Balance

Balance: Equilibrium or an equal distribution of parts. 

Balance.  Such an easy definition.  Such a difficult concept.  I haven’t struck balance in thirteen years.  It is as if my body houses two vestibular systems-one that is found in the ear and controls the balance of my body, and a deeper system that lies within my head and heart that controls all other balance systems.  The second vestibular system broke the minute a tiny baby started growing inside me.  I have consulted doctors, acupuncturists, personal trainers, therapists, professionals, friends, schools, and books in search for a cure to my disequilibrium.  To date, I have found no such cure.

I can’t quite figure out how to consistently balance between work and family.  I struggle to balance time between each child, my husband, my friends, and my extended family.  I can’t balance between bouts of extreme dieting with bouts of sheer gluttony.  I have no idea how to balance my desire to be surrounded by the people I love with my need for solitude.  I can't balance my own needs with the needs of my children and I certainly have no idea how to make a tripod scale that would also balance the needs my husband. 

When it comes to raising my children, my sense of balance is even worse.  I can’t quite figure out how to balance anything.  How do I teach my children to be successful without cultivating greed, arrogance, and selfishness?  How do I teach my children to be happy with themselves without leading them to complacency, idleness, and lack of intellectual, spiritual, and personal development?  How do I teach my children to strive for excellence without at the same time sending the message that the person they are now is somehow not enough?  How I do teach them justice without causing them look at every situation through the lens of equality or becoming overly reliant on the application of deserts (the justice kind, not the dry, sandy kind)?  How do I protect and guide them without creating dependency and lack of resilience?  How do I teach them that vulnerability and strength can, and should, co-exist?  How do I hold the hard line and help them prepare for adulthood without seeming cold and indifferent?  

I don’t have a great answer-I wish I did.  Here is the only tidbit I have used over the years to help me.  When I look at my children, I ask myself is that behavior something that I would be proud of in adulthood? Am I teaching them moderation-a balancing of all sides-that will allow them to self-determine when it is appropriate to be off balance and when it will be necessary to recalibrate? Am I teaching them to appreciate the nuances of life, the subtle grays of every situation, the beautiful shades of diversity?  I am teaching them to always weigh the issues of humanity heavier than tangible items?  If the answer is no, then I know that I must pay attention and teach them better. 

I hope than in my struggle to achieve my own balance, they are learning their own.  I hope that they are learning to embrace the complexities of life, and of themselves.   Perhaps in helping them to seek balance in their own lives, I will find balance in mine.

Beauty Within

captured from Pinterest

~Silly~Careless~Speedy~Loud~Lazy~Worried~Loving~Flawed~Distracted~Sweet~Tender~

~Bleeding Heart~Twinkle~Crinkle~Witty~Scared~Soft~Passionate~Impetuous~

It doesn't matter what words you use to describe yourself, embrace every last one.

 

Make list of your own and then own the list. These words are you and you are your own kind of beautiful. 

Seek others that appreciate your beauty, all of it, unconditionally.

Love yourself.  It's the hardest love to find and perhaps the most valuable.

Things I lost in the Flood

Tsunamis are odd things.  They start as a disturbance that happens deep under the water.   The movement is slow at first, gaining inertia through the reconstitution of it's own energy, creating slow, long waves that almost appear harmless.  Miles away, unassuming bystanders have no idea what it coming.  There is no storm, no explosion, no breaking of levies, no crumbling of  mountains...there is nothing to signify the impending danger. The sun still shines on the day of a tsunami. Videos of tsunamis often show the victims staring at the large rolling waves, their brains unable to process what is different about the sea.  They stare into the blue, searching and scanning for something-but the same blue waves answer back. It isn't until the floods start to sweep away the structures that have been present for decades that the brain registers the danger. And it is only after the floods recede that everyone returns to survey the damage.

Years ago I experienced a small disturbance that happened deep under the water.  I didn't notice the quiet rumble or subtle shift in the sediment...and yet, it was already moving, changing, growing.  Cut to the present day, I am drenched, gasping for air, and returning to the scene to make a list of the things I lost in the flood.  I surveyed the damage and found that my family, the love for my husband, my career, my education, and my will were still intact.  Here is what I lost in the flood:

1.  My sense of style.  For the past three years I have either been pregnant, nursing, or trying to get pregnant.  I have gained weight and retained water, making me look puffy and lumpy.  I was limited in exercise and forbidden to diet.  I didn't want to spend money on clothes because I might get pregnant again and wouldn't be able to wear the new clothes.  I gave up shopping, accessories, and shoes.  I replaced high heels for tennis shoes and comfortable boots. My designer jeans were tucked away in place of yoga pants and stretch jeans.

2.  My beauty. I gave up all skin care regimens, certain hair treatments, waxes, and manicures and pedicures because of the potentially harmful effects on the non-existent fetus.  I forgot how powerful, put together, and beautiful I felt when I took care of my looks.  As the waves grew stronger, my personal sense of style and beauty began to erode.  It etched my face, dulled my skin, and snuffed out the spark in my eyes, leaving gritty pools of grey underneath.

3.   My sexuality, passion, and fertility.  See above. It is hard to feel sexy and desirable when feeling fat, lumpy, dowdy and old.  My sense of womanhood is intricately intertwined with my sexuality and fertility.  The power of the tsunami ripped them apart from each other, leaving notches and scars where the three had grown as one. Although my fertility perished in the flood, my womanhood and sexuality have remained, temporarily weak, but with a renewed sense of strength now that they have been freed from interdependence.

4.  My smile.  Not the face smile I give everyone, but the smile that happens from the soul and shines outwards,spreading joy and happiness regardless of whether the face smile is present.  It's the smile that doesn't require any effort and that takes my breath away every once in awhile.

5.  My sense of adventure.  I used to be the kind of person who loved to try new things, go new places, break the rules a little, and jump out of bounds every once in awhile just for the thrill. I delighted in creating my future.  Then the tsunami happened and  I became a slave to schedules, to needles, to the unknown.  The future stood still, just waiting for me.  I stood still, waiting for my future.  We stared at each other, paralyzed, waiting for someone to make the first move. 

Last night, as I scrubbed away the soot and the salt and took stock of what was lost, I also started to rebuild. I remembered how to walk in high heels, let the smile shine through my eyes, and remembered how it felt to feel sexy, stylish, and whole.
 
As with any natural disaster, there is much to be rebuilt...and yet, like with any natural disaster, there is an unwavering spirit and a sense of resilience that is revealed.  There is new growth, new developments, new hope, new beauty.

While much was lost in the flood, fertile ground has been left behind, ready to birth a new future, ripe and colorful with possibility.

A Love Letter to My Husband

Everyone talks about what love IS.  Weddings almost always include the words, “love is patient, love is kind…”  Greeting cards, posters, and books are filled with what love IS.  Rarely do people talk about what love isn’t.  And yet, I find that the absence of certain qualities is exactly what makes true love different from all other variations of love.  Most people who are in love can point to some example in their lives that supports what love IS…and yet, their lives are also filled with free radicals that eat away at the healthy love and secretly birth cancers that crowd out what is good.  For some, these cancers will be maintained, causing only mild sickness and discomfort.  For others, it will take over until every space where love used to be is rusted and rotted.

True love is the absence of certain things.  It isn’t that two people work to eradicate these things; it is that true love creates the absence of oxygen for these things to live and grow in the first place.  Here is what true love ISN’T:

Judgment: This is the little and the big things.   Judgment hides in little statements that are written off as “just kidding” or “no big deal.”  It ends in “you are too sensitive.” It is veiled by jokes and eye rolls and chips away at the identity and worth of someone else.   Judgment lies in what is said and unsaid and it speaks to how we view each other.  It feels harmless, and yet is perhaps the most cancerous of the ISN’T’s. 

Keeping Score: Love understands the natural ebb and flow in life.  Love ensures that everyone’s needs are met when they need to be met.  It understands that as long as each party is putting the other first, everyone will always be cared for and will feel safe and supported.  Love doesn’t have memory capacity to keep score.  It doesn’t remember inequalities of yesterday, first because it doesn’t have the capacity to view it as an inequality, and second because it is busy making sure everyone’s needs are being met today.

Fear: Fear of losing love.  Fear of being judged.  Fear of not being enough.  Fear that revealing the “true self” will make the other cringe. Fear creates cancer in the heart and the mind.  It causes misperceptions and misunderstandings.  Fear creates the urge to attack in order to protect and hide vulnerabilities.  True love identifies vulnerabilities in the other and helps to protect those vulnerabilities from the outside world instead of using those vulnerabilities to win an argument or hold as collateral.

This seems like an odd love letter to my husband. And yet, before I met him, I didn’t understand that love was not only the presence of certain things, but the absence of other things.  I didn’t understand the power of love to grow and flourish, to be happy and strong.  I didn’t understand how to nourish love and how to protect against the free radicals that hide in the environment.  I would like to thank him for showing me true love.  I would like to thank him for showing me how to love, fully and completely, without fear, judgment, and scorecards.  I would like to thank him for the abundance of beautiful memories of those in existence and of those yet to come.

 Happy Valentine’s Day.

Thank You for My Gifts

I used to think that as a parent, it was my job to impart Gifts to my children. Not the gifts that Santa brings, but the type of Gifts that will live on long after I am gone. I provide them with love and support. I teach them everything, from walking and talking to how to be a kind and generous person, a responsible citizen, a respected worker, a loving spouse, and a selfless parent. I viewed the love of parent and child pulsating between two hearts-glowing and magnitizing-but stronger and brighter in one direction. As a child myself, I have often wondered if my parents have any idea how deeply I love them...yet as a parent, I understand the profound deepness of parental love. A child's job is simply to love, grow up, and grow away. A parent's job is to love, to teach, and to stay still. We are lighthouses atop a rock-a stable beacon of safety and security for our children so that while they may wander, they may always find their way home.


Of course, as parents, we know that it is ridiculous to think our children don't teach us. Our children teach us every day. We learn patience and humility, selflessness and humor. We learn to recapture innocence. Our children force us to cast off our glasses, smeared and chipped from the smog and hardships of life so we can see life with the same brilliance they see- dazzling and sparkling under the virgin sun...all of it wondrous and new. It is in these moments that I am overwhelmed by parenthood. I am weightless in the joy and warmth.


We also know that our children are our beacon of light. Yesterday I was changing my son's clothes and gave him a kiss on his belly. He roared with laughter and shouted, "Again!" I chuckled and repeated....and repeated...and repeated....and repeated. We were stuck in a moment that will now forever be part of my fabric-his damp baby breath soft on my cheek, his warm hands on my face, and his sweet baby scent swirling and mixing with his laughter as it hung around us. We were nose to nose, giggling, breathing each other. In that moment, I was struck that my children are my Gift, straight from God. These moments are what Heaven feels like, smells like, sounds like. In that sliver of space between my nose and his-where we connect as one, in the absence of time and the abundance of light-that is where God lives. In those moments, God shines through my children to show me the way home.


I know that moment wasn't a gift to my son because that moment has already passed through him, indistinguishable from thousands of other moments. That moment was a gift meant for me-a moment captured with my breath and absorbed by my heart.


So while I give my children the Gifts they will need to grow and live well, they give me the Gift of Heaven on Earth each day. They help me to see as a child sees, as angels see, as God sees. Every day they walk me closer to Heaven. While I have been focusing on giving them the Gifts that will sustain them long after I am gone, they have been giving me the gift of Eternity.

Throwing Away New Year's Resolutions

This time of year is my favorite time of year. Not only is Christmas my favorite holiday, but because I work in the school system, I get a vacation between Christmas and New Year’s Day. During this week every year, I play with my children, nap, cook, read, and engage in my guiltiest pleasure-morning news television. The morning news programs tell me why my winter coat is no longer in style, what those crazy Kardashian sisters are up to now, which movies I must see, and how to turn leftover Christmas dinner into quiche. However, there is also a darker side to watching morning news television during this week. This is the week in which the segments are filled with tips regarding New Year’s resolutions. Each day I learn how to do more with my money, get fit, and eat healthier. I watch segments on how to be a better parent, a more dedicated employee, and a more responsible citizen.

What is wrong with all these tips? Well, in short, they make us feel lousy about ourselves. Even the term “resolutions”makes me cringe. Just the act of making a resolution sends a message that we are broken and must be fixed. When we feel incomplete, it changes who we are, how we look at the world, and how we interact with others. We exhaust ourselves trying to hide our flaws, appear perfect to the outside world, and find the cure for our hideous imperfections. Every year, most Americans make a resolution, and every year by February, most Americans have already broken those resolutions. We feel terrible for being such weak and horrible individuals and we spend the rest of the year silently whipping ourselves for our weaknesses, only to begin the crazy cycle again next year. Why do we do this to ourselves?

I am calling for the end of New Year’s Resolutions and the beginning of New Year’s Celebrations. We should celebrate that which is beautiful, special, unique, and ordinary about ourselves. Instead of looking ahead or lamenting the past, we should be still in the moment. Sit quietly. Take in all that surrounds us, all that is within us. We should embrace ourselves, our scars, our soft bellies, and our crinkled eyes- for those scars are trophies of that which have made us strong, our soft bellies reflect time we spent lingering over meals with our friends and family, and every line etched around our eyes tells our story of joy or sorrow. Instead of resolving to change, we should resolve to first love ourselves as whole individuals, perfect and unique, ordinary and rare. Wrapped up in all our quirks and“imperfections,” we are whole, we are worthy, we are special. So I raise a glass and toast to you, for all that you are is all that you need to be in this moment. Happy New Year!

Running Away

I used to run all the time. I would run for close to two hours every day. People run for a variety of reasons-some like the health benefits, some like the runners high, some like the toned legs and flat belly, some like the peace, some like the challenge. I didn’t run for any of those reasons. I ran to keep my chest from exploding with pent-up anger. I ran to look good-not for myself or for others, but so that the darkest part of me would stop screaming at me about my flaws. I ran from a bad marriage, from a frustrating existence, from a sense of worthlessness, from a past I couldn’t escape, from all the bad decisions. I ran away. I ran to undo time. I ran to speed up time. I ran until I was exhausted and the voices in my head would be so tired, they would be still for a bit. I ran to sweat out the dark, sticky muck that was clogging my heart, dulling my senses, and weighing my limbs. I ran to think. I ran to sort through all my messy thoughts, which would race as quickly as my feet until we were both empty and exhausted. I ran towards something I couldn’t find.

I don’t run anymore. I don’t have to. I no longer feel the need to run from anything or towards anything. I don’t have to sort things out or try to carve my body back into my younger self.

Today, I went walking. As I looped around the river, I watched hundreds of insects dot the top of the water, giving the impression of rainfall on the otherwise still brown surface, and I thought, ‘bugs.’ I saw a caterpillar precariously creeping across the path and I thought, ‘caterpillar.’ I saw a leaf, crumpled and trampled on the ground and I thought, ‘leaf.’

I heard the swoosh swoosh of my own footsteps and I thought nothing. My mind was still. Peace had caught up to me because I had stopped running.

The Feeling of Love

When I first met my husband, I couldn’t remember what he looked like the next day. Even after several dates, when we would meet, I was always surprised by his appearance. There is nothing wrong with my husband’s looks; I kept forgetting what he looked like because for the first time, my heart served as my eyes. My vision of what is true and good is much better this way. I should have used this technique a long time ago-I could have saved myself a lot of trouble trying to make the ugly pretty.


The night we first met, there was a hum and a pulse that slowly moved us through space towards each other. I didn’t notice. I was still seeing with my eyes. In blurry moments of rich darkness and laughter, we were together, alone, in a crowd. The hot night air wrapped the two of us up tightly. The hum and the pulse smothered the noise from the outside world. I remember his laugh tickling my ear, the gentle touch of his hand on the small of my back, the feeling of the night air on my skin as it drew us together. The world faded away. I could almost see the light connecting our hearts and pulling us together. Not a rope of light or an extra-terrestrial beam of light jetting out from our bellies, but a glow and a hum that is silent and invisible, blinding and deafening. Encapsulating us. Protecting us. When I think of my husband, I don’t see a body or a paycheck, labels, skills or scenes…I see the light and the hum-it draws me in, wraps me up, and keeps me safe.

He is the warm breath on the nape of my neck- the open, relaxed lips and brush of the nose right before a kiss-the eyes that I fall into and hope to get lost in forever. He is the nook of his neck where my head fits perfectly and I lay contently, breathing in the sweet fragrance of soap and shaving cream. He is the arms that wrap around me to block out the world and squeeze out my demons, keeping me safe from even myself. He is my harbor, my home, my life, my light, my redemption, my salvation, my love. I am me. He is him. Stripped down. Honest. Naked. Whole. Complete. Perfectly Imperfect.

I see him best when we are together, tangled and melted into one, eyes closed, breathing each other, with no beginning and no end. With every breath, we melt deeper into each other, into the universe, into ourselves. We are limp with light and warmth- like napping in warm sand. Our love rushes in and settles like a tidal pool, warm and safe and playfully inviting. This is what love looks like feels like to me.

Catching Fireflies

When I was young, I loved the fourth of July. The fourth marks some very key moments in the summer. It is the time of year when honeysuckle blooms and the hot air smells sweet and delicious. It's the kick off to summer marked by parades and fireworks, mosquito bites and snowballs. It's dancing and twirling barefoot in the grass, and artwork burned into the inky night sky by sparklers. Most importantly for me, the fourth of July marks the beginning of firefly season. There is nothing like running, jumping, and squealing in delight, deep in the chase for bits of pixie dust floating in the air. The art of the hunt, the thrill of the catch. Catching a firefly is like catching a star, a mystery, a pixie, a fantasy. The night stands still, holding it's breath...waiting. The slow unfolding of the hand, the blackness in the palms, until...THE BURST of light that moves slowly on the fingertips and then floats effortlessly into the darkness. It is a fantastical event that captures the beauty of childhood, the spirit of happiness.

Much of that had been lost for me. Times are busy and somehow Pottery Barn catalogs crept in and eclipsed the brilliance of sparkler art. I can't identify when I lost that untamed happiness. For me, there wasn't a defining moment but more of a series of events that shaped who I was, what I thought, and how I perceived the world. There also wasn't a moment that I recaptured the spirit of childhood. I didn't find the secret to happiness and now I am dancing around with sparklers at night while proclaiming to love my cellulite. I am, however, moving deeper into happiness every day. I am learning to live in the moment, accept myself, take deep breaths, and drink in joy. I am washing off the dark, sticky tar of guilt and unworthiness. I am doing the hard work of forgiving myself and finding peace and acceptance in my life. I am catching those brilliant moments of happiness, those that appear magically like fireflies to light up the night sky. I am learning to coax those moments gently in my hands and then sit quietly and appreciate their brilliance, only to let them go back into the night sky, fulfilled by the hunt, and the glory, of catching magic.