puh-lease. If I misled you...I am sorry. The truth is I have no friggin' idea about much of anything.
Espcially today. But, my hope is that over the next 35 days...and beyond...some of those truths will be revealed to me. As a result of my hard work and dedication. (slight dose of sarcasm there). That my keyboard and my forty days and my new friends sharing these forty days will help me to discover things about me and about the world and about one another that make us all a little better. That at the end of forty days, my voice won't shake when I say, "I am a writer." That my life long secret will be forty days exposed and each day will bring a little more confidence, a little less criticism and a little burden lifted?
I am so grateful for this gift. I know it isn't forty days of life-changing, awe inspiring writing. But it is a start. A good, habit making start. And, THAT is a good thing.
An 1/8 of the way there...I think tomorrow I will write about the bear?
Missing the Oscars to talk about a whole lot of nothing...may as well pop some popcorn and let those that get paid the big bucks to do that very thing do it.
An amazingly beautiful day in Cincinnati at the end of February. Sunny. Warm. Birds singing. We haven't been socked by snow this winter. Not once. I love snow. At least one or two good snow events. I am surprised EVERY year by how poorly local drivers handle the first snow...like it something they have never seen or driven in before? "What the Hell is this??!?!??! Oh my God, what do I do?" Slipping, sliding, speeding, skidding... It is actually kind of entertaining in the fact that it happens EVERY year without fail. So simple, folks....not too fast...and not too slow. Remember? But...as we round the corner to leave February...I think I can get by without snow this year. Yes. I know that means I just jinxed it and some big snow will cover all of the early flowers. We will have snow in April because I typed this. And it will be all my fault. A friend pointed out today that without a good freeze we will see many more bugs and such this year. Yuck. I don't need to see any more bugs this year. But...if a winter this mild means more bugs this summer...maybe I should just accept it? A reminder that it all happens for a reason.
Wait...you weren't looking for me to give you THE reason why we haven't had any snow and why there will be lots more moths, mosquitoes, spiders and flies this year, were you? I have no idea...I just use the "everything happens for a reason" because it is easy. I don't use it because I have even the most remote idea of the reason at all?
Puh-lease. If I misled you...I am sorry. The truth is I have no friggin' idea about much of anything.
Espcially today. But, my hope is that over the next 35 days...and beyond...some of those truths will be revealed to me. As a result of my hard work and dedication. (slight dose of sarcasm there). That my keyboard and my forty days and my new friends sharing these forty days will help me to discover things about me and about the world and about one another that make us all a little better. That at the end of forty days, my voice won't shake when I say, "I am a writer." That my life long secret will be forty days exposed and each day will bring a little more confidence, a little less criticism and a little burden lifted?
I am so grateful for this gift. I know it isn't forty days of life-changing, awe inspiring writing. But it is a start. A good, habit making start. And, THAT is a good thing.
An 1/8 of the way there...I think tomorrow I will write about the bear?
Missing the Oscars to talk about a whole lot of nothing...may as well pop some popcorn and let those that get paid the big bucks to do that very thing do it.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
FOUR
Wow. I was excited about today being an even number. I thought I might even get up the nerve to write about the bear. Maybe even include a picture?
But, today ended up being a very different day than I had hoped. I guess that happens often, no?
Parenting.
When they are babies, you long for sleep.
When they are toddlers, you long for quiet.
When they are tweeners, you long for peace.
When they are teenagers, you long for respect.
But through it all, you just want them to be OK. To be better than you were. To make it safely to adulthood making sound decisions...or having sound mind to call for help when they don't. You want to be such a good parent that they wouldn't even think about doing some of the stuff you did to (or without the knowledge of) your own "dumb" parents. Yup. I am now living as the "dumb" parent. The one who was so sure that being strict and loving and firm and fun...all rolled up into one meant that I would be doing the right thing? I don't even know what that means. The right thing.
How do make a child-of any age-understand that you ache for the love of them? That you would do anything to keep them safe? To make them not hurt? To not get sick? That when you stories otherwise...a piece of your own heart gets torn away...never to return. That the unimaginable is just that? How do you convince someone who feels they are infallible that no human is?
You have to let them go. Trust they will choose correctly. But...when they don't...and you are lucky enough to have it just be shocking and disappointing and scary instead of unimaginable and permanent...do you tighten the leash? Or just hug them tightly and have the talk AGAIN?
My parents did it with six kids. SIX KIDS. We tortured those two people. And, they still love all of us, and our own kids, with everything that they have.
So, for me today....I am going to hug a little tighter, watch a little more closely, listen to what is said and unsaid and send a prayer to the Universe that I have two healthy teenagers. And that they will use the gifts given them and not take for granted one single thing. Because...all you have to do is look around and find that there are lots of people that can tell you that it can all be gone in a single moment.
But, today ended up being a very different day than I had hoped. I guess that happens often, no?
Parenting.
When they are babies, you long for sleep.
When they are toddlers, you long for quiet.
When they are tweeners, you long for peace.
When they are teenagers, you long for respect.
But through it all, you just want them to be OK. To be better than you were. To make it safely to adulthood making sound decisions...or having sound mind to call for help when they don't. You want to be such a good parent that they wouldn't even think about doing some of the stuff you did to (or without the knowledge of) your own "dumb" parents. Yup. I am now living as the "dumb" parent. The one who was so sure that being strict and loving and firm and fun...all rolled up into one meant that I would be doing the right thing? I don't even know what that means. The right thing.
How do make a child-of any age-understand that you ache for the love of them? That you would do anything to keep them safe? To make them not hurt? To not get sick? That when you stories otherwise...a piece of your own heart gets torn away...never to return. That the unimaginable is just that? How do you convince someone who feels they are infallible that no human is?
You have to let them go. Trust they will choose correctly. But...when they don't...and you are lucky enough to have it just be shocking and disappointing and scary instead of unimaginable and permanent...do you tighten the leash? Or just hug them tightly and have the talk AGAIN?
My parents did it with six kids. SIX KIDS. We tortured those two people. And, they still love all of us, and our own kids, with everything that they have.
So, for me today....I am going to hug a little tighter, watch a little more closely, listen to what is said and unsaid and send a prayer to the Universe that I have two healthy teenagers. And that they will use the gifts given them and not take for granted one single thing. Because...all you have to do is look around and find that there are lots of people that can tell you that it can all be gone in a single moment.
Friday, February 24, 2012
I like EVEN numbers...and it is Day 3.
Always have. Guess I always thought someone would be left out if the number weren't even? But, I know that isn't true. People get left out all of the time when the numbers are even. And when they are odd. A group of four or six or eight or ninety certainly does not mean that everyone is included.
I used to say--as the wife of one guy and the mother of two sons- that two kids with two parents made the teams even. Then I got divorced. One parent in the house and two kids...and life got (mostly) easier. I have been exploring the whole dynamic of "inclusion" and things being "even." They aren't the same, I know. But they are tied together in my mind.
I have always been the one to root for the underdog. Always the one jumping in to stop the older guys at work from berating the younger guys for messing up. Quick to give the stink brow to the Mom in the store who is dragging her screaming kid through the parking lot by the arm. VOWED I would NEVER say to my own kids, "Well, life isn't fair." (Um...broken vow...early on...and many times since. In fact I even said it in a snotty mean little girl voice!!! Although I will say that one I have banished from my Mom-isms. They are old enough now to hear the other version of it..."Life is a bitch.")
Always working to make sure that things are "fair" and "even" whenever I could was (er, is) exhausting! How many Christmas eve nights did I sit by the tree with tears in my eyes and fear in my heart that boys wouldn't find the gifts "even?" (Pretty much all of them) Do I tell them enough that I love them both with every fiber of who I am? That sometimes they need different things from me....but I love them both...completely, forever and not one more than the other?
All of this worry. And shame. And for what? Crap. It isn't ever going to be a "fair" world. Not even close. Kids will always be left out. Hell, grown ups, too. The concepts of fair and even are ones I have to actively work to let go of. Ugh. It is like letting go of the teddy bear that I still sleep with at 43...unimaginable. (THAT is a whole different blog...I still have 37 days to explore that one.)
So, how do I do my part to make things more "fair?" Slow down. Judge less. That Mom dragging her screaming kid could have just been diagnosed with breast cancer and just needs some damned diapers? Or she could be a Mother who was never treated well and doesn't know how to break the cycle? Or something completely different? I don't know her story. In fact, I know very few people's stories. I know mine. And, I know that being kinder to me allows me to be kinder to her. And you. And even the people I vowed never to be kind to again. The ones that left me out. I am ready to let it go.
Will I still want to pick up the little crying girl in the parking lot and see if I can't calm her down? I doubt it. Will I try to find a way to help that keeps every one's pride intact. No, that does not involve the stink brow and crossed arms and deep sighs.
Not a news flash...we have all been the underdog. And left out. And, we can all make the tiniest changes to make sure that it happens less. It won't ever be eradicated...but it can be made smaller and less frequent.
The easy route is the judge first, ask questions later. (or skip the questions altogether and just keep the judgement going.) I am adding taking the harder route to my work plan. Just a second to breathe. To smile. To open the door. Try to distract the screaming kid. Or send a quick burst of calming energy. To practice grace. You know what the easiest part is? Sitting on my couch with a cup of tea, mapping out my plan to do my part. Do I even have to tell you what the hard part is? I don't. It starts as soon as I get up off of the couch.
Breathe. Find and show compassion. Find real empathy. One time, once a day...just to start.
Join me. The world so needs it right now.
I used to say--as the wife of one guy and the mother of two sons- that two kids with two parents made the teams even. Then I got divorced. One parent in the house and two kids...and life got (mostly) easier. I have been exploring the whole dynamic of "inclusion" and things being "even." They aren't the same, I know. But they are tied together in my mind.
I have always been the one to root for the underdog. Always the one jumping in to stop the older guys at work from berating the younger guys for messing up. Quick to give the stink brow to the Mom in the store who is dragging her screaming kid through the parking lot by the arm. VOWED I would NEVER say to my own kids, "Well, life isn't fair." (Um...broken vow...early on...and many times since. In fact I even said it in a snotty mean little girl voice!!! Although I will say that one I have banished from my Mom-isms. They are old enough now to hear the other version of it..."Life is a bitch.")
Always working to make sure that things are "fair" and "even" whenever I could was (er, is) exhausting! How many Christmas eve nights did I sit by the tree with tears in my eyes and fear in my heart that boys wouldn't find the gifts "even?" (Pretty much all of them) Do I tell them enough that I love them both with every fiber of who I am? That sometimes they need different things from me....but I love them both...completely, forever and not one more than the other?
All of this worry. And shame. And for what? Crap. It isn't ever going to be a "fair" world. Not even close. Kids will always be left out. Hell, grown ups, too. The concepts of fair and even are ones I have to actively work to let go of. Ugh. It is like letting go of the teddy bear that I still sleep with at 43...unimaginable. (THAT is a whole different blog...I still have 37 days to explore that one.)
So, how do I do my part to make things more "fair?" Slow down. Judge less. That Mom dragging her screaming kid could have just been diagnosed with breast cancer and just needs some damned diapers? Or she could be a Mother who was never treated well and doesn't know how to break the cycle? Or something completely different? I don't know her story. In fact, I know very few people's stories. I know mine. And, I know that being kinder to me allows me to be kinder to her. And you. And even the people I vowed never to be kind to again. The ones that left me out. I am ready to let it go.
Will I still want to pick up the little crying girl in the parking lot and see if I can't calm her down? I doubt it. Will I try to find a way to help that keeps every one's pride intact. No, that does not involve the stink brow and crossed arms and deep sighs.
Not a news flash...we have all been the underdog. And left out. And, we can all make the tiniest changes to make sure that it happens less. It won't ever be eradicated...but it can be made smaller and less frequent.
The easy route is the judge first, ask questions later. (or skip the questions altogether and just keep the judgement going.) I am adding taking the harder route to my work plan. Just a second to breathe. To smile. To open the door. Try to distract the screaming kid. Or send a quick burst of calming energy. To practice grace. You know what the easiest part is? Sitting on my couch with a cup of tea, mapping out my plan to do my part. Do I even have to tell you what the hard part is? I don't. It starts as soon as I get up off of the couch.
Breathe. Find and show compassion. Find real empathy. One time, once a day...just to start.
Join me. The world so needs it right now.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Day Two
Some days I feel like writing. Some days I don't. But since it is only day two of a forty day commitment, here I am. Nobody said it had to be long. Or pretty.
There is a natural ebb and flow to life, yes? So, as I am living this life, there is an ebb and flow to my life, my moods, my patience, my kindness, my personal growth. It is funny to me that word "ebb" is kind of annoying and "flow" is sweet and gentle. The words actually connote feelings. As I suppose most words do?
Pie.
Hate.
Chocolate.
Grace.
Anxiety.
Process.
Disease.
Beach.
Kiss.
Wait.
Weight.
Just letters strung together to make words. Just letters put together to form words that I give power to...even when I know better. So, which is it? Does the word hold any real power or is it only the person who reads it, writes it, whispers it, yells it, spray paints it or hurls it that has the power? The one who hears it or reads it gives it power as well. Maybe in a completely different way.
If the letters are written by hand, strung together as words in a love note, they only mean something to the one who wrote them and the one who reads them, right? It would seem so...but those two people can be very far apart in the power they give the words. The same is true of an angry note. Or a sarcastic remark. Or something that was intended to be funny and ended up being anything but funny. (I hold the gold for that one.)
I guess that today I realize that I have to be careful with my words. The words I say out loud and the ones I say silently (often over and over.)
40 days of writing will remind me every day to be kinder. Slow down. Listen. Share. Choose my words carefully. Say nothing at all. Speak up. Shut up. Put up. Shore up. Not put down.
Then, by the end of 40 days, my hope it each day makes me better at it and I am kinder and more patient. With my words to me and my words to you.
How many days does it take to make a habit?
Stay tuned...for me it is certainly more than two.
There is a natural ebb and flow to life, yes? So, as I am living this life, there is an ebb and flow to my life, my moods, my patience, my kindness, my personal growth. It is funny to me that word "ebb" is kind of annoying and "flow" is sweet and gentle. The words actually connote feelings. As I suppose most words do?
Pie.
Hate.
Chocolate.
Grace.
Anxiety.
Process.
Disease.
Beach.
Kiss.
Wait.
Weight.
Just letters strung together to make words. Just letters put together to form words that I give power to...even when I know better. So, which is it? Does the word hold any real power or is it only the person who reads it, writes it, whispers it, yells it, spray paints it or hurls it that has the power? The one who hears it or reads it gives it power as well. Maybe in a completely different way.
If the letters are written by hand, strung together as words in a love note, they only mean something to the one who wrote them and the one who reads them, right? It would seem so...but those two people can be very far apart in the power they give the words. The same is true of an angry note. Or a sarcastic remark. Or something that was intended to be funny and ended up being anything but funny. (I hold the gold for that one.)
I guess that today I realize that I have to be careful with my words. The words I say out loud and the ones I say silently (often over and over.)
40 days of writing will remind me every day to be kinder. Slow down. Listen. Share. Choose my words carefully. Say nothing at all. Speak up. Shut up. Put up. Shore up. Not put down.
Then, by the end of 40 days, my hope it each day makes me better at it and I am kinder and more patient. With my words to me and my words to you.
How many days does it take to make a habit?
Stay tuned...for me it is certainly more than two.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
40 Days? OK...I said I am in. Day One. Take One.
I am certainly not alone in being unable to pull my eyes away from the thumbprint of ash on the forehead of someone on Ash Wednesday. I am not a particularly religious person. I am working on being a less judgemental person...so, if ash on your forehead is important to you, I promise to try to to linger too long or rub my own forehead subconsciously. But, if you find me averting my eyes...just know it is because of my work on being less judgemental is pretty new. And, I am pretty quick to notice when I fail at it and not so quick to reward when I get it right.
For years I have thought of myself as socially liberal yet more conservative on the political side. I have also called myself-OUTLOUD- "Pretty low maintenance." That is a ridiculous, bold faced lie...and I told it over and over. These last few months have really put the squeeze on my "labels." I have talked the talk that "love is love" and it is too important to limit or try to make it fit into something pretty or something that should be legislated. I really do believe that. Really. If you are lucky enough to find love...it matters not one bit to me if it is prince, princess or beast. (Well, OK...I do care if you are doing something smarmy with an innocent animal. I meant "beast" more like the opposite of Prince or Princess. Yes, I know one can be both a princess/prince s and a beast...or bitch. Just grant me my fairy tale references.)
I guess what I have discovered recently is that for all my holier-than-thou speeches on "it doesn't matter where or with whom you find love"...I was being a hypocrite.
It does matter.
Before you get all up in my grill and call me some slur that you have recently (and most likely justifiably) used on any number of public figures lately..let me try to explain what I mean. Love is beautiful. And amazing. And exciting. And magical. And devastating. And unexplainable, yet completely understood all at the same time. It is a choice to share it, care for it, work on it and stick with it. Sometimes, it sticks with you even when you want it to be gone.
Want to know what I have been missing while up on my soap box? The love where it all begins. Inside my own heart... for me. I have spent years running from it. Turning away from it. Not believing it was there.
What I am discovering is we find real love as a result of having at least some level of self love. (Ahem....the big picture self love. Again....none of my business what you do in your own home with your own time. Have a good time. ) So, how did I get lucky enough to find my Prince when I hadn't done the work yet? I am not sure. That is part of my exploration. There must have been some part of me--hidden deep away--that did love me. Does love me. Because, my Prince did come. And, he stayed through the days when I couldn't find that self love at all. He can tell you (although he wouldn't) that have been many of those days lately. He just stays. Not in the "I'm staying because I am stuck" staying. But the lean into, hold on tight, for better or worse, of course you are worth all of this kind of staying. He came to save me-literally-when I couldn't save myself. He loves. Truly. With patience and kindness. He loves me when I (feel that I) am completely unlovable. I love him for that and for so many other reasons. I love that the Universe saw that I needed his exact alchemy to match mine and show me the path.
So, this journey continues. And, with work and learning and patience....I hope to one day soon love me as he does. Maybe I won't ever get there? But, I am working very hard on trying to get there. For today, I love me enough to commit to the process. To do the work. To tell the truth. To be more accepting. To write what I think. And to love my Prince. And my own inner Princess... and beast.
Day One. Take one. Out.
For years I have thought of myself as socially liberal yet more conservative on the political side. I have also called myself-OUTLOUD- "Pretty low maintenance." That is a ridiculous, bold faced lie...and I told it over and over. These last few months have really put the squeeze on my "labels." I have talked the talk that "love is love" and it is too important to limit or try to make it fit into something pretty or something that should be legislated. I really do believe that. Really. If you are lucky enough to find love...it matters not one bit to me if it is prince, princess or beast. (Well, OK...I do care if you are doing something smarmy with an innocent animal. I meant "beast" more like the opposite of Prince or Princess. Yes, I know one can be both a princess/prince s and a beast...or bitch. Just grant me my fairy tale references.)
I guess what I have discovered recently is that for all my holier-than-thou speeches on "it doesn't matter where or with whom you find love"...I was being a hypocrite.
It does matter.
Before you get all up in my grill and call me some slur that you have recently (and most likely justifiably) used on any number of public figures lately..let me try to explain what I mean. Love is beautiful. And amazing. And exciting. And magical. And devastating. And unexplainable, yet completely understood all at the same time. It is a choice to share it, care for it, work on it and stick with it. Sometimes, it sticks with you even when you want it to be gone.
Want to know what I have been missing while up on my soap box? The love where it all begins. Inside my own heart... for me. I have spent years running from it. Turning away from it. Not believing it was there.
What I am discovering is we find real love as a result of having at least some level of self love. (Ahem....the big picture self love. Again....none of my business what you do in your own home with your own time. Have a good time. ) So, how did I get lucky enough to find my Prince when I hadn't done the work yet? I am not sure. That is part of my exploration. There must have been some part of me--hidden deep away--that did love me. Does love me. Because, my Prince did come. And, he stayed through the days when I couldn't find that self love at all. He can tell you (although he wouldn't) that have been many of those days lately. He just stays. Not in the "I'm staying because I am stuck" staying. But the lean into, hold on tight, for better or worse, of course you are worth all of this kind of staying. He came to save me-literally-when I couldn't save myself. He loves. Truly. With patience and kindness. He loves me when I (feel that I) am completely unlovable. I love him for that and for so many other reasons. I love that the Universe saw that I needed his exact alchemy to match mine and show me the path.
So, this journey continues. And, with work and learning and patience....I hope to one day soon love me as he does. Maybe I won't ever get there? But, I am working very hard on trying to get there. For today, I love me enough to commit to the process. To do the work. To tell the truth. To be more accepting. To write what I think. And to love my Prince. And my own inner Princess... and beast.
Day One. Take one. Out.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Time for gratitude
The last few days of sunny and fifty degrees have been such a lovely winter surprise. This time of year in Cincinnati is typically so gray and dreary. Not the weather that makes anyone feel like practicing gratitude. But...it has been so nice. Feeling the sun on my skin is such a treat.
So, the subject line would indicate that I am working on the gratitude part of healing. My hope is with practice, and patience...it just becomes a part of who I am...instead of something I feel like I must keep reminding myself to look for. I would be lying if I said that I didn't have a secret hope that leaving my job would bring some immediate, "magical" happiness boost. Ummmm...not quite. But, it has given me something very important. Time. Time to have lunch with Tommy at school. Time to start to clean the closet. Time to have my sweet niece who isn't feeling well spend the night and today here while she gets better. Time to read. To write a couple of notes. To walk. To go to Jazzercise. To get to see my nephew's basketball game at 4:15 on a Wednesday. To make the monthly treat I promised to send to Sam who is away at college. This month, he gets a double batch of cookies because he is feeling homesick. Time to breathe. Time to catch myself mumbling negative things when something isn't going the way I want it to go. Time to do the work of learning to stay and to be patient. It is fascinating to me how the same 8 or 10 hours normally spent at work can be filled easily with nothingness.
All of this time has also offered an unwelcome feeling...guilt. I know I am in control of my feelings...but this one is a big one. The innocent question of "What did you do today?" is like a direct opening into that place that I hate...the place where I automatically assume the worst. Defenses go up, belly gets tight and I find myself scrambling for what is the right answer. The truth is, some days the answer is pretty much "nothing." But, that starts the cycle of guilt and shame. The good news? I recognize it. I see the rollercoaster headed right for me. I am not yet to the place where I can stop it before it even starts...Hell...,maybe never will? But I am least at the place where I know the sound of it and can call it what it is. That even though it feels like I am on the tracks about to get hit by the first car...I am not.
So, time. Gratitude for the time. Gratitude for what the time is allowing me to discover, tweak, pitch, name, learn, unlearn (right), share, appreciate, power through, get out of the way of...or...when necessary...lean right into the path of the storm.
Today is another sunny day. Time to go sit on the porch and be. Listen to the sounds of the neighborhood. Practice meditation. And just be. And, when guilt for just being comes to visit, I will be OK with it.
So, the subject line would indicate that I am working on the gratitude part of healing. My hope is with practice, and patience...it just becomes a part of who I am...instead of something I feel like I must keep reminding myself to look for. I would be lying if I said that I didn't have a secret hope that leaving my job would bring some immediate, "magical" happiness boost. Ummmm...not quite. But, it has given me something very important. Time. Time to have lunch with Tommy at school. Time to start to clean the closet. Time to have my sweet niece who isn't feeling well spend the night and today here while she gets better. Time to read. To write a couple of notes. To walk. To go to Jazzercise. To get to see my nephew's basketball game at 4:15 on a Wednesday. To make the monthly treat I promised to send to Sam who is away at college. This month, he gets a double batch of cookies because he is feeling homesick. Time to breathe. Time to catch myself mumbling negative things when something isn't going the way I want it to go. Time to do the work of learning to stay and to be patient. It is fascinating to me how the same 8 or 10 hours normally spent at work can be filled easily with nothingness.
All of this time has also offered an unwelcome feeling...guilt. I know I am in control of my feelings...but this one is a big one. The innocent question of "What did you do today?" is like a direct opening into that place that I hate...the place where I automatically assume the worst. Defenses go up, belly gets tight and I find myself scrambling for what is the right answer. The truth is, some days the answer is pretty much "nothing." But, that starts the cycle of guilt and shame. The good news? I recognize it. I see the rollercoaster headed right for me. I am not yet to the place where I can stop it before it even starts...Hell...,maybe never will? But I am least at the place where I know the sound of it and can call it what it is. That even though it feels like I am on the tracks about to get hit by the first car...I am not.
So, time. Gratitude for the time. Gratitude for what the time is allowing me to discover, tweak, pitch, name, learn, unlearn (right), share, appreciate, power through, get out of the way of...or...when necessary...lean right into the path of the storm.
Today is another sunny day. Time to go sit on the porch and be. Listen to the sounds of the neighborhood. Practice meditation. And just be. And, when guilt for just being comes to visit, I will be OK with it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)