The light of Spring Break is upon us. The routine of school days shifts gears to the upcoming substantial chunk of holidays. Parents coordinate calendars, juggle child care, plan trips, play-dates and events. “What to do? What to do?…”
My brainstorming takes in to consideration the awareness of what a creative, community-oriented school our daughter goes to. I am fortunate to have time to volunteer here and there within the school and the things I see our daughter experience really excites and inspires me as well - movement & expression through dance, music, creative writing, colourful visual arts and even practices in mindfulness, and the encouragement of peers to hold a safe place for vulnerability and creativity for one another. I came across an article recently, “Make More Art: The Health Benefits of Creativity” by James Clear. Hundreds of studies reviewed, the article notes the benefits to health and wellness that music, visual arts therapy, movement-based creative expression, and expressive writing all offer. It notes another study by the Journal of Psychosomatic Medicine that concludes emotional writing leads to improvements at a cellular level (CD4+ lymphocyte count in HIV-infected patients). The studies and article deepens our understanding of the importance of the Arts and what this school directly offers the students.
What this offers our daughter is priceless, enriching and palpable. She is within a community of artists. Teachers, peers, parents, classroom support and administration - all of which infuse the study of art in to their daily lives. When I recall my own schooling at her age, given, we are individuals, I do see the contrast in the breadth and reach she has, as well as how she engages openly with and moves within the flow of life and her community. Part of it is being my husband’s child, and part of it is her life meeting her.
Now here comes Spring Break… and I feel that I am, in many ways, an artistic dud. I’m a killjoy, I wear black, I am all about being on time, planning, and doing things right. Sometimes I arrange my garden vegetables in to a mandala, but I call it eccentric just to offset my predictable veneer, and leave it at that (and am pretty dismissive - is that art?). Do I even want to be with me over Spring Break?… yikes.
When we begin to learn how beneficial it is to be creative, it becomes a paradox that our culture deems overworking ourselves as success. We seem to value exhaustion. We schedule and over-schedule, stuffing our days with the most checked boxes we can fit in, and often times leave ourselves exhausted, frazzled and forgetting to even question what it is we are doing it all for. How could art and creativity serve us then? An uneducated guess, but I will throw it out there nonetheless: when we are in a creative space, we are not in that heightened state of fight-or-flight with stress hormones flooding our body. When we shift out of fight-or-flight mode and circulation/energy returns from the survival muscles and adrenaline goes down, we down shift in to parasympathetic mode. Digestive, reproductive organs shift back in to play. We heal, we grow, we create, we maintain, we flourish.
Don’t get me wrong, I do like go-mode, trust me, I do. But! I do not believe it is meant to be the body of our day, because we are then taking from our time of regeneration and rejuvenation. We are not just doing this detriment to our own wellness and lack of fulfillment as parents, but we are insidiously teaching our children that this is what life is; this is what it is to be grown up. Where then, do we cultivate our connectedness to one another, our own quiet moments of flow, the fundamental, life-lesson of nurturing life and craft versus anxiously spinning on a hamster-wheel of never feeling/having/doing enough? What are those practices of solid work-ethic worth, if it is not for the growth and refinement of ourselves as soulful individuals a midst our tribe?
Brene Brown, Ph.D., L.M.S.W., courage, vulnerability, shame and worthiness researcher, and three-time New York Times Best Selling Author offers 10 Guideposts to Wholehearted living:
#1 Cultivating Authenticity -
Letting go of what people think
#2 Cultivating Self-Compassion -
Letting Go of Perfectionism
#3 Cultivating a Resilient Spirit
- Letting Go of Numbing and Powerlessness
#4 Cultivating Gratitude and Joy
- Letting Go of Scarcity and Fear of the Dark
#5 Cultivating Intuition and Trusting Faith
- Letting Go of the Need for Certainty
#6 Cultivating Creativity -
Letting Go of Comparison
#7 Cultivating Play and Rest
- Letting Go of Exhaustion as a Status Symbol and Productivity as Self-Worth
#8 Cultivating Calm and Stillness -
Letting Go of Anxiety as a Lifestyle
#9 Cultivating Meaningful Work -
Letting Go of Self-Doubt and “Supposed To”
#10 Cultivating Laughter, Song, and Dance
- Letting Go of Being Cool and “Always in Control”
Creativity, the arts, being within the flow and social connectivity of creation, involve all of these 10 pillars. Wellness, wholeheartedness, and connectedness are three things I hope to set the example for and make the norm for our daughter; not anxiety, busyness, status. "I was always on the go, stressed out, and anxious." no centenarian ever said.
(But Wait! I heard a Left-Brained parent snort…) For those of us parents who have a logical, well-tuned, linear plan, let's unbraid and look at the the threads of loose, artsy, creativity, and brain function & development. Looking at our childrens’ development & executive skills (referring to the brain-based skills that are required for humans to execute, or perform tasks), creativity & play have the potential of exercising each of the 11 executive skills: Response Inhibition, Working Memory, Emotional Control, Sustained Attention, Task Initiation, Planning/Prioritization, Organization, Time Management, Goal-Directed Persistence, Flexibility & Metacognition. In free-play, or directed play/creativity (play/creativity partaken with us parents, in social groups etc.), we offer a chance for our youth to practice those skills in a way that is meaningful to them, and therefor a positive, deeper-reaching means of practice for these executive skills. Play and creativity are not the opposite of hard work and success. They are flow of which, when we are fortunate enough to love what we are doing, we learn hard work and success - and so too do children in their day-to-day lives.
I come from a family who valued the sciences. Sure, there were piano lessons and ballet classes, but they were not my forte. All other arts, were relegated to the end of the list of schoolwork, chores, dinner prep, sports, brushing the dog and watching Brady Bunch. Within all of that, the conditioning that there are things that are of substance in our lives, and the arts are not high on that list, pervaded my life until I found my own 17-year career in the performing arts - that threw my family for a loop! Now, I am a parent of a 7-year old child who’s little apple falls far from my family of origins’ scientific, left-brained tree. As the ‘apple in the middle’ (generationally), I still sometimes struggle with my upbringing, and the right to, and the joy of, leading an artistic life. Such is evolution- a slow process.
For ourselves as parents, our connection to our children is the force that keeps them in alignment with our values, keeps communication open and our relationships growing, rather than shutting down. In “Discipline Without Damage” Dr. Vanessa Lapointe, R.Psych states, “There is something about sharing playful, joyful experiences with another human being that contributes to a sense of shared unity and common ground. In thinking through what it takes to nurture a relationship, think about the simplicity of finding even fifteen minutes a day to enter into the world of play with your children. A world in which anything goes. A world full of spontaneous laughter. A world in which imagination and silliness reign supreme - and inhibitions, rules, and schedules are forgoten. As the dopamine flows in your happy brain, the connectivity of your relationship also flows.” I think me and my munchkin could do with a healthy dose more of this in our time over Spring Break.
I look at myself running here and there, I look at the blank boxes on the calendar over the upcoming holidays and I wonder what to put in those spots. I know enough to know that at the end of the holidays, I will walk past our calendar and question how the break passed in such a flash.
Perhaps, some of us parents have it backwards. Perhaps Spring Break is a time where we, as parents, give ourselves a break as well, to pick up a water-colour pencil, teach ourselves to play a song on the piano, to have a family draw night, strike up a dance party, make a silly movie produced by the kiddos, to go see “The Little Prince” movie, check out the symphony, colour side-by-side to the soundtrack of whatever slow and easy thoughts might a r i s e..., or to plan a creative writing retreat day without counting spelling mistakes and grammar, just to get lost in the flow. Perhaps creating a garden or a veggie mandala together, muddy hands and all, will help us connect to our own source of wellness, and to one another in all that is nourishing and sound. Perhaps when we meet our children in the realm of creativity, we too will grow and flourish.
We as parents have the opportunity to hold the space for our children to learn that art & creativity is everywhere, always, even when you grow up.
Thursday 10 March 2016
Sunday 1 November 2015
Tony
The first time I went, was two hours after I learned Tony died. He died unexpectedly and traumatically hours before in the night.
The date to go go-karting had been arranged weeks ago. Hubby and I, as if on a conveyor belt, kept with the day: drop off daughter at school, meet up with her classmates' parents to go go-karting.
Three couples. Two of us (hubby and I), stunned, in shock. We raced. But this was part of the arena that we knew with Tony. As coworkers, we were all used to shutting off "life" to do our job, so it seemed strangely okay.
We raced three races. As at work, when adrenaline infiltrates the body, all else gets pushed out, and in this moment, I was thankful. It hurt too much to think that Tony was gone.
In those first three races, something began to happen. After the straight-away, I'd blow past that sweeping turn at 75km/h, and in the corner of my eye, I'd see a flash of him. There was Tony. A spark of colour, his energy. No, it wasn't his energy, it was a flag on the wall. It was my mind, putting him there, for that split-second to say "I see you Tony. You're here with me."
In my 16 year career, he was there. In those split-seconds, Tony would watch and give a nod, and I wouldn't let this be any different. By his presence or by my need, he was there, because I didn't want to say 'good bye'. It was too sad to know he was gone.
I was honoured to assist in Tony's memorial. I was able to carry his most prized things, including his World Kickboxing Championship belt to and from the memorial. It was heavy. All of those things weighed heavy in my hands, because they were his passions, so I held them as such and I'll never forget how much they weighed.
So when I raced, I was able to feel the weight of my own simple passion for racing (I was an ex-F1 fan) come to the foreground for the first time ever in my life, and to honour it. If Tony were to be standing at the end of that straight-away, he'd be happy for me. I knew he would. He'd be fuckin' cheering me on (with that Italian flare).
So that was April. To process his passing, and all that life brought, I kept on racing. Sometimes with hubby. Sometimes, after I dropped off our daughter, I'd go just by myself. Sometimes I invited some of my work gals. And I kept seeing Tony. I needed that and I needed them because they missed him dearly too.
Sometimes, when I doubted my own virulence to perform and ride that edge of adrenaline (while being a mom and wife and daughter and sister) I'd go. I went just to throw those roots down in protest that this is part of who I am - riding on that wave of adrenaline. I ain't no wilting Asian flower, because 4 has no bearing. So I raced. "AFD" raced. That's "Asian. Female. Driver", for the record.
Those guys; my fellow racers... They watched me climb in. Stuck with a girl to race with. "Hope she doesn't take me out" I could see on their faces. But not in their eyes; because eye-contact with other racers was rare. "Who's chick is she?..."
By July, the matriarch of my family was diagnosed with cancer. So I went some more. Then my dad, ... shit he was in the thick, so I took him to try and give him what racing gave me. ...The grin on his face for 10 minutes, amidst all else...priceless. I took my daughter to race. I took my nephews. We all had a go and some loved it as much as I do. By the end of summer, we almost lost my family member. But she fought hard, with all that she had in her, and when she was okay, I went to clear my head and burn off what remained from those ICU days, to help me climb back in my own body.
After I'd learned the track, I sought racing others, because racing with, brought my level up. I trusted my own skill enough that I wouldn't take anyone out and to this day, I never have.
Months went by where I'd race and leave. Race and leave. No contact with those who I raced with. They were with their pack and I was just the loner chick who slid in.
At that point, I craved it. Racing was my outlet to clear whatever was going on, if just for 10 minutes at a time. My head was all-in to that one moment, that one turn, that one weight shift, that one tap on the brake or raise of the gas peddle, that one steering input, or one too many or too late, or the simple peace of all just right, and a good lap time to prove it...
Adrenaline takes it all and strips away everything to that one moment, after moment, after moment, and nothing does matter except pushing through with whatever resources you have, with whatever is available and there is a beauty in that. Clarity.
I might hop back in my own vehicle on the way home and have all of life come back, but it comes back in perspective, with my own system flushed out. And most times, it comes back differently than when I went in somehow.
I don't race against people. I race toward my moments. I race the next thing in my field of vision for the feeling in my own perception. I race to clear everything out, so that nothing else fits; to just hit the "Reset" button. I race for me... and sometimes I race to see Tony in that straight-away.
The date to go go-karting had been arranged weeks ago. Hubby and I, as if on a conveyor belt, kept with the day: drop off daughter at school, meet up with her classmates' parents to go go-karting.
Three couples. Two of us (hubby and I), stunned, in shock. We raced. But this was part of the arena that we knew with Tony. As coworkers, we were all used to shutting off "life" to do our job, so it seemed strangely okay.
We raced three races. As at work, when adrenaline infiltrates the body, all else gets pushed out, and in this moment, I was thankful. It hurt too much to think that Tony was gone.
In those first three races, something began to happen. After the straight-away, I'd blow past that sweeping turn at 75km/h, and in the corner of my eye, I'd see a flash of him. There was Tony. A spark of colour, his energy. No, it wasn't his energy, it was a flag on the wall. It was my mind, putting him there, for that split-second to say "I see you Tony. You're here with me."
In my 16 year career, he was there. In those split-seconds, Tony would watch and give a nod, and I wouldn't let this be any different. By his presence or by my need, he was there, because I didn't want to say 'good bye'. It was too sad to know he was gone.
I was honoured to assist in Tony's memorial. I was able to carry his most prized things, including his World Kickboxing Championship belt to and from the memorial. It was heavy. All of those things weighed heavy in my hands, because they were his passions, so I held them as such and I'll never forget how much they weighed.
So when I raced, I was able to feel the weight of my own simple passion for racing (I was an ex-F1 fan) come to the foreground for the first time ever in my life, and to honour it. If Tony were to be standing at the end of that straight-away, he'd be happy for me. I knew he would. He'd be fuckin' cheering me on (with that Italian flare).
So that was April. To process his passing, and all that life brought, I kept on racing. Sometimes with hubby. Sometimes, after I dropped off our daughter, I'd go just by myself. Sometimes I invited some of my work gals. And I kept seeing Tony. I needed that and I needed them because they missed him dearly too.
Sometimes, when I doubted my own virulence to perform and ride that edge of adrenaline (while being a mom and wife and daughter and sister) I'd go. I went just to throw those roots down in protest that this is part of who I am - riding on that wave of adrenaline. I ain't no wilting Asian flower, because 4 has no bearing. So I raced. "AFD" raced. That's "Asian. Female. Driver", for the record.
Those guys; my fellow racers... They watched me climb in. Stuck with a girl to race with. "Hope she doesn't take me out" I could see on their faces. But not in their eyes; because eye-contact with other racers was rare. "Who's chick is she?..."
By July, the matriarch of my family was diagnosed with cancer. So I went some more. Then my dad, ... shit he was in the thick, so I took him to try and give him what racing gave me. ...The grin on his face for 10 minutes, amidst all else...priceless. I took my daughter to race. I took my nephews. We all had a go and some loved it as much as I do. By the end of summer, we almost lost my family member. But she fought hard, with all that she had in her, and when she was okay, I went to clear my head and burn off what remained from those ICU days, to help me climb back in my own body.
After I'd learned the track, I sought racing others, because racing with, brought my level up. I trusted my own skill enough that I wouldn't take anyone out and to this day, I never have.
Months went by where I'd race and leave. Race and leave. No contact with those who I raced with. They were with their pack and I was just the loner chick who slid in.
At that point, I craved it. Racing was my outlet to clear whatever was going on, if just for 10 minutes at a time. My head was all-in to that one moment, that one turn, that one weight shift, that one tap on the brake or raise of the gas peddle, that one steering input, or one too many or too late, or the simple peace of all just right, and a good lap time to prove it...
Adrenaline takes it all and strips away everything to that one moment, after moment, after moment, and nothing does matter except pushing through with whatever resources you have, with whatever is available and there is a beauty in that. Clarity.
I might hop back in my own vehicle on the way home and have all of life come back, but it comes back in perspective, with my own system flushed out. And most times, it comes back differently than when I went in somehow.
I don't race against people. I race toward my moments. I race the next thing in my field of vision for the feeling in my own perception. I race to clear everything out, so that nothing else fits; to just hit the "Reset" button. I race for me... and sometimes I race to see Tony in that straight-away.
Wednesday 3 September 2014
Strike Silver-Lining
Last year, for Little M's Kindergarten year, we did directed-learning home-schooling (one full day in a
regular classroom, and then we home-schooled the rest of the days). Our choice to home-school her Kindergarten year started years ago when she was just an inkling. When the time came to register her for Kindergarten, we researched the schools in our area, weighed it against homeschooling and the choice was made - we homeschooled.
We set our sights on her Kindergarten year being a year of family, building a passion and foundation for learning, and learning globally, literally and figuratively, through travel. We hoped to give as broad of a scope of the world and life, as possible so that when she started school, she would have a base of experiences and curiosity to plug in the knowledge available to her.
The hopes were there, but by the end of the first month of homeschooling, last September, I was already depleted, frustrated, and annoyed at myself. There were some really heart aching blowouts. It was as much, if not more, of a learning curve for us as it was for her. She would learn what we would teach. But we had to learn how to teach, how to connect on this level, and what tools to use, and how to make it fun. - and that was only Kindergarten! Shit!
Some parents say it is just better for their kids to learn from someone else; that there is a dynamic that makes it so frustrating that it is just not worth it. We felt those frustrations at the end of that September, and sometimes, frustration creeps back now and again. But, two points to that: if we can not teach our own kids in a way that they can learn, there is a bigger problem than the teachers' strike in our society. And two: the growing pains we worked through were immeasurably worth it in the end. They will be with us always through no matter what.
In our year of homeschooling, I learned about learning styles, and how my daughter best learns, (which taught me how I best learn). I learned what her best circumstances are for learning. I learned her challenges and what distracts her. I learned her passions. I even re-acquainted myself with my own, and a passion to learn all over again. We discovered together, what learning involves - just sticking with it, being open to the lessons that come up outside of a workbook, and always keeping an awareness for ways to teach what needs to be learned. We learned how to be a team.
Beyond teaching the curriculum, we have taught her what her best circumstances are for her learning and what her challenges are, and what the repercussions of those challenges are so she can hopefully manage herself, as much as a 6 year old can. We have taught that whenever she is interested in learning, we will put aside time to learn together. We have taught that consistency in the home is what builds strength in our foundations. We have taught that when it is time to just be silly, have fun, relax, back off and give ourselves, or herself a break - the rest will come.
Homeschooling is a part of our family, and always will be even though she will be in full-time school. We have continued to home-school through the summer and continue to now as the strike marches forward. And if full-time school does not meet our daughter in what we feel best suits her life, we will continue homeschooling with no doubts.
When she was confirmed to be going to the school of our choice for Grade One, we committed to giving it a chance. We think she will thrive there, beyond what we can offer through homeschooling. Through the summer, I savoured our days together, watching the months, then weeks, then days until Little M would go off to school full-time flip by with little pause. Amidst some powerful life times this summer, we squeezed in some really golden moments of summer - being together, just being present. I would really miss her when school was to start.
Now, the start of the school year has come and gone, and schools remain in strike-mode. I now hear of parents who are picking up Learning Curriculum text books at Chapters or Costco and putting their feet in to the homeschooling world, some recommending that we do so too. ha ha!
As parents, this uncertainty of how long the strike will last, will no doubt put stress on families. I have heard of teachers coming close to losing their homes, of parents who are in critical binds on how to manage kiddo care. There is no easy way out. One of the things I also learned this year is the importance of positive, passionate teachers and quality education. Do I believe they are worth more, definitely. If we do not have education for the masses, we will suffer. But beyond the logistical, political issues that swirl around any potential resolution, and all the frustrations that come with who deserves what, when I think of the kids, there is something amidst all of this for them. There is a potential for them to gain in this situation through connecting with us more. Not full-on homeschooling, but 20 minutes, 45 minutes, try for 10 minutes, or a couple pages in a curriculum-based workbook.
If you are endeavouring in to the homeschooling world, here are some tips that helped us:
From our daughter:
My hope is that this time is one of deeper learning, more connection, and realizing that this is a gift too. My experience has been that homeschooling has a learning curve (yikes!), and that frustration is the voice of "try another way, or another time". Maybe even more than keeping up with the curriculum, our kiddos can benefit from all of this by having more time with those in their lives. Your kid/kiddos are awesome. Discover them and help them discover themselves. That's a pretty cool silver lining to all of the strike bullshit. Happy learning and connecting!
We set our sights on her Kindergarten year being a year of family, building a passion and foundation for learning, and learning globally, literally and figuratively, through travel. We hoped to give as broad of a scope of the world and life, as possible so that when she started school, she would have a base of experiences and curiosity to plug in the knowledge available to her.
The hopes were there, but by the end of the first month of homeschooling, last September, I was already depleted, frustrated, and annoyed at myself. There were some really heart aching blowouts. It was as much, if not more, of a learning curve for us as it was for her. She would learn what we would teach. But we had to learn how to teach, how to connect on this level, and what tools to use, and how to make it fun. - and that was only Kindergarten! Shit!
Some parents say it is just better for their kids to learn from someone else; that there is a dynamic that makes it so frustrating that it is just not worth it. We felt those frustrations at the end of that September, and sometimes, frustration creeps back now and again. But, two points to that: if we can not teach our own kids in a way that they can learn, there is a bigger problem than the teachers' strike in our society. And two: the growing pains we worked through were immeasurably worth it in the end. They will be with us always through no matter what.
In our year of homeschooling, I learned about learning styles, and how my daughter best learns, (which taught me how I best learn). I learned what her best circumstances are for learning. I learned her challenges and what distracts her. I learned her passions. I even re-acquainted myself with my own, and a passion to learn all over again. We discovered together, what learning involves - just sticking with it, being open to the lessons that come up outside of a workbook, and always keeping an awareness for ways to teach what needs to be learned. We learned how to be a team.
Beyond teaching the curriculum, we have taught her what her best circumstances are for her learning and what her challenges are, and what the repercussions of those challenges are so she can hopefully manage herself, as much as a 6 year old can. We have taught that whenever she is interested in learning, we will put aside time to learn together. We have taught that consistency in the home is what builds strength in our foundations. We have taught that when it is time to just be silly, have fun, relax, back off and give ourselves, or herself a break - the rest will come.
Homeschooling is a part of our family, and always will be even though she will be in full-time school. We have continued to home-school through the summer and continue to now as the strike marches forward. And if full-time school does not meet our daughter in what we feel best suits her life, we will continue homeschooling with no doubts.
When she was confirmed to be going to the school of our choice for Grade One, we committed to giving it a chance. We think she will thrive there, beyond what we can offer through homeschooling. Through the summer, I savoured our days together, watching the months, then weeks, then days until Little M would go off to school full-time flip by with little pause. Amidst some powerful life times this summer, we squeezed in some really golden moments of summer - being together, just being present. I would really miss her when school was to start.
Now, the start of the school year has come and gone, and schools remain in strike-mode. I now hear of parents who are picking up Learning Curriculum text books at Chapters or Costco and putting their feet in to the homeschooling world, some recommending that we do so too. ha ha!
As parents, this uncertainty of how long the strike will last, will no doubt put stress on families. I have heard of teachers coming close to losing their homes, of parents who are in critical binds on how to manage kiddo care. There is no easy way out. One of the things I also learned this year is the importance of positive, passionate teachers and quality education. Do I believe they are worth more, definitely. If we do not have education for the masses, we will suffer. But beyond the logistical, political issues that swirl around any potential resolution, and all the frustrations that come with who deserves what, when I think of the kids, there is something amidst all of this for them. There is a potential for them to gain in this situation through connecting with us more. Not full-on homeschooling, but 20 minutes, 45 minutes, try for 10 minutes, or a couple pages in a curriculum-based workbook.
If you are endeavouring in to the homeschooling world, here are some tips that helped us:
- set aside time where both yourself and your kiddos do not have to rush (length of time is different to each age/kiddo/subject)
- Make a cup of tea, coffee, green smoothie etc. for yourself, and take a moment to observe, be available and have fun learning alongside your kiddo(s). Sit with them, don't hover, but be present and be available to give assistance, or encouragement, or hit em' with the cattle prod to keep at it. Create a time where you are fully present with them.
- Laugh - Make learning fun. Kids will crave and adore that time and connectedness when they can laugh, be cheered on, encouraged and reinforced that just doing and trying is great, and that celebrating those successes are fantastic when done together.
- Get the homeschooling done, and then do the fun things the rest of the day - earn it, little people!
- When the frustrations come up, BREATHE. Everyone. Stop and move. Run laps around the house, shake or dance out the frustrations - get silly. Regroup and start again, even if that means later in the day. Have a silly song where you can blow off steam.
- Acknowledge vocally when a child is doing their best. It will tell them and you, that you see they are giving their best effort. Do not push beyond that. You will crush them. Take a step backward, and reinforce what you are learning.
- Do not home-school just before dinner. HA!
- Know when to stop. If there is a whiff of emotionally reactive behaviour stop. no one can learn when emotional. If it is a battle of will, discuss what the repercussions are together so you can move on together as a team.
- Look outside the box. Use the curriculum as a base and a guide. If a kiddo is having a hard time with it, see if you can teach it through something they love. Then return to the workbook to put it back in the linear context of learning. Many kids are global learners (learn best when they see the big picture and then can learn within that context). Learning this way also helps reinforce the lesson (when they can apply it to different arenas, rather than just another page in the text book).
- See the rest of the world as a learning opportunity. Building a hunger for seeing the world is our best learning tool. The rest will fall in to place.
- Know when to school and when other things are more important. If a kiddo is in the midst of processing something in life, process it. Same goes for parents - if you are processing something, hold off until it is processed - this is when frustrations surface. School ain't everything. Our lives are bigger than that.
- Keep a journal. Depending on the age, have a journal and write one word, 5 words, one sentence, a paragraph about their day - what they enjoyed, what they disliked, what stood out, what they will dream of. It is a great way to instigate conversations and put the day to rest.
- Get outside! - we are coming in to one of the most beautiful times of year. Count leaves, learn life-cycles, see nature for science, go to the Farmer's Market and teach kids to connect. Make letters out of rocks, collect rocks, paint them and use them for math. Go to the beach and search for cool life in the water or on the beach. Take photos and make flashcards with dry-erase pens. Do scavenger hunts of things in nature for the alphabet.
- Go on field trips - dedicate trip for learning. ie. Go for lunch and watch people. See where they are from and research cultures, or talk about behaviours and why people do what they do and teach how to engage with them.
- Discover & explore more of what your kiddo loves. What excites them? Then build a lesson plan around that. Remember to have FUN with this - you don't want to annihilate what they love.
- Cook - measurements, directions, reading. Take photos and make a cookbook.
- Lap-books - make little, handmade books about things they love, wishlists, stories of their own.
- Lego - man you can learn a lot from lego!
- Have a toy swap with other kiddos - make a market of trades
- Cuddle up and READ. ahhhh... endorphins.
From our daughter:
- her hardest times were when forced
- her best times were when learning was fun
My hope is that this time is one of deeper learning, more connection, and realizing that this is a gift too. My experience has been that homeschooling has a learning curve (yikes!), and that frustration is the voice of "try another way, or another time". Maybe even more than keeping up with the curriculum, our kiddos can benefit from all of this by having more time with those in their lives. Your kid/kiddos are awesome. Discover them and help them discover themselves. That's a pretty cool silver lining to all of the strike bullshit. Happy learning and connecting!
Tuesday 22 October 2013
Trees
In honour of my blog's most missed reader: CRM
My father-in-law and I sat on the veranda overlooking an early August morning on the farm. The
horses were still lazy in their paddock. The day was fresh; just beginning to warm in one of the driest summers I remember on our farm. We sat in silence over our mugs of steaming, hot coffee. We could sit in peace with each other, which I always liked.
 |
| Photo of the line of trees taken Oct 2013 |
I broke our silence with an analogy: One droplet of a colour, set in to clear water. That colour is carried outward, permeating its secret to a new tone of being... Autumn had begun. He agreed. He responded telling me of his love for autumn - the beauty he saw in it, how it was dear to him.
I have always loved Fall as well. The fresh, crisp smells, the burst of colours that leave me and Little
M awe-struck. The winds and breezes that dance with the trees, freeing them of last seasons' growth, setting them to the ground for nourishment and protection. The chill that sets us inward, to reflect, to busy ourselves within - ourselves and our homes. It is a peaceful, loving and introspective time.
It is October 20th now. Almost one month has passed since he lost his battle to cancer. The day he left, autumn was in full force. The skies shifted from blue skies, to migrations of immense, powerful clouds erupting across it. Those clouds moved so fast. The winds chased through the fields and shrubs outside of his window and took his life with them...
-----------------------------
My father-in-law gave me a gift - a watercolour of an Alder tree, "Elder Alder". It sits in my office to my left.
My favourite time with him was during that mid-August trip he made to visit us just after he was diagnosed. Himself, my daughter, and I went to the forested part of our property and sat on our meditation deck in front of a group of alders. The entire morning, we did art. He chose water colour, I chose to sketch in pencil, my daughter Little M, drew chalk on trees and did her own water colour. She bravely showed her grandpa her creation and then fluttered around us as he and I just sat and created together.
Then the leaves began their brilliance. I love the countryside most for the symphony of deep colours those trees bring. Trees were on the forefront of my mind.
A couple of weeks after his fathers' passing, my husband encouraged me to connect with aspects of my cultural background - Buddhism, mindfulness, community. A dear friend of mine South of the border informed me of a meditation retreat she had once lived and worked at. Every so often, they would host a Day of Mindfulness. We made plans to go together.
She
and I met part-way on an early day in the first week in October.
Together we drove through the countryside, catching up and just taking
in the vibrant, picturesque landscape. Every turn was something out of a
calender. The trees were gorgeous. Though I was nervous about feeling so incredibly raw, vulnerable and still in the aftershocks of our family's loss, the trees seemed to help anchor me as each one slipped by the car.Our day consisted of sitting, walking and working meditations, a formal lunch, and a talk by Dharma teacher E. K.. To that point, I felt as though life was more and more intensely swinging from event-to-event, with just enough energy to grasp the next task. Though I was feeling effective and productive in most things, I was well within the red-line of my reserves. I did not feel like the"me" I am meant to be, in the moments where I was not doing. Does that make sense? Everything had now aligned with that day, and there I was.
 |
| Grove of trees on the walking meditation |
I have written previously here about death - "compost" I believe I said. Crass in some light, except in light of nature. How so?
 |
| Seedling beside my meditation spot |
Along the way, we inevitably lose those close to us. As a life falls, we collect those branches of shared experiences, we mediate tough things, we feel how empty those pockets are where once our branches touched. Everything that comes to light around losing our loved ones become part of our foundation. They become a part of us in which ever way we choose to carry them forward.
In the twelve years my father-in-law was in my life, I knew him as a caregiver, an artist, a beloved family member, and one who consistently supported my own endeavours. He was a naval veteran, and a man who winced everytime me and my daughter offered him "nori" (Japanese seaweed snacks) - ha ha! We liked to do that. One of his strengths was that he was incredibly 'in the moment'. He did not technically meditate that I know of, unless you consider doing his art or being amidst nature to be meditation (which I often times do).
In our last day of him being lucid, my husband, myself, and he sat over lunch in the warm sun and the cool air of September watching Little M off and again fluttering around the open field that we sat at the edge of. I told him when he left our home in August, my husband and I felt our farm was at its' best for his time with us. I told him I had then realized since, that it was not the farm that gave us such a peaceful, loving, slow and full visit. It was him. His presence carried his strength of just being in that moment, together. And he brought that to all of us. His strength made me realize how outside of myself I was.
For a while, I was giving everything to whatever I was doing (parenting, researching, working, projects, community, doing my best to support those I love), which sounds kind of good, but not when your branches are overloaded, and your foundation and trunk are having their resources diminished.
I was often so busy sifting through the past so I wouldn't make mistakes in the future. I strategized for the future, but it took my time from the moment I was in. Again, I was investing my energy forward and back, so heavily in upward growth and in my roots, that the connection to both, the trunk, was teetering. Who I am, truly am, who I value of myself, was not reflected in how I was doing things, from the priorities to the everyday moments.
Living in this way made my life spin by in overdrive - packing thoughts of 'should-dos', 'could have dones', and 'what ifs' tightly in to any moments that I could fit a thought in edge-wise. It is the reason every event, even the small ones, seemed to require so much energy and little reprieve, and rarely any time to rejuvenate. There was always more to process, more to jam in to my head and I had no inkling that I should turn it off; only the feeling that I was never able to do enough.
My father-in-law brought me this deeper realization of the cliche I thought I knew. E.K's Day of Mindfulness helped give me the tools to be mindful of those moments. The trees, well, they remind me along the way, and I appreciate all the reminders I can get.
Today, myself, my husband and daughter walked our farm property. We started counting trees as a part of a homeschooling exercise - a piece of chalk in hand numbering each one as we went. We got to twenty five, when, with great urgency, my daughter scurried over to a well-worn path in the grass, to a slight hole in the fence. It was a place her older cousin "Z" used to play when he lived on the farm. He showed her last year when he visited. She begged to go through. We threw our count of trees to the wind and slithered commando-style under the barbed wire in to the neighbours side of the fence.
There it was - a climbable tree. A big ol' evergreen, with branches so low, they were like steps waiting for a little one to step up on. She climbed, and climbed - so many branches perfect for little arms and feet to ascend upon. I climbed after her, until I found a grouping of branches that reached outward almost crossing themselves. It was like the palm of a hand it fit so well, so I lay back and just looked up at my daughter living a dream. Up she went until she found a branch to sit upon and look down upon the two of us with a smile of complete joy across her face. No thoughts in my head, just my daughter, my husband, and a big ol' tree in that same line of trees that my father-in-law and myself gazed at, that morning back in August.
To my 'darlin' CRM - we will always carry your light forward in all that we grow.
Monday 4 March 2013
The "Only" Question
I recently came across an article that caught my eye ""8
Things Never to Say to a Mom of an Only Child" in The Stir section of
The Huffington Post. "Eight things to never say to a Mom of an Only", which
include asking when you'll have another (and variations of that question), suggestions
that people are lucky to be able to do 'x, y, z' because they only have one kid, and if you
do say these things, it is "Hurtful. Insulting. Ignorant. Rude."
We have one child - a daughter. We have had "The Talk" from those closest to us, on how we should give our daughter a sibling. We've heard how lonely she will be, that she will be an orphan when we are gone, with no one else in the world. We have had our ages pointed out to us, with a modest eyebrow raised. Do I take it as "Hurtful. Insulting. Ignorant. Rude."?
If you are some passive-aggressive psychopath whose intention is to poke at what may be an incredibly personal choice, yes, I'd find it all of those things. And if you are some passive-aggressive psychopath whose intention is to poke at what is an incredibly personal choice to me, you will not be in my life much longer - I have a good nose for those. But if not, nobody has the time to always be considering where I am in my emotional journey for our family, especially when they are mothers themselves, with one, or twelve children to mind. I get that people speak from their own choices, experiences, and hopes. So what then? Does it still hurt to hear these statements and questions?... Our back-story for your information:
Our choice to have one child was made by us, and not. My daughter, "Little M", was one year and one month old when I found out I was pregnant with our second. Until I was 11 weeks pregnant, I bonded with our little one, sending love, rubbing my tum, making my body the best environment I could to host and build the little one nestled inside. I reoriented myself in the new direction our lives were now going to go, dreamed of our daughter having a buddy to play with on the farm, wondered if it was a boy or a girl -we were sure it was a boy. Then I got the phone call that our pregnancy had ended. I was told the hormone levels had diminished, but as my mind leapt from one possibility to the next, all hope was cut when I heard "missed miscarriage".
We mourned with those who were lovingly able to sit with us through the grief. We moved forward with it, not from it. In the years since, though a second would have been ideal for her, we understood that our lives were not in the place to give everything that a second child, and our current daughter deserved. It was a decision that was based on what was right for us in the time we were at. My husband and I thought about it a lot, and heard first in our own minds all the questions others would ask, except we asked ourselves those questions some times daily. So if the reason for asking is to see if we have considered things enough, I hope this gives people peace that we have.
Life isn't always what you want. Most often times, the best choices, are not the easiest. Sometimes, they are just choices. But my point in writing this, is to share a different perspective of a mother to an "only", than the Huffington Post article: I do not want people walking on eggshells around my life. Perhaps I may not always take assumptions well, it actually gives a chance to open communication.
If you are in my circle, or are new to my circle and you do ask, I will give you an honest answer to what is appropriate for how well we know each other. Because I assume it is with good intention, and no matter how hard it may be to respond, I do not want those in my circle to walk on egg-shells around me. Life is hard, sometimes it gets messy. I get sad, scared, unsure and undone, but at the end of the day, with the relationships that matter or those that have hope to continue, I value and desire understanding just as much as you would for the challenges you face. Healthy relationships are not about comparing, competing nor judging and if they are, it's time for an audit.
Often times, the things that were the most hurtful were not because of others being ignorant, insulting or rude. It was either because they said nothing while walking on egg-shells, or because I was too raw myself. I just needed time. In that same vein, it was up to me to respond with boundaries: "I can't talk about this yet, it is too painful.", or "That’s very personal to me". "There is more to the answer than I feel comfortable talking about right now, maybe another time". OR “Not sure. How about you? When are you having more children? Getting married?”. The last one is great for singles who just repeatedly use the question for an icebreaker, especially when they are kind of wankers. One dude scoffed and took great offense to being asked about settling down. I think he got it. He’s never asked again. Sometimes people just ask, because they have no idea. That doesn't make them rude or ignorant. But again, it is up to me to communicate boundaries.
I say stupid things all the time, based on my own experience. If I offend, hopefully those in my life will have the same resilience with me to open up, rather than dismiss me.
People who have children, who have one, who have none, who had and lost a little one... life very rarely fits in a tidy box with a neat label. There are no black and white answers or ideals - everyone deals with things differently when they are in the thick of life. It is what makes us stronger and what gives us the lessons, the potential, the (sometimes undesired) kick in the ass to move in a direction we otherwise wouldn't have gone, through the fog of whatever experiences were had.
Is it better not to assume, judge, nor advise? Yes. I would appreciate if people came from the heart and went from there, and I am doing my best to learn to do so too (NVC/CC has been helpful in refining this). But I get that hard things are often awkward. Perhaps though, rather than it being a place to shut down communications, maybe it is a place to start.
We have one child - a daughter. We have had "The Talk" from those closest to us, on how we should give our daughter a sibling. We've heard how lonely she will be, that she will be an orphan when we are gone, with no one else in the world. We have had our ages pointed out to us, with a modest eyebrow raised. Do I take it as "Hurtful. Insulting. Ignorant. Rude."?
If you are some passive-aggressive psychopath whose intention is to poke at what may be an incredibly personal choice, yes, I'd find it all of those things. And if you are some passive-aggressive psychopath whose intention is to poke at what is an incredibly personal choice to me, you will not be in my life much longer - I have a good nose for those. But if not, nobody has the time to always be considering where I am in my emotional journey for our family, especially when they are mothers themselves, with one, or twelve children to mind. I get that people speak from their own choices, experiences, and hopes. So what then? Does it still hurt to hear these statements and questions?... Our back-story for your information:
Our choice to have one child was made by us, and not. My daughter, "Little M", was one year and one month old when I found out I was pregnant with our second. Until I was 11 weeks pregnant, I bonded with our little one, sending love, rubbing my tum, making my body the best environment I could to host and build the little one nestled inside. I reoriented myself in the new direction our lives were now going to go, dreamed of our daughter having a buddy to play with on the farm, wondered if it was a boy or a girl -we were sure it was a boy. Then I got the phone call that our pregnancy had ended. I was told the hormone levels had diminished, but as my mind leapt from one possibility to the next, all hope was cut when I heard "missed miscarriage".
We mourned with those who were lovingly able to sit with us through the grief. We moved forward with it, not from it. In the years since, though a second would have been ideal for her, we understood that our lives were not in the place to give everything that a second child, and our current daughter deserved. It was a decision that was based on what was right for us in the time we were at. My husband and I thought about it a lot, and heard first in our own minds all the questions others would ask, except we asked ourselves those questions some times daily. So if the reason for asking is to see if we have considered things enough, I hope this gives people peace that we have.
Life isn't always what you want. Most often times, the best choices, are not the easiest. Sometimes, they are just choices. But my point in writing this, is to share a different perspective of a mother to an "only", than the Huffington Post article: I do not want people walking on eggshells around my life. Perhaps I may not always take assumptions well, it actually gives a chance to open communication.
If you are in my circle, or are new to my circle and you do ask, I will give you an honest answer to what is appropriate for how well we know each other. Because I assume it is with good intention, and no matter how hard it may be to respond, I do not want those in my circle to walk on egg-shells around me. Life is hard, sometimes it gets messy. I get sad, scared, unsure and undone, but at the end of the day, with the relationships that matter or those that have hope to continue, I value and desire understanding just as much as you would for the challenges you face. Healthy relationships are not about comparing, competing nor judging and if they are, it's time for an audit.
Often times, the things that were the most hurtful were not because of others being ignorant, insulting or rude. It was either because they said nothing while walking on egg-shells, or because I was too raw myself. I just needed time. In that same vein, it was up to me to respond with boundaries: "I can't talk about this yet, it is too painful.", or "That’s very personal to me". "There is more to the answer than I feel comfortable talking about right now, maybe another time". OR “Not sure. How about you? When are you having more children? Getting married?”. The last one is great for singles who just repeatedly use the question for an icebreaker, especially when they are kind of wankers. One dude scoffed and took great offense to being asked about settling down. I think he got it. He’s never asked again. Sometimes people just ask, because they have no idea. That doesn't make them rude or ignorant. But again, it is up to me to communicate boundaries.
I say stupid things all the time, based on my own experience. If I offend, hopefully those in my life will have the same resilience with me to open up, rather than dismiss me.
People who have children, who have one, who have none, who had and lost a little one... life very rarely fits in a tidy box with a neat label. There are no black and white answers or ideals - everyone deals with things differently when they are in the thick of life. It is what makes us stronger and what gives us the lessons, the potential, the (sometimes undesired) kick in the ass to move in a direction we otherwise wouldn't have gone, through the fog of whatever experiences were had.
Is it better not to assume, judge, nor advise? Yes. I would appreciate if people came from the heart and went from there, and I am doing my best to learn to do so too (NVC/CC has been helpful in refining this). But I get that hard things are often awkward. Perhaps though, rather than it being a place to shut down communications, maybe it is a place to start.
Thursday 20 December 2012
Compassion
I have continued to plug myself in my Non-Violent Communication course whenever possible. I have the CD still going. I've completed the second of six. I have been working away in the work book, which has helped solidify the principles.
Then Friday, on my way to preschool, I heard the news of the Newton, Connecticut shootings.
We have a four year old daughter. I took her to preschool, walked her in, hammering back the connections of what those connected were going through in my mind. I lingered, wondering if any of the other parents knew, what they felt, then I slowly left. I went downstairs, drove to the grocery store, sat in my car and cried.
In the six days since, we have learned 20 children and 6 adults died, as well as the shooter who killed himself. The first parent to speak to the media, the father of Emilie Parker, a 6 year old girl brought her light to the rest of the world. He could have been talking about our daughter for all her interests and energy. My heart and spirit have broken, unable to retain or hold these realities, yet human nature propels me to know why. Some think being too upset about it is silly, but my feeling on things have always been to feel what I am comfortable with and allow it to motivate equal or more positive change. I don't want to shut down and go on as normal. That's just not who I am. But with that, comes the desire to know "Why?", and "What can I do?". But we often don't get answers as to why and that fear festers. Another reason to move that energy towards positive change - it must go somewhere. So how and where?
In the wake of the Japanese tsunami, that helplessness was incredibly overwhelming for me. Not only was the footage and level of devastation shocking, we also have family and friends that are in Japan, south of the areas directly affected. The thing that helped was to plug in to those who were affected, to see if there was anything we could offer to their needs. But when there was nothing to immediately do, the sadness would fill for all those in need, left stranded. If I couldn't do anything, that energy would fester. What helped was realizing that we are never helpless to doing something and that horrible news is not meant to sit within us. It is meant to be learned from, to make things stronger, to make us stronger, or the horrible things in this world will all be for nothing, and I can't accept that. So we learn from the miracles, the strength of the human heart, the resilience of those affected and move that forward to one another in our circles so that the entire world will carry that light forward. I liken it to tearing muscles - it takes pain to grow. So when we are hit with pain, I have to look for where we can grow.
I'm pretty sure humans are meant to empathize, but this becomes a challenge when we are so far, and much of the time, disconnected from the tragedies that occur. Where once news would travel from one person to the next, we could be there for those in need. Now we can't. Even in everyday news, that helplessness enters us and then sits. "What do we do in light of these events?" Often times, horrible things happen and we never understand why. Why was the customs officer at Peace Arch Border crossing targeted and shot? There were never any answers for the public. So all this helplessness turns to fear, it shakes us with no reason unless we learn not to care, which is not my preference in life. But perhaps, the knowledge is meant to shift things on a larger scale. Perhaps it is an opportunity to wake up. If what has happened in Connecticut does not instigate major changes/shifts, it makes me wonder what it will take.
Christmas is upon us. I cuddled my daughter Little M tonight. She is curious about Santa and wanted a story. I struggle with Santa. I do not deny her, nor do I gush over Santa. She gets a gift from Santa, but it is just one gift that arrives under the tree. From my end (hubby is more in to it), Santa is merely a character of Christmas. I guess it sounds pretty crusty of me, but it just doesn't feel right to go on and on about it, and as far as the magic of Christmas being Santa and what he brings, and that is what will give her a magical childhood... I don't buy it and I don't want her to buy in to that. I see that whole plug as a really well-crafted economic marketing ploy. There is no magic in getting "Stuff" from a strange guy in a red suit that kiddos feel they have to be good for during Christmas season. Just my humble feelings. What I DO tell her, Christmas is about way more than if there is a Santa and that if there is a Santa, that even he would believe that the magic of Christmas is not a toy that he brings, but that Christmas is a time of year where we as individuals, are meant to be there for one another in love, nestled in with time off school or work, to just be together. It is a once a year reminder or encouragement for people to understand that life is about giving, not just to family, but to everyone around us in the taking a moment to "fill a bucket" - from the ones we love, to strangers on the street, with a smile, with opening a conversation, with offering a hand. That is the magic of Christmas for us.
From the devastation of Newton, to the spirit of Christmas, the one thing that comes back to me is "compassion". It is opening my arms, my heart, my ears and most of all, my time to those around us. The other side of things is to continue to breed fear, anxiety, depression and most of all and detrimental, isolation.
Learning more about Compassionate Communication/NVC to this point, has been incredibly beneficial in almost every arena of my life and now current events. It takes a lot of practice to stop old patterns and create new ones that become habit, and I accept that this is something that takes time to learn. But, I'll tell ya, it FITS everything I hold dear as a parent, and for what I hope to give my partner. It will help me to know myself better, and to come to life with what matters to me and hear what is most alive in those around me. The connectivity of one person to another is so significant to our wellness, growth & prosperity as individuals and nations. It is also our saving grace in times of complete devastation and in our day-to-day activities.
Anyways, I have lost Disc 3. In trying to be sneaky, I hid it when my husband was in proximity while en route to my car. So I'm hunting for it. He is on to me about my whole course. I had to confess when I had a blowout with my daughter one evening. I told him what I was trying to do... he wondered what the heck Little M was talking about with her "Giraffe Language" & "Blame Game" chatter.
Oh, one more note. From CC, I have an understanding with my daughter, that if we get in to that zone, where we are building tension, we are to stop what we are both doing and come together to sort it out. The night of the shootings, I stayed with her all night. Every kiss and cuddle I treasured wishing I could send them to those parents who will always wish for just one more. So, in moving their light forward, they will become a part of making a stronger, more loving relationship with my daughter. When we come together, we hold hands to connect. And try and muddle through NVC together.
Little M has reminded me a couple of times, to hold her hands. It sounds cheesy. But I know that, within reason, if us choosing to come together is the priority to whatever I am doing and whatever she is doing, we are both sending the message to one another that that is the most important thing. That is a pretty strong message, that I do hope she learns. Maybe it will help to teach her that no matter what, I am there, with compassion, and with love, even when we don't agree. Yes, there are times for it to just be the way I say it. That is part of being a parent, but it is equally part of being a parent to see what is in our childrens' hearts.
My love and heartfelt wishes go out to all those who have lost their loved ones too soon, or who were amidst the devastation. Our world needs all the love, kindness and time we can give one another. If what happened, in this season, won't call for a positive, large-scale change, what will?
Then Friday, on my way to preschool, I heard the news of the Newton, Connecticut shootings.
We have a four year old daughter. I took her to preschool, walked her in, hammering back the connections of what those connected were going through in my mind. I lingered, wondering if any of the other parents knew, what they felt, then I slowly left. I went downstairs, drove to the grocery store, sat in my car and cried.
In the six days since, we have learned 20 children and 6 adults died, as well as the shooter who killed himself. The first parent to speak to the media, the father of Emilie Parker, a 6 year old girl brought her light to the rest of the world. He could have been talking about our daughter for all her interests and energy. My heart and spirit have broken, unable to retain or hold these realities, yet human nature propels me to know why. Some think being too upset about it is silly, but my feeling on things have always been to feel what I am comfortable with and allow it to motivate equal or more positive change. I don't want to shut down and go on as normal. That's just not who I am. But with that, comes the desire to know "Why?", and "What can I do?". But we often don't get answers as to why and that fear festers. Another reason to move that energy towards positive change - it must go somewhere. So how and where?
In the wake of the Japanese tsunami, that helplessness was incredibly overwhelming for me. Not only was the footage and level of devastation shocking, we also have family and friends that are in Japan, south of the areas directly affected. The thing that helped was to plug in to those who were affected, to see if there was anything we could offer to their needs. But when there was nothing to immediately do, the sadness would fill for all those in need, left stranded. If I couldn't do anything, that energy would fester. What helped was realizing that we are never helpless to doing something and that horrible news is not meant to sit within us. It is meant to be learned from, to make things stronger, to make us stronger, or the horrible things in this world will all be for nothing, and I can't accept that. So we learn from the miracles, the strength of the human heart, the resilience of those affected and move that forward to one another in our circles so that the entire world will carry that light forward. I liken it to tearing muscles - it takes pain to grow. So when we are hit with pain, I have to look for where we can grow.
I'm pretty sure humans are meant to empathize, but this becomes a challenge when we are so far, and much of the time, disconnected from the tragedies that occur. Where once news would travel from one person to the next, we could be there for those in need. Now we can't. Even in everyday news, that helplessness enters us and then sits. "What do we do in light of these events?" Often times, horrible things happen and we never understand why. Why was the customs officer at Peace Arch Border crossing targeted and shot? There were never any answers for the public. So all this helplessness turns to fear, it shakes us with no reason unless we learn not to care, which is not my preference in life. But perhaps, the knowledge is meant to shift things on a larger scale. Perhaps it is an opportunity to wake up. If what has happened in Connecticut does not instigate major changes/shifts, it makes me wonder what it will take.
Christmas is upon us. I cuddled my daughter Little M tonight. She is curious about Santa and wanted a story. I struggle with Santa. I do not deny her, nor do I gush over Santa. She gets a gift from Santa, but it is just one gift that arrives under the tree. From my end (hubby is more in to it), Santa is merely a character of Christmas. I guess it sounds pretty crusty of me, but it just doesn't feel right to go on and on about it, and as far as the magic of Christmas being Santa and what he brings, and that is what will give her a magical childhood... I don't buy it and I don't want her to buy in to that. I see that whole plug as a really well-crafted economic marketing ploy. There is no magic in getting "Stuff" from a strange guy in a red suit that kiddos feel they have to be good for during Christmas season. Just my humble feelings. What I DO tell her, Christmas is about way more than if there is a Santa and that if there is a Santa, that even he would believe that the magic of Christmas is not a toy that he brings, but that Christmas is a time of year where we as individuals, are meant to be there for one another in love, nestled in with time off school or work, to just be together. It is a once a year reminder or encouragement for people to understand that life is about giving, not just to family, but to everyone around us in the taking a moment to "fill a bucket" - from the ones we love, to strangers on the street, with a smile, with opening a conversation, with offering a hand. That is the magic of Christmas for us.
From the devastation of Newton, to the spirit of Christmas, the one thing that comes back to me is "compassion". It is opening my arms, my heart, my ears and most of all, my time to those around us. The other side of things is to continue to breed fear, anxiety, depression and most of all and detrimental, isolation.
Learning more about Compassionate Communication/NVC to this point, has been incredibly beneficial in almost every arena of my life and now current events. It takes a lot of practice to stop old patterns and create new ones that become habit, and I accept that this is something that takes time to learn. But, I'll tell ya, it FITS everything I hold dear as a parent, and for what I hope to give my partner. It will help me to know myself better, and to come to life with what matters to me and hear what is most alive in those around me. The connectivity of one person to another is so significant to our wellness, growth & prosperity as individuals and nations. It is also our saving grace in times of complete devastation and in our day-to-day activities.
Anyways, I have lost Disc 3. In trying to be sneaky, I hid it when my husband was in proximity while en route to my car. So I'm hunting for it. He is on to me about my whole course. I had to confess when I had a blowout with my daughter one evening. I told him what I was trying to do... he wondered what the heck Little M was talking about with her "Giraffe Language" & "Blame Game" chatter.
Oh, one more note. From CC, I have an understanding with my daughter, that if we get in to that zone, where we are building tension, we are to stop what we are both doing and come together to sort it out. The night of the shootings, I stayed with her all night. Every kiss and cuddle I treasured wishing I could send them to those parents who will always wish for just one more. So, in moving their light forward, they will become a part of making a stronger, more loving relationship with my daughter. When we come together, we hold hands to connect. And try and muddle through NVC together.
Little M has reminded me a couple of times, to hold her hands. It sounds cheesy. But I know that, within reason, if us choosing to come together is the priority to whatever I am doing and whatever she is doing, we are both sending the message to one another that that is the most important thing. That is a pretty strong message, that I do hope she learns. Maybe it will help to teach her that no matter what, I am there, with compassion, and with love, even when we don't agree. Yes, there are times for it to just be the way I say it. That is part of being a parent, but it is equally part of being a parent to see what is in our childrens' hearts.
My love and heartfelt wishes go out to all those who have lost their loved ones too soon, or who were amidst the devastation. Our world needs all the love, kindness and time we can give one another. If what happened, in this season, won't call for a positive, large-scale change, what will?
Wednesday 19 December 2012
Introduction to Compassionate Communication
I always wanted to be a spy.
I'm leading a double life. Making the space for the course is a challenge, but because I am doing it incognito, it is pairing up with good times. I am 007 meeting up with Moneypenny in my iPhone for nuggets of intel. When I drive on my own, I have my CD on. When I have time at home alone, when I can't be doing my taxes or work projects, etc., I will put it on with my headphones, for instance, right now when I'm prepping food in an empty house.
I have finished the first CD of six - the Introduction.
I like the pace of the CD's so far. Dr.Rosenburg has such a kind way of speaking. But I have to admit, he sounds to me like a mix of Charleton Heston & Cpt James T. Kirk, which is quite ironic, because I'm a guessin' Mr. Heston is not interested in the least with Compassionate Communication. I could see Cpt James T. Kirk using it with his interspecies mediation though, which then adds an entire sci-fi angle to my alone time. Either way - good times.
My challenge is attending to the workbook alongside the audio CD's. I know the workbook will hammer the course home. But I'm doing the best I can, so yay for me.
The broad strokes (which you can find on the CC/NVC website) that stood out for me in the first CD are the following:
What kept me from pursuing Positive Reinforcement was the need to dangle a carrot. In certain cases, training, learning new skills, it is great (when using praise or pride), but it was missing something when it came to the greater picture. We shouldn't always have to get something for being good. That's not life. It misses the mark in terms of why any living thing would want to do something for another, or why we should care about what someone else feels or holds important.
The actions an animal, a child or other party is hopefully due to mutual agreement of a larger experience, rather than because I would give something beneficial to the other party. CC addresses this. It also addresses what preceds communication with the other party I am communicating with.
What I am intrigued about Compassionate Communication is that communication begins with taking a step back and checking in with where my true centre is - where my heart is, where my intuition is most regarded, where my spirit thrives. My most useful quote, one that sits framed in my office is "What best serves the growth of my soul?". This question grounds me in those times where I am off my own centre, when I am reactive, influenced by things outside of me rather than securely in what is true to me. Compassionate Communication's question "What is alive in me?" feels similar to me. Next, it is about observing the situation and actions as truthfully as possible with observations, and next, asking myself what is alive in someone else, and how to communicate in a way that best serves making life more wonderful for those around me as well.
My way of communicating in the past was ..to not communicate. I would hold everything in, do my best to deal with it on my own, think about things, fester, do my best to figure out what I felt, and after the situation would continue, perhaps I'd give my input, which relatively, is usually in a more subtle form than some would do. Then it festers some more, and if the situation continues, I will either walk away, or explode. Sometimes this happens over months, sometimes over minutes.
In the Introduction alone, I recognize that this is a whole new way of communicating and thinking. One that I am so eager to learn more about. As with any new prospect, there are things we will agree with, things we find incredibly useful, and some that challenge our thoughts. I truly am excited and hopeful about this.
My own first exercise is to observe myself. When in a situation that involves another party, rather forming opinions, reacting, or being lead by my reactions (becoming offended or defensive), I am focusing on observing what I feel, and the truths of the situations.
In this course, I do have a workbook that accompanies the CD's. I am studying the course as best I can these days, but what I hope to share here, is what inspires me about this course and how I see that inspiration changing the direct relationships around me.
Very intrigued so far.
I'm leading a double life. Making the space for the course is a challenge, but because I am doing it incognito, it is pairing up with good times. I am 007 meeting up with Moneypenny in my iPhone for nuggets of intel. When I drive on my own, I have my CD on. When I have time at home alone, when I can't be doing my taxes or work projects, etc., I will put it on with my headphones, for instance, right now when I'm prepping food in an empty house.
I have finished the first CD of six - the Introduction.
I like the pace of the CD's so far. Dr.Rosenburg has such a kind way of speaking. But I have to admit, he sounds to me like a mix of Charleton Heston & Cpt James T. Kirk, which is quite ironic, because I'm a guessin' Mr. Heston is not interested in the least with Compassionate Communication. I could see Cpt James T. Kirk using it with his interspecies mediation though, which then adds an entire sci-fi angle to my alone time. Either way - good times.
My challenge is attending to the workbook alongside the audio CD's. I know the workbook will hammer the course home. But I'm doing the best I can, so yay for me.
The broad strokes (which you can find on the CC/NVC website) that stood out for me in the first CD are the following:
- The basics of Compassionate Communication/NVC "involves sharing whats alive in us and what will make life more wonderful and to receive the same information from other people".
- Compassionate Communication skills include:
- Differentiating observation from evaluation, being able to carefully observe what is happening free of evaluation, and to specify behaviors and conditions that are affecting us;
- Differentiating feeling from thinking, being able to identify and express internal feeling states in a way that does not imply judgment, criticism, or blame/punishment;
- Connecting with the universal human needs/values (e.g. sustenance, trust, understanding) in us that are being met or not met in relation to what is happening and how we are feeling; and,
- Requesting what we would like in a way that clearly and specifically states what we do want (rather than what we don’t want), and that is truly a request and not a demand (i.e. attempting to motivate, however subtly, out of fear, guilt, shame, obligation, etc. rather than out of willingness and compassionate giving).
What kept me from pursuing Positive Reinforcement was the need to dangle a carrot. In certain cases, training, learning new skills, it is great (when using praise or pride), but it was missing something when it came to the greater picture. We shouldn't always have to get something for being good. That's not life. It misses the mark in terms of why any living thing would want to do something for another, or why we should care about what someone else feels or holds important.
The actions an animal, a child or other party is hopefully due to mutual agreement of a larger experience, rather than because I would give something beneficial to the other party. CC addresses this. It also addresses what preceds communication with the other party I am communicating with.
What I am intrigued about Compassionate Communication is that communication begins with taking a step back and checking in with where my true centre is - where my heart is, where my intuition is most regarded, where my spirit thrives. My most useful quote, one that sits framed in my office is "What best serves the growth of my soul?". This question grounds me in those times where I am off my own centre, when I am reactive, influenced by things outside of me rather than securely in what is true to me. Compassionate Communication's question "What is alive in me?" feels similar to me. Next, it is about observing the situation and actions as truthfully as possible with observations, and next, asking myself what is alive in someone else, and how to communicate in a way that best serves making life more wonderful for those around me as well.
My way of communicating in the past was ..to not communicate. I would hold everything in, do my best to deal with it on my own, think about things, fester, do my best to figure out what I felt, and after the situation would continue, perhaps I'd give my input, which relatively, is usually in a more subtle form than some would do. Then it festers some more, and if the situation continues, I will either walk away, or explode. Sometimes this happens over months, sometimes over minutes.
In the Introduction alone, I recognize that this is a whole new way of communicating and thinking. One that I am so eager to learn more about. As with any new prospect, there are things we will agree with, things we find incredibly useful, and some that challenge our thoughts. I truly am excited and hopeful about this.
My own first exercise is to observe myself. When in a situation that involves another party, rather forming opinions, reacting, or being lead by my reactions (becoming offended or defensive), I am focusing on observing what I feel, and the truths of the situations.
In this course, I do have a workbook that accompanies the CD's. I am studying the course as best I can these days, but what I hope to share here, is what inspires me about this course and how I see that inspiration changing the direct relationships around me.
Very intrigued so far.
Wednesday 28 November 2012
The Top Secret Experiment
You are now in on a secret:
I am doing an experiment on my husband and my daughter and they are not aware. I am not going to tell them either. If you know them, please don't let them know. Some family members are also not aware.
The backstory:
I have spent the summer and fall getting to spend some lovely time with a friend. She is someone who I have come to treasure. She is peaceful. She is thoughtful. She asks questions that are respectful and that open people up. She is someone who you walk away from visits from feeling heard, feeling appreciated and feeling equally clear what her wishes are as well. Our conversations are meaningful and she is sharing and giving of herself.
In one of my many moments following feeling like a parental/spousal turd (*more on this later), she and I went on a road trip. At the end of the trip, I asked her about her style of communication. I expressed how wonderfully I feel she communicates - yes her style truly stands out THAT much. I asked if it was part of her upbringing or if it were something she shifted to. She laughed when I asked if it was part of her family dynamic. No, it was not. Her family dynamic was not of this communication style. As we were saying our goodbyes, I asked her if there were a book, or speaker who inspired her most in her communication style. Among her many experiences and dedications, including studies in Mindful Meditation and leaving her career to live in a Buddhist retreat, she mentioned Dr. Marshall Rosenburg. I scribbled his name down, and off I went to return home.
Days passed. I was chugging along in my life with hubby and Little M. I am ok in every day life, as far as communication goes; I think most people are when things are fine. But, when frustrations evolve, I resort to communication that may be effective in one avenue, but undermining in others. An example of what makes me feel like a parental/spousal turd*: "That" hour comes - 5:45pm. Hungry, tired, the big hurdle to accomplish. Dinner. House, as I've mentioned before, looks as though the cabinets have sneezed their belongings all over the house. Likely, we have just gotten home from driving around because we live 30 minutes from anything. Little M is tired. I am frazzled - I have hay and horse poop dust in my snot. Dinner begins to be prepared, and some whinning starts. Then hubby comes in to the mix. He is in "It's 4'oclock ALL DAY" mode early this year - he is really affected by the gray days and rain. That anxious feeling brews in my chest, eating away the chord of resilience I normally have.
I cut the whining off: "Little M, my ears close when they hear whining. Use your words!". She wants a paper to do art on (she can find some on her own, and certainly, she can do so without whining). Hubby goes to address it and looks for paper. To try and save him time from going to the opposite end of the house, I tell him it is in the cupboard. He points to the junk drawer. Is he mocking me? Of course it is not in the pen drawer. "no, down below where it's always been!"
Ugh. Everyone is just bent. Who feels great? I feel like a turd. I've shut down my daughter. My husband feels like I'm treating him like a moron. Frustration builds more. ugh.
I have the honour of bringing up a child - my daughter "Little M". I feel it is my job as a parent to see my daughter for who she innately is, and help her plug in to the world as best as possible with her strengths, amidst her challenges. In so much of the media and even toys out there, I see girls/women represented in a really unbalanced manner. There is an inundation of images and stereotypes of girls, which young girls look to for what they should be. But much of media/industry only cares about what sells - what is sensational, will hold interest and shock. Amidst all of this, to retain who Little M is, means helping her to know who she is and stand up for that wherever she chooses to go or be exposed to. Myself and my husband must see her first and foremost and make it normal for her to thrive in what is healthy for herself. Additionally, she must be able to see and respect what is important to others. When anyone shuts down, or does not have a voice, anxiety builds, health is compromised, we do not flourish. The biggest influence is making sure those closest to her do not shut her down, but rather open her up and that starts with us. I dearly hope to give her this and see that Compassionate Comunication can help with this.
With regards to hubby, I recognize that we think differently. It is why I chose him, but sometimes as people who choose "opposites", those differences frustrate one another. But it shouldn't be a reason to shut someone down. Sometimes, when I am more vulnerable, when I actually need help, I get defensive too. Either way, it is not great and I want to do better. I CAN do better for them, for those around me, and for myself.
Cut to today:
I have spent the past couple weeks looking in to Non-Violent Communication/Compassionate Communication. It seems to have a lot of tools for what I would like to bring in to my life. I ordered and received The NVC Training Course Kit. I am going to do this course and put it in to play in our family arena and see if it makes a difference. I have also ordered a few things for Little M. Her first chapter book which she seems to really enjoy - Giraffe Juice (which, coincidentally, you can get a free ebook from the link provided) & the workbook, and the Giraffe audiobooks. She may be a bit young to understand the steps, but it helps me get an overall gist of it. I know that if I make some shifts in communication, she will naturally pick them up too. Even though it is a chapter book, it is the only book she is currently requesting that I read her, and she loves all books, so that is a great sign. We are learning together.
When I told one of my sisters what I was up to, she responded, "Are you violent?". ha ha - only sometimes but only in the gym or at work in a good way. From this point forward, I am referring to it, as the originator, Dr. Marshall Rosenburg originally named it "Compassionate Communication" (CC). Even he states, he only refers to Non-Violent Communication because of whom it was targeting at the time - people who were doing the course for workplace training in potentially violent, volatile situations. So. Yes, Non-Violent Communication (NVC) course, but I will always refer to it as Compassionate Communication, because i would like to focus on compassion.
This experiment and study is part of a bigger picture, but that will come later as the blog unfolds.
So... here we go.
I am doing an experiment on my husband and my daughter and they are not aware. I am not going to tell them either. If you know them, please don't let them know. Some family members are also not aware.
The backstory:
I have spent the summer and fall getting to spend some lovely time with a friend. She is someone who I have come to treasure. She is peaceful. She is thoughtful. She asks questions that are respectful and that open people up. She is someone who you walk away from visits from feeling heard, feeling appreciated and feeling equally clear what her wishes are as well. Our conversations are meaningful and she is sharing and giving of herself.
In one of my many moments following feeling like a parental/spousal turd (*more on this later), she and I went on a road trip. At the end of the trip, I asked her about her style of communication. I expressed how wonderfully I feel she communicates - yes her style truly stands out THAT much. I asked if it was part of her upbringing or if it were something she shifted to. She laughed when I asked if it was part of her family dynamic. No, it was not. Her family dynamic was not of this communication style. As we were saying our goodbyes, I asked her if there were a book, or speaker who inspired her most in her communication style. Among her many experiences and dedications, including studies in Mindful Meditation and leaving her career to live in a Buddhist retreat, she mentioned Dr. Marshall Rosenburg. I scribbled his name down, and off I went to return home.
Days passed. I was chugging along in my life with hubby and Little M. I am ok in every day life, as far as communication goes; I think most people are when things are fine. But, when frustrations evolve, I resort to communication that may be effective in one avenue, but undermining in others. An example of what makes me feel like a parental/spousal turd*: "That" hour comes - 5:45pm. Hungry, tired, the big hurdle to accomplish. Dinner. House, as I've mentioned before, looks as though the cabinets have sneezed their belongings all over the house. Likely, we have just gotten home from driving around because we live 30 minutes from anything. Little M is tired. I am frazzled - I have hay and horse poop dust in my snot. Dinner begins to be prepared, and some whinning starts. Then hubby comes in to the mix. He is in "It's 4'oclock ALL DAY" mode early this year - he is really affected by the gray days and rain. That anxious feeling brews in my chest, eating away the chord of resilience I normally have.
I cut the whining off: "Little M, my ears close when they hear whining. Use your words!". She wants a paper to do art on (she can find some on her own, and certainly, she can do so without whining). Hubby goes to address it and looks for paper. To try and save him time from going to the opposite end of the house, I tell him it is in the cupboard. He points to the junk drawer. Is he mocking me? Of course it is not in the pen drawer. "no, down below where it's always been!"
Ugh. Everyone is just bent. Who feels great? I feel like a turd. I've shut down my daughter. My husband feels like I'm treating him like a moron. Frustration builds more. ugh.
I have the honour of bringing up a child - my daughter "Little M". I feel it is my job as a parent to see my daughter for who she innately is, and help her plug in to the world as best as possible with her strengths, amidst her challenges. In so much of the media and even toys out there, I see girls/women represented in a really unbalanced manner. There is an inundation of images and stereotypes of girls, which young girls look to for what they should be. But much of media/industry only cares about what sells - what is sensational, will hold interest and shock. Amidst all of this, to retain who Little M is, means helping her to know who she is and stand up for that wherever she chooses to go or be exposed to. Myself and my husband must see her first and foremost and make it normal for her to thrive in what is healthy for herself. Additionally, she must be able to see and respect what is important to others. When anyone shuts down, or does not have a voice, anxiety builds, health is compromised, we do not flourish. The biggest influence is making sure those closest to her do not shut her down, but rather open her up and that starts with us. I dearly hope to give her this and see that Compassionate Comunication can help with this.
With regards to hubby, I recognize that we think differently. It is why I chose him, but sometimes as people who choose "opposites", those differences frustrate one another. But it shouldn't be a reason to shut someone down. Sometimes, when I am more vulnerable, when I actually need help, I get defensive too. Either way, it is not great and I want to do better. I CAN do better for them, for those around me, and for myself.
Cut to today:
I have spent the past couple weeks looking in to Non-Violent Communication/Compassionate Communication. It seems to have a lot of tools for what I would like to bring in to my life. I ordered and received The NVC Training Course Kit. I am going to do this course and put it in to play in our family arena and see if it makes a difference. I have also ordered a few things for Little M. Her first chapter book which she seems to really enjoy - Giraffe Juice (which, coincidentally, you can get a free ebook from the link provided) & the workbook, and the Giraffe audiobooks. She may be a bit young to understand the steps, but it helps me get an overall gist of it. I know that if I make some shifts in communication, she will naturally pick them up too. Even though it is a chapter book, it is the only book she is currently requesting that I read her, and she loves all books, so that is a great sign. We are learning together.
When I told one of my sisters what I was up to, she responded, "Are you violent?". ha ha - only sometimes but only in the gym or at work in a good way. From this point forward, I am referring to it, as the originator, Dr. Marshall Rosenburg originally named it "Compassionate Communication" (CC). Even he states, he only refers to Non-Violent Communication because of whom it was targeting at the time - people who were doing the course for workplace training in potentially violent, volatile situations. So. Yes, Non-Violent Communication (NVC) course, but I will always refer to it as Compassionate Communication, because i would like to focus on compassion.
This experiment and study is part of a bigger picture, but that will come later as the blog unfolds.
So... here we go.
Monday 10 September 2012
Just a Smile
Here I sit in my quiet house with a lovely wine at the end of an busy evening of cleaning. Throughout the evening as I circled my home approximately fifteen times picking up and dropping off things in their rightful places, a twenty-three year old memory, of a once-encountered, seventy year old man chased my thoughts through the house.
It was at my first job ever. I worked at "Caramel Corn", a candy/ice cream shop in the mall. It was a quiet mall and it was my first job ever. I sat on my stool behind my counter of candy, swimming in the wafty, freshly-popped popcorn smell, as the soft-serve icecream machines turned with a loud hum behind me. I was part bored, part terrified, part hypoglycemic sitting behind the counter of a buffet of treats I would not indulge myself in for fear of shaming my new position. I could use this all as an excuse for what unfolded, but the truth is, I was simply a serious, introverted kid. "Really? You?" ha ha...yes.
So, one fine evening, as I counted the minutes till I closed the doors to the shop and began my dismemberment and cleaning of the soft-serve ice-cream machines, a man in his seventies approached and purchased something that I do not recollect. He came and went.
Then came back again.
At that moment, I was unaware he had been watching me for a while. Uncomfortably, I addressed him, nervous that he wanted to return something - I hadn't learned refunds at that point. Or perhaps he was one of the malls' notorious eclectics.
He approached me gently. "Smile" he said.
I looked at him with confusion. He held my eyes with his look. ...I lifted my eyebrows and clenched my teeth together with lips parted while wondering if he was a little 'off'.
His eyes settled in on me and he stated, "You should smile".
At that age, I passed it off defensively. "Whatever." my early adult mind muttered, "I am not the type who walks around bubbly and sweet. I am an introvert. If, and when I do smile, it is because I am truly happy because of something. I am a deliberate smiler. That was my justification.
Now, two and a half decades have passed and I have a four-year-old in her second year of preschool. I am writing this entry to scratch a pet-peeve.
My pet-peeve is this: bubbles. People are stuck in their own bubbles. The West Coast is notorious for what comes across as snobbery. Internationally, the women of the West Coast of Canada are known for this. I am one of those. But now, I get it.
I take my daughter to activities. It is not just she who is entering a new social circle. I, myself, enter new circles and events alongside her. How myself and others come to these situations and react intrigues me. "Am I nervous?" - most often times, a little. "Am I flustered?" - highly likely, as I seem to come to events with the force of a tornado, and a dusting of farm hay on me. "Am I oblivious?" -I try my best not to be. Some days take more than others. But as a mother, who is a role-model to her child for behaviours in social situations, I tend to watch myself more than I did before Little M.
I was such a shy, introverted kid. It was painful for me to look at people. Some people (i.e. hubby) express themselves more, they beam. I retreated inward to my bubble. It was when I became a mom, I innately opened as a person. The primal instinct to connect was just deeper, not just with my family and friends, but with my community and to build a community. I am an example to Little M. I do my best to prepare her for these new social situations. No matter how much I talk to her, or talk about scenarios, I know that the way I handle situations, the energy I take in to these situations with her, are her most significant point of learning. She will watch me to see how I engage.
So now I have that seventy year old man chasing me around the house tonight. "Smile...", he says.
Our society today is so fragmented. We are in our own little bubbles, just trying to survive the myriad of activities, tasks etc. Those bubbles fragment our sense and hope of community. Do we not need community? No, we don't all need community. But as an adult now, I do believe that community that is positive, supportive and equal are one of the world's/family's/person's/child's' greatest strengths. I hope to build that because it is important.
So if we do see community as beneficial, how do we create it? The first step is openness. "Smile". It takes a smile, a "hello" to just open a door and say "I'm here". It is a gesture that welcomes potential for positive. Sometimes it even says, "I need help", "I'm really messing up here, but I'm doing my best". It just says you are there, and open to the possibility to connect. I see now, the power of a genuine smile, and the challenges of remaining in ones bubble.
Some days suck. Some days I feel like crap and have very little to give out. Some days, I falter and get upset with Little M in the car and I feel like a shit and question myself as a mother. But I'll tell ya, when I see a genuine smile from someone else for me, it shifts me. In the smallest way, it says, "just hang in there". I can smile back as a "Thank you". Maybe Little M was seeing how I open social circles and seeing me smile will encourage her to do the same - when it is tough, when she is a little scared, if she just has the courage to smile, perhaps the world will respond with bringing her back a friend, another smile, a gust of further courage.
I used to say I was not one of those smiley people. If you saw me smiling, I was smiling very deliberately. I am still completely that way - I am smiling deliberately because I am in a place that is more open, I am wanting to give these situations the best shot possible, because who we surround ourselves with has a tremendous affect on our lives and theirs.
Carrying light, whether it is inspired by appreciation, empathy, knowing the truth of the hard things, is deliberate and it is often times, translated in just a smile. It's all it takes to burst the bubble.
One man, over twenty years ago comes to mind. He brought a light to me that has remained. One smile, one connection can mean that much.
True enough...
It was at my first job ever. I worked at "Caramel Corn", a candy/ice cream shop in the mall. It was a quiet mall and it was my first job ever. I sat on my stool behind my counter of candy, swimming in the wafty, freshly-popped popcorn smell, as the soft-serve icecream machines turned with a loud hum behind me. I was part bored, part terrified, part hypoglycemic sitting behind the counter of a buffet of treats I would not indulge myself in for fear of shaming my new position. I could use this all as an excuse for what unfolded, but the truth is, I was simply a serious, introverted kid. "Really? You?" ha ha...yes.
So, one fine evening, as I counted the minutes till I closed the doors to the shop and began my dismemberment and cleaning of the soft-serve ice-cream machines, a man in his seventies approached and purchased something that I do not recollect. He came and went.
Then came back again.
At that moment, I was unaware he had been watching me for a while. Uncomfortably, I addressed him, nervous that he wanted to return something - I hadn't learned refunds at that point. Or perhaps he was one of the malls' notorious eclectics.
He approached me gently. "Smile" he said.
I looked at him with confusion. He held my eyes with his look. ...I lifted my eyebrows and clenched my teeth together with lips parted while wondering if he was a little 'off'.
His eyes settled in on me and he stated, "You should smile".
At that age, I passed it off defensively. "Whatever." my early adult mind muttered, "I am not the type who walks around bubbly and sweet. I am an introvert. If, and when I do smile, it is because I am truly happy because of something. I am a deliberate smiler. That was my justification.
Now, two and a half decades have passed and I have a four-year-old in her second year of preschool. I am writing this entry to scratch a pet-peeve.
My pet-peeve is this: bubbles. People are stuck in their own bubbles. The West Coast is notorious for what comes across as snobbery. Internationally, the women of the West Coast of Canada are known for this. I am one of those. But now, I get it.
I take my daughter to activities. It is not just she who is entering a new social circle. I, myself, enter new circles and events alongside her. How myself and others come to these situations and react intrigues me. "Am I nervous?" - most often times, a little. "Am I flustered?" - highly likely, as I seem to come to events with the force of a tornado, and a dusting of farm hay on me. "Am I oblivious?" -I try my best not to be. Some days take more than others. But as a mother, who is a role-model to her child for behaviours in social situations, I tend to watch myself more than I did before Little M.
I was such a shy, introverted kid. It was painful for me to look at people. Some people (i.e. hubby) express themselves more, they beam. I retreated inward to my bubble. It was when I became a mom, I innately opened as a person. The primal instinct to connect was just deeper, not just with my family and friends, but with my community and to build a community. I am an example to Little M. I do my best to prepare her for these new social situations. No matter how much I talk to her, or talk about scenarios, I know that the way I handle situations, the energy I take in to these situations with her, are her most significant point of learning. She will watch me to see how I engage.
So now I have that seventy year old man chasing me around the house tonight. "Smile...", he says.
Our society today is so fragmented. We are in our own little bubbles, just trying to survive the myriad of activities, tasks etc. Those bubbles fragment our sense and hope of community. Do we not need community? No, we don't all need community. But as an adult now, I do believe that community that is positive, supportive and equal are one of the world's/family's/person's/child's' greatest strengths. I hope to build that because it is important.
So if we do see community as beneficial, how do we create it? The first step is openness. "Smile". It takes a smile, a "hello" to just open a door and say "I'm here". It is a gesture that welcomes potential for positive. Sometimes it even says, "I need help", "I'm really messing up here, but I'm doing my best". It just says you are there, and open to the possibility to connect. I see now, the power of a genuine smile, and the challenges of remaining in ones bubble.
Some days suck. Some days I feel like crap and have very little to give out. Some days, I falter and get upset with Little M in the car and I feel like a shit and question myself as a mother. But I'll tell ya, when I see a genuine smile from someone else for me, it shifts me. In the smallest way, it says, "just hang in there". I can smile back as a "Thank you". Maybe Little M was seeing how I open social circles and seeing me smile will encourage her to do the same - when it is tough, when she is a little scared, if she just has the courage to smile, perhaps the world will respond with bringing her back a friend, another smile, a gust of further courage.
I used to say I was not one of those smiley people. If you saw me smiling, I was smiling very deliberately. I am still completely that way - I am smiling deliberately because I am in a place that is more open, I am wanting to give these situations the best shot possible, because who we surround ourselves with has a tremendous affect on our lives and theirs.
Carrying light, whether it is inspired by appreciation, empathy, knowing the truth of the hard things, is deliberate and it is often times, translated in just a smile. It's all it takes to burst the bubble.
One man, over twenty years ago comes to mind. He brought a light to me that has remained. One smile, one connection can mean that much.
"Smile".
True enough...
Wednesday 4 July 2012
The Mark of Enlightenment
Well, you know it's been a while when you can't remember how to log in. Apologies folks! The past couple of months, I have been in a swirl of writing conferences, workshops etc.
There are some updates to the Nicaragua diaries that I will offer in a post to come. Only one of which is "Frankie, my Nicaraguan scar". Chica said it would be a great story to tell with that preface. Interestingly enough, Frankie is now doing well. After returning, it became infected internally and I had to go on yet another round of antibiotics as the outer stitches started opening from the bottom up like a zipper. Due to concerns that the inside ones would also not heal, I was put on a restricted activity program for a month. No work, not jumping, lifting, running etc. Now all that remains is a large blotchy scar which strangely enough is now growing a thick patch of hair only within the affected area. I have never had thick hair on my limbs - but now I do. Hubby is quite unsettled and confused by this. I will have to shave my Frankie patch now.
So this Spring/Summer has been amazing. I have had the opportunity to do two writing retreats and one writing conference. One of the retreats was a meditation and writing retreat with Ruth Ozeki, award-winning author of "My Year of Meats" and "All Over Creation". The piece below is something I wrote during my time at that workshop.
Each day, we sat in the round room, on the floor with our back-jacks and meditation pillows. In the centre of the room sits a lovely flower arrangement on the floor surrounded with candles. I sit at the 9 o'clock position. Ruth sits at the 12 o'clock position (in the beginning there actually were twelve participants including Ruth). I hope you enjoy and don't forget to see enlightenment in the unlikely corners of your day!
In the deepest part of my throat remained a pit of phlegm that could not be removed. Knowing we would be in a meditation soon, I discretely removed a lozenge from its crunchy, waxy wrapper and slipped it in to my mouth. “Cherry Mint”, I rolled it over my tongue. “ Not bad.”
Ruth introduced the meditation exercise we were about to submerge ourselves within, when it occurred to me, that I should not be sucking on a cough drop when the meditation was taking place. “What would I do?”
I summoned as much spit as a mouth humanly could and began rolling it around in my mouth, attempting to dissolve it speedily, carefully keeping it from clattering against my teeth. My spit became syrupy and sticky sweet - surely now, I would not cough through the meditation.
Ruth’s closed her summation and people began to adjust and settle in to their noble posture of choice. A large portion of my cough-drop remained, so I began taking harder pulls on the oval mass. It simply couldn’t be crunched, “Those around me would know.” I should not have been eating anything in this sacred space as it was. I couldn’t spit it out. It was too big to swallow whole. “What would I do?”
I would not allow the Ricola to take me from my inner-space, my opportunity for enlightenment by continuing to process it within my mouth. I’d done this many times before as a child in school - there was no way my novice meditation level could navigate around the stimulating lump in my mouth. I was wild-eyed as I did my best to disintegrate it. My cheeks puckered inwards as I continued working away at the lozenge at which point Ruth looked over and caught my looks of unknowingness… and then it happened… the drop lurched to the back of my mouth and in a split second, it slipped over the hill of my tongue in to the posterior of my throat and, beyond a wave of peristalsis, right in to the door of my trachea. My lungs locked.
“R e m a i n c a l m… ” my inner being stated. One cough and I could get it out - I was sure. I figured it would take every ounce of force within my half inflated lungs to shoot that sucker out. From my abdomen, I expelled every ounce of power upward through my chest cavity, launching the oval burgundy mass up and out of my body, half way across the circular room, where it struck the belly of the vase containing the salal and lilly arrangement with a heavy clank, and then, redirected outward.
It sailed in an arc angling upward, over the grey, checker striped carpet, far above the hopeless, forever wandering armadillo bug (who, if he had a neck, would be straining his head like a satellite dish tracking this foreign object across his skyscape - but he didn’t, so he just used his beady eyes). It drifted atop the tea light candles, … and then landed… right upon the middle forehead, in third eye position, of Ruth. In utter stillness she sat. Her eyes pushed her brow upward towards the unlikely mark of enlightenment that had perched itself in it’s called upon place.
There was complete silence. All eyes were upon Ruth; some wincing, some frozen in disbelief. And in her own noble position with a small smile that relaxed her gracious and wise face, she stated, “Not knowing is most intimate…”
*An end note, the final quote given here was a quote that I asked Ruth for out of the blue. In writing this piece, I thought it would be nice to finish it on a quote that she enjoyed, so I asked her (unknowing in what it would be used for) what her top three favourite quotes were. The last quote, which is quoted from an unknown source, is one of her favourites.
There are some updates to the Nicaragua diaries that I will offer in a post to come. Only one of which is "Frankie, my Nicaraguan scar". Chica said it would be a great story to tell with that preface. Interestingly enough, Frankie is now doing well. After returning, it became infected internally and I had to go on yet another round of antibiotics as the outer stitches started opening from the bottom up like a zipper. Due to concerns that the inside ones would also not heal, I was put on a restricted activity program for a month. No work, not jumping, lifting, running etc. Now all that remains is a large blotchy scar which strangely enough is now growing a thick patch of hair only within the affected area. I have never had thick hair on my limbs - but now I do. Hubby is quite unsettled and confused by this. I will have to shave my Frankie patch now.
So this Spring/Summer has been amazing. I have had the opportunity to do two writing retreats and one writing conference. One of the retreats was a meditation and writing retreat with Ruth Ozeki, award-winning author of "My Year of Meats" and "All Over Creation". The piece below is something I wrote during my time at that workshop.
Each day, we sat in the round room, on the floor with our back-jacks and meditation pillows. In the centre of the room sits a lovely flower arrangement on the floor surrounded with candles. I sit at the 9 o'clock position. Ruth sits at the 12 o'clock position (in the beginning there actually were twelve participants including Ruth). I hope you enjoy and don't forget to see enlightenment in the unlikely corners of your day!
-----------------------
In the deepest part of my throat remained a pit of phlegm that could not be removed. Knowing we would be in a meditation soon, I discretely removed a lozenge from its crunchy, waxy wrapper and slipped it in to my mouth. “Cherry Mint”, I rolled it over my tongue. “ Not bad.”
Ruth introduced the meditation exercise we were about to submerge ourselves within, when it occurred to me, that I should not be sucking on a cough drop when the meditation was taking place. “What would I do?”
I summoned as much spit as a mouth humanly could and began rolling it around in my mouth, attempting to dissolve it speedily, carefully keeping it from clattering against my teeth. My spit became syrupy and sticky sweet - surely now, I would not cough through the meditation.
Ruth’s closed her summation and people began to adjust and settle in to their noble posture of choice. A large portion of my cough-drop remained, so I began taking harder pulls on the oval mass. It simply couldn’t be crunched, “Those around me would know.” I should not have been eating anything in this sacred space as it was. I couldn’t spit it out. It was too big to swallow whole. “What would I do?”
I would not allow the Ricola to take me from my inner-space, my opportunity for enlightenment by continuing to process it within my mouth. I’d done this many times before as a child in school - there was no way my novice meditation level could navigate around the stimulating lump in my mouth. I was wild-eyed as I did my best to disintegrate it. My cheeks puckered inwards as I continued working away at the lozenge at which point Ruth looked over and caught my looks of unknowingness… and then it happened… the drop lurched to the back of my mouth and in a split second, it slipped over the hill of my tongue in to the posterior of my throat and, beyond a wave of peristalsis, right in to the door of my trachea. My lungs locked.
“R e m a i n c a l m… ” my inner being stated. One cough and I could get it out - I was sure. I figured it would take every ounce of force within my half inflated lungs to shoot that sucker out. From my abdomen, I expelled every ounce of power upward through my chest cavity, launching the oval burgundy mass up and out of my body, half way across the circular room, where it struck the belly of the vase containing the salal and lilly arrangement with a heavy clank, and then, redirected outward.
It sailed in an arc angling upward, over the grey, checker striped carpet, far above the hopeless, forever wandering armadillo bug (who, if he had a neck, would be straining his head like a satellite dish tracking this foreign object across his skyscape - but he didn’t, so he just used his beady eyes). It drifted atop the tea light candles, … and then landed… right upon the middle forehead, in third eye position, of Ruth. In utter stillness she sat. Her eyes pushed her brow upward towards the unlikely mark of enlightenment that had perched itself in it’s called upon place.
There was complete silence. All eyes were upon Ruth; some wincing, some frozen in disbelief. And in her own noble position with a small smile that relaxed her gracious and wise face, she stated, “Not knowing is most intimate…”
*An end note, the final quote given here was a quote that I asked Ruth for out of the blue. In writing this piece, I thought it would be nice to finish it on a quote that she enjoyed, so I asked her (unknowing in what it would be used for) what her top three favourite quotes were. The last quote, which is quoted from an unknown source, is one of her favourites.
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