Living-Deliberately.com

I’ve been enjoying mapchick’s blog Random Nonsense and this morning’s blog is a humorous-yet-serious something to ponder…check it out.

True:

• the first day has come and left
• everyone was excited
• drop off went smoothly
• it feels unnatural to drive away from your kids
• we were all brave
• I cried in the car for an hour, feeling like I’d just fed them to the wolves
• the teachers are all great
• kids are tough
• there are lots of new opportunities
• pick up went smoothly
• everyone was smiling at the end of it all
• everyone made new friends on the first day
• “follow the herd” is a viable skill

For the past year I’ve run a company called Blogging With Flair. A good portion of my clients are professional speakers affiliated with NSA and I recently traveled to New York City to attend their annual conference, the fulfillment of a vision a friend had for my business before I knew to dream it, and the location of a rebirth of sorts for me, bringing in new business yes, but also a re-energized spirit. What follows is a compilation of the writing I did while in my free moments on the trip.

My hotel was on the upper west side, on a street that looked straight from the set of Sesame Street, with rows of cheery brownstones with walk-up steps. The hotel itself was small, dark, and hot…so stifling that at first I felt tight and claustrophobic just entering the room. The hallways were winding, maze-like, and it took intention on my part to not imagine little bogey men lurking around ever corner. My room could not have been bigger than 10×10 and that space, it accommodated a bed, desk, dresser, sink and small fridge. The theme seemed to be “tropical island”, with a palm tree lamp and salmon/teal bedding…I thought that comical coming from Florida to urban New York City. Bathrooms were shared, down the hall…tiny but clean room smelling slightly of lingering cigarette smoke. Smoking wasn’t allowed in the rooms and the tell-tale signs of stealth hits wafted in here and there. I loved it all…the whole place had a European feel to it and naturally seemed to emphasize that the real adventure, the real discoveries lay outside. At once I felt like an indulgent and spoiled American for complaining about size and space, when this was clean and adequate, and eagerly I looked outside, to the living organism of this great city that never sleeps.

From that hotel I had the extreme pleasure of walking down quieter streets than I’d encounter later in the day, with my move to Times Square. In the early light of morning I headed east, towards the park, seeing ahead the lush contrast of trees against pavement. Instinctively I could feel the organization of NY’s grid system…rationale pervades and lends a sort of orderly freedom spirit to everything. It’s hard to get lost in a square and I felt secure that I could easily find my way back. In the park I saw Elm trees (my first? They were blighted and killed off everywhere I’ve been before) and took time to read the plaques below the literary statuary scattered amid the trees.

My first steps into the park were at Strawberry Fields. I walked past a man who looked like he was well supplied to spend most of his time on the street, backpack and pile of personal items not far from him on the bench. When I passed him, he said, “Oh you are beautiful!”. I smiled, a little embarrassed, and walked over to the “Imagine” memorial for Lennon, sprinkled with it’s floral petal peace sign. The street man, still looking at me, said, “My word! You are even more beautiful than I first thought!” I had to giggle, shameless flattery or not, because any woman likes to hear things like that, and I knew my step was lighter as I walked forward into the growing sunshine. In the park there was the largest variety of dogs being walked, all of them seemingly purebred animals, and many, many friendly faces happy to offer directions or tourist tips. I had yet to glimpse even a hint of “crabby New Yorker”…they were all wonderful!

On the corner of two streets (that I wasn’t paying much attention to, feeling quick familiarity with the grid layout), I stepped into a bakery, and feeling it was too early for a cupcake, bought instead a buttered bagel and cup of coffee. Buoyantly, I carried my bag back to my temporary nest of a room, smiling at shopkeepers hosing off their patch of sidewalk. Even in the morning hours, the occasional car horn would sound, scattering pigeons, sending them fluttering awkwardly skyward until they could dip back down for a fresh handout.

Back in my room I opened my little bagel, remembering that bagels are NY specialty, and feeling glad I’d chosen it instead of something from the rows of flaky pastries keeping them company in the bakery.
And in that next moment I learned, that if a food can ever know yearning, that every bagel surely must aspire to be a new york bagel. This bagel, so delicately toasted that it was not the least bit hard and crunchy, but rather softly warmed and golden, with a thin layer of sunshiny butter melted across the top and not sinking down, became honestly the best bread product I’ve ever put into my mouth. This bagel was robust yet tender, sort of like what the warm hug from an old and trusted lover must be like, the sort of comforting affection that leads to smiling kisses, not afraid of a crumb or two at the corner of each mouth.

With the coffee it became a truly spectacular breakfast and I felt empathy for the many new yorkers away from home, whom I’ve heard lament over the inability to get a decent bagel anywhere else in the world. I most certainly will not ever give a bagel from another city even a sideways glance; there would be no point.

Later in the day, when the real purpose of my trip had gotten underway, having experienced the subway to and from, I was amid the hustle of Times Square, with it’s seemingly endless array of lights and advertisements and faces. But still this was a joy, completely different than the morning, yet still unique and valued…like Snow White and Rose Red. There is so much variety in the human scope…on those streets I saw slender students with bright eyes and theater shirts, older couples, their bodies rounded and comfortable walking side by side in sensible shoes, beautiful man-boys with manicured eye brows and European-styled bags, tiny framed Asian girls in slip dresses, Mexicans, Indians, and even Sudanese. And the accents! Closing one’s eyes in Times Square is probably not the wisest thing to do but eliminating the visual distinction and just listening to the varietal cacophony was worth the risk, even if for just a few moments, and the blind too, know such color.

When the rain came, umbrellas popped up like mushrooms, bobbing en masse down wide sidewalks. I hadn’t brought one and didn’t care; the city rain felt good on my skin. I knew I smiled as I walked and only sometimes dodged the puddles. This day had been a gift, a window on the world, and glimpse of how broad my life had become.

That afternoon began conference sessions in padded chairs, lots of eye contact, conversations with strangers, looking for opportunity and growth. Information overload began. This hotel was lovely in all the ways the other was not…spacious with high thread count sheets and feather duvets, glass elevators and shiny things all around. At dinner I met Doug, who also joined me for the opening night concert, where NSA Rocks to…(wait for it)…bagpipes. Not kidding…the pipers were having a 50th year anniversary so the concert opened with about a hundred of them piping Toura loura loura, followed by Riverdance wannabe cloggers, classic rock songs, and lots and lots of speakers dressed up like karaoke rockers in big wigs with inflatable guitars. Even as I lived it I knew it was the kind of night best experienced rather than written about, words being somehow inadequate to capture the fun wackness of it all.

In three days time I’d become familiar with every bagel bakery within a few blocks radius of the hotel. Every bakery has a glass case crammed full of creamy canoli, flaky pastries of all shapes, huge donuts freshly made that morning, and bagels, bagels, bagels. I knew a lot of my conference mates were spending the entirety of their time within the hotel, unless they ventured out for a show or a party, but I didn’t understand that. Outside life continually burgeoned, no two steps alike, and yet within hours I’d started to feel at home, in my element, of sorts. Inside I met some great people, challenging thinkers, risk takers, and somewhere, inside, outside, or somewhere in between, a rebirth of a kind started taking shape. I saw sunshine peeking around the corner of sky scrapers, I looked past city lights into the faces of people I didn’t know, I listened to stories of people who’ve gone through transformative journeys both like and unlike mine, and somewhere in there, I got my “happy” back. It became easier to recognize the kind of attendee that was eaten with negativity and cannibalistic competitiveness, see past them, ignore their yapping desire to see how they can use the next person in line, and instead gravitate toward the ones who smiled back, who conversed, who felt confident enough to take a moment out and sit on a bench, sigh, and talk.

At the end of the days, my body had had enough of espresso shot energy boosts, exercises in extroversion, and distance from the little voices in my life that say, “I love you Mommy”. Eagerly I boarded the plane and flew home to the life I know, my little camper with ordinary bedding, my paintings, and my incense. The southern sky was clear and starry when we landed, the air warm to the naked touch even past midnight. The breath I inhaled was deep, the first I’ve taken that was rooted in the peace of knowing that I can bloom in this replanting. My gypsie season is winding down but only after convincing me of the largeness of life, the beauty of people everywhere, and that hope is a renewable resource. Broken wings mend; I’m living the daily truth of it.

Yesterday at the pool my 7 year old was swimming with another 7 year old…a cute kid with dark curls and sparkling eyes. They were tossing back and forth a water rocket and diving for it. The kid’s grandma was nearby correcting him every 5 seconds or so. “You threw that too far to the right” (come and sit in time out). “You are walking in the water more than swimming” (come and sit in time out). “Don’t splash so much” (come and sit in time out). That poor kid couldn’t do a single thing right and spent more time sitting on the side of the pool than he did in the water. But what really got me was this:

in a low tone, staring down right into that baby’s eyes, she growled, “You. Sit. Still or I’ll knock your damn head right off your neck.”

And in one chilled instant I knew she was the kind of woman to be feared. That if she says that in public, she’ll say worse in private. I spoke to the lifeguards about it, who are now going to watch her more closely and say something (it’s their policy as a family institution). They would prefer I go through them if there is ever a problem to reduce conflict. It didn’t feel like I’d done enough though.

There is a commercial running in some parts of the country. A man and woman in a duplex are having dinner at their dining room table. Through the adjoining wall a loud fight can be heard. The couple shift uncomfortably, debating if they should say something or not. The question we all ask, “should I get involved?”. Finally, the man gets up and goes out the front door. The anticipation builds as the viewer wonders what he’s going to say to the wife-beating neighbor.

He knocks.

He has a bat.

He says, “I thought you just might want to use the bat.”

Because the point is, when we do nothing, we’re helping them continue. Our silence is a contributor. Knowledge is power and power requires responsibility. The witness always has less to lose than the victim.

I know the primary question I ask on this blog is, “what if you wanted to change your life?”. Very often, that question morphs into, “what would you do if your life changed?”. Or maybe still, “what do you do when you changed one thing and other changes rippled on down because of it?” That’s where I sit at the moment.

I took my children and left an abusive marriage. Ten moons later we are divorced and living a very different lifestyle. I changed my life; that part was deliberate. I do preface any struggle this new life presents with the honest reality that safety makes everything worth it. I can’t say it would be if leaving were a simple lifestyle option, or an emotional response to not “feeling in love”, or because I thought the grass would be greener. Often I hear people justify divorce in cases of adultery or abuse and I’m living the truth that those two reasons are two of the only ones that would make it worthwhile. The raw truth is that life outside is often filled with some of the most extreme struggling I’ve ever known but with one added blessing: the toxic danger is gone. It’s nice to be able to sleep in peace, make human mistakes in grace, be loved for who I am; one might even say this is a “right”. Children, most especially, deserve to dwell in safety.

So here we are. And I am a single mother now still not fully transitioned (financially speaking) and also self-employed. The most flexible work schedule in the world still requires one thing: Time To Work. That is not compatible with days full of homeschooling 3 grade levels and a preschooler. Our time spent at Story Hour, soccer practice, swim lessons, surf camp and beach days, hiking, books before bed, handwriting practice does not a full education make.

A little history may put this transition into a little more perspective. I first wanted to homeschool my future children when I was 13. I *hated* school and the restrictiveness of it: institutionalized education is hard for a creative spirit. I wanted hours spent outside for my children, lots of books, free exploration, un-stifled creativity, personalized pace, eclectic resources….not until my children were much older, approaching the middle school years, and we were so broke that my working became more of a necessity did I feel compelled to consider putting them in school. I wanted their childhoods to be as “intact” as possible and to instill the ability to think “outside the box” from their earliest moments on.

The fact is that mothers are Only One Person and though many in the movement try to wear all the hats at once, very few can adequately pull off a good homeschool, a second income, and a well-managed household. If it was hard then, it’s even harder now, as a nearly single breadwinner. There are just not enough hours in the day to do it all, all at once.

Coupled with this is their very real need for more structure. After a tumultuous year with more travel than some adults could take, they need the consistent, even rather monotonous, routine that school can provide. I always prayed that when the time was right, I’d know, and I do. Fortunately, we are in a small town with what are considered “excellent” schools. The kids are all excited about the change (their opinions matter). We are all viewing it as a new kind of adventure: a change that is happening because other change happened.

The dream of homeschooling them forever never existed for me. I didn’t imagine a home-style high school graduation and I’ve always talked to them about the virtues of going to college. Still, saying good bye to my little homeschool is a loss. Little moments come, like when I’m selling a curriculum I’d spent so many hours studying and planning with, or when I walked them through the halls of the school for the very first time in their lives.

I think it’s more than a small poverty of our society that schools, even “excellent” schools, look like jails with happy colors. I wonder how we all will all adapt to having so much of our time decided *for* us, rather than *by* us. I can’t imagine dreaming in a place like that. Today I was reading an article in Vanity Fair on the birth of the Internet. It’s the 50th anniversary of the Arpanet and the 15th anniversary of the first browser. I was struck by this quote,

…find a good scientist. Fund him. Leave him alone. Don’t over manage. Don’t tell him how to do something…. Tell him what you’re interested in: don’t tell him how to do it.

That kind of free learning and boundless creativity is the culture that gave us one of the most transformative and historic tools of humanity. The homeschooling movement today is more broad and far reaching than most would realize and I have more faith in it’s ability to continue to promote extraordinary thinking (and thinkers) than institutionalized education. I wanted that for my babies.

For now though, it’s time to play by different rules. It’s time to fit within a context. It’s time to explore what the flip side can offer. It’s change that is happening because change happened. I’m learning the mechanics: the physicals, the shot records, the placement tests. I’m buying the supplies: the lunchboxes, the backpacks, the shoes and socks. Truth be told I’m grieving a little when I hear homeschooling friends talk about field trip schedules or history programs. I think the kids are a little nervous about things like Waking Before Sunrise, Homework, and Having To Ask To Use The Bathroom. Just like I didn’t spend my childhood dreaming of one day being divorced, I didn’t dream about sitting them down in a crowded classroom and a day planner at age 7.

One thing remains true: life is full of changes, deliberate and not. It’s what we do with those changes that matters.

Wherever you are, however you’re celebrating, I hope it’s a great one!

My favorite memories for 4th of July always include the beach and fireworks at dusk. I like the small ones at home better than the big displays that require sitting through a traffic jam. Best yet is being able to do the small ones at home AND see the big ones from afar, ahead of the traffic! This year was a mingling of the usual (Mom’s potato salad and sparklers) and the not (no beach trip or parade).

I think my favorite memory of the 4th ever was one year on the “farm” I grew up on in Michigan (no animals and the garden was one full of roses). That year my dad went a little crazy with the fireworks and it’s really the first year I remember them. I was amazed and a little frightened and awestruck; I must have been 7. My sister and I had a summer habit of getting baths and nightgowns on and then heading back outside to run barefoot in the chilled grass, challenging one another to see who could run the farthest out of the circle of light, hoping to make it to the locust tree on the edge of the grove we called “the park”. I don’t think either of us ever made it that far, always turning chicken about half way across the yard. When I think of it, I remember the heavy smell of roses hanging in the dark air, the coolness of the grass just on the verge of dew, and laughing with a sister I was usually bickering with under the brighter light of day. And maybe all of that didn’t happen on that same 4th….or maybe it did. Childhood sometimes coagulates that way in the adult mind and that’s okay. What I know is that memory is one my sister and I both count as one of our mutual favorites and I think of it every time I sit barefoot at dusk, watch fireflies, or light a sparkler with a child on the 4th.

So here’s a toast to the Fourth, Families, Food, and Fantastic Memories! Blessings to all~

Great post from Beth on this subject today. Check it out!

Open question:

“When you need to change something in your life, what motivates you to move from knowledge to action?”

• When are peanuts miracles? When there millions of them growing on a day so hot that surely they must be roasting right there in the sun, and the dry wind blowing my hair into my face smells thicker than the butter they soon will become.
• When are peaches miracles? When you’re eating one within 10 miles of the lush tree it was plucked from, grown to full ripeness that bursts in your mouth when your teeth break the skin, and the juice runs in golden rivulets of goodness down your chin.
• When is an afternoon rain a miracle? When you’ve been driving for 400 miles in an old van without air conditioning, a heat index over 100, and children sick and tired of months of road trips. When little tears of discouragement find their way from the corners of your eyes and from under the rim of your sunglasses, drying faster than the next breath from that hot wind. When a friend calls to say they are praying for you and within moments the sky starts to swirl with blue gray clouds, embracing the road ahead as if the clouds themselves were angel’s arms, and the resulting drops of cool water fall at such an angle as to not require the windows be closed. When that rain is really wild grace refreshing your spirit, kissing your tears, and giving you enough hope to keep on.
• When is a song lyric a miracle? When it so perfectly sums up what drives the next step, “Just because I’m losing doesn’t mean I’m lost, doesn’t mean I’ll stop.”

Just a few funny moments that came across because that delicious 3rd year is so preciously unique: He woke up the other day and said, “Mommy, I need a vampire for my nose.” (he meant a humidifier!) A friend of his sister’s was teaching him to sword fight and said, “en garde”. He responded with, “I God”.

In 10th grade, Mrs. Kravitz taught me that a good research paper is double spaced, with 1 inch margins all the way around. So when the words crowd together and the lines are too close to see between and there’s no room for a little red-ink-editing, it’s time for reformatting. Today I raise my glass to the goal of having a little more room in the margins. Cheers!

Many thanks to the phone calls and emails and comments I got encouraging me on my swim!

Today I swam again but this time I didn’t run or do strength training first. I was fresh and I had a good carb/protein breakfast. I completed all 16 laps across the pool! Some of them with a kickboard, some side stroke, 1 back, 1 breast…but the point was, I made it across, my breaks were shorter, and I didn’t feel like dying :-).

I probably can’t run AND ride after yet but I think I could one or the other. That’s what I’ll try next.

Onward!

Oh, and I guess we can still say, “It’s the ECONOMY, stupid”. Not going to wax verbose today on politics. But I would just like to say:

• I don’t care that Obama is black.
• I don’t care that Hillary is a woman.
• I don’t care that McCain is old.

I didn’t formulate my choice on anything but issues and the need for change. I resent the constant suggestion that an election has to be driven by race or gender or age issues. In fact, I consider those who keep proclaiming that it does to be further evidence of an “out of touch” mentality that I increasingly have little time for. Get a clue. When our backs are breaking from a system THAT DOESN’T WORK we can see past superficial, skin deep, facades and are quite intelligent enough to vote. Boxes are old-fashioned. That’s all the news from Lake Woebegone today folks…

Some random thoughts:

• Since my feet are planted in two cities, Knoxville and Jacksonville, I’ve decided to start writing reviews of my favorite places in each. They are two very similar cities that both feel like “home” to me so dual living just might end up being a pretty good fit. First up will be cupcake bakery reviews!
• I’m test driving a new social playground, Plurk.com! It’s FUN!! Some very smart people decided to take the micro-blogging format and add threaded conversations and a timeline, so that it’s more like a fleshy, rounded, romanesque version of Twitter. Come find me there and play along: I’m Sixredheads (of course!)
• I’m officially jealous of people with an office. I started my business in my closet and love the portability of laptop-working; in fact, that same ability to be mobile is what makes work life possible right now. But I do crave a quiet place to write actual content and think two thoughts in a row without an interruption!
• I only saw one entry for the Goal Progress Update. If you wrote one, make sure I have your link and I’ll choose the bag winner on Wednesday of this week!
• Two new blogs I found via Plurk: Mark’s Fitness site and Desi’s taste of Italy. Enjoy!

Awhile back, maybe 6 weeks or so ago, I started feeling aware of a need to dream some new dreams for myself. The purest fact is, my life has radically changed over the past year. Congruent to all this change, I’m also accomplishing several of my older dreams and goals. I see myself in a new light, a new context. Some of this is due to the therapy I’ve been going through while I coped with the divorce and the reasons for it… my inner voice has changed how I speak to myself, in every aspect from how I look to what I think I can do. Or, more honestly, it’s changing, present tense, because it’s a helluva thing to change about oneself and HARD.

Oprah used to say (maybe she still does) that, “God has bigger dreams for you than you can dream for yourself”. I love that spin on the scripture that talks about the “plans He has made”.  And I guess if God doesn’t keep us in static little boxes, neither should we do so to ourselves.

Ever since I was a little girl I’ve had the ability to “decide what to dream” as I fall asleep at night. I start by describing to myself a setting and imagining myself in it…then as I fall asleep my mind continues on, usually in full color and usually with a plot. Now and then I’ll dream little seemingly mundane moment in my subconscious mind and then years later actually find I’m living that moment, leading to a punch of deja vu that has taught me to pay close attention to the “setting” of those “mundane” moments in my dream hours. They can provide powerful contextual clues as to how my life is going to change in the future.

So when the thought came over me a few weeks ago that I needed some new dreams I had a choice: deliberately plan some or wait for new ones to arrive without my determination at work. I decided to wait. Something felt wrong, and very small, about list making and controlling it. I wanted to be surprised, to open my mind, to let something in that might be very different from anything I can presently conceive of. To decide on my own what to dream felt too restrictive and confined.

Waiting on a dream is a little tense. Or, at least, it can be. Without a future vision I’m not really sure what I’m working for and I’m the kind of person that needs to have a goal in sight in order to maintain endurance. Open ended work is discouraging to me and trials become monotonous and purposeless. Tracking back across the past month or so, I can see days that reflect that.

Revelations don’t happen in a big BANG in my experience….rather, there is a build up and repetition, though it may be subtle, in the days just before, that make the revelation, when it finally comes, ring more true. It feels right because even on a quiet, subconscious level, there has been some level of preparation going on. And so it goes: a friend will mention something here, an observation is made there, mental files are constructed, feelings are recorded into the body’s memory.

Yesterday I took my children to the beach. Our beach days sit within my Mother Remembrances as some of the most special, most fun, most jubilant days we’ve ever had together. The wide open space, the continuity of the ocean, the relaxation that comes from interacting with such a massive force…we are at once at peace and happy to be together. There has never been a sibling fight at the beach and “Mom always plays too”. Anytime I need that kind of healing reminder that there is something bigger than our lives and our problems, we head to the ocean. Even better is being there with loving friends, and such was our day yesterday.

Despite three applications of high level sunblock though, we all came away a bit burned. And with a heat index of 104, it only took a few hours to wear us out. We came home smiling but exhausted and as a result, had a pretty quiet day. By evening my mind felt clear and blank….I couldn’t concentrate but didn’t feel troubled by anything either. Just really, really light and spacious. I’ve felt that before while praying and meditating, but to my memory, not ever from the elements. It was a profound feeling of peace.

And a more ideal way to drift into sleep must not have ever been! I think I smiled as I fell, hearing loving words run through my thoughts as softly as my head rested on the pillow. A cologne sample nearby my bed permeated the air and crickets scratched at the stars. The dreams came vividly and strongly and when I woke up to white sunlight this morning, my thoughts became conscience extensions of the dreams. The contrast of how I typically do it, that is, deciding consciously what to think before sleep, hoping that it continues in dream land, occurred to me.  I was glad I had not attempted to control the gift of their coming. These dreams were full, “5 senses” dreams and I could fully remember them in the morning.

Today I’m wondering which of them will come true. Or perhaps what portion of all of them will become reality.  In a few places, I can trace them to memories. In every case they possessed content that in conservative smallness, I’d be tempted to doubt their possibility. But dreams aren’t really about being conservative or small or cautious. Dreams, by their nature, provide a way to envision a life or experience that is outside our realm and tightly drawn lines. They are not a pre-determined coloring book of artwork and that is why I’m glad I made the choice to wait for these. The result is amazement and curiosity and dare I say it?…. hope.