Long time coming

So begins our vacation. We’ve been away from the boy before, and I’m not usually one of those overly emotional clingly mom types who cries and wails whenever we leave the “baby” -- granted, this is the longest we’ll have been away from Grif, and the longest he’ll have stayed with grandma, but that’s not what had me in tears. Cuz yes, there were tears when I walked away from Grandma’s car, his little life of toys and clothes and bunny and dog filling up the back of her car. What choked me up had to do with, as usual, time. 

I’ve finally come to a point in the year where the freelance work is done (but hopefully more coming down the pike), so no outstanding work or obligation or task is pulling me away from the boy’s constant cries of “come play with me, mommy.” The holidays are over, the baking, shopping, wrapping and traveling are over as well -- so much so that everything is put away and stored for another year. Most of the laundry is done, caught up, as is the house in its current state of “pretty clean.” The packing and prepping and double-checking for this trip is complete as well... and so this afternoon came the time to finally, fully relax. The time when I could finally put everything down, not have anything pressing me to get done, the time when I could finally focus all my attention on the boy... and then we left. 

Which is not to say that I’ll be in any real crazy insane working mode when we return. Sure, they’ll be the obligatory unpacking and putting everything away and the new batch of laundry to do, but time-wise, I’ll still have the same (luxurious, glorious) copious amounts -- no upcoming events, no crazy side-work, nothing to prep and pack for. And maybe, hopefully, after some time away, time where I can catch up on sleep -- lots and lots of sleep and napping and movie watching and yoga and hanging with friends and skiing and all the rest this lovely, magical place in the mountains brings -- hopefully I’ll be more refreshed than ever, so the times I’ll have with the boy will be that much more fun and focused and free. He deserves it, and so do I. 

But for now, I miss him a little. I miss the time that I’ve already wasted trying to get to this point, sometimes at his expense. I miss his smell and his little face and his heart-melting laugh. But I’ve missed my pilot too, and with the craziness of editing and working and holiday rush, we’ve missed spending good time together as well. We’ve missed each other, and for this trip, I’m so thankful that we have the time to recharge and relax with each other, for each other. So for as much as I miss the boy and the fact that this “down” time could be solely dedicated to him, I know -- and am soooooo very thankful for -- this time is just for the pilot and me. Cool, no? 

Chronos, Kairos

Once again, I find myself exhausted -- after a truly long, hard day of copywriting at work, still a bit exhausted and tired-out from yesterday's first training -- and it was tempting once again to skip tonight's endeavor. But I had something to share, something I read today, about motherhood and time. Right up our alley, no? So here I am.

The full article is here, and I highly (highly!) recommend reading it, as more of this will make sense. But the gist of her article centered around, as a mother, getting through the chronos times -- when the kids are screaming, or throwing fits, or when we are just watching the clock thinking two more hours until bedtime. The times that we get through, that are difficult to make it through -- but somehow we do -- during these days and weeks of motherhood and mothering.

But then there are the kairos times, when everything slows down, and we look, really see our children, and are overwhelmed by their beauty, their humor, their gloriousness, their childhood. We're overwhelmed with gratitude and love and hope. These are the times we live for. Chronos is the time we live through, and it's ok that chronos is so much more of our regular days.

Chronos -- driving home late in traffic and almost getting hit head-on by a truck not paying attention and crossing the line (on the phone?). Kairos -- tonight as we brush teeth and with his mouth full of brush, Grif looks right up at me, in my eyes and says Mommy, I love you so much (it's the "so" that always gets me). Chronos, making dinner and prepping and plating, even though I'm tired and headachy. Kairos, coming in the door to a shouted "mommy!!!!" then lounging on the couch, on Jim, with Grif splayed across us both, watching Thomas and relaxing, truly, from the day.

Chronos, making the effort to get out the computer even though all I wanted was to crash on the couch. Kairos, seeing, feeling, knowing it was worth it.

Big, contented sigh.

Today, for what feels like the first time in eons, and in all honesty, is probably the first time since March of last year, I didn't have anything to do. No writing, editing or indexing projects hanging over my head, no resume favors left undone, no "work" work that I should have been working on pressing down my day or my heart. Nothing left outstanding, nothing to feel guilty about not doing.

Which is not to say that I still didn't have a ton to do. My side of our office is still barely controlled chaos. My hotmail inbox is horribly overloaded. Don't even talk to me about laundry, mountains waiting, and Grif's journal, still not updated. Today, there were veggies to cut up and freeze in prep for Super Bowl chowder and chili, breakfast to make for today and tomorrow, xmas decorations to take down, dinner and dishes and all the rest. But I had time to do all that, without guilt, without being pressed, without feeling like I really should be doing something else. These tasks were optional, leisurely even. Even more amazing, thanks to my pilot, I got to go to yoga today (where my favorite moksha teacher of all time was teaching class, and so it was even more fulfilling and challenging and good than normal), got there early, left late, and still got to take a nap when I got home. And for that I was so thankful. I felt accomplished. Contented. Relieved, relaxed, good.

Today, I had time. And so this is what we did. You want to come draw with me? Yes, honey. Absolutely. And I did it without watching the clock or being anxious about how much longer I could play with the boy before I had to rush off to finish some endlessly unfinished task. Today, I had time. And it felt totally, gratefully, permanently, amazingly, wonderfully good.

It's been HOW long?

Ok, so, um, I've been busy. Thank the Universe -- busy beyond belief. Probably too busy, in all truthfulness. But working part-time has been amazing. I've had the opportunity to bite off waaaaaay more than I can chew, spent the last six months trying to potty-train a three-year-old (and not lose my mind), adjusted to my new part-time-crazy-working-mom-loving life. And had a blast doing it.

The only thing I've missed is this. I've missed it a lot. I haven't made time for it -- but in truth, it's because I've made time for so much else (although you don't want to see the state of my home office. I'm truly afraid that if I don't get in there soon to organize, purge and, I repeat, ORGANIZE, that my husband will submit me for an episode of Hoarders. I digress.).

Time -- it's always been about time, hasn't it? And now that I have more of it, I've filled it to the absolute brim so that I've got even less these days. Ironic, no? Even my husband complains that I'm always going somewhere, doing something, with the boy, with friends, with yet another project. Driving way too much. Taking too much on. But it's been fabulous. Hard, at times (such is the life with a 3-year-old). Crazy at others (such is the life of a mom). Truly insane at even others (such as it is as a writer, late nights and long hours writing and editing and writing and editing....). But, I repeat, so very good.

So here's to getting everything I wanted. Here's to being crazy busy but still having the days off to go to the zoo with the boys, the pool with Grif, the off-days to do errands or just play in the driveway, or stay up way too late with my pilot watching silly movies or talking into the wee hours, planning our next days, our next dinner, our next dreams.

Here's to it all. Thanks, everyone, everything. Proof positive that dreams do come true.

And a wee little promise, to myself, to the boy, to my pilot. To come here more often. Just for a few minutes. Oh, and to write in the boy's journal. And clean up the office. And get those pictures hung. And get back to yoga more often. And... And... enjoy all the rest.

With love, with light, with hope and peace. Thank you for this good, good life.

change is a comin'

Well, who knew, eh? Who knew that this day would finally, finally arrive? This day where the focus, the hope, the crux of all my dreams and desires from the past two years would unfold itself in one neat little package? For those of you following along, this is where I would obviously and convincingly say, "Well, I did. I knew it was coming." And though there were days when I lost patience (but never hope!), I believed this day would come. Truly. And yet, it's still so amazing to know that it is finally here....

Last week, I went to yoga. A mom's night out. No boys, no distractions. The decision just made and final that although I believe in long shots and miracles, my current place of employment simply had not been able to keep me -- the hours? the pay? doesn't matter -- the decision finally final and done. And although I was so very excited about my new part-time job (read it again, PART-TIME JOB...ok, now shout it to the rooftops), I had, in fact, been holding out more than a little bit of hope that my long shot of being able stay would come through. It did not. And frankly, I was more than a little disappointed. Ok, that's an understatement. I was sad. Supremely let down. Broken-hearted. Scared too at the thought of leaving this very comfortable place I had created for myself as writer, editor, brainstormer, concepter, valued employee, friend.....and that's when I realized that I had let myself lose sight of the most important part. That. My. Dream. Had. Finally. Fully. Absolutely. Perfectly. Come. TRUE!

So, yoga. Arriving in sadness made me angry. And those are two things that just don't belong there. At my hot yoga practice, I find it easy, natural even, to really be able to focus on and deliver the deep, deep breathing that is so critical to every yoga practice, but even more so when it's 110 degrees in your studio. And I always use two words to inhale and exhale throughout my practice there -- a mantra of sorts, depending on my mood. Usually some sort of reminder. Often a wish....any one of these my focus for the past year....Inhale (when?). Exhale (soon)....Inhale (peace). Exhale (hope)....Inhale (strength). Exhale (hope).

Last week, last Thursday, with my somewhat broken, fearful, anxious heart in hand, I lay there on my mat before class trying to relax and focus. And I suddenly realized how ungrateful I was, how my expectations had overshadowed the most important part -- that my wish, my dream, my want had come true. Entirely. How easy to forget in the mess of all the crazy details that had just that day worked themselves out. And now how critical it was to put them all aside and embrace, believe, remember what was truly, truly important.

Somewhat contrite, I put all that hurt and disappointment aside. I had just been handed the thing I wanted most in life -- a place to do what I enjoyed (writing and editing) and the amazing gift of two extra days to spend with both of my boys (without compromising too much of my overall funds). More time. More time with Grif. More time with Jim. More, more, more. Time, time, time. How amazing. And so I dedicated that practice to being uncompromisingly, totally overflowing with gratitude and joy. To thanking everyone who worked so hard to make this come true for me. To not just saying thanks, but fully feeling it. To being full to overflowing with joy and thanks. Fully reaping the rewards from the sheer amazingness of it all. To being overwhelmed at this amazing gift -- this gift that sometimes goes by the name of Grif, but so often is just my good, good life.

And so I inhaled (joy). And exhaled (thanks).

Repeat. Infinitely.

Breaking the Silence

It's interesting to me how I have a love/hate relationship with my professional job (dare I say, career?). Outside of the fact that I truly love the work I do (I've often said that I'm a good editor because I love doing it, but the reverse is just as true), I love it that I often can steal away a few minutes or a half hour to write a little something here (steal being the operative word). It's when I'm at work that I have the most contact with a computer and the Internet -- I find it hard to motivate myself to sit back down at the computer at home after I've been pounding away at one all day at work (hence another reason why "the book" remains unfinished). So naturally I love it when my job allows me just a few minutes of downtime to put down some of the words that so often circle in my head. I love it when I can actually see the words churning out and know -- just know -- that I'm a good writer.

Yet I hate it (absurdly) when the events of the past few weeks -- the um, well, work -- have kept me so busy that I've been silent here. So although this will be quick (perhaps not short, but quick nonetheless), I was overwhelmed by the absolute need to break the silence and get something current out here.

I love my job for the past few writing projects I've done. Who knew that I could actually grow as a writer when writing copy for a client? I should clarify by saying that the most recent client was, in fact, ourselves, and that I've been writing (or rewriting as the case may be) the majority of the narrative that appears on our soon-to-be-launched new company website. I've loved taking on the ultra-creative, super-hip, highbrow and intelligent nature of this. I love it that the higher-ups trusted me to do this -- and even more, that they showered me with praise upon its completion. I love doing the background work to find out what's really cool with other companies like ours -- that kind of research is what made me love the ad business all those years ago in college, when I used to cut out magazine ads that I felt -- knew -- were particularly brilliant, whether due to the layout or the copy, more often than not both. I love it now that I can recognize that same quality in my own work here.

Yet I hate my job because the incentives to stay here have just been dramatically increased -- a nice pat on the back, both in the actual, real singing of my praises from the "bosses" along with a good bump in pay -- it's been fun here. Good. Satisfying. Fulfilling. And that, of course, is the very reason why the "hate" part of the job relationship is so poignant right now. I hate it when I realize how much I love my job, and the people I work with, and even more, the actual work I'm doing. I hate it because my job is still 100% full-time, in-office, and that makes looking for something else so difficult. Which I'm doing. And I still want. Terribly. I hate it when they make me love it here...and that's said with a genuine smile on my face, but more than a grain of sad truth.

Because I'm still missing days with the boy. My precious, sweet, growing, crazy long-legged boy. He's running and climbing everywhere and everything. He's fearless. Not yet talking (in real words that I can understand, I should say, since he's definitely speaking, just in his own language) but that day is fast approaching. And with it comes the realization this bright window of his future is being thrown open -- these special years where he can go to the zoo for the first time, slide down a park's slide over and over, laugh out loud at the joy of getting pushed on a swing...and it's now more than ever that I want to spend as much time -- as many days -- as I can with him.

This see saw of emotions has been very much on my mind of late. I'm so thankful that my job is getting better, I'm overjoyed that I actually like it again. And I'm saddened to think that I'll have to leave it in order to gain the time I so desperately desire with the boy in these years before he starts school. But leave it I will, if it means even one more day I'll get with Grif. And when that day comes -- when -- I'll happily and thankfully take with me the memories of these good days here.

So this life coach says...

I went to a Ladies Night Out last week at my favorite new pilates studio. Drinks and appetizers, jewelry for sale, 15-minute massages, salsa dancing...and a life coach. Before I go much further, you must first imagine how I just said that word, life coach, with a slight moue on my face. I know a life coach -- a real, sincere, good life coach -- my dearest, dearest, soul mate of a sister/best friend/maid of honor/godmother to my child, and I'm here to tell you, that my friend was made to do this -- she's been doing it for me on some level since we met when I was 16 and she 14...but this lady, let's call her Jane, exuded this vibe that was altogether too easy to role my eyes at. "I'm a life coach," she breathes in her cheery, determined voice...

Anyway, Jane set me on edge from the start...to get things rolling, she asked the ladies within earshot, "Are you ready to make a change?" Complete with her book in the background and worksheets in hand, I got an immediate used-car-sales vibe from her from the get-go. Good lord. Now again, I believe in life coaching, for creativity, for inner peace, for goal-setting, for learning better how to live your life. Jane seemed to have an agenda -- a business agenda -- and her job was to take us through this (very long, repetitive, staged) talk that would explain what a life coach does and the (long, repetitive, staged) process that she uses to accomplish her clients' goals. She mostly focused on health and exercise -- and how to change your daily behaviors and expectations in order to meet these body and diet goals. And she does much of her coaching over the phone apparently. Which just made me cringe even more. On the phone? Come on, lady.

At some point during her shtick, she finally posed a question to the group (imagine a dozen glassy-eyed women sitting somewhat morosely on exercise balls casually bouncing up and down to stay awake), "Who here has a goal they want to achieve -- and wouldn't mind sharing with the group?" As she stared intently (bright-eyed, expectant) at us, someone piped up with, "I want to finish my book." What the...? Did that just come out of my mouth? Crap. How did that happen? Where did that come from? Me, apparently. "Ooooooh, that's a good one," Jane exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight and focusing entirely on me now. Fantastic.

What followed was a series of questions -- showing the group the type of questions she would ask me if I were (eek) her client and she my (gasp) life coach:

Do you have a title? (I did, but it had been so long since I worked on it that in that moment, I actually forgot what it was.)
How long have you been working on it? (Forever. Actually writing it since...and I paused....2001.)
What's it about? (My mother. And her first husband. Who was killed in the Vietnam war. And hence is the whole reason I am here.)

Jane started to coo again, practically rubbing her hands together in some sort of life-coachy delight. But here's where she got interesting:

Why do you want to write it? (Because I'm a writer. Because it's a good story.)
Who are you writing it for? (Uhhhh. Good question. Myself? My mother? I wasn't sure. I'm still not.)
What's stopping you from completing it? (Everything. Time. The fact that I'm a mother of an 18-month-old, working full-time, with a husband who's a pilot and is gone for days at a time effectively leaving me a single mother and it's all I can do to set aside an hour to workout or find a babysitter so I can come to events like this...this came out in one breathless rush).

She asked me some other questions, about finances (yeah I have to work full-time right now) and my husband's support (yes he supports me greatly, can't wait til I finish the NYT bestseller so we can both quit working), challenging me with intentions (a writer writes every day) and things I was doing to further my goal (blogging) and what I was going to do in the very near future to accomplish this (um, well, set aside some time to write, review what I've already written and get back to it). And that's where she got me.

As insane and over-the-top and salesman-y as this too happy and intense woman was, she had me there. Set aside some time next week to write. Get back to it. Just write for god's sake. Write. The. Book. Already.

And for as much as I disdained her, judged her, scoffed at her, dismissed her, she got to me. I guess, she did her job. Although I don't need a life coach (yet), I've been thinking about her simple questions and the 15 minutes she spent firing them at me. And no, I haven't written any more of my book just yet (It Was A Very Good Year -- that's the title by the way, just like the Frank song). But I'm getting there. I'm thinking about it. I'm passionate about it again. No longer on the back burner, but burning brightly in my forward consciousness. I want to bring it back and finish it NOW. I want to see how it turns out -- where it takes me -- how it ends. I owe it to my mother, her first husband, most importantly, I owe to me -- the writer I am -- to complete this thing I began so long ago.

I'm off to yoga right now. And then home to see the boys and make dinner and hopefully relax a bit after this day. And maybe, just maybe, I'll write tonight. And if not, I'll have at least written this much about it. And that is a start that I can be happy with.

Caught wasting my days trying to prolong them...

Oh, Time, you silly, fickle bitch. How I loathe you worship you talk to you crave you need you despair of you hope for more more more of you. Somehow, I've let you get the best of me once again. Somehow, the hourglass has been supercharged and I find myself nearly in March!

My excuse? I've been busy. Too busy. With work. With life. With all of it. And frankly, I've let 2010 pass me by too quickly without taking the time -- to breathe -- and really enjoy it. Bad girl. Even worse, I haven't blogged, posted, written, created here (or anywhere for that matter) in so very long. So that's not really an excuse -- it's a confession. And one that I'm not happy to have had to make.

So! With a fresh new (simpler) look, we charge forward. Back to it! With hope, happiness and vitality -- with really being here, being present each day for myself, and more importantly, my family. Vowing to live each moment from here on with a smile on my face. To not let useless things like traffic getting to work and to Grif and to life frustrate me. To not let my exhaustion from work get in the way of enjoying playtime with him (he's getting so big, so tall), or "us" time with my pilot. To living each moment better, purer, clearer. Getting back to the real me that this odd winter has somehow sapped a wee bit, and left me feeling slightly out of sorts, melancholy and a bit lost -- not enough to really notice sometimes, but nevertheless diminished slightly. Perhaps that's what made losing (ignoring) these past two months so easy...and why March has crept up on me.

I feel like I often write in circles, coming back to the same message over and over -- but by god somewhere in this repetition the universe will hear me -- I will hear me! -- and hopefully conquer crazy days instead of letting them conquer me.

So -- we're off! Or, back, as it were. And to start this new start, I dedicate this one to Jack London. My parents went to Australia over 10 years ago. And for some reason, they took this picture for me. Ok, maybe not for me, but it was mine from the first time I laid eyes on it. And I've posted it prominently wherever I've worked...it's the quote I leave on most cards, the prose I recite aloud when the occasion warrants, the graffiti I use when given the chance. It's my mantra, and one that this entire blog stems from and revolves around. Hell, it's what I try to revolve my life around. And it's been too long absent in its entirety from this blog (and my life -- are ya getting the message?). To drive it home, in case you can't quite read the quote, I'll leave it here below as well. It's worth the time to read -- and feel -- and believe -- and take with you -- and live.

I'd rather be ashes than dust,
a spark burnt out in a brilliant blaze,
than to be stifled in dry rot.
For man's chief purpose is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.

A Long Breath

Ok, so 2010 hasn't exactly been the stellar year I'd hoped for so far...in short, my work life (yes, my WORK life) has been so over-the-top, insanity-filled, really-crazy-busy-no-I-mean-really-crazy-busy that somehow January has nearly passed me by...not only without a new post here, but without even the time to READ the blogs that I usually (daily) enjoy.

I have, however, luckily made time recently (somehow) to get to yoga (one of my resolutions not just for the New Year, but for life in general). Two things, it's been ages since I've been...yes, I let the holidays (starting waaaay back in October with the boy's birthday) interfere in so many ways. I could blame it on my husband's crazy flying schedule, but I can think of at least five distinct times that I could have gone but either 1. chose not to due to laziness/grif time/jim time/steph time/laziness, or 2. I honestly did not think of it until it was too late...I'm blaming these on the holiday-induced sugar coma that I happily, willingly indulged in throughout.

So it had been awhile, and last Sunday, after my triumphant return to the hot yoga studio I love, I could definitely feel the missing time. My balance was off, my muscles sore and not at all accustomed to the poses I was forcing them to remember...but it was good. Yoga always is.

I went again last night -- after a horribly long, once-again-over-busy day at work, braving the insane rainstorm last night to get there, all of which made it so much more inviting to just stay at home and cuddle up on the couch instead of subjecting my body to the heat and sweat again...but I went anyway. And I swear it was hotter -- significantly so -- than any other class I'd been to. But somewhere in the middle, I think I may have crossed a road -- even with my month-plus absence -- for the first time, I felt my breath and my body push over a line I had not known existed. I was tired, drenched, somewhat defeated, but all of of sudden in the middle of Warrior II, I felt....powerful. Intensely, quietly, fiercely POWERFUL. I could almost feel my whole body vibrating with this strangely silent energy and control. And I reveled in it, felt it, took it all in...all with one long breath. And another....and another...

Afterward, standing in line at Chipotle to finish my eve with a healthy dinner (and yes I ordered healthy there!), looking in the glass at my reflection (which was still beet red, with soaked hair, and more than a little disheveled), I realized that I looked -- no, I felt -- taller. Yes, taller. Larger than life. Thinner even. I felt more.

I was totally exhausted afterward, mentally as well as physically. But in a good way -- a fulfilled way -- quite unlike the exhaustion that (I've let) work as of late drag me down into. And as I lay in bed that night, I lamented the fact that I'd let this blog -- this wonderful outlet -- go dormant for what seemed like much too long. And though this is not the entry I intended today, this is still nothing I truly have time for (here at work), this is much much longer than I wanted, it's here. Again. Finally. And I'm giving a good part of the credit to my yoga class last night. The rest goes to me, for getting there and doing it again. And for getting something even more than I planned out of it. Strength. Health. Presence. Peace. Rest. Breath. All of it oh so good.

And so, it begins (2010)...

Our holidays were truly magic...only my sister's house could be so full of chaos, love, wonderful food, a 90-pound puppy, and true, true goodness. Happiness. Fun. It was the perfect way to close down 2009 with laughter and family and everything it should be. The grand finale of a wondrous decade.

A new year begins...has already begun, in fact (how quickly). It sidled in while we were still opening gifts with Grif and eating decadent food and even more decadent cookies and pie. Sneaky, New Year, sneaky. I have so many hopes, big dreams, bigger expectations, giant demands from (of) this year...where will we be at this time in 2011 when we look back? Will I have accomplished all I wanted? Will I remember -- know -- to be truly grateful for it? Will even the things I failed to do (again, still) bring a feeling of contentment or peace, knowing that there is either time yet to complete them or that they weren't really all that important anyway....It brings a smile to my face to look forward. Breath held. Fingers crossed. Prayers answered. Thanks given.


So here's to 2010. Here's to snow days, coffee breaks and egg breakfasts. Here's to working out more (really) this year. Here's to even returning back to "real" life at work -- as I refuse to let the madness and slight disenchantment of my job get me down. Here's to fitting into that one old dress in my closet. Here's to sled/car/bike/plane/boat rides with Grif. Here's to summer afternoons and cool fall nights. Here's to spending more time with husband. To spending less money. To spending at least one long holiday at my little farm. Here's to all the things that I (we all) vow to do/change/start/finish every year, but never...quite...do. Here's to the hope of those things. Cuz really, as long as I still believe in these things, hope for these things, hope for my life, then I can truly enjoy this wonderful, beautiful new year. As I should.

I love the holidays. Really.

So why am I struggling through these days? Feeling anxious, somewhat let down, knowing that although I am not yet on the verge of tears, if I let myself really give in to the feeling I have in the pit of my stomach, I could start weeping at any second. Why this mental meltdown? I love the holidays -- I love shopping for just the right gift, something unique and different, something that really means something as opposed to just buying things so that the receiver can have something to open on Christmas day.

I'm not a spendthrift. So Christmas shopping -- hell, even grocery shopping around the holidays -- is not something I do with any shred of frugality. Everyone in my life is so easy to shop for -- ooh, Grif needs this. Perfect, Jim's going to love this! I love the rush, and yes, even the silly, sappy, over-played Christmas music. I love decorating the house just so -- and getting ready for the holiday baking now that the big-turkey-mandatory-clam-chowder day is over. I love it all. It makes me feel warm. Alive. Happy.

So what's different this year? I still feel all these things, but they are tinged (tainted?) by a hint of hysteria. Of panic. Of sadness. Was it my birthday? Yes, I am one year closer to a huge (in my mind) age landmark, but this year's celebration was amazing (maybe that's it -- I'm still hungover?). I've been having a hard time with my mother lately, a daily struggle with emotions and words, so easily misunderstood across the miles and over the phone. So is that it?

Is it that, again, there is still so much left undone that I'd really love to learn how to make time for? I know I have to pick my battles (time, always, more time!) with what I can really do with my free time -- since, at the heart, I want every extra minute to be spent playing with Griffin or taking advantage of stolen days with Jim.

I got teary watching Disney's Prep and Landing the other day -- first because Jim DVR'd it so we could watch it (I love him for doing that -- I didn't even ask. The best surprises are like that.), second because the message was such a fun, simple, modern reminder of what this whole season is really all about. And yet...

For the first time as a blogger, I have no grand resolution to these questions. No lesson to try and remind myself of. No epiphany that writing has helped me realize, embrace, know. No "punchline." No immediate feeling of peace. Inner, solid, fulfilling peace. Am I having a mid-holiday crisis? Perhaps. Perhaps. And so I'll end this one with a song instead of words (and even this was a struggle -- the deliberately sad Robert Downey Jr. River? Or something with just a bit more...something?). And hope that whyever this melancholy is, wherever this sadness comes from, it will soon pass me on by. So I can enjoy the holidays. Really.

Rest, sweet rest

The TV is off, the book is shut...the light is still on, but soon to be extinguished as everything else that has wound down on this lovely, full-mooned night. To rest. Repose, sleep. Freedom from activity or labor, a place for resting, peace of mind or spirit, quiescent, motionless, free from anxieties, a letting go...those of you following along will know exactly where I got this list.

Sigh. To rest. I crave sleep (always, as a mother with a wee boy and a husband who's a pilot)(although I think it's par for the course for any mother, the rest is just extra). I live for the weekends when I can revel in a two-hour nap in the afternoons -- stolen time while the boy sleeps as well. Quiet-time just for me, on the couch in the living room...sweet, sweet naps!

But there's something to be said for the preparing of the night -- the night coming on, the feeling of sleepiness, the quiet that covers everything not unlike the cozy blankets on one's bed. I like -- no, love -- the idea of tiptoeing around the house, trying not only to keep from disturbing the sleeping Griffin, but to also not disturb this film of quiet, the aura of impending motionlessness, the glaze of heavy eyes and soon-to-be sweet dreams. I've been thinking about this nighttime silence for some time now, but of course, have totally succumbed to it and the much-needed slumber before I could take a few minutes to write about it (revel in it)...

Sunsets rather than sunrises. Always for me. The closing of the day -- regardless of how much was accomplished or left undone, how good or bad, successes or failures -- has a magic all its own. Is it hope? A promise of things to come when the day dawns anew? A peacefulness that comes from knowing that regardless of its events, this day has had its time and is now nearly over, past and complete? Or is it just sweet release from the day's busyness, craziness, go-go-goingness? A bit of all of it, but most of all, a letting go. A real sense of peace, not just peacefulness. Dropping the shoulders. Fully gathering the yawn, cozying under the covers, and resting. At rest. Ah, rest.

I'm listening...

There are times when I don't think I'm a very good listener. I forget details -- the names of friends' friends, upcoming events they told me about, plans they've made that are important to them. I forget to ask, I forget to follow up, I forget -- and I wonder now if it's not that I have Mommy Brain (although that is a wonderful excuse), but that I so often don't take the time to listen. Really listen.

Right now, I'm listening (and getting distracted by) a fly buzzing in the window behind me. Listening to the buzz of conversation around me without really tuning into it. Trying to listen to the music from my earbuds instead of the satellite radio station I am tired of but that is blaring just a little too loudly. I used to joke that I had "bartender hearing" -- back when I was a full-time bartender, it was my job to listen to whatever the guest wanted to talk about (bad day, failing sports team, significant-other trouble, sports in general, did I mention sports?) while simultaneously and effectively keeping the bar clean, making drinks, taking orders, washing glassware, watching for the next guest, stocking liquor & beer, making change....you get it. It was a weird mastery of multitasking -- and I was good at it -- listening, responding, but all the while four steps ahead with the next drink, the next customer, the next....

I've lost that ability. I think. Maybe I still have it -- I've just lost the ability to really focus on the first part: listening. Again, it's easy to cry "Mommy Brain," but I think it's more that I need to slow down. Grif's dishes can wait. So can his bag, or his laundry, or the show I DVR'd which is currently on pause while you talk to me. So can my own thoughts about my story that is so similar to the one you're telling me right now. Is there something really that important that I can't just slow down, look you in the eye, and listen to what you are saying right now? Ok, I can think of a few things, but most of those involve stitches or the hospital...I think I even forget to listen to myself -- no time, no time! -- and perhaps, if I slow down, I will hear that I'm tired, or that I'm alright, or that I am, in fact, happy.

I want to slow down (but wait, don't I need more time to do that?). No. I can slow down. Slow down and listen to my husband when he goes on and on about the "options" that he is so interested in. Slow down and listen to Griffin when he's playing, laughing, sleeping. Slow down and listen to you, my friend, whenever you talk to me. Slow down and listen to that strong, amazing voice inside that cries "yes, you are" and "yes, it is" when I need to feel better, happier, hopeful, thankful. Slow down and listen. Listen to the universe telling me that everything is surely unfolding as it should be. Slow down, take the time, and listen. I'm quiet now. Quiet. And listening.

Eighteen Minutes

I have 18 minutes before I have to leave to pick up the boy from daycare...oops, now 17. And instead of reading other people's blogs, or wasting time, or wasting ANYthing more, I am challenging myself to use this time. Use it, thank you, Jack London.

Blogging is difficult for me. I fear I want all my posts to have soooo much meaning. To be masterpieces. To carry a message. To affect another soul, move someone, make a difference. I start getting ideas about things I should blog about -- the woman I saw today with a young girl (Does she have a chance? Mom was on the phone, smoking a cigarette, wee girl was flitting around her like a lost satellite -- too scared to take that final step away, too young to do it alone, too fragile to be ignored. Hmmm...perhaps that's a post for another day.) -- the talks I had with two of my friends today, encouraging them separately to breathe, follow their dreams and do something daring, scary and different -- the delight of fall and the possibility of change and hope for what the future brings -- the fabulous ice cream that I had to celebrate the afternoon -- the Elizabeth Gilbert talk I listened to on the Painted Path....

It's crazy all the "blog" thoughts I've had since I officially began my life as (not just another) blogger. Down to 11 minutes now....as a writer, I've always felt the pressure of "a writer writes every day." I want to be a better writer. I am a writer. A published writer (ah the days of book reviews!). An accomplished and not quite prolific writer (but I'm working on that). Writing for my job is very different than this creative, organic work that I'm putting down here in print. And one that I think I've let narrow my creative thinking as opposed to expand it...writing copy for a client or his or her website or ad...well, let's just say it's not what I want to do forever. Writing like that (copywriting, that is) demands that you write with your head first, and just like in the movie Finding Forrester, I believe more in writing "your first draft with your heart..the first key to writing is... to write, not to think!" And I think that's the problem -- too much thinking, not enough real writing.

And so with one minute left, I won't reread, I won't re-edit, I won't rethink. I'll just write. And be proud that I did.

Time, more time!

Now more than ever, I feel the pressure of time. If only I had one more day to...if only I had time to...if only I had a few more hours so I could just...it's annoying and slightly anxiety-inducing to feel myself so pressured by time. This blog is the perfect example of this -- I should have started it long (long) ago, and I know I kept just thinking that "tomorrow" would always come, and of course, be the better day to start....

I wish I had more time with my son, Griffin. I wish I had more time with my husband, Jim. More time to workout, more time to read, more time to be one of those (enviable) people who sits at the Coffee Emporium (or Starbucks or fill-in-your-cozy-cool-coffee-hangout-of-choice) and appears to be loftily creating masterpieces on their laptops. More time to put songs on my ipod. To get the boy's 1st year baby book together. To write thank you notes. To say thanks.

I wish I had more time to write. To tell  the important people in my life that they are, in fact, important in my life. More time for church. More time for me. Moremoremoremore. Funny how selfish that seems when it's put down in black and white.

Perhaps the lesson is the question of  "what is time? It's not like it means anything" (oh yes, for you nearly-forty-somethings, if you dig deep, you may remember this line from Some Kind of Wonderful. I think. Time gets away from me, so I don't have time to check just now...). I don't wear a watch. I try to celebrate the time I am in now. To use my time. Funny, that could be the entire theme of this blog, and oddly enough, in my rush to get this out -- no time, no time! -- I somehow missed that. Sigh.

What else am I missing? This time, perhaps I'll take a minute to find out. To breathe. To relax -- and yes, revel -- in the time right now, and nothing more. Cuz this life is beautiful. And right now, if nothing else, I'm taking the time to say thanks for that. And although you didn't know it, couldn't see it (but could you feel it?), I took the time just now -- a quiet minute, a thought-provoking silence -- to just smile. And be happy. In this time.