Inside Space

I want more space.
Maybe a playroom.
Or even a room of my own! 
To write and do yoga.
Another bathroom. 
That would be good.
And a room for Lilian.
And maybe a shed....

These were occasional fantasies of mine (and, lets not kid ourselves here, sometimes still creep in especially in the moments where we all feel tight in here, our lives overlapping in messy ways - Joe's O's on the family room floor; a baby bathtub rotating between shower floor and bathroom floor; a bike in our living room/dining room/now third bedroom.) 

But one morning as I did my "one thing" at the coffee shop, I felt this spaciousness inside that is absolutely incomparable to a shed or an extra room.  I realized then that through all of my grasping for external space, what I really needed was inside space.  Space to follow the natural flow of things; space to hear and see those things that are so important.  Space to think and write and be.  And space to hear the subtle, sacred heartbeat of my very own path. 

Maybe we will have more external space someday; perhaps even a rooftop yoga/writing space (a girl can dream!)  Perhaps even sooner than we know.  And there will probably still be Joe's O's on the living room floor and probably in the shed too.  But what will really matter is the space inside that grows and is kept clean through a grand mixture of discipline and passion. 

Cosmic Joke

It happens at night when I am singing Lilian the final song of the day.  Usually "Hush Little Baby" (with Mama instead of Papa.)  Often, Francesca accompanies me and rocks a doll or monkey or panda or bunny.  Usually the "baby" is wrapped in some sort of blanket or towel or burp cloth.  The room has just a touch of light so that we can all barely make each other out.  We stand and rock and sing.  And Lilian looks down almost immediately.  The second she catches a glimpse of Francesca, she breaks into the most glorious laughter.  The kind that comes straight from the heart.  The kind that you cannot help but join in on.  The kind that makes you think she must understand some sort of cosmic joke.  Like she is wiser beyond any of us, or at least more enlightened.  And we learn from her through laughter. 

Gratitude as Antidote

I have thought a lot about gratitude over the past few years.  I have read books about it and listened to talks about it.  I have gone through bits and spurts of daily practices of gratitude....I have tried making it part of my morning ritual; I have incorporated it in to my writing practice; I have practiced it while walking, driving, meditating and while practicing yoga.  I often hoped for or expected this welling up; some sort of lovely emotional response connected to my practice of gratitude.  But lo, I have never felt this while "practicing."  And this inability to meet this hidden expectation sometimes stalled my gratitude practice.  But I have always come back to it; my teachers from Tara Brach to my 3 year old daughter keep reminding me that it is good for me; that perhaps above any other practice, it is the best for me; for us.

Just the other night I felt the benefit of my practice that often feels rote and unemotional, but that I plow through every day anyway.  I was up in the middle of the night, a common occurrence for me these days, and I was feeling particularly agitated and could not fall back to sleep (I am astounded by the often negative, fear-ridden quality of my thoughts in the middle of the night.)  I could feel myself trying to escape my own life, and then I got blunt with myself, "well, this is my life right now; this is the only moment that I have.  It is my choice to love it or not."  Thankfully, I chose to love it and recognized that the best way to this was through gratitude practice.  I began right away . . .I am grateful for my husband sleeping next to me; I am grateful for my sleeping children; I am grateful for the food in our refrigerator; I am grateful for our car . . . I think this is as far as I got before I fell into a sweet sleep. 

And so I have this thought: perhaps gratitude is the antidote for agitation?  Even further, perhaps it is a direct pathway from resistance to acceptance.  And perhaps too practicing gratitude is not an emotional experience but instead will allow us, through positivity and acceptance, to be open to a lovely emotional response to a direct experience of life. 

Flip It

A few years ago, Matt and I came up with the term, "flip it" (or maybe we stole it from someone else; I can't remember.)  Regardless, we made it our own.  We brought it to our work places and Matt even made a symbol for "flippin it."  A few colleagues caught on and with some it became a phrase that could be said without need of explanation.  Rather than explain it, I will give some examples from my current day-to-day: 

a.  THOUGHT: "This apartment is small; I have to be so quiet when the girls are napping."
     FLIP IT THOUGHT:  "This apartment is cozy; what a gift that I have to be quiet for certain hours of the day." 
RESULT OF FLIP IT:
Writing.
Meditation. 

b.  THOUGHT:  "Matt has to work late again.  It is so stressful to take care of the girls by myself at night." 
FLIP IT THOUGHT:  "Matt is doing his job; what a gift that I get this time with the girls just on my own." 
RESULT OF FLIP IT:
Noticing moments like this:
**  I am breastfeeding Lilian on the couch before bedtime and Francesca nuzzles up right next to me (mind you, this would probably not happen if Matt was home; I would be in my room feeding Lilian and Francesca would be with Daddy.)  We just sit.  We are quiet.  Francesca eventually rubs Lilian's awesomely bald head.  She looks at me and says, "I love her."  Then she touches Lilian's face and says, "I love you." 

**  Francesca helps me put Lilian to bed.  While I am holding Lilian, she looks down at her big sister and breaks into beautiful laughter.  Then Francesca and I both laugh too.  What a sweet way to go to bed. 

Now, sometimes it is harder for me to flip it than others.  I have been working for about a year on how to flip my thoughts around the chaotic construction that has been going on next door.  Let me know if you have any suggestions!

Write

I love to write.
I mean, I really love to write.
The action of it.
The shadow of my pen.
The changed texture of the backside of a paper that has just been written on.
Oh, and the feel of the pen in my hand.
The ink forming words on a blank page.
Just my hand and the paper; nothing else. 

The other day I missed my morning pages; the time early in the morning when I just write without any expectation or purpose.  I laughed to myself the next morning when I noticed a part of my brain that was disappointed.  What I understood though, or what I felt, was that I missed the writing.  The action of it; the beauty of it and how, really, it is a way for me to be friends with myself.  Good friends.  What I missed was sharing this time with myself in the morning doing something that the whole of me loves. 

What do you do that helps you be friends with yourself?  Where can your mind and soul meet on common ground?  Find it.  Do it.  Every day. 

FAITH

That is what the rock said: FAITH.  The letters thick, bold red outlined in black.  The font, strictly Puffin (what my friend and I call each other; the subject of another entry altogether.)

I hadn't intended to bring the rock, but there it was, waiting for years to move on.   Thank God it called out for me just before I left to see Noel for what would be the last time.

I showed Matt all of the treasures that I was bringing to her: a beautiful card from Kripalu with words of thanks inside (words that seemed so inadequate in expressing the magnitude of our gratitude); a framed picture of Francesca holding her monkey; a few other prints of Francesca and Lilian; this rock. 

And there was Noel.  Beautiful Noel.  Her appearance so shifted; her body so depleted.  her skin, white as snow.  Her head down, sipping water from a straw.  This action symbolizing her will to connect with life.  And then, her voice.  Ah, there was Noel.  Hidden under sickness and layers of hospital fatigue, Noel: "Hey Katie.  How are the girls?"  In and out of consciousness.  "Hey Katie.  Can you do me a favor?"  There was nothing more that I wanted to do than to do Noel a favor.  I got her fresh water with loads of ice.  I helped her take the first sip, feeling like maybe I helped her live just a little longer. 

Again, in and out of consciousness.  And then, somehow, thank God again, I held her hand.  I could not believe the warmth and life and strength in this hand.  She hugged my hand with hers and I waited for her to let go first.  Just before the nurse came in, I took out the rock and I gave it to Noel.  I told her what it said, FAITH.  And do you know what Noel said?  She said this, "you know Katie, I think I remember this rock from your house."  She took this rock from me with determination and she said, "Thank you, Katie.  I am going to hold on to this today."  And she did.  She held that rock so tight. 

There is a certain intimacy that comes from having someone work in your home.  Noel folded our laundry.  She did our dishes.  She changed Francesca's diapers; sat on the couch with her; made her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  She reminded me to clean out my dryer filter and showed me pictures that she had taken of Francesca.  She had keys to our home.  She met Matt in a parking lot one night, swapped the carseat from our car to hers, and drove Francesca home when we were in a desperate situation.  She took Francesca on the bus and she rocked her to sleep. 

I never met Noel out for a drink or even for coffee, although I would have loved to, but I am so grateful that she found her way into all of the corners of our home.  Now I think of her when I throw laundry in the dryer or when I see a city bus.  And, sometimes in those messy moments with Francesca, I think of Noel and her enthusiastic love for her and it stops me in my tracks.  And thank God once again that Noel remains, faithfully continuing to help me be a better person and mom. 

Full of Busy

Parenting toddlers can often feel like business.  Busi - ness.  Busy ness.  Full of busy.

Mid-day, when my toddler is at school and my infant is sleeping, I sometimes fantasize about reading negotiation strategies for business leaders so that I can really hone my parenting skills.  I may even write this grand idea down in my planner, "read book or article about international negotiation strategies . . . " but, when the kids are in bed and the dishes are drying, I often lay down on the floor too exhausted to reflect on even a smidgen of all that just happened.

And if parenting a toddler is like business, the mornings are like the New York Stock Exchange when the morning bell rings - excitement, devastation, shouting, dancing, pushing, focus, chaos all rolled into one little 30 pound stock broker.  Somehow, against all odds, we get her out the door - sometimes her face still wet with tears that there were no yellow gummy bear vitamins left, others her face filled with the light and promise of a new day.  And we walk.  Everything slows down just a bit.  She remembers that she can jump off of steps and proudly shows me.  We hold hands not because we have to anymore, but because it feels good (this is what I like to think at least.)  Sometimes she sings.  Sometimes we talk.  Sometimes it is just quiet.  I cherish these walks in between all of the busy ness. 

Just last Friday, after I got her settled into her mini stock broker chair in her classroom, I gave her a kiss goodbye.  For some reason, just as I got to the door, I looked back and saw her politely ask the teacher for a muffin.  What was it about this minute action that made my heart sink into itself?  Was it pride?  Or was it, again, the nudge to let go?  For, as challenging as these little stoke brokers are at home, they are so very hard to let go of for their sweetness ranks right up there with a chocolate cake eaten to celebrate a big win on the Exchange floor. 

Soft Shell Crab

Today I truly feel my sign - cancer.  But I have molted and am the soft shell kind.  My whole being sensitive to the world around me so much so that watching two middle aged men playing tennis brought me to near tears.  The one guy hit the ball right into the net and I could literally feel his disappointment reverberate through my body.

Dropping my toddler off at school, I crouched down while she used the little potty; again, near tears.  What was it?  Was I noticing how little she still is as she sat on this tiny potty in her new school?  Or how far she has come?  Sometimes I am just trying to get through these things like potty training that I miss the sweet, simple blend of teaching and accomplishment. 

In the past I have wondered about my fate as a crab and have even cursed my particular brand of sensitivity that ebbs and flows with the tides.  Perhaps I saw it as a sign of weakness or, worse, depression.  But now, today, I feel grateful for this temporary raw sensitivity to the world around me and can sense the deep strength that lies directly underneath. 

Behind the Intention

This is the basic structure of my morning pages:
1.  Date

2.  Write free write free write free with no expectation (anywhere from 1-4 pages)

3.  Write: Today I will . . .
list three key things that I want to accomplish (this isn't a typical to-do list, but rather has simple things like meditate (which is on there every day) or laugh with my family or connect with a friend.)

4.  Write: My intention for today is . . .
this has become my daily mantra and serves as my overarching guide for the day.  For example, I may say, "to do one thing at a time" or "to bring gratitude to my actions" or, yes, "to let go" (which, thankfully I now understand.) 

Sometimes as I am writing my intention, if I have a good memory of the day before, I want to look back on what my intention was (or, often I remember it quite clearly.)  And I have even tried this a few times - stolen my own mantra.  But I quickly realized that this does not work; that, as much as I may want to capture the same energy, it is new day with new needs and attention.  What I can do though is pay attention to what resides behind the intention - the essence of it - and how that can continue to inform my spirit and actions.  I can also notice the strength of the foundational bricks that I am laying for which my intentions can be supported and manifested; in short, what is working for me.  Writing in the morning at a coffee shop; the structure that I started this blog entry with; meditating mid-day (sometimes in my bathroom).  Perhaps someday I will be living all of my intentions simultaneously and they will become my essence. 

No expectations.
 

Wonder

I was listening to this podcast the other night (I do a lot of this lately when I am washing the dishes or folding the laundry; I highly recommend it; my favorites are: "Ted Radio Hour" and "This American Life") and a film director was speaking and this is what he said about his most fundamental goal: to give people a sense of wonder.  That, as humans, this is what we all long for and if you fill in too many blanks in movies, we feel unsatisfied; that we actually like to use our minds to put the pieces together.  he then tied this to babies - that this is one reason that we all like to be with babies so much and we often can't take our eyes off of them even though they may not be doing too much.  Because we don't know what they are thinking; we have to fill in the blanks and create a story around their wondrous eyes. 

My gratitude expanded as I recognized the gift of this year; this year of wonder with my baby as my guru.  As my second baby, I am also cognizant of the finite period of time that babyhood actually is; a thin slice of life.  And so, perhaps, I embrace it more fully without too much worry in my heart to bog me down.  And still I am reminded to not get weighed down by the details: the diapers, clothes, schedules, sleep loss (this, undoubtedly the hardest) and remember to look into the eyes of my babe; to look into the eyes of wonder. 

So, if you can, spend some time with a baby.  They are good to have around.