5 posts tagged “beginnings”
This weekend, my friends Jill and Jay, two of the most beautiful people I know, took the leap and tied the knot. A relatively small group of us gathered on a farm in Western MA to witness it all and celebrate with them. The weekend was glorious in more ways than one. I will need weeks to process what I felt there amidst old friends, great music and beautiful country. I will need weeks for it all to sink in.
For now I am just buzzing with the joy of it.
During my most lizard-like days over the last 3 years, Jill and Jay have been my sun. When I am cynical about love, relationships or silly notions of hope, I lie down on a rock next to them and just soak in the energy from their partnership, bask in the glow of the way they care for each other. Theirs is a simple, honest, modest true love which radiates out from their little inner world and makes us all feel warmer. But it also buzzes with tremendous passion, a hot white streak, a super nova.
It is something extraordinary to witness. It is simply light.
When Max was a few days old, Juan went off to work, my mother climbed onto an airplane and I was left all alone with a strange little person who couldn't seem to get the hang of nursing and who screamed bloody murder whenever he was put down. I remember sitting with him on the couch, trying to figure him out, wishing he had an owners manual attached to his little foot.
Motherhood wasn't going as planned.
I assumed I would be a natural at mothering. I had imagined that soon after delivery I would be sailing along effortlessly, nurturing and listening to my baby's cues, managing the house, and taking a break from my stressful DC job, as good at the art of parenting as I was at everything else in my life that I had tackled. Instead, I sat sobbing on the couch frustrated that I couldn't figure out how to simultaneously hold him and feed myself lunch. I was so hungry, he was so needy and we were both absolutely miserable.
Even weeks later, I beat myself up for not knowing what the hell I was doing. I was not effortlessly swaddling my little bambino in a sling as I arrived for my lunch appointment. Instead I was sobbing as I tried for the 5th time to tuck him in, an hour and a half late for an appointment with a friend downtown, yellow mustard poop smeared on my arm, my breasts leaking through my shirt.
It was then, at that exact moment that I discovered the art of baby steps.
I stopped trying to fufill my ultimate vision and dropped my standards to the sub-basement level. I would define victory in the smallest of ways. "Today I went to the bathroom." "Today I made myself lunch." "Today I combed my hair." I remember how exhilerating it was when Max was three and a half weeks old I was able to pack him up all by myself and get to a friend's house. Granted, I was so exhausted from the effort of getting out all I could do was sit in her hammock swing and nurse my son sleepily, but I had done it all by myself. For a Type-A, Washington overachiever, it seemed like a pretty lame accomplishment but to me that victory felt sweeter than anything I had accomplished in the previous 10 years of work.
It dawned on me as I was swinging there on her porch that this was the first time I had attempted to do something I wasn't naturally good at. I really had no choice after all. But this was a departure from the rhythm of my life up to that point.
See, I was used to being good at things. As a child and young adult I was a classic overachiever. I was interested in anything I excelled at and so I chose my activities very carefully, filling my time with things I could sail through effortlessly and then focused all my energy at being the best. I quickly lost interest in anything that was hard.
Dance--I had been a natural since my first ballet class at 4. It stuck and became my major extracurricular activity all the way through college. On the other hand there was tennis and downhill skiing, I fell too much and had a weak swing. Swimming--I was slow and always behind the others, a little out of breathe. I left those activities in the dust (with a bit of regret) and didn't look back.
As much as I sometimes wished for it, I didn't have the option of leaving mothering behind in pursuit of something I could do so much better. So at age 32, I finally allowed myself to indulge in taking things slow, in fumbling along in a half-assed manner, in failing every day and in taking baby steps.
I learned the pure joy of sticking with something I was bad at, of toughing it out and struggling through. Getting through the muck and surviving. And while I still daily make classic mistakes that would lead many a social worker shake to her head in dismay, I have really become a pretty decent mom,. It was a bumpy ride l to get here but looking into those big brown eyes of Max's I know that every second its been worth it.
Max helped me discover the pure joy of doing something because I love it not because I am going to be good at it. And this beautiful little angel, he has opened up doors for me. I am now free to do things for pure and utter joy of it. There are so many beautiful things that I cant do well! Giving myself permission to plunge into all of them has been liberating. And it has been the biggest creative gift the universe has ever passed along.
Since Juan left, I regularly practice doing things I am bad at. I know longer crave the praise from doing the things that I naturally do well. Instead, I fill my free hours struggling through with no hope of ever being great, striving to be good enough. Despite the often poor results I keep going--an addict now to the adrenline rush of the tiny victory.
I was thinking about all this this evening because I have a bunch of new projects on my plate now that really do not play to my strengths. Struggling through them could be the understatement of the year. I am spending hours with little results, taking my baby steps, one by one and relentlessly congratulating myself on the smallest of successes.
I am so proud of myself to be doing so much so badly. For finally choosing to do things for the joy of them and not for the flashy results.
Last month, Karen over at Chookooloonks sponsored a postcard swap. The idea was simple but lovely. Sign up and get a list of 12 others who had also signed up. Make homemade postcards for each person on your list and then mail them all out on the same day. The theme of this swap was beginnings, a perfect theme considering that September is hailed by mothers, teachers, and students alike as the real start of the new year.
September has always been a month of beginnings for me. As we bid farewell to summer's last lazy days and buckle down anew at school or work its a time of renewal. Its also always been a time of symbolic rebirth for me. Earlier this week I turned 38. September is always the start of my new year.
September also marks for me the beginning of the inwards turning season. While spring and summer are flamboyant and extroverted, fall and winter are times for introspection, contraction, looking within. While spring and summer call for huge neighborhood picnics in the park, fall and winter call for intimate gatherings around a cozy table lit with candles.
I love the extroverted season--the explosions of green, the lengthening light, the spontaneous neighborhood get togethers. But usually about this time I start to crave some space and time for myself. I welcome the fall and the beginning of looking inward, of nesting and waiting for spring.
But to be honest, this week I have not been feeling it. Or rather I have been feeling it too much. I am mopey and sad. I have been focused on endings--the ending of a fabulous summer, the ending of my marriage, the fact that I am not where I imagined I would be at 38. And given that this is where I am currently standing, the thought of turning inward makes me edgey and nervous. The end of the social season makes me feel just a little bit lonely. The thought of this cool dark season gives me a case of the shivers.
I was feeling sorry for myself earlier today, sharing with a friend that Juan had handed me the signed papers of our separation the day before my birthday. She empathized with me, commenting that he had rained on my September "beginnings parade" with one hell of an endings thunderstorm.
But later it dawned on me that he gave me the best beginnings birthday present he could have. Because now at 38, I will NEVER have to ask him to sign these papers. I can get past at least this big hurdle and make this whole year not about getting to a conclusion but about beginning again. I turned 38 with one less burden to bear...one less package to slow me down on my new journey.
Silver lining thinking? Maybe so. But it works...at least right now. I am feeling like I can stop thinking about endings and turn my thoughts back.
So a few days late, I am proposing for myself a little birthday project. In her zine Beginnings, Jen Lemen presents a couple of fun exercises to help imagine and dream your way into launching new ventures. While I did them less than 7 months ago, I am going to pull them out and revisit them, perhaps make some art around them. If you yourself are at the same place, Beginnings is a good place to start.
Happy new school year! Happy Birthday to me! and Happy Beginnings to all of Us
It feels like ages ago that I started this little blog. Hard to believe its only been months. Time plays funny tricks on me these days, reminding me that it really is all relative.
When I started this blog, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with it. It was a place for me to write, to experiment, to be newsy and practice being brave. I expected that I would write stories about our life here in Maryland and that maybe through those stories I would reveal something about the journey that Max and I are on, a journey of loss and recovery, of independence and reinvention and grief and grace and that maybe someone would like them. I expected that some of these stories would be deeply personal and that I would need to make decisions about what to share to protect my own heart.
But an interesting thing is happening here in our world. When I started writing Max and I were on the tail end of what had been on a long dark hike through the loss of Juan. It was a lonely journey. Writing was a way to help me connect with my thoughts, beliefs and experiences as we walked into the sunrise of our new life. We are still on the journey of course, but it has changed. While it is true I am still struggling with issues around single parenthood, helping Max cope with not having a full-time dad, and the never ending juggling act of trying to do it all, these relatively lonely struggles are no longer at the center.
Day by day, my band of fellow travelers is growing. I have realized that my struggles are not any different really that so many others. I am lucky to have connected with some really interesting and cool people who are themselves reaching out, struggling, journeying--living really, just living, life to its fullest. Some are the people who have been walking with me silently through the long dark icky time when my marriage was going going gone. Others are new to us. Some have become a regular part of our everyday life while others are just passing through for a short time. But I am struck by how much in the last few months I feel connected to community, to a great body of others all trying to make it, not always succeeding, but willing to stand up and try (just try) to be brave in big and small ways. Each one of them is a teacher, a guru, and a partner (whether they intend to be or not).
I am awed by how much of what I am learning is coming from this interaction with my community. And so therefor I find it difficult to talk about my life without simultaneouosly talking about the lives of others. And so I find myself here struggling wanting so desperately to whisper stories to you that illustrate or punctuate what we are going through here in Maryland and yet desperate to protect the privacy of my loved ones who are my partners on this path. And as I sit to write I find myself dancing around the point a bit.
Some of the boundaries are clear--I would never share anyone's personal story without getting their permission. I wouldn't share something I had written just for them without asking their OK. But then once we move past black and white it starts to get murky... Do I need to get permission to mention their first name in passing? To post a photo? To share something beautiful or lovely they did or said? And how do I go about doing that in a way that doesn't seem self important? Suddenly the public-ness of posting on a blog becomes real to me--very real and apparent and scary and stark. I am embarrased and ashamed to ask them if I can share what I am learning from our friendship together here in this very public forum. Not because I don't think they will be giving or because I fear their judgement for asking but because the very act of asking permission means I need to claim the space of being "a writer"--something that seems scary to me. And it means admitting that I have a blog or that I think the blog is important or that someone might just be reading it. It means owning the fact that I am putting my writing out into the world--that I think it is good enough to put out into the world. And then I ask myself--Do I really? And this is a heavy thing indeed. I have put my writing out there not really sure if anyone is even reading it but now...now I need to assume they are. And this freaks me out as much as it thrills me.
And as I write here I am struck just how scared I am to claim this title so that I can keep going here, how I can keep going with the stories no longer of me--but of us.
This week I have started in at my new job. Its exciting to start something new and comforting to return to work with my mentor and good friend and a team who knows and loves me. After two years out on my own, it feels like coming home.
I have a new office to call my own and have been thinking this time around about setting it up deliberately. Too often my workspace just looks like a big table covered with papers--all chaos, no calm. Its no wonder that some days I can barely think. This time I am vowing to use good habits--to keep my space clutter free and to decorate it with peace of mind in mind. This new office, this beautiful blank canvas is a perfect opportunity to pull out my feng shui books and focus on how to create and environment that will support me.
The East is the direction of new beginnings, of family harmony and of health. Because of where I am in my life it is the part of my office where I am focused. I love the idea of placing objects with intention. This thing here is here for a reason. Its a little subconscious reminder of what you want from life.
The energy in the east is associated with wood, with growing things, with new life, new beginnings. It is the direction of the dragon, my all time favorite mythical creature.
Here is a little list of things to use to activate the chi in the eastern part of a home of office
to welcome and celebrate new beginnings. Its what I plan to do. Not all these things need to be done--in fact, less is more. This is more a menu to pick from, a list of all the lovely possibilities.
- Green green green. My favorite color. The color of growth, of trees, of spring. So so lovely. Get green color on the walls, green pictures, green items. Some green in the east to generate growth.
- Blues too. Water helps nourish plants and water energy helps nourish the wood energy of the east. Maybe a picture of still water.
- Live healthy plants. Young spring like plants. Broad leaved plants. Ferns or peace lilies. Any kind of plant.
- Things in groups of threes. Three is the number the Chinese associate with the east. Three plants would be lovely. Hmmm...
- A dragon. A picture, a statue, a small jade little guy. Any kind of dragon--it doesn't have to be a Chinese dragon.
My mind is a flutter with all the exciting ideas for how to decorate my eastern wall. How I can look east and celebrate each new day and every new beginning in my new exciting job.
