Tag: whole-hearted

Directly to the Heart

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“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” – Maya Angelou

We were driving in the car when my almost six-year-old daughter asked, “What do you do with a dog’s body when it dies?” I answered that you take it to the vet and they take care of it. She said, “You mean they burn it, put it into a little vase, and you can put it somewhere to come visit like with Bumpa [her grandfather]?”

Ha, ha – the beauty of directness! There is something to be said for that. And since I come from a family that specializes in subtlety, especially when expressing emotion, it’s something I need to work on. Just being able to say, “I’m mad” has a refreshing kind of direct ownership.

But I write this knowing a bunch of writers will read this and agree that being direct and telling a story are two different things. Knowing that my dog’s ashes are sitting in the cherry box on the mantel doesn’t begin to touch the story of being with him through his last moments as he bravely both let me know he was ready to go and licked my tears as I said good-bye to him, my amazingly beautiful, goofy and loyal companion of almost 14 years. Visiting my dad in the Memorial Garden has very little to do with his choice to be cremated and interned and everything to do with wanting to hear his sonorous voice say just once more time, “It’s going to be great, Kid!” It’s the stories I have so about both of these characters that celebrate the whole-hearted and loving way that they both lived and give all the reasons we miss them now.

So I’ll continue to tell stories as we have our time for deep talks in the car. After all, her questions lately have been about homelessness (like in this post), drugs, and now death. It seems big topics deserve a lot of human understanding that only stories can bring.

Cultivating Play and Rest

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“Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.” – Albert Einstein

Yesterday my sister-in-law took my daughter for the day and my son was in daycare, I had an entire day to myself. This is so rare, especially since COVID came and we have all been packed into the house on most days. I’ve had a few hours here and there but a whole day?? Of course I needed to work, the house was a mess and I had a to-do list as long as my arm so I was far from bored but the real question was, did I know what refills my cup?

Brené Brown has been doing this podcast series on The Gifts of Imperfection as it’s the 10 year anniversary of that book. And there is a particular guidepost in it “Cultivating Play and Rest – letting go of exhaustion as a status symbol and productivity as self-worth.” It was a reference that Brené made in a podcast to this guidepost and the work of Dr. Stuart Brown, psychiatrist, clinical researcher and founder of the National Institute for Play, that got me interested to read the Gifts of Imperfection in the first place. That to be whole-hearted, that is to say, fully awake and involved in life, we need to play.

My first thought when hearing about cultivating play was that I am a mother of young children, I should be all about play. My second thought was I have no idea what play is for me anymore. When I got my first night off from parenting when my daughter was about two years-old, I went out to drink wine with a friend. It was fine but I ended up feeling like I wasted that precious time. The second time I had an overnight break from parenting was when my daughter was three years-old and I went on a meditation retreat. It was so lovely to eat organic food, do yoga, meditate and cut out pictures for my vision journal. It really worked to refill my cup but isn’t very practical to do very often. The same goes for hiking which is my all-time go-to for refilling my cup but often takes too much time driving to do on these rare days off.

Here’s what I’m slowly realizing about cultivating play and rest for me. I know I’m still learning because I’m trying to be the most productive at rest. 🙂 But with that said, rest for me always involves some combination of reading, writing and exercise. Being quiet including turning off extraneous noise like the tv in the background is important. I never clean my house when my kids are gone unless it’s part of tackling a project that is fun for me. I try to reach out to at least one person that is key to my health and sanity. And when I’m very lucky, I go to a rarely visited neighborhood and find a place to eat lunch with a book.

Last night when my kids were returned to me, I listened to their reports from the day and we galivanted around the neighborhood and talked with neighbors, I felt like a new (renewed?) person. Someone who had a refilled cup to share with everyone else.

Good Grief

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“I am becoming water; I let everything rinse its grief in me and reflect as much light as I can.” – Mark Nepo

We had to say good-bye to our beloved nanny yesterday. She is moving on to the next phase of her education and experience as it should be for 21 year-olds. But we shed a lot of tears and by we, I mean primarily me and the nanny. My toddler wasn’t dialed in to the import of the moment and my 5 year-old seemed to be distracted by the cards and posters we’d made for the nanny until the very last minute when the dam burst and all the tears came spilling out and she clung to us.

As I held my daughter in our tears, I had an instant of insight about grief that this pure grief that wasn’t tainted with any anger or regret allowed me to see. In that instant I saw how beautiful grief can be as a recognition that we all move on every day and there is something freeing about allowing that growth. It felt as if it was an act of letting go of who we all were yesterday so that we can be wholly we are today.

For me it held another aspect of grief. For almost 5 ½ years I’ve had people coming in to my house to help take care of my kids and now that they are returning to in-person school and full-time preschool, I don’t need that. But this beautiful collection of wonderful people that have cared for my kids have been my partners in parenting in so many ways – in observing my kids’ growth, in laughing about their antics, in ooh-ing and aah-ing about what they learn. I feel as if I’m grieving that community that has helped me grow as a parent. But that insight about grief holds for this too – I’m simply letting go of that so that I can lean in to the new communities we are entering.

My nanny is the daughter of my best friend from growing up. One of the bonuses of having kids when you are 50 years-old is that you have a built-in babysitting pool of college-aged kids from your beloved friends. While she isn’t going to nanny for me any longer, she isn’t going far. And that was the other thing about this grief from yesterday that I noticed. It included a recognition that this beautiful relationship that my kids have with this amazing young woman will outlast me. In the way that grieving my father has allowed me to grow into a person that inhabits him more on the inside, this relationship my kids have with my friends’ kids will carry forward without us but will always hold us near.

Gratitude Journal

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“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with the heart.” – Helen Keller

I woke up early this morning and sat down to meditate as I do every morning. When I sit on the cushion, usually what I’ve been worrying about, sweating the details of or puzzling over comes up. So I spend the next few minutes leaning in to whatever it is that’s got me by the throat and trying to make friends with it. If I’m lucky, I get a few moments of that stillness that feeds my soul somewhere in the process.

However, this morning nothing rushed towards me. My family is doing fine. There are plenty of things I could and probably will worry about sometime but at this moment, none are pressing. I am full – of rest and love and faith that all will be okay. Wow wow wow!

So here’s my list of things I’m grateful for to mark this spectacular moment:

A parent that I never met created a fund for the teachers who are ran a camp for our kids this week. While the teachers were with our kids, someone smashed the windows of their cars and took backpacks and coats. I’m grateful that in response to that unkindness, someone did the work to unite us in kindness and care as a community to help pay for the repairs.

My daughter and I rode our bikes to a local donut shop and instead of bringing my wallet, I just brought a $20 bill. Turns out that they stopped accepting cash as part of COVID and so when we went pay after we’d ordered, I didn’t have a way to do so. A dad with his kids outside saw this happen and went in and got the order they’d restocked after we’d turned away. When I tried to give him my cash, he said, “I don’t take cash either.” I’m grateful we rode away from there with food in our bellies and the warmth of strangers in our hearts.

When I wondered to myself this week about whether I’m doing the work I should be and specifically whether I should spend time writing, I received two comments that helped me know that I’m heard and valued. I’m grateful that the mysterious process of asking for what I need from the Universe worked to keep my head in the game so that my heart can speak.

My daughter made a sign that said, “Yor the best mom.” While I appreciate the words, I’m most grateful that she learned to read and write in a year where she mostly had online Kindergarten. I’m grateful that she is learning the immense value of words to reach other people and to share what I love, which is to read and understand someone else’s experience.

My 82-year-old mother golfed with some new friends in a tournament about an hour from where she lives. I’m so grateful that she is so healthy, resourceful and energetic as to be able to find all sorts of ways to enjoy life at every age.

One evening this week I was watering plants with my son and he ended up soaked. I laid out a blanket on the ground with a couple of pillows and after I covered him with a towel, we laid there together and looked up at the dazzling evening blue sky. I’m grateful that even without too many words, we can look at the same beautiful view, point, laugh and know that we belong to each other.

I’ve listened and read so much great content lately (many mentioned in this post) that seems to be converging on the wisdom to give up perfectionism and celebrate being the messy, imperfect and authentic person I am. I’m so grateful that I woke up this morning and that for today, I feel like I am enough.

Whole-Hearted Joy

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“Hem your blessings with thankfulness so they don’t unravel.” – unknown

One of my friends has a beautiful ten-year-old golden doodle. They walk miles together every day and he’s constantly by her side. From nearly the moment she got him as a puppy, I’ve heard her say, “Oh, I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.” Foreboding joy. Trying to protect from feeling so much love by reminding ourselves it will end.

I remember hearing MSW and research professor Brené Brown talk about that feeling that steals over us when we go in to check on our kids at night. Standing over their beds watching them sleep, she said it’s nearly universal that we imagine the horror of losing them. I was so relieved. I thought it was just me. Foreboding joy. As Brené Brown says, “What we do in moments of joyfulness is, we try to beat vulnerability to the punch.”

It’s the reason I never want to have it all – happy marriage, beautiful family, good health. If things are going too well, I’m afraid that something will have to fall apart. Is it possible that the hidden underlying reason that I chose to become a single-parent is not wanting to have too good of a life? There are too many circumstantial things to go that far but there’s a nugget of truth that I feel in some twisted way less vulnerable when life is as much work as I’m putting in each of these days.

The antidote the Brené Brown has found through her research is gratitude. The people that Brené calls whole-hearted people from her studies are the ones who can embrace joy with open arms because they are so grateful. And practicing gratitude every day with a gratitude journal or a routine at dinner for everyone to name something they are grateful for is the way we lean in to it.

I wrote a post recently about my dad dying suddenly in a bike accident so I’ve been thinking a lot about what happens when the phone rings with terrible news. I know that gratitude has carried me through many of those tough moments – grateful that I was lucky enough to get him as a father, grateful that he didn’t suffer, grateful that we didn’t have to make tough choices about his care had it not been a sudden death, grateful that I have half of my lifetime of fun memories with him. None of the grief has been easy but the more I’ve celebrated who my dad was and the relationship we shared, the less I’ve suffered the ache of not having him.

So it seems like gratitude works on both ends – to keep us feeling the full joy of things as they happen and comfort us when the worst comes to pass. A worthwhile price to pay for whole-hearted joy!

Irrigating the Irritation

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“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” – Plato

Yesterday my friend John was trying to get a hold of my friend Eric and I was caught in the middle. Eric wasn’t answering so John called me and left a voice mail. Eric’s phone had died and he was temporarily using another number so I texted him on his other phone that John was looking for him. Eric didn’t have John’s number stored in his temporary phone so Eric called me for it. I texted it to Eric and then John called me.

It seemed to go on and on. They called and texted me while I was working, picking up my son from school, out for ice cream, getting the kids ready for the bed. I was irritated. Then I found out John was calling because our friend Joanie was having to put her beloved 15-year-old golden retriever to sleep. My irritation evaporated instantly.

Compassion is such a powerful tool. For years I’ve said that doing meditation in the morning was irrigating my irritations. I hadn’t identified specifically that it was expanding my compassion for my self and others until I was reminded of this “Just Like Me” meditation from by Buddhist monk, Pema Chödrön:

”There’s a practice I like called ‘Just like me.’ You go to a public place and sit there and look around. Traffic jams are very good for this. You zero in on one person and say to yourself things such as Just like me, this person doesn’t want to feel uncomfortable. Just like me, this person loses it sometimes. Just like me, this person doesn’t want to be disliked. Just like me, this person wants to have friends and intimacy.’

“We can’t presume to know exactly what someone else is feeling and thinking, but still we do know a lot about each other. We know that people want to be cared about and don’t want to be hated. We know that most of us are hard on ourselves, that we often get emotionally triggered, but that we want to be of help in some way. We know that, at the most basic level, every living being desires happiness and doesn’t want to suffer.”

Welcoming the Unwelcome by Pema Chödrön

When we do suffer, it is eased by the compassion of others. I remember talking with Joanie after my golden retriever died and because she knew the depth of the heartache, it was of great comfort to me. I am sending that compassion back to her now so the spirit of love, warmth and understanding continues to ripple out. My daughter wants to make a card for Joanie. She suggested a message of “You are the best even though you only have two dogs and one died.” I love the idea but we might fiddle with the wording…