Learning to Let Go

Sometimes I feel strong.  Strong like a Boeing 737 carrying a load of passengers on an intercontinental flight from L.A. to Bejing.  Managing inflight meals and hundreds of pounds of luggage with the rising sun reflecting off my wings I soar safely across the ocean. Communicating effectively and often with the radio tower my status and position, I enjoy the view. 

Other times I feel weak and small like a tiny cessna with one engine out careening through a terrible storm. With the gas light flashing empty and my vision blurred I focus all of my energies on the destination point.  A crash of thunder and the plane is ripping apart yet still, determined and stubborn, I believe I can make it...

The other day after a bad week that was mostly self inflicted, I started thinking about life in terms of falling.  Let's be honest:  Life generally speaking, is crazy and chaotic.  There are so many things out of our control and it all goes by so fast that it is hard to recognize the pattern and catch and take hold of the tidbits that are there to teach you something. 

Last week felt similar to that metaphorical Cessna.   One engine had blown, the storm had picked up steam and the plane was wobbling dangerously in the air. Yet I was determined on seeing it all out.  "I've got this", I radioed back to tower.  White knuckling the steering wheel I report that everything was under control.

But I could no longer see the horizon point in the distance and the ground was coming up at a terrifying speed. 

Falling...

As Mothers we take on a lot.  Our planes are stuffed with baggage- the overhead bins overflowing with errands and schedules and worries and plans.  Not to mention the precious cargo that make up our sweet people.  At times it gets overwhelming. 

I know.

So we determine to sinch up our bootstraps, tighten our seat belts, and set our course with steely eyes for the predetermined destination.

I am strong.
I've got this.
I put us in this position and I can get us out again.

And then, unintentionally, we crash and burn.

 

During this stormy week with the sunshine blazing through a pure blue sky, birds chirping in response to Spring and preschool children blissfully playing in the grassy yard outside of school, I was taught a valuable lesson.  One of the children approached her mother, her face red and flushed with play accusingly shouted,  "Someone has taken my flowers!  I put them right here on the fence and now they are GONE!"  As the child, with sobs caught in her throat demanded her mothers assistance in the retrieval of the flowers another friend shared a pretty powerful story about her daughter, Z. 

Z is adopted, and even though my friend, H, has been her mother since she was six months old she has always been upfront with Z about her origins.  I think this has helped Z to have more empathy and understanding for people and the world.

While the dilemma over the flower continued, H, shared a story about Z and her first balloon.  She had gotten the balloon from a restaurant and H had carefully tied the balloon around Z's wrist.  When they had gotten outside somehow the tie unraveled and the balloon slipped away.  Soaring just out of grasp.  H described how anxious she became at the possibility of Z's response.  Remembering her own reactions of dismay as a child, she steeled herself for what she believed would inevitably end in tears of anguish.  Instead Z laughed, clapped her sweet brown hands together, and  waving at the balloon disappearing into the sky remarked that this balloon would be her Granny's balloon. 

Granny was up in heaven.

As the adults moved on to other conversations, I was stuck with this story on replay in my head.  Over and over and over again I played it.  I couldn't let it go.

And then it came to me.  Often we try and hold on so tightly to our "balloons" or the "baggage" in our lives.  We own them.  They are ours.  This comes from a very primal place and is completely natural.  They mean something to us, but mostly we claim them because we feel that they are a part of us.  The horrible first marriage, the car crash at 19, the miscarriage, the childhood pains and insecurities ... all flare up at different times to remind us of who we are and what we think we deserve.  What we don't realize is that in doing this, we are also weighing ourselves down.

At what point do we open up the hatch and start pushing the baggage out?

I say now.  Right now.  Let it go.  

This is probably one of the reasons I love blogging so much.  I am letting my balloons go out into the world one at a time.  And in doing so, perhaps I am helping someone else.

When life gets too hard and our planes start careening out of control stop working at being Super Woman with your pedal on the gas no matter what and find a safe place to land.  Not only will you find help, but you are also giving others an opportunity to give and receive as well.  In fact asking for help shows maturity and life experience. Kinda like Z.

We can't do it all.  It's impossible.  Talk to your husband, call your Mom, ask a friend to help out for a day.  It's okay.  Recharge and fuel up.  

If you don't you most definitely will crash and burn.  

And sister's it aint pretty.  I can definitely testify to that.

 Song of the day:  Angus and Julia: Big Jet Plane

Living Full On

I don't allow myself to listen to Bjork.

At least not very often.  

It's not because I don't like her.  In fact, I love her.  I'm just afraid of what she does to me.  That creative side of me that I find crawling up my spine at times ready to open up my head and come fluttering out.  The part of me that wants to go running like a wild woman sans clothing through a warm forest and dance out a scene from The Sound of Music on a mountain top.  Ya, I feel like I've got to keep that girl in check lest she find a space reserved for herself in a padded room. 

Every once in awhile I'll splurge and give her a little of what she wants.  A brightly colored lipstick here, a couple of feathers fastened to my hair there.  But for the most part I find myself caging that bird of a girl.  Clipping her wings and keeping her close while looking for acceptable ways in which to feed her.

When I was a little girl, this was not the case.  I can remember many memories from my childhood sitting, as a preschooler in just underwear, my long hair knotted and twisted. Intertwined with the branches  that sheltered me like Mother Earth's very arms underneath our lemon tree in the backyard.  With the sun, warm and blanketing my back, I would dig my toes into the silty earth.  Everything felt new and mysterious.  The world was mine to explore.  The beauty of the earth was forever and always sworn just to me.  The ants that tickled my feet were newly discovered humorous friends.  The spider hanging from a branch a curious visitor.  I can remember running around the broad expanse of my childhood backyard galloping like a proud mare, with the grass cushioning my feet in any number of asunderous forms of dress-ups wearing makeup pilfered from my older sisters, and living full on.  Arms outstretched I would feel the sweet coolness of the breeze as my mind took me anywhere and everywhere all at once.

As I grew, somehow I knew that I shouldn't always behave this way.  I'm not sure how it came to me.  Perhaps there were 'tisks' or embarrassed eye rolls.  At any rate, I shaped up, flew straight with my feet firmly planted in the earth and tried to live up to the societal mold I was told was acceptable.  

To anyone who has lived in such a way, where you allow your soul to fly freely, those wild whisperings in your heart never entirely go away.  There were morsels of crumbs I could scatter over the little bird that resided in my heart, but forever and always there were the grounding logics of grades to get, cliques to form, shoes to fill- and oftentimes what I provided was, simply, not nearly enough.

I can remember a time when I was around 16, and my sister had run off and gotten herself hitched. Feeling guilty about not having her fam and friends involved she decided to have a beautiful reception at a ranch home in Southern California.  It was dusk and the party was in full swing, but after the niceties of smiling and handshaking mostly strangers and finding myself overwhelmed with the mystery and beauty of the canyons I ran off barefoot to the vineyards that overlooked the lights of the city.  I stood there in my beautiful pink satin dress that felt so fresh and smooth against my skin with the wind whipping my hair up and around the blossoms showering down upon me and just breathed it all in.  I remember that moment so vividly.  It all made me feel so alive and beautiful and grateful.  

It was only later that I found out that at that very moment of personal gratification, my brother and his wife were driving up to the party, and claimed they had seen a thin wild caricature whose figure was silhouetted against the fading sun.  Arms outstretched and hair flying wildly about her she danced- as her admirers looked on, horrified.

It truly, totally, freaked him out.  Until he realized who it was, and then he was even more concerned, oddly.

So last week I was out of my mind with excitement at the idea that we would be going to see one of my favorite bands, Bat For Lashes, perform here in Portland.  The reason being that Natasha Khan is no ordinary spinnstress of musical webs.  She is a master and one of my all time favorite performers. Not only is she an amazing lyricist with a beautiful voice, but she lives her art.  It comes through her.  While on stage she is mesmerizing as her body floats and moves to the music.  She'll pull out strands of bells like a magic trick, that seem to filter down with it golden notes that leave me starry eyed and nostalgic. 

As the hours ticked nearer to the time of the concert, I could feel the pulse of that wild bird growing stronger and stronger and it made me feel so content and happy.  While getting ready, her song "Horse and I" came on and I found myself uncontrollably galloping throughout the hallways of our house.  Aware of my freshly styled hair billowing behind me as if the mane of a horse in full run.  Sadly none of my children joined in (sad face).  But again, I began to feel the wonder and gratitude of such a beautiful life.  I covered my eyes in glitter and carefully placed rhinestones that swept out from my eyelashes. I chose my wardrobe carefully, thoughtfuly piecing together a black crop top with a long billowing black skirt that swept the ground.  It felt amazing.  I felt amazing and it was an incredible night.  Next to scarecrow straight observers in plain button down shirts, I danced.  I was the spinning girl with a galloping heart who felt so much gratitude and beauty that the room seemed barely adequate to contain me.

(Oh, hiii! Yes, this is me before going out all growed up but not really)

 Out of all of my children, my 5 year old, S, is the most similar to me in this regard.  I recognize the familiar flutter of  ecstasy in her eyes as she pushes an effulgent upturned face into the warm wind .  I remark internally, with pride, when I see her crouched in the garden with a fistful of feathers and leaves and dandelion seeds chattering excitedly into the dirt.  My heart is awash with gratitude in those moments and I am reminded at how important it is for her to feed  that wild heart for as long as possible.  While writing this now, her words echo back to me as a memory resurfaces of her rolling around in the grass- her little body luxuriating in the lush green grass saying, "It's just so wonderful, Mommy, isn't it?

It all is just so wonderful..."

 ~ M

Song of the Day:  Bjork: Nattura

Remembering Katherine Switzer

Do you all remember Katherine Switzer?  Back in 1967, when women weren't allowed to run the Boston Marathon she showed up and ran anyways. As marathon directors tried to forcibly remove her, other men stepped in to fight them off. She's been quoted as saying, "If you are losing faith in human nature, go out and watch a marathon". 

 The Washington Post wrote up a good story about this, but I will surmise by saying that she and her defenders are a great reminder during this time. Violent intolerance will never prevail when there are those who are willing to stand up for what is right and just.

XO~
M

Well Played, Dove, Well Played

I ran across this video today, and it speaks directly to what I've been trying to say lately.  We are so much more beautiful than we give ourselves credit for.

Do you know what I think?  I think that this says less about the physical characteristics that may stand out, and more about how we let others "see" us.  Are you open and friendly?  Caring and kind?  We are so harsh, critical, and guarded with ourselves to that point that it is destructive.

Love yourselves!!!!
XO,
M

Love One Another by Praising Your People

A couple of days ago I was stopped at a light with an old rusty dodge van in front of me puffing out exhaust and fumes.  Irritated I began to scan the bumper stickers that littered the back of this van.  The one that stuck out initially was a bumper sticker stating that the driver hearted Jesus.  Good, I thought.   Good for you for loving baby Jebus.  

I heart my Mommy.

Then underneath was another sticker claiming that Jesus was the light and life of the world with a link to John 8:12.  Perhaps, I thought to myself.  He sure gave one hell of a story, for sure. But you know who gave me light and life in my world?  

Yup, you guessed it, my Mommy.

I'm not sure what would possess someone to want to cover their car in religious stickers.  It would seem that this Holy Roller was trying to improve the look of his van by plastering  stickers all over it and perhaps believed that by committing himself to this outward expression of devotion that somehow it would turn inward and improve his soul. Or maybe this was just his way of reaching out to his fellow man in a non confrontational way.

It certainly made the cogs in my brain begin to churn at a furious rate.

Some of my readers may know my background.  Very religious and conservative upbringing by loving parents who believed this to be the best way.  The only way.  Someday I will write about my disintegration in this religion and how I began to find my own voice, but it's just not ready to come out yet.  It's a big deal and I promise it will at some point. 

Of course I came home and looked up the scripture.  John 8:12 states, "Then spake Jesus again unto them saying I am the light of the world:  He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness but shall have the light of life."  I've heard that scripture so many times.  I've read it.  I've been preached to about it.  I sang songs about it.  Through many different acts we praised the Lord almighty for this gift he had bestowed upon us.

But you see, I just don't get it.  I tried for years and years.  For those of you reading this, ready to give me the what/what with the Jesus 101, it's already been done.  I didn't just try religion- I wore that puppy out.  I sang the songs and read the scriptures and listened to the preachers speak these words, but it never really registered on a deep, personal, level.  These stories I was taught about this great man that may or may not have lived were beautiful and truthfully at times extremely scary to an 8 year old little girl, but in the end that is just what they were, to me.  Beautifully confusing and intense stories about a good man.

When I saw that bumper sticker on the old beat up van, I had a light bulb moment.

Why is that so many people spend so many hours worshiping and singing songs and preaching about a man that may or may not have lived, when there have been and are currently so many good people living amongst us?  Even when I was trying really hard to live my parent's religion and was given certain positions in which I had influence, I was more interested in the human aspect.  Give me real life experience.  Give me poetry.  Give me messengers of love of peace of forgiveness in this life. Give me earthly beauty because this means something to me.  How we treat each other right now, living in this very moment.

It is up to us to become one another's saviors. It was my Mother who healed me when I was sick.  It was she that fed me when I was hungry.  When I was in need of comfort she gave it to me.  When I went astray it was she that became the fisherman that brought me back with her unfaltering love.

This is what I know because I've experienced it.  I've felt it.  I know and understand pure love because of her.  

Of course, she is not the only one.  I've had numerous friends and family who have lifted me up when I was feeling lost and alone.  Who have lent a helping hand when I felt like I was burdened with more than I could handle.

So I've tried to work harder at singing their praises.  To preach their stories of love and devotion to my children, my neighbors, my friends.  To be an apostle of those people's work that have touched my heart and lifted me up.  I am a witness of love from a very human experience.

Love one another not because 'he' told you to do it, but because you, yourself,  have been a personal witness of it in action.

Malmsy Monday

Hello and GOODBYE, Monday.  Thank you very much.

I won't go into the Woahs of this Monday with you.  I unloaded on some of my girlfriends, and then felt kind of bad about it.  Let's just say it included: blocked and or frozen accounts due to stolen cell phone, one mysterious rodent that has taken residence in my garage that is probably a rat the size of a small cat by the sound of the scurrying claws that I have decidedly chosen to call a mouse to save my sanity, an achy kidney, and incompetent elementary school office workers that can't transmit simple messages to children regarding after school transportation resulting in child feeling abandoned and waiting in an office for an hour and a half because mother no longer has a cell phone.

It went something like that.

But now, sitting in my cozy bed after a glass of wine and a nice relaxing bath it all doesn't seem so bad.  Granted the rodent creature is probably creating a comfortable nest of some sort in my rain boots I haven't been able to find and is contemplating ways to get into the house and raid my pantry, but let's not think about that right now, shall we?

Let's think about the making of wine...

Here's a bucket list item:  Crushing grapes into wine with your feet.  How glorious does that sound?  The earliest known wine presses were believed to be by simply crushing the grapes with the foot or hand in a bag or container where the contents could then ferment.  Sounds to me like quite possibly the worlds earliest and funnest stress release (outside of the bedroom, of course) and quite possibly the most awesomest job EVER.

I'm sure this says something about me, but I love the idea of taking something so deliciously perfect and beautiful and smashing the hell out of it.  Especially in light of recent events.

Now I am obsessed.  I must do this before I die.  And I am already conceiving ways in which I can find a barrel of substantial size to roll into the backyard for summer parties...

Cheers, Monday!  You can't keep this girl down!

Song of the day, yup, you guessed it:  The Bangle's "Manic Monday" http://youtu.be/oFPZzmfu6j4

Beware the Cell Phone Snatchers

I make so many posts about the gym you will probably think that all I do is work out and eat cake.  While this is mostly correct, I also try and squeeze in time to watch the kidlettes and study a little. Oh, and make out with my husband and stuff like that. 

Anywhooo, my cell phone was stolen a couple of days ago.  And this is definitely NOT the type of post I wanted to make immediately following a heavenly vacation, but there it is.  Stolen from right under my nose while working out in one of my favorite gym classes.  Well, it was like 3 feet away behind me and wrapped up in my jacket.  And I feel like punching the someone responsible squarely in the face.  Really hard.  And then I feel like crying because it also makes me sad.  Sad because I've lost my faith in humanity a little and sad because I've lost precious photos that I can't ever get back.  I hope that my 2 year old Andriod was worth the loss of integrity and the couple hundred bucks The Douche who took it will receive.  Actually I don't hope anything but that the Perps trip and fall and get a really bad road rash all over their bodies and their 2 front teeth get knocked out and my cell phone breaks and is rendered useless to them.

Ya, ya, that's it...

I can remember the first day I held my cell phone in my hands.  It was love at first sight.  The beautiful packaging so inviting that I wanted to shred it from it's exterior prison, but knew I needed to relish and take it slowly... make the moment last.  

 (As you can see, I even took time to have a little photo shoot with it)

The built up anticipation of this longed for day was almost more than I could bear.  I carefully removed the packaging to reveal the glossy smoothness of the untouched surface.  The beautiful rounded contours of its body provoked such pride and a strong sense of protection to well within me that I felt a little like Gollum with his Precious.  My children weren't allowed to touch it for those first couple of weeks.  Sometimes, I even fell asleep with it in my hands.  We went shopping together, sat through long ballet classes and basketball practices.  We shared music on long drives and I exchanged ideas for future blog posts and stuff.  It became a constant and ever faithful companion. 

And I am amazed at the brashness someone must possess to take something that belongs to someone else when they are right there.  In reading up on cell phone theft I am realizing that this is a nationwide epidemic.  I had heard of the cell phone thefts on subways where thieves grab the phone right out of the person's hands while the doors are closing:

But, honestly, I had always thought these events where isolated to larger cities with strangers.  I did not think that I would have anything happen, TO ME, in a class with a bunch of regulars that I had come to know and trust.  I have read that when thieves see you with a smart phone in your hands, they see $400.  Law enforcement officials across the country are sounding the alarm about the increase in cell phone thefts and are demanding that the cell phone industry do something about it, and I agree. Other countries have instituted technology that causes a phone to become permanently disabled, or "bricked", thus completely useless when it is stolen but America has yet to jump entirely on board.  Why?  Because losing your cell phone is big business.  Cell phone carriers really could care less because, ultimately, you just buy another phone and the stolen cell phone will find another paying customer.  

There have been some strides in making the resale of stolen cell phones more difficult.  Law enforcement officials have come together to create a database comprised of stolen cell phones. 6 of the largest cell phone providers that make up 90% of the U.S. wireless marketplace will participate.  What this means is that these providers are committed to not reactivate phones from this database with stolen serial numbers.

You should do what you can do, now.  I didn't buy insurance for my phone, and in all honesty, I probably won't in the future.  You can download apps or purchase through your carrier a tracker that will track your phone after it has been stolen.  I'm sure that would have helped. 

This experience has taught me to be more careful.  That as much as I want to trust in humanity, there are bad guys out there and we should error on the side of precaution because it's the smart thing to do.  It's also taught me to trust in my instincts.  The truth is that I had a funny feeling about a couple of men behind me that I had never seen in class before and I didn't act on it.  Granted, I was actually thinking in a different direction as far as the crime, but felt that I should leave and I did not.  All of the alarms inside of me were going off, but I considered them ridiculous, and stayed.  And now my precious cell phone is gone.  They smelled of cigarette smoke, were lifting less weight than me and taking many breaks, and they were not talking- only making facial gestures to one another.  They also happened to be of Middle Eastern decent.  This is probably what caused me the most internal anguish.  I didn't want to believe that I was only having these feelings out of a societal fear. Turns out that my instincts were right and I should have listened to them.

I came home from the gym and immediately sent a message to my sweet husband who said he'd be home in 5 minutes.  He rushed home, kissed and held me, and told me that he would make everything okay.  But we both knew that although we can purchase a new phone, nothing can completely repair the ruptured trust in society one feels on account of such a violation.  

Beware of the Cell Phone Snatchers, they are real and it can happen to you! 

Take care of yourselves!

~M

Song of the day:  Radiohead's "Bodysnatchers" http://youtu.be/YVDSdDoD4Sg