I often feel like Cinderella while preparing for holidays. When I’m looking forward to a fun event I tend to see unexpected tasks as tests that are keeping me from what I really want to do.
When I start to feel defeated I like to remember that Cinderella did finish all of the work she was charged with … and then those she saw as being in control of her freedom found another obstacle to stick between her and the ball.
I have found a lot of momentary satisfaction and quick burning energy in obsessing over my seemingly unfair circumstances. The wicked tempest is followed by grouchy malaise that diverts my attention from noticing the next part of the story play out, the part with the magic.
I have never missed a celebration because and end suddenly came loose. I think its time for me to trust the fact that as long as I do my work honorably things will work out and probably in a way that I could not imagine or plan.
Today, I put my faith in magic. And when the Magic happens, that’s just the end of act one!
Wednesday, July 03, 2013
Monday, July 01, 2013
Thank Yoga
When I saw that a yoga studio was opening up across the street from where I lived I thought ‘that’s where I’ll do yoga.’ When the studio opened I started taking classes, it was as simple as that.
There was nothing to it.
I began attending one class on a regular basis. It was a great class and so it was quite popular and also very crowded. I hated being jammed into that room but that didn’t stop me from going to class.
I don’t remember being awesomely satisfied with the way my body felt or profoundly impacted with a new outlook on life after I began practicing yoga. I do remember that it took a lot for me to miss a class. Going to yoga back then was a lot like attending grade school. It was as though the decision to go to class had been made for me, it was just something I did.
There was nothing to it.
I didn’t think I had anything interesting to say about how I started my yoga practice. I didn’t run into a detour on the road of life that directed me towards a shala. I didn’t have a profoundly positive experience in a yoga room until I had been practicing for well over a year. What could be less remarkable than thinking of doing something and then doing it?
What could be further from the truth?
My decision to practice yoga didn’t hit me like a bolt of lightning. I wasn’t caught off guard by the idea of going to the mat. For me it was a nearly non-noticeable cue, like understanding when it’s time to turn the page while reading a book. Being asked to recount the way I was called to the mat now appears to be a precious gift because in doing so I’ve been able to see what it looks like for me to trust my instincts. It has shown me that I don’t have to worry about what I should do, that I really do know what needs to be done.
That’s all there is to it.
There was nothing to it.
I began attending one class on a regular basis. It was a great class and so it was quite popular and also very crowded. I hated being jammed into that room but that didn’t stop me from going to class.
I don’t remember being awesomely satisfied with the way my body felt or profoundly impacted with a new outlook on life after I began practicing yoga. I do remember that it took a lot for me to miss a class. Going to yoga back then was a lot like attending grade school. It was as though the decision to go to class had been made for me, it was just something I did.
There was nothing to it.
I didn’t think I had anything interesting to say about how I started my yoga practice. I didn’t run into a detour on the road of life that directed me towards a shala. I didn’t have a profoundly positive experience in a yoga room until I had been practicing for well over a year. What could be less remarkable than thinking of doing something and then doing it?
What could be further from the truth?
My decision to practice yoga didn’t hit me like a bolt of lightning. I wasn’t caught off guard by the idea of going to the mat. For me it was a nearly non-noticeable cue, like understanding when it’s time to turn the page while reading a book. Being asked to recount the way I was called to the mat now appears to be a precious gift because in doing so I’ve been able to see what it looks like for me to trust my instincts. It has shown me that I don’t have to worry about what I should do, that I really do know what needs to be done.
That’s all there is to it.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
being a mom is a pain in the butt
2012 was a bad year for punctuation and me. I didn’t have a single period and I nearly perforated my colon. I understand that had the third degree perennial tear I sustained during childbirth gone any further it would have effected my rectum, but the fact that I can type the preceding as a personal truth gives me the right to take anatomical liberty in the construction of a punctuation joke.
I went through a lot bringing a child into the world and then the real work of caring for it. My baby and I spent our early days together learning each others rhythms. I was figuring out how this person was going to fit into my life and how my life was going to have to change to make room for her while at the same time helping her navigate how to adjust to being an independent temporal being. Thus far the experience has been beautiful, humbling and grueling.
Early on I felt overwhelmed by the range of child rearing options and was fearful that I would make the wrong decision that would do some sort of long-term damage. From that place of anxiety I could see very clearly how someone could become defensive about their parenting decisions, or try to find validation in the choices they had made by demeaning all other ways of doing things.
I know now that there are three hard and fast rules that every parent must follow:
1) never shake a baby
2) never feed a baby honey
3) never search the web for baby sleep solutions at 4 in the morning
Outside of these the boundaries of proper parenting are wide enough to fit every parent child relationship within them.
Through the many hours I’ve spent bonding with my baby I know that the choices I’m making as a parent are the best things I personally can do to meet my child’s unique needs. This work also gave me the sense of having earned the right to be the kind of parent that feels right to me. This sense makes trusting myself easier and also reminds me to stay out of the decisions others make. Because if you want to have any say in how to raise a child you better be prepared for the possibility of having yourself ripped a new asshole.
I went through a lot bringing a child into the world and then the real work of caring for it. My baby and I spent our early days together learning each others rhythms. I was figuring out how this person was going to fit into my life and how my life was going to have to change to make room for her while at the same time helping her navigate how to adjust to being an independent temporal being. Thus far the experience has been beautiful, humbling and grueling.
Early on I felt overwhelmed by the range of child rearing options and was fearful that I would make the wrong decision that would do some sort of long-term damage. From that place of anxiety I could see very clearly how someone could become defensive about their parenting decisions, or try to find validation in the choices they had made by demeaning all other ways of doing things.
I know now that there are three hard and fast rules that every parent must follow:
1) never shake a baby
2) never feed a baby honey
3) never search the web for baby sleep solutions at 4 in the morning
Outside of these the boundaries of proper parenting are wide enough to fit every parent child relationship within them.
Through the many hours I’ve spent bonding with my baby I know that the choices I’m making as a parent are the best things I personally can do to meet my child’s unique needs. This work also gave me the sense of having earned the right to be the kind of parent that feels right to me. This sense makes trusting myself easier and also reminds me to stay out of the decisions others make. Because if you want to have any say in how to raise a child you better be prepared for the possibility of having yourself ripped a new asshole.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
be loved
The first five months after giving birth were like the worst time of my life.
The worst time of my life began in the spring of my senior year of high school after a dear friend of mine was killed in a car crash.
At the time of her death my friend and I did not live near each other. She was not a fixture in my daily life and was not acquainted with those I saw on a daily basis. The last time my friend and I spoke I called her up and we chatted through the second half of a Saturday afternoon movie. That was ten hours before the car she was riding in slid underneath a semi.
we spend a long time on the telephone line
talking bout things to come
sweet dreams and fine machines
in pieces on the ground
Of all the things I felt when my friend died, I clung to and holed up in my sense of being alone. No one I knew had known my friend like I had, no one I knew could in real time relate to my loss. I knew that I wasn’t the first person in the world to suffer a profound loss; I knew other who had suffered through profound losses of their own. But no one in my life was suffering profoundly at the same time I was. I had no one to commune with during my experience so I sat at that lunch table alone.
With my friend gone I found myself looking for someone to fill the space made in me when she left. I wasn’t looking for someone to replace her, but for someone who could relate to my experience of isolation, someone with whom I swap stories about understanding that type of loneliness. Time past and I kept an eye out for this type of companionship. And then, when the number of years since m friend’s death were equal to the number of years I’d lived before I lost her, I had a baby.
Of all the things I felt after giving birth, I was holed up and alone. I had lots of help and support but I also had to feed my baby. I don’t know that I had ever devoted my self to anything in life in the way that breastfeeding my baby demanded. There were no days off. There were no hours off. This clearly became a metaphor for what it meant to be a parent and it wasn’t a fun realization to come to.
As I came to terms with how having a child was changing my life I felt as though I was experiencing deja voux. I realized that the dramatic no going back journey I was on was similar to the way my life was changed when my friend died. But I found that I was having the exact opposite reaction than I had before.
After I had my baby, though I spent a lot of time literally alone, I felt deeply connected to humanity. I understood that I was going through something every other mother goes through and I drew strength from that. I also understood that in every life there are moments after which nothing will be the same. Those are moments you don’t get over, but ones that having lived through will elevate you to a new level, even if it takes you a lifetime.
The worst time of my life began in the spring of my senior year of high school after a dear friend of mine was killed in a car crash.
At the time of her death my friend and I did not live near each other. She was not a fixture in my daily life and was not acquainted with those I saw on a daily basis. The last time my friend and I spoke I called her up and we chatted through the second half of a Saturday afternoon movie. That was ten hours before the car she was riding in slid underneath a semi.
we spend a long time on the telephone line
talking bout things to come
sweet dreams and fine machines
in pieces on the ground
Of all the things I felt when my friend died, I clung to and holed up in my sense of being alone. No one I knew had known my friend like I had, no one I knew could in real time relate to my loss. I knew that I wasn’t the first person in the world to suffer a profound loss; I knew other who had suffered through profound losses of their own. But no one in my life was suffering profoundly at the same time I was. I had no one to commune with during my experience so I sat at that lunch table alone.
With my friend gone I found myself looking for someone to fill the space made in me when she left. I wasn’t looking for someone to replace her, but for someone who could relate to my experience of isolation, someone with whom I swap stories about understanding that type of loneliness. Time past and I kept an eye out for this type of companionship. And then, when the number of years since m friend’s death were equal to the number of years I’d lived before I lost her, I had a baby.
Of all the things I felt after giving birth, I was holed up and alone. I had lots of help and support but I also had to feed my baby. I don’t know that I had ever devoted my self to anything in life in the way that breastfeeding my baby demanded. There were no days off. There were no hours off. This clearly became a metaphor for what it meant to be a parent and it wasn’t a fun realization to come to.
As I came to terms with how having a child was changing my life I felt as though I was experiencing deja voux. I realized that the dramatic no going back journey I was on was similar to the way my life was changed when my friend died. But I found that I was having the exact opposite reaction than I had before.
After I had my baby, though I spent a lot of time literally alone, I felt deeply connected to humanity. I understood that I was going through something every other mother goes through and I drew strength from that. I also understood that in every life there are moments after which nothing will be the same. Those are moments you don’t get over, but ones that having lived through will elevate you to a new level, even if it takes you a lifetime.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
on the beat now
I take every opportunity I'm offered to make a wish.
When I was 7 I read a story that detailed the rules of wish making. It offered legitimate things to wish on, like seeing a white horse, as well as operational rules, like the more often a wish is wished the more powerful it becomes.
I began looking for things to wish on.
I don’t remember what I started out wishing for but I do know I kept the maxim ‘be careful what you wish for’ in mind and by high school I was constructing very specifically worded wishes. My wishes were optimistic, open-ended enough to allow for them to be fulfilled in amazing ways that I couldn’t imagine, and tied to specific events so I could wish the same wish for a period of time and know when to look for its granting.
I don’t remember how specific events I was wishing towards turned out but I guess my wishes went well because in my senior year I decided to create a wish that I could wish for the rest of my life. I can’t tell you what I came up with (everybody knows that if you don’t keep your wish a secret it won’t come true) but for nearly twenty years I’ve been saying the same seven words, at least once a day, every time I find myself in a magical moment.
My wish has not shielded me from sorrow or difficulty, but it is always there for me. The highlight of some of my days has been when I notice the clock turn 11:11 and I find something red to touch so I can make my wish. I had a lot of days like this in my first few postpartum months. Especially early on wishing offered me a moments respite from worrying about breastfeeding.
Breastfeeding is no joke. It might be the most natural thing in the world, but do you know what else is the most natural thing in the world? Going to a secluded location and digging a hole in which to take a dump. I wish that people who pass judgment on the decisions a mother makes in regards to feeding her newborn would be forced into the wilderness in the dead of winter during a sleet storm after drinking eight shots of espresso.
But I digress.
Today I got to lie in bed with my daughter and after we played for a bit she had a mid morning snack. I kissed her crown as she made satisfied sounds and I marveled at my own satisfaction in the exchange. I used to calculate the days until she could be weaned, now it is a thing of wonder that I can enjoy breastfeeding my baby.
I was feeling fine when I rolled out of bed and noticed the time. Of course it was 11:11. I found something red to touch and for the first time in my life made my wish in the same moment as noticing it had been granted.
When I was 7 I read a story that detailed the rules of wish making. It offered legitimate things to wish on, like seeing a white horse, as well as operational rules, like the more often a wish is wished the more powerful it becomes.
I began looking for things to wish on.
I don’t remember what I started out wishing for but I do know I kept the maxim ‘be careful what you wish for’ in mind and by high school I was constructing very specifically worded wishes. My wishes were optimistic, open-ended enough to allow for them to be fulfilled in amazing ways that I couldn’t imagine, and tied to specific events so I could wish the same wish for a period of time and know when to look for its granting.
I don’t remember how specific events I was wishing towards turned out but I guess my wishes went well because in my senior year I decided to create a wish that I could wish for the rest of my life. I can’t tell you what I came up with (everybody knows that if you don’t keep your wish a secret it won’t come true) but for nearly twenty years I’ve been saying the same seven words, at least once a day, every time I find myself in a magical moment.
My wish has not shielded me from sorrow or difficulty, but it is always there for me. The highlight of some of my days has been when I notice the clock turn 11:11 and I find something red to touch so I can make my wish. I had a lot of days like this in my first few postpartum months. Especially early on wishing offered me a moments respite from worrying about breastfeeding.
Breastfeeding is no joke. It might be the most natural thing in the world, but do you know what else is the most natural thing in the world? Going to a secluded location and digging a hole in which to take a dump. I wish that people who pass judgment on the decisions a mother makes in regards to feeding her newborn would be forced into the wilderness in the dead of winter during a sleet storm after drinking eight shots of espresso.
But I digress.
Today I got to lie in bed with my daughter and after we played for a bit she had a mid morning snack. I kissed her crown as she made satisfied sounds and I marveled at my own satisfaction in the exchange. I used to calculate the days until she could be weaned, now it is a thing of wonder that I can enjoy breastfeeding my baby.
I was feeling fine when I rolled out of bed and noticed the time. Of course it was 11:11. I found something red to touch and for the first time in my life made my wish in the same moment as noticing it had been granted.
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