Humbled

 I spent yesterday scrubbing my house and getting ready for my neighborhood's Civic Association meeting, which I was hosting.  I was expecting between 10-15 people--and who better to talk up my house to everyone they know who is looking than people who already live in the neighborhood?  I prepared as if it was an Open House but with food.  I went grocery shopping and made my own gorgeous antipasti plates, heaped with cheeses and fruits and painstakingly rolled cold cuts and cheeses... I farmed Jane out to a play date (She was blissfully happy but I, naturally, felt very guilty because that's just what I do) and made Ana help me. I cleaned the whole house, did all of the laundry, windexed all surfaces, stashed clutter, etc. When I tell you my Obsessive Compulsiveness was in full bloom, I am, for once, not exaggerating.

My foot was really hurting but I felt like I had to treat this like a marketing event.  We've had no traffic at all since the Open House this past weekend.

Two people showed up. TWO.  One of whom is a neighbor.  The other is the editor of the neighborhood newsletter for which I do the design and layout each month.

We had a good time and I held it together but afterward, when they'd left, I got teary.  All that work, all that expense, all this pain --for nothing. I was embarrassed to have made such a big deal out of something that really wasn't. My husband was so kind to me.  He gave me a big hug and resorted to the Ultimate Measure of Manly Comfort: the fishing metaphor.  "Sometimes you fish all day and never catch anything.  I hope you had at least a little fun fishing."

I went upstairs to bed about 10:00 and could see Ana (12) still awake in her bed.  I went in to kiss her goodnight, still with tears in my eyes. I explained that I was disappointed and embarrassed and felt sort of silly and sad.

She got out of bed and hugged me and looked at me with great concern as she walked me to my bedroom.

"Wait," she said.  "Don't go anywhere."

She disappeared into her room and came running back with a fresh, unused notebook and a blue Flair pen (my favorite writing pen at the moment).

"Here, Mom," she said. "Write about it.  That's what I do to feel better when I'm sad."

And the best part?

She said, "I learned that from you."

Sometimes the gentle butterfly wings of grace and generosity in my life beat such a rush of gratitude and love that it literally topples me over.

I'm living in that today--in the gentle grace of the amazing person I am lucky enough to call my daughter.

Playing Ball

So, last night was the second session of the online conference with Geneen Roth, author of "Women Food and God."

Yesterday, on this blog and also my main blog (So, The Thing Is...) I tried to make an oh-so-clever parallel between the behavior of my (completely neurotic) Border Collie Mix and my own behavior.

Judging by the fact that many people sent me dog training advice, apparently I wasn't very clear. What I was TRYING to say is that my dog (Scout) wants to play fetch more than anything else in the world and something keeps stopping him from bringing the ball back to me. Eventually, he remembers that's what he's supposed to do if he wants to play and he starts bringing it back and we lavish him with praise and he is happyhappyhappy until the next time we start to play Fetch when he cannot seem to bring himself to bring the ball back again.


I want to live healthily and mindfully and wow, I want to be kinder to myself. I want to reap the benefits of a life lived fully and not numbly.  I want to once again feel at home in my own body--happy and strong and living every day in that state of grace that comes when you live in harmony with yourself and your body and the world.  I want to do all the right things and lavish praise on myself. I want to freaking play Fetch all day long. But something keeps stopping me from bringing the damn ball back.

Last night, as I got ready to sit down to listen, I wish you could have seen how many ways I didn't bring the ball back.  I poured a big old glass of wine, I ate a handful of marshmallows.  When the call started and Geneen was leading us through a centering exercise, I cleaned my kitchen sink.  I did everything I possibly could not to show up with the damn ball and play.

And then I spoke to myself sharply (because that's all I know to do) and I sat down and Geneen Roth blew my world wide open.

Geneen talks about The Voice (which I call, "The Editor") and she gave such a spot-on impersonation of the voice in my head and the way I talk to myself that I just put my head down on my desk and started to cry. It was so vicious and horrible and she said all the things I say to myself every day.  Things you wouldn't say to a dog --that *I* wouldn't say to SCOUT. About what a failure I am and how dare I think that I can change myself or my life? Who do I think I am, wanting more?  Everyone knows I'm too lazy and stupid to achieve anything.

Under the weight of those words--MY WORDS--I couldn't even lift my head.

And then she gave us some tools for shutting up The Voice.

Can you imagine how freeing it is to be able to tell your inner Editor to shut the heck up?  It's AWESOME.

Today, I am going to concentrate on that.  Every time I start to talk to myself without respect or in some sort of demeaning fashion, I'm going to do something kind for myself.

After 45 years, it stops today.

Anyone else here feel like jumping up and down?

(I just have to say that if you have any extra money and you deal with some of the same issues I deal with --especially a disconnect between your body, your brain, and food-- this conference is worthy of your consideration.  It's not too late to join.  You get the replays of the sessions for download (for me this is vital because I don't take everything in the first time).  You can easily listen to the first two session before the third and if you can't commit to sitting down every Tuesday night for six week, you can listen to the replays at your leisure.  Here's the link. I am not affiliated with Geneen in any way, nor this conference. But it has been so worth it for me to put aside all of my preconceived notions of what I understood about my relationship with food and try to embrace an entirely different approach.)

Wonder

Yesterday was a terrible day.

I had a really awful migraine, my foot hurt, a storm blew my patio table over again and broke another pot, my kitty Edward is sick again after less than a week, my older daughter Ana's (12) best friends kind of ganged up on her in that way middle school girls find a scapegoat when something isn't going right, my husband had to extend his business trip another day... it just all added up.

So I spent the morning on the sofa, really sick.  Then, as I felt better, I started doing a few things.  I threw the ball for the dogs, took my neighbor a Starbuck's and loaned him Jane (9) as "help" while he was spreading mulch.  I took Ana supplies to decorate another friend's locker at school and talked to her and empathized when she told me about her day.  I made a fabulous dinner, put the kids to bed with kisses and love and laughter.

Then, (this is going to sound crazy) last night at about 2:00, I was lying awake in bed and just talking to God (in that way I do) about Edward and asking that he please just not suffer anymore.  He was really suffering.  I was pretty worried.  So I decided to go check on him, threw back the covers and there Ed was in my room.  He hopped up on the bed, curled up in the crook of my arm and gave me the Harley Davidson purr.  He's well.

I would normally not say anything about this because I'm not a Holy Roller and I don't want to scare anyone. But I have to say my truth and that honestly, really, truly happened.

Someone or something or some energy is apparently listening.  I feel like when my heart is true, when I am really trying to keep on going, when I am connected and not in flight --I ask and I receive.

Just kind of...well...looking at the world with fresh wonder today.

Pain

This post deals with God.  Most of you know I have a very strong belief in God but am not very enamored of organized religion.  I almost never talk about God stuff because, frankly, I don't want to sound like the religious nut jobs that are constantly in the news, pointing to God as definitive rationale for their hatred, ignorance, bigotry and petty mean-spiritedness.  That has NOTHING to do with the God I know. Those people do not speak for me.

I am in a great deal of pain. I have a very messed up foot which gives me a great deal of pain from time to time and this is one of those times. It's excruciating. I can barely hear myself think.

Years ago, I heard a sermon by Tim Cook, who is the minister of the Church of Conscious Harmony in Austin. (I know, I know--the name. But there is nothing implied. It is a church dedicated to conscious living--MINDFUL LIVING. And the minister is simply the best extemporaneous speaker I have ever heard.) In this sermon, Father Cook spoke about how St. Teresa said, "Oh, how I love my suffering for it brings me so much closer to God." He preached an entire sermon about the idea of suffering bringing us so much closer to God.

I didn't "get" it.

I bought a cassette of the sermon and I played it over and over and over again in my car.

And I still didn't get it.

I still don't get it.

Mostly, I connect the most with God through my joy.  I feel the closest to my Creator when I am joyful because I think it's the way we could feel all the time if we had an unbroken awareness of God.  It feels like a taste of heaven. It feels like what I could feel like all the time if I wasn't so broken.

I'm going to think about that today.  And I'm going to think about how I can find my God even in this enormous pain. What am I supposed to be learning? 

Also, I feel like I might do a little crying.  (It really hurts.)

(I am leaving the comments open but this is not the place to debate religion, to point out the error of my ways, nor to demean others for having differing views.)

Humor

 Not the barker.  Much.

Yesterday, someone left an anonymous note in my mailbox complaining about my dog barking.

In the past, I would have internalized this as a great failure on my part and also, my feeling would have been hurt that someone was mean to me.  As I've begun to get in touch with my feelings and reactions through mindful living, I am learning to stare right back at these feelings and take them apart.  For example, the fact that my dog barks is not my FAULT.  He is my responsibility but lord knows, we are trying hard to get him to stop barking.

Also, there is something very funny and pathetic that the retiree who left the note in my mailbox had to resort to a snarky anonymous letter.  This, too, is not my fault and honestly, there is nothing these people can do to me, even if they don't like me.  Their disapproval can't hurt me in any way.

Today, I'll focus on keeping my sense of humor and kindness.  I won't let the writers of anonymous notes/mean people have any control over the joy of my day.

Center

Today I was supposed to go back to Queens (ack!) to hear the results of the MRI on my foot.

My older daughter woke up ill, though, and the appointment had to be rescheduled.

I'm okay with that, because I'm not hugely worked up over the results. I know if it was a stress fracture, the doctor would have called with that news.

(Yes, I was hoping for a stress fracture.  I know, I know.)

I'm actually not that worried about the results in general because I had sort of an epiphany yesterday: my disability does not define me.

I've been letting it rule my life, this vision of myself as a person of mobility issues, my vision of myself as defective. 

And the truth is that I am who I always was, walking or not. 

I can't tell you what a huge breakthrough this is for me. I'm not defined by what I can no longer do.

Today, as I go about my day, I'm going to take special note of all the things I CAN do, all the ways I can love my family and friends, all the things that make me a unique and special person that have absolutely nothing to do with my inability to run. 

Today, will you judge yourself by your limitations or by your potential?

Endings

A friend and I had a disagreement and exchanged some heated words.  She unfriended me on Facebook and cut off communication.

Normally, this would be the kind of thing that I beat myself up about for days on end. I would internalize this as a message that I am inherently unlovable and not worth the effort of reconciliation.

Today I choose to respond differently.  Today, I choose to let her go and I am trying to do so with grace. 

Some friendships are not of the life-long sort.  I tend to hold on to people and try to work things out long after there is any mutual joy left in the relationship.  Today, I am recognizing that endings are painful for me, but they are a necessary part of life.  I will let her go and focus my energy and love on those friends who are in it for the long haul.  I will try to focus on this being about her unwillingness to work things out and not on my worth as a person.

I choose to wish her well and let her go.

How do you handle the inevitable endings in your life?

Fluid

I have a sick child at home.

For me, as a stay-at-home mom, having a sick child immediately reorders the day's schedule.  The To-Do list gets put away. The day now will center around a little one who needs endless games of Sleeping Queens, loaves of toast made with the crusts cut off, and someone to sit by her while watching the same movies we've all seem 100 times.

In the past, I always got a little panicked when my structure for the day crumbled during my first cup of coffee.  I would put the To-Do list away but it never left my mind. I wouldn't say I'm a Type A person but I'm a B++ and I like my routines.

Today, I will embrace how flexible I am.  I will concentrate on looking at this day as an unexpected gift to spend some time with someone I love, really engaging with her.  I will be careful not to make her feel like a burden.  I will bring my creativity and energy to bear on making her feel better and I will actively observe and celebrate myself being fluid.  It occurs to me that things rarely go according to plan and this skill of remaining fluid is one of some serious importance*. 

How will you greet the unexpected wrinkles in your day today?

(*Also? I will not beat myself up for having spent 45 years coming to that conclusion, but I will focus on the fact that I will never be too old to learn.)

Grace

Yesterday, I was reminded of the grace all around me.

My daughters and I went out to eat after their NYSSMA performances (which they both aced) and there was a bit of sibling squabbling over lunch.  As we left, my younger daughter Jane (9) requested a balloon and we got one for her.  We held it tight until we got to the car, where Jane asked me to tie it to her wrist.  I tied it but didn't tie the knot tight enough and as I backed away, the string caught the wind and the balloon wrenched itself from her wrist and went up into the sky.

The negative voices in my head spoke right up to tell me that I was inept and a failure--couldn't even tie a stupid balloon to my child's wrist.  Couldn't give my children a celebratory lunch without things going wrong. My face fell.

I think my older daughter (Ana, 12) thought I was seriously upset because she suggested that we go to the nursery by our house.  Jane didn't want to go but I heard Ana promise her M&Ms from her personal stash if she cooperated. "Let's do this for Mom," she whispered.

We went to the nursery and my girls were running around exclaiming over the beauty of the plants.  I was laughing out loud at their joy. We filled up two carts!

We came home and planted and planted and planted.  At some point, Jane went back inside but Ana stayed out with me and planted and planted and planted.  And then she exclaimed, "Mom, thank you for buying these plants! This is so much fun!"  And then she said, "This is the best day!  I am having the best time!"

Nothing fills me with peace and hope and happiness more than working in my garden.  And to have my daughters share that love... I think it might have been the best day of the year so far.

Later, I took a bath and thought about Ana and thought that maybe, planting in the sun for three hours was Ana's gift to me. Quietly, and with the grace of someone much older, she had given of herself to me--given me exactly what I needed most at exactly the time I needed it.

Wow.

Today, I will concentrate on the quiet grace of those I interact with.  I've spent two years complaining that the strangers I come across on Long Island tend to be brusque and rude.  Now I think that maybe the grace of the people here just comes in a different packaging than that of their Southern counterparts.  Yesterday, a woman at the nursery saw me buying a clamatis plant and she said, "What is that?"  I told her.  "That's what I thought," she said and turned away.

Later, I was choosing some impatiens and a shadow fell over me.  "Have you planted that clematis before?" I looked up to find the same Clematis woman.  "I don't think so," I answered."  "You'll want to plant some other kind of plant--like those impatiens --around the roots.  They like to have their roots shaded."  "Oh, thank you!" "Yeah, they like to have their roots shaded." She disappeared.

It wasn't until I went looking for it that I realized that this was a New York moment of grace:  A stranger hunted me down in a busy nursery to tell me how to plant something. I would have missed it if Ana hadn't shown me that these moments of grace come in all sizes and colors and shapes.  Today I will remember to look for them.

(Full disclosure: the clematis in the photo is from Google Images.  It's raining too hard for me to photograph mine!)