Being Now

Why is it so hard to stay in the moment? I'm asking because I truly don't know. We spend so much of our time ruminating about the pass or fussing about the future. Is that hard-wired and if so, how can we rewire it?

I think the answer does lie in changing our thoughts. Because we now know the brain has neuroplasticity, so that means you can teach an old dog a new trick after all.

I'm trying to stay in the moment, but what do you do when the moment is kind of uninspired and dull? I feel as thought I can't see the forest for the trees.

Yesterday as I was jogging, I noticed myself actually paying attention to being present, and it was aweosme. I was enjoying  something at the SAME TIME it was ACTUALLY HAPPENING. Wow. Those feelings are rare indeed. I hope to change that by trying to really tune in to whatever I'm doing it.

Like right now, I am writing this blog post, and I am in this moment in time. And it is good.

Just have to to keep chugging along and trying to stay in the NOW. Eventually, hopefully, my brain will catch up.

Drop the Rope

A new tween event seems to be on the horizon--the refusal to eat. I don't understand it, and it could drive you batshit, but I can't seem to get my kids to EAT at regular mealtimes. I know, it's the summer and the schedule is out the window, but the more I offer or push, the more they push back, sneaking carbs and waiting me out.

A wise woman once told me you don't feed your children, you "present" the food to your children and they either eat it or they don't. There's no forcing involved. Present the food and then get out of the way. A child will not willfully starve.

Because I think, especially at this age, kids want to be independent and can at times resent you for being too helpful or solicitous. At least, that's the vibe I'm getting from my kids, especially my eleven year old.

So it comes down to being in a tug of war where you just have to drop the rope and walk away. And wait. Because eventually the child will eat, the clothes will get put away, and the shower will get taken. All in good time. Patience is a must.

 Just drop the rope.

Mellowing Out

I have decided to be a mellower person. I know it isn't as easy as all that, but still, I 'm going to try. When my kids blast their music, I will not yell. When they let the cats out, I will not freak out. When they don't pick their things up, I will not get irritated.

Maybe I'm setting the bar too high but life is short and I am sick to death of spending my hours worrying.

This also covers the concept of guilt. As my wise psychiatrist told me years ago, "Guilt is Bogus." My equally wise current psychiatrist suggested I take specific "Guilt Free" times during the day. Just tell myself "I'm not going to feel guilty about _______ for the next hour." 

It works!

So I'm heading down the mellow brick road (sorry) and we'll see how well I stay on the middle path. 

Mindful=Peaceful

I'm doing more meditating. I find mindfulness meditation really interesting, since you follow your feelings instead of letting them float by like clouds like you do in what I guess is typical inhale/exhale sitting meditation. So with mindfulness meditation you, at least according to Sharon Salzburg, identify the feelings, deconstruct them, feel them out, so to speak. Then you can let them go.

On more than one occasion i've felt some tears flow down as I meditate, but the feelings don't destroy me. I have all kinds of bad thoughts and feelings and the key is that they end. They pass. They are ephemeral. It's like that joke about weather in pretty much everywhere but Ecuador--"You don't like the weather? Wait five minutes and it'll change."

So over-reacting to feelings and negative thoughts, as I have been wont to do my entire life thus far, is just not the way to go. I guess the opposite is under-reacting. Taking things in, looking at them, letting them go. I think I'm getting better at that, which is awesome because it prevents me from turning a wisp of something into some big drama with gnashing of teeth and public hysteria.

And I'm all for that.

Finding Inspiration

I have an embarrassment of riches right now: time. I want to use it to work on some of my writing. I have three novels in various states of disrepair, and don't know where to start. I'm hoping brainstorming with a friend who's coming over tonight will help me set some goals. I really want to be engaged in something, and my writing is as good a thing as any, at this point in time.

When I look ahead to the next school year, I see myself with teaching artist gigs, which is a good thing. But will it be enough? I feel underutilized and like I'm wasting time, which makes me feel guilty and restless.

My condition is such that I can manage it. So how far into the mainstream can I go? How much of a commitment can I make to outside people? I need to be there for my family, that's priority number one.

So I'm feeling restless and antsy and a bit useless. Surely I can find a writing group or some creative community with which to engage. My doctor suggested the local Shambhala Center, which I'm intimidated to go to, but may need to push myself to try. It would get me out and around like-minded people, and would help me pursue my aspiration of truly being Buddhist. I feel like such a wannabe. I meditate and read and talk, but I'm not really walking the walk. 

So maybe it's time to put my money where my mouth is. And go out and do something.

Losing my Identity

I'm in the interesting position of having a lot of free time on my hands while my children visit for two weeks with their grandparents. I have lists of things to do, many of which I probably won't get to, but I'm also realizing that I am stuck, or flummoxed by all of the teaching resources, especially books, that I have.

I don't know what to do with them--put them in the attic? Sell them? Am I ever going to teach preschool again as a lead or co-lead? Do I need all those Vivian Paley books? She's great, but how many do I really need?

I bought so much stuff in my manic phase and now it sits, in perfect condition, on my shelves. I feel guilty and embarrassed by the excess. How best to use it?

If I give away or sell these things, what is that saying about my future career? Am I giving it up? There are certain books that I think I can part with. I mean, how many Reggio Emilia books do you need? But I hate to just give this stuff away when it could be meaningful for someone else I might already know. And, to be honest, I am not ready to let go of this stuff. So many teaching supplies were collected when I was readying for my short-lived stint at the local preschool. I can still use some of them in my work with preschoolers for the arts organization I'm involved in. I'm still working with kids, but in a much more controlled environment. I'm hanging on to my children's picture books because I know I'll use those. But my grad school books? Do I really need them anymore? I feel like I've read enough about early childhood education to merit my degree, even if the program I was in wasn't all that fabulous.

It's just, it's the books. It's my emotional attachment to the books, because if I give them away, am I giving up? I'm so unsure of my future career path, and just don't know anymore what to save and what to send off to benefit others. I have intentions of reading and using these books again...someday. But I don't know when that day will be.

Perhaps the answer lies in putting them aside (in the attic) for one year. And if after one year, I have yet to break them open, bend their spines, highlight or dog ear pages, then maybe it's time to sell or give them away. I think that's the best plan.

Because who knows what the future brings or who I'll be in a year? And do I really need so many books to define myself?

It's going to be an interesting two weeks.

Hateful Speech

So I'm just back from a walk in the woods with my kids that had some unsavory elements, in the form of four middle school-aged kids, three girls and one boy, who were hollering and shouting and just being general low grade obnoxious.

Until they saw us. Then the boy just kept yelling at us, really aggressively, "Sup?!" over and over. We said hello and I stared down one of the girls who was trying to give me the stinkeye. But since my kids didn't say anything and I didn't say much, the boy started shouting, "Can't you talk, bitch?" which, needless to say, was unsettling,

Where does this hatred come from? Sure, they're probably just a bunch of bored tweens looking to stir shit up, but what could they possibly gain from us, such low hanging fruit? We were just generic mother and children minding our own business.

We walked away and unfortunately it was not the way home, so we eventually had to turn back, which we did. We saw a young woman with a dog and asked if we could walk with her, safety in numbers. And when we did, in fact, run into the foursome again, one of the girls admired her dog and the "Sup?!" Boy just kept yelling "Sup?!" but it was easier to ignore.

I do know that my kids now know bitch is a bad word. I feel lucky I didn't swear back at those obnoxious kids. Because I sure as hell felt like it. I felt like, if they were to come at us in any way, I would have gone off the rails to protect my kids. I've never felt vulnerable in that park we walked and I often run in, until today.

Which I think is just sad.

It also saddens me to see such rage and aggression aimed at innocent people. Where does it come from? Who talks to those kids the way they talked (shouted) at us? What do they dream about at night? Who tucks them in or speaks kindly to them?

I also felt a real fear which I disguised to the best of my ability, but I'm sorry, when you're outnumbered, it feels a little scary, especially because I'd be the main person in the fight, if there was one, which of course there wasn't. Thankfully. But it touched that deep river of fear that comes with being a parent. You will protect your children at any cost. Fight or flight indeed. It's primal.

I don't know what I should have or could have said or done to dissolve the aggression those kids were throwing at us full throttle. I'm glad at least I didn't stoop to their level and swear in front of my kids. And swearing at a bunch of middle school kids would lower my chances for mother of the year. But I sure felt like shouting at them. I had the urge to vent my spleen. Nobody talks to me or my kids like that, was my thought. But in the moment, there was nothing to say.

Which is also sad.