It's difficult
to balance
atop
a 100 foot pole.
Clinging tightly
with your feet
waving arms
grasping
at the very space
of which
you are so afraid.
Stepping off
is equally frightening
nothing
to support
apparent
immediate
drop
and then
who knows what?
Consider
the vast space
surrounding the 100 foot pole.
Consider
the tiny top
upon which
you are attempting
to remain.
When you fall
or step
from that tiny place
you find yourself
surrounded
immersed
supported
by endless possibilities
Easier
to find balance
in the space in which
that pole exists
than to cling
tiptoed
to its top.
Friday, December 27, 2013
Becoming your mother
I was emailing a parent, responding to some questions they had about something they had said to their child, and I noticed that it was my experience with children that allowed me to give them advice around this. I realized that I had things to offer this parent because I had been teaching for a while. And I thought that they might feel better about what they had said to their child because of my advice. I also thought that the child might end up feeling better too- that my knowledge of how kids of this particular age see things might help this parent to help their child.
And this reminded me of my mom.
I have a good friend whom I have known since I was two. Her mother and my mother would "babysit swap" for each other. Her mother would babysit for my brother, my sister, and me while my mom did errands and then my mom would watch her and her sister while she did errands. So they knew each other as mothers, as wives, as women raising kids in the seventies.
I mentioned to my friend's mother once that I never really knew my mom, what she was like as an adult, as a person. She shared a bit about my mother and how she always respected her but then she also shared about a moment that she had never forgotten. My friend's mom was going through a difficult time in her life and she said that my mom had been very clear with her about what was important: staying strong and taking care of the kids. She had offered her advice about how she could do that and seemed to convey to her that she was capable of doing this and, in fact, it was what she had to do. And my friend's mom said that what my mom said had been true; and it allowed her to be strong and to focus on taking care of her kids- and so she was able to do just that.
And so when I noticed that I was giving advice to a parent, and that it seemed to be helping them to raise their child, I thought that maybe I was becoming my mom. I thought that maybe who I am now is part of who she was as a grown up; that maybe me-as-an-adult is me-becoming-my-mom: the person who I didn't know.
And I thought about how much I wanted to stay as a six year old, how much I wanted to be a little girl because being a little girl was the only place I had ever been where I knew my mom, and so I didn't want to leave there. But I realized that in staying six, I wasn't becoming my mom. In holding on to that six year old, I wasn't allowing myself to become who I am- and that maybe who I am, is my mom; that the only way I would get to know my mom as an adult is to become myself as an adult.
The next night, I was at a party to which I had brought cookies. It was quite late in the party, the pie had already been served, and so I helped myself to one of the many of my cookies that were still left on the tray on the table.
"What are those?" asked one of the people sitting on the couch in front of the cookie tray.
"Pumpkin spice cookies with special-dark-chocolate kisses," I answered with a smile.
Then someone else in the room asked, "Wait, did you make them?"
"Yes," I answered.
And then anyone within earshot reached for a cookie.
"Oh," I thought. "I wonder if they're eating the cookies now because they know that I made them. I wonder if the idea that they were made by me makes them cookies that people want. I wonder if I have a reputation of making good cookies."
And then I thought about my mom and how many recipe boxes we had in our kitchen. I thought about how often her diary entries started with a detailed description of what they had eaten at the restaurant they had been to that night. I thought about the fact that even though I had grown up only eating food because it was "time to eat," in the end, I ended up really enjoying food and loving to bake things, for others.
"Maybe this is her too," I thought. "It's true that my regular eating time and practical approach to food comes from my dad and how we ate growing up, but maybe me baking for others, enjoying sharing food with friends, maybe that's me becoming her too. Maybe this grownup me is okay- maybe I'm growing into who she was too."
And it made me less afraid of leaving that six year old place. It made me see that that six year old place is limited- it's only vague memories of a little girl and her mom. It's true that I still want that- it's true that I still want a mom, to have grown up with one, and to have one now. But it's not going to happen, it just isn't. I lived past that, continued to live, continued to grow up, whether I wanted to or not. And I am here now. And maybe me now will allow me to connect with her then.
And this reminded me of my mom.
I have a good friend whom I have known since I was two. Her mother and my mother would "babysit swap" for each other. Her mother would babysit for my brother, my sister, and me while my mom did errands and then my mom would watch her and her sister while she did errands. So they knew each other as mothers, as wives, as women raising kids in the seventies.
I mentioned to my friend's mother once that I never really knew my mom, what she was like as an adult, as a person. She shared a bit about my mother and how she always respected her but then she also shared about a moment that she had never forgotten. My friend's mom was going through a difficult time in her life and she said that my mom had been very clear with her about what was important: staying strong and taking care of the kids. She had offered her advice about how she could do that and seemed to convey to her that she was capable of doing this and, in fact, it was what she had to do. And my friend's mom said that what my mom said had been true; and it allowed her to be strong and to focus on taking care of her kids- and so she was able to do just that.
And so when I noticed that I was giving advice to a parent, and that it seemed to be helping them to raise their child, I thought that maybe I was becoming my mom. I thought that maybe who I am now is part of who she was as a grown up; that maybe me-as-an-adult is me-becoming-my-mom: the person who I didn't know.
And I thought about how much I wanted to stay as a six year old, how much I wanted to be a little girl because being a little girl was the only place I had ever been where I knew my mom, and so I didn't want to leave there. But I realized that in staying six, I wasn't becoming my mom. In holding on to that six year old, I wasn't allowing myself to become who I am- and that maybe who I am, is my mom; that the only way I would get to know my mom as an adult is to become myself as an adult.
The next night, I was at a party to which I had brought cookies. It was quite late in the party, the pie had already been served, and so I helped myself to one of the many of my cookies that were still left on the tray on the table.
"What are those?" asked one of the people sitting on the couch in front of the cookie tray.
"Pumpkin spice cookies with special-dark-chocolate kisses," I answered with a smile.
Then someone else in the room asked, "Wait, did you make them?"
"Yes," I answered.
And then anyone within earshot reached for a cookie.
"Oh," I thought. "I wonder if they're eating the cookies now because they know that I made them. I wonder if the idea that they were made by me makes them cookies that people want. I wonder if I have a reputation of making good cookies."
And then I thought about my mom and how many recipe boxes we had in our kitchen. I thought about how often her diary entries started with a detailed description of what they had eaten at the restaurant they had been to that night. I thought about the fact that even though I had grown up only eating food because it was "time to eat," in the end, I ended up really enjoying food and loving to bake things, for others.
"Maybe this is her too," I thought. "It's true that my regular eating time and practical approach to food comes from my dad and how we ate growing up, but maybe me baking for others, enjoying sharing food with friends, maybe that's me becoming her too. Maybe this grownup me is okay- maybe I'm growing into who she was too."
And it made me less afraid of leaving that six year old place. It made me see that that six year old place is limited- it's only vague memories of a little girl and her mom. It's true that I still want that- it's true that I still want a mom, to have grown up with one, and to have one now. But it's not going to happen, it just isn't. I lived past that, continued to live, continued to grow up, whether I wanted to or not. And I am here now. And maybe me now will allow me to connect with her then.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Buddher's Nature
I was doing my breakfast dishes when I came across the knife that my room mate had used to butter his toast the night before. I was annoyed because in order to clean his knife, which had butter on it, I would have to warm up the water enough to melt the butter or use extra soap to wash the butter off. This would take extra time and it seemed unfair that I should have to take extra time to clean his knife when my dishes were so easily cleaned with just water. Yet at the same time, I felt uncomfortable just leaving his knife there. My room mate is a clean guy. I am not so much; but I have learned to appreciate clean, and so now I try to maintain it. Leaving that lone butter knife in an otherwise clean sink seemed to defeat the purpose of cleaning my own dishes.
"This is so unfair," I thought to myself. "The only reason I am cleaning his knife is because he wants our house to be clean. Yet I have to take extra time to clean his knife because it has butter on it. And the butter on the knife gets the sink all buttery and so I have to clean that too. Why is it always butter?"
And I thought about the butter and how much it annoyed me that it spread all over the sink and I imagined my room mate maybe laying the butter knife more gently in the sink so that it didn't spread around so much....
And then I realized the absurdity of this thought.
And I looked at the knife, laying there in the sink, covered in butter but not intentionally spreading itself all over the sink.
And then I realized, that it was just butter. Butter is inherently greasy. It's not butter's fault that it's greasy, it's just butter's nature.
And I thought about my room mate, putting his knife in the sink. And I realized that he wasn't choosing to leave a dish that was difficult to clean in the sink so that I would have to wash it in the morning. He was buttering his toast. He was putting the knife from his toast in the sink so that he could wash it in the morning. That's all- buttering his toast and putting his knife in the sink.
"It's just butter," I said to myself. "Just butter."
And then I thought of the kids in my class and I thought, "Wouldn't it be nice if I could see them as 'just butter' too? If I could see looking-for-a-toy-in-my-backpack-during-the-lesson-on-decimals as just that; instead of avoiding-the-task-at-hand or not-going-to-learn-the-lesson-today or I-will-have-to-teach-it-to-him-one-on-one-during-my-recess or he-will-struggle-in-fourth-grade-because-he-is-missing-two-minutes-of-instruction... My time with the kids would probably be a lot more smooth if I could see all their antics as 'just butter.'
So that's my intention for this week: to see their actions as simply Buddher Nature... Ha!
"This is so unfair," I thought to myself. "The only reason I am cleaning his knife is because he wants our house to be clean. Yet I have to take extra time to clean his knife because it has butter on it. And the butter on the knife gets the sink all buttery and so I have to clean that too. Why is it always butter?"
And I thought about the butter and how much it annoyed me that it spread all over the sink and I imagined my room mate maybe laying the butter knife more gently in the sink so that it didn't spread around so much....
And then I realized the absurdity of this thought.
And I looked at the knife, laying there in the sink, covered in butter but not intentionally spreading itself all over the sink.
And then I realized, that it was just butter. Butter is inherently greasy. It's not butter's fault that it's greasy, it's just butter's nature.
And I thought about my room mate, putting his knife in the sink. And I realized that he wasn't choosing to leave a dish that was difficult to clean in the sink so that I would have to wash it in the morning. He was buttering his toast. He was putting the knife from his toast in the sink so that he could wash it in the morning. That's all- buttering his toast and putting his knife in the sink.
"It's just butter," I said to myself. "Just butter."
And then I thought of the kids in my class and I thought, "Wouldn't it be nice if I could see them as 'just butter' too? If I could see looking-for-a-toy-in-my-backpack-during-the-lesson-on-decimals as just that; instead of avoiding-the-task-at-hand or not-going-to-learn-the-lesson-today or I-will-have-to-teach-it-to-him-one-on-one-during-my-recess or he-will-struggle-in-fourth-grade-because-he-is-missing-two-minutes-of-instruction... My time with the kids would probably be a lot more smooth if I could see all their antics as 'just butter.'
So that's my intention for this week: to see their actions as simply Buddher Nature... Ha!
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Reframing your suffering
I'm guessing that this is a big zen no-no, but I'm doing it anyway, 'cause if it works....yahoo!
So, for the last couple of weeks, I have been sick. When I'm sick, my go-to remedy seems to be to eat whatever appeals to me- regardless of its nutritional content- and to eat as much of it as my body wants (except dairy and sugar which always set me back at least two days in the healing process). About 90% of the time, what appeals to me is protein and soups. Also, I tend to eat these meals of meat and carbs much more frequently than I would normally do. Rather than eating based on the time of day or the meal I am having, I eat based on my desire at that moment. I will often eat an entire bowl of soup and then, because I feel like it, eat another full meal within an hour.
I had always thought that the protein was some sort "feed a cold" remedy or some wisdom on my body's part about needing protein to heal. And I thought that the frequent eating part was because my body was burning so many calories trying to heal itself that it needed to eat more frequently.
But last week, I felt what was going on while I was eating 5 or 7 meals a day of meat and carbs. What I felt, was full. And to me, full, felt cared for, safe, nourished. While sick felt weak, vulnerable, and like I had to fight against some big bad world, feeling full felt like someone was taking care of me, like even though I was going through this cold, I was safe and loved.
"Oh!" I thought. "It has nothing to do with protein or your body's wisdom, you just want to feel warm and safe. Eating big meals fills you up, makes you feel like you don't have to worry about your next meal. It's not about the soup or the meat, it's about your body feeling warm and full- a physical feeling that you associate with warmth and being cared for. It's not physiological, it's psychological."
Then this weekend, after enjoying a lovely Thanksgiving meal with my family, I went on a run. After my run, before my shower, I noticed my body in the mirror. What I noticed was the apparent storage of those extra meals from last week on my lower abdomen and sides.
"I'm not so excited about that extra storage. I'm not all that excited about how that looks in the mirror nor how it feels when I walk around."
And I thought, "I need to start exercising again. I need to get healthy again. I need to get rid of that extra storage on my abdomen and sides."
Now, I have to admit that I have been trying to "be healthy" for awhile. I have told myself that I feel better when I exercise, that this is all about being healthy, that it is really about exercising regardless of the outcome. But then, when I come back from my run, I still look at myself in the mirror and am disappointed- those storage areas (of baked goods, chocolate, macaroni and cheese) are still there. And again, I remind myself that this is all about being healthy, not about how you look, but this time, I was true with myself: you want to look different than you do, you want to lose those storage areas, you just do- admit it.
And so I did- I admitted that I wanted to lose them. In doing that I realized that if I wanted to remove those storage areas, I needed to stop eating those things that get stored (things that your body does not need: chocolate, cheese, Halloween candy). And so I agreed: if I wanted to get rid of those storage areas, I needed to stop eating those things: baked goods, chocolate, cheese.
That afternoon, as dinner time rolled around, I realized that I wasn't hungry. I had eaten several slices of my sister's pumpkin bread, leftover macaroni and cheese for lunch, and a small bag of Fritos in the car ride home from my uncle's house.
"Bummer," I thought. "I was looking forward to making that dish of leftover mashed potatoes and eggs and prosciutto." But then I remembered that I could make it another night, when I was actually hungry.
A couple of hours later, I came back to the kitchen to get a glass of water and had this feeling in my stomach. "Oooh, I'm hungry!" I thought.
But then I felt it a little more clearly.
It wasn't hungry. But it also wasn't full like I had wanted to feel last week when I was sick.
So then I felt it a little more, and it was familiar.
"Oh," I noticed. "This is how I feel when I come back from vacation. This is how I feel when I eat what my body needs and when I am walking around all day seeing new places. This is how I feel when I am kind of in alignment with my body and how it feels, not when I eat based on meal time or eating that treat because it's free or because it's in front of me."
"This... is fit." I thought to myself. "You think this is hungry, you think this is wanting food but when you feel it, it is the feeling of having eaten enough, just enough."
And then I didn't actually want a big meal of leftover mashed potatoes and prosciuttos and eggs. I just wanted water. I was okay, I wasn't hungry, I wasn't needing food. I was just fine.
"This is so cool!" I thought. "I just reframed my feeling of "hunger" into a feeling of "fit." I wonder where else I could do this..."
And I thought, "Oooh, single, not in relationship, alone... how could I reframe that....?"
I thought, "Proud to be alone on a Saturday night"
Nope, that's not how I feel.
"Excited to be finally finishing that quilt that's taken 12 years to finish?"
Sort of, but not really.
"Darnit," I thought. "Apparently you can only reframe your suffering if the new perception of it is more true than the old one- darnit."
But who knows, maybe I can reframe my "suffering" around not being in a relationship by looking at it honestly too.
So, for the last couple of weeks, I have been sick. When I'm sick, my go-to remedy seems to be to eat whatever appeals to me- regardless of its nutritional content- and to eat as much of it as my body wants (except dairy and sugar which always set me back at least two days in the healing process). About 90% of the time, what appeals to me is protein and soups. Also, I tend to eat these meals of meat and carbs much more frequently than I would normally do. Rather than eating based on the time of day or the meal I am having, I eat based on my desire at that moment. I will often eat an entire bowl of soup and then, because I feel like it, eat another full meal within an hour.
I had always thought that the protein was some sort "feed a cold" remedy or some wisdom on my body's part about needing protein to heal. And I thought that the frequent eating part was because my body was burning so many calories trying to heal itself that it needed to eat more frequently.
But last week, I felt what was going on while I was eating 5 or 7 meals a day of meat and carbs. What I felt, was full. And to me, full, felt cared for, safe, nourished. While sick felt weak, vulnerable, and like I had to fight against some big bad world, feeling full felt like someone was taking care of me, like even though I was going through this cold, I was safe and loved.
"Oh!" I thought. "It has nothing to do with protein or your body's wisdom, you just want to feel warm and safe. Eating big meals fills you up, makes you feel like you don't have to worry about your next meal. It's not about the soup or the meat, it's about your body feeling warm and full- a physical feeling that you associate with warmth and being cared for. It's not physiological, it's psychological."
Then this weekend, after enjoying a lovely Thanksgiving meal with my family, I went on a run. After my run, before my shower, I noticed my body in the mirror. What I noticed was the apparent storage of those extra meals from last week on my lower abdomen and sides.
"I'm not so excited about that extra storage. I'm not all that excited about how that looks in the mirror nor how it feels when I walk around."
And I thought, "I need to start exercising again. I need to get healthy again. I need to get rid of that extra storage on my abdomen and sides."
Now, I have to admit that I have been trying to "be healthy" for awhile. I have told myself that I feel better when I exercise, that this is all about being healthy, that it is really about exercising regardless of the outcome. But then, when I come back from my run, I still look at myself in the mirror and am disappointed- those storage areas (of baked goods, chocolate, macaroni and cheese) are still there. And again, I remind myself that this is all about being healthy, not about how you look, but this time, I was true with myself: you want to look different than you do, you want to lose those storage areas, you just do- admit it.
And so I did- I admitted that I wanted to lose them. In doing that I realized that if I wanted to remove those storage areas, I needed to stop eating those things that get stored (things that your body does not need: chocolate, cheese, Halloween candy). And so I agreed: if I wanted to get rid of those storage areas, I needed to stop eating those things: baked goods, chocolate, cheese.
That afternoon, as dinner time rolled around, I realized that I wasn't hungry. I had eaten several slices of my sister's pumpkin bread, leftover macaroni and cheese for lunch, and a small bag of Fritos in the car ride home from my uncle's house.
"Bummer," I thought. "I was looking forward to making that dish of leftover mashed potatoes and eggs and prosciutto." But then I remembered that I could make it another night, when I was actually hungry.
A couple of hours later, I came back to the kitchen to get a glass of water and had this feeling in my stomach. "Oooh, I'm hungry!" I thought.
But then I felt it a little more clearly.
It wasn't hungry. But it also wasn't full like I had wanted to feel last week when I was sick.
So then I felt it a little more, and it was familiar.
"Oh," I noticed. "This is how I feel when I come back from vacation. This is how I feel when I eat what my body needs and when I am walking around all day seeing new places. This is how I feel when I am kind of in alignment with my body and how it feels, not when I eat based on meal time or eating that treat because it's free or because it's in front of me."
"This... is fit." I thought to myself. "You think this is hungry, you think this is wanting food but when you feel it, it is the feeling of having eaten enough, just enough."
And then I didn't actually want a big meal of leftover mashed potatoes and prosciuttos and eggs. I just wanted water. I was okay, I wasn't hungry, I wasn't needing food. I was just fine.
"This is so cool!" I thought. "I just reframed my feeling of "hunger" into a feeling of "fit." I wonder where else I could do this..."
And I thought, "Oooh, single, not in relationship, alone... how could I reframe that....?"
I thought, "Proud to be alone on a Saturday night"
Nope, that's not how I feel.
"Excited to be finally finishing that quilt that's taken 12 years to finish?"
Sort of, but not really.
"Darnit," I thought. "Apparently you can only reframe your suffering if the new perception of it is more true than the old one- darnit."
But who knows, maybe I can reframe my "suffering" around not being in a relationship by looking at it honestly too.
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