(w)hole

It’s time to get real. It feels like there is a hole growing inside of me. An empty place, where parenting once lived. It’s like being pregnant with an expanding belly of nothingness. A friend wisely said that this time in our lives is like giving birth again, only it’s birthing our children (who are really adults now, Mom) from the womb of our homes, out into the world.

The temptation to fill that hole, to cover it up with a blanket, is really great. Last night I was downing popcorn and soda pop like I had never eaten before, and didn’t know when I would eat again. Turns out I would eat again when I got home from the movie theatre!

It’s a bit of a panicky feeling. A not-knowing who I will be, or what life will be like on the other side of this “transition”. Even though I have a sense that it won’t really be like birthing – where labor is usually over in a day or two, and BOOM, you’re a parent – this birthing could stretch out for a long time (especially if he doesn’t get into student housing). It’s more than likely that he will be in and out of our home for several years. But something will have changed. I will have (hopefully) figured out how to let go (to use a well-worn expression). And he will know that he is capable of living without me. Now, I’m being treated as if I am not needed, except for when money, the car, new underwear, or some unforeseen (yet utterly predictable) situation requires him to ask something of me.

What would it look like to do this chapter well? How could I be engaged in the activities of graduation while attending to the empty sad scared place in me? I would really like this hole to become a whole. A sense of wholeness, of fulfillment beyond this role of Mom. Maybe by attending to the bigness of these days, I can wrestle free from the small whines & frets that keep me distracted (and generally not much fun to be around). I do have some reason to hope – that vine across the porch is lush and beginning to bloom.

perspective

Waaaah. No, I’m not crying. It’s more of an overwhelmed, procrastinate-y kind of sound. I think it’s meant to block out the sound of the screaming to-do list and provide yet another distraction from reality. Which doesn’t really suck, by the way. It’s just a bit too real right now. But only when I think about it. Mostly, I’m not thinking. I’m playing computer solitaire, free cell, you name it.

Time is a strange thing. When I think about the number of days, months, lived, it adds up to not too much and too many to count, depending on my mindset. Not too much to show for way too many days alive and kicking.

Just yesterday I read a “helpful” article about how to de-stress that said we should not look at how productive we’ve been, but how many times in a day we were surprised, or delighted or something of the sort. That perspective didn’t really help. I’m pretty sure that I wasn’t at all surprised or delighted yesterday. Laundry, bill paying, grocery shopping just wasn’t that AMAZING. Sure, there was the shared mouth-watering with the liquor store clerk, over the thought of Ezell’s Fried Chicken. And the Trader Joe’s guy was trying to be funny and engaging while ringing through my groceries. Should I have given him a cookie?

Am I just too pampered to recognize real life while it’s happening? I want a mountain top experience every day (and preferably while wearing awesome gear from REI) and at the same time, I know that I have too much time on my hands…and that quote about not knowing how to plan the day because I’m torn between saving the world and savoring it is pretty much my dilemma 24/7. So, I don’t do either. At least not in any big way. I can ration a bit of day savoring, and then guilt myself into some minor world-saving (also described as returning phone calls, emails, etc.) and fill in the gaps by checking facebook.

What would I do if I could do anything? I think that’s the sticking point. Because I can do almost anything – what a luxury. It feels like too many choices, though.

I think for today, I’m going to try to do just a few things. Connect – both with that nagging reality, and with the world outside my living room & laptop; Pay Attention – really see what’s going on around me; and Stay in the Moment – this one requires me to shut down the re-play and re-hearse voices.

Connect, Attend, Be Present. Not exactly new ideas, but ones worth attempting. I’ll let you know how it goes.

attention

What do you give attention to? Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Of course, I pay attention to what’s going on around me, to what’s coming up, to my family and friends, and the news of the world. But really, if I’m truthful, I have to admit that most of what occupies my thoughts is, well, my thoughts. I pay lots of attention to the memories of conversations (adding what I “should” have said), or the potential conversations of the future (reworking them until I can “say” just the right thing). And I give lots of mind-time to how things should be – ultimately resulting in greater frustration about how things really are.

And lately, I’ve found myself saying (out loud), “I can’t imagine how this is going to go. I can’t picture how this is going to be resolved.” As if my ability to picture it has anything to do with how it will go in the future!! It’s one thing to get clear about my own perspective - it’s something entirely different to imagine how another person’s perspective is going to play along with mine. And once the words start coming out of my mouth, there’s no telling what words will come back toward me. I’m thinking that this has something to do with my need for security and a modicum of control. If I can picture it, then I can deal with it. If I can rehearse it, then maybe it will go my way – or at least I can make it better.

So, for today, I am going to try paying attention to the moment. To what is in front of me, and in me and in those around me. I’ll pray for the needs of the world, and for myself. That sounds like enough.

fallin' and flyin'

Sometimes falling feels like flying…(until you hit the ground)*


Is that it? That I like the feeling of chaos? Or uncertainty? That can’t be true. Who would like that? I know it’s a bad morning when I have more questions than statements. I think that’s part of it. Keeping the questions circling when there are actual places in my life and head where I could put a period. I sound like an insistent four year old. “Why?” “But, why?” I should know better by now that why is not a useful question. Maybe when I ask it of myself, then it could be helpful in sorting out my motivations; but when I’m asking it of others or of random situations, then it’s just maddening.

Reality. Not airborne, just right here. The sun is shining. The coffee was especially good and strong this morning. My loved ones are safe and well. I have meaningful work to do. I am certainly free from hunger or the worry borne out of not having enough. Is the absence of bad the same as the presence of good?

A deep breath. A moment to re-group on the inside. I don’t have to answer it all today. It is enough to know again that life is actually quite pleasant here on the ground. I don’t need to whirl myself silly just to feel the sense of flying. I am hopeful that there are other ways to soar.

*Thanks to “Crazy Heart” lyrics for telling the truth

Whine and Cheese

What’ll it be? A nice hunk of cheese to accompany my latest whine, or a fat pitcher of milk to satisfy my cattiness? Yuk. It’s one of those days when it is so much easier to find fault with the world (and its inhabitants) than to actually figure out what the heck is grumping me out, and deal with it. I’m realizing that being away from home feels good in part because it allows me to shift my focus to lighter, touristy things, rather than the drone of the daily or the list of to-do’s. Or worse, the cruddy baggage I am metaphorically dragging around. No, I’d much rather plan my next escape and imagine packing my literal bags instead. I’m sure I’m not alone in this.
So, what is there to do about it? I’m well aware that whenever I’m in a finger-pointing space, the real truth is all those other fingers pointing right back at me. But even that awareness doesn’t make it better. Or clearer.
Maybe a list of some real feelings would help.
Sad

Disappointed

Uncertain

Envious

Restless

Yearning

There. That wasn’t so bad. Those feelings seem relatively human, and not at all out of line. I’m missing some of those feel-good feelings, though. The balance is definitely off. Time to start that project I’ve been putting off. It’s time to think about what I want to do. Could be fun, right? Care to join me?

post epiphany

January. Post Epiphany & MLK Day.
Ok, so I need to take down the Christmas décor before I can have space for something, anything new. That’s clear enough. And the internal bargaining begins…What if I just got a few primroses for the pots outside? Could I do that before I get the tree down? Maybe what I need is a kick start – you know, something bright and cheery for inspiration?

So, primroses.

A house free of Christmas clutter.

My closet dealt with.

Boxes opened, sorted, and lots of stuff tossed from my study
and the leftover church stuff in the garage tackled.

A plan – that’s what I need. A plan that takes me through this year.
Through graduation. Summer. Fall. Then moving back to Seattle.

Deadlines do help.

What do I want to do? What do I need for me?

Prayer time. Quiet meditation space. Poetry. Writing.
Time for imagining what could be. Hospitality.
Finding the sacred in everyday. Noticing. Time with my gurus.

That feels good.
Like I can take a deep breath and know that hope/help is on the way.
Amen.

before spring

Aargh. Ouch. Damn. I don’t even have the right word for the emotion. This dance of independence comes with a heart-wrenching realization that he’s going to do any and everything in his power to let me know that I am no longer wanted or needed. Dirtying the nest, some have rightfully called it. The push pull – complete neediness (usually disguised as forgetful, cluelessness) and the complete disdain for anything I might do on his behalf. What’s a mother to do? Stop buying his favorite cereal and planning pizza for dinner? Stop asking when he’ll be home? Stop worrying? It goes against everything I’ve shaped my life around these past 18+ years. And I know that I have made good progress in this letting go time. Really, I have. Trust. That’s the word that comes when I allow myself to get quiet. Trust that all will be well (though I’m pretty sure the mystic who said that was childless). Trust that this, too, shall pass. While I believe in those statements, their power to soothe is elusive just now. Trust is a good wintertime aspiration. In this time before the buds appear, before the maturity appears, before the letting go process has been completed (at least for this cycle). Trust. What I need is buried beneath the earth. It is in the seemingly dead branches. Like the brown vine across the front porch. I have learned that it is only by resisting the urge to cut it back when it’s past blooming, that we will see more growth in the spring. I hope that the same can be said of me.

Grandmother

Solitaire. That’s one thing I remember. She taught me to play, we played together, and on occasion, I would come into the dining room and find her playing alone. Of course she used real cards, with pretty pictures on the backs. Not the virtual version I seem to be turning to. It’s calming somehow, and numbing, too. Was it the same for her? A way to escape, and to put things in order? My Grandmother is dying. She’s been gone for a long time – dementia took her when I wasn’t looking. Actually, the loss happened when I moved away. I didn’t know to say good-bye, a real good-bye before we moved.
I keep trying to imagine what her life was like. What she thought of the costs of living, of choosing what she did. It’s easier to imagine the joy. Because I could see it in her eyes when she looked at me – at her family – and especially at Alec. Love of family. A desire to have everyone close, and to feed us. She passed those loves and passions on to me. Solitaire and large family dinners. Those seem to be discordant, but I know too well that they are not. And I am grateful.