Category: Being Present

I Was Wrong

Today marks my 100th consecutive day writing on this silly blog. About 101 days ago, I was not sure I could do it. I’m happy to report that I was wrong. I was the only thing standing in my way. I’m glad I stepped aside and let myself through. I’m not going to prattle on about this accomplishment because I truly hope that I’ll make it every day this year without missing a post, and I’m sure no one cares about these milestones aside from me.

However, in reflecting on how I got from Day One to Day One Hundred, I realize that the only thing that made this blog possible was the decision to do it. It took only the desire not to miss a day to ensure I didn’t miss a day. Admittedly, it was not easy…but it was possible.

I’ve always loved this quote but it seems especially appropriate today, so I thought I would share it:

“Whatever you do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius and power and magic in it.” ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

If there’s something you haven’t begun or attempted because you’re not sure you’ll have the time or the energy or the fortitude to be successful, go ahead and step boldly in that direction. Make yourself a priority. Believe in what you can accomplish. If you do, one day fairly soon you too will be fortunate enough to admit you were wrong to sell yourself short. I don’t know about you, but if I have to be wrong I think this is the best way to go about it.

Posted on by Me 5

Finding the Beauty in Change

The tree stump that launched a blog entry.

I went out for a skate early this morning. (I occasionally inline skate to break from the monotony of my bike trainer in the spring.) It was a brisk 43 degrees, which is much colder than I usually tolerate for a skate, but I reasoned that I needed the fresh air to clear my muddled head after yesterday’s stinging revelations.

I was skating on a path I have traveled at least a hundred times. Too keep my mind off the numbness settling into my fingers, I made a conscious decision to focus on the landscape today to help me pass the time. I looked around instead of simply looking at the ground ahead of me…an admittedly risky move given my mediocre skating ability. Still, I saw squirrels and rabbits, as well as some mallards hanging out with a few northern shovelers on the ponds.

The path along the South Platte river is populated with multitudinous stands of cottonwood trees. As much as I despise them because of my allergies, I love the cottonwoods because their bark is scaly, thick, and interesting. On the prairie they are a welcome respite from an otherwise shadeless landscape. Unfortunately, being comprised of soft wood, they lose branches fairly easily with rough winds and heavy snows. In the spring, they require a lot of clean up. Today, I noticed that the park rangers had been busy trimming some trees and removing dead limbs. One freshly cut tree stump caught my eye as I skated by. It looked to me like a flower, its chunky bark creating the petals around its center. I made a mental note to go back and photograph it on the return trip.

My mind wandered off as I skated on, thinking about how long that tree had stood there and what it had seen as cyclists, runners, skaters, birders, and families out for strolls happened by over the years. I was sincerely melancholy thinking about the loss of that tree. Then, I thought again about how its stump now looked like a flower. There was beauty in its new state. It had changed, but there was something to appreciate in the change just the same.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.” In the ebb and flow of life, the only constant we have is change. Yet, my initial reaction when faced with an adjustment in my life is to cringe rather than soften. I wonder how often I have been so busy mourning the loss of something that I have failed to properly acknowledge the beauty in the new thing that is unfolding itself before me? Yes. That tree had to be cut. It will no longer provide shade with its leaves. Now, though, that tree is a sturdy leaning post. Change isn’t all bad. It’s all in how you look at it.

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Not Just A Lark

“I am beginning to learn that it is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all.” ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

Winter in Colorado is far too long-lived. Because we can get snow from September through May, as the actual winter season winds down I begin scouring the landscape for any signs that longer, sunnier, warmer days (sans snow) are on the horizon. There is one sign in particular that I relish beyond measure…the return of the western meadowlark to the prairie fields that surround our home. I’m a bit obsessive about it, actually.

Beginning March 1st, I find a few minutes each day to stand out in the still brisk winter air to listen for the meadowlark. Sometimes it surprises me by being accessible the very first day I listen for it. Other years I haven’t heard it until March 21st or so. But, the song of that bird makes everything right in my world after a too long, too cold winter.  Their migratory return to the fields behind our home heralds the potential greatness of the upcoming summer: long bike rides with friends, days at the pool, concerts at Red Rocks, hiking with my boys, camping in the high country, impromptu block parties where we sit on the sidewalk with neighbors…cold beers in hand. Yep. The song of one small bird evokes all those beautiful thoughts in my winter-weary head.

This morning I was sitting in bed with my laptop, enjoying the latte provided by my weekend coffee bitch Steve, and through my bedroom window I heard it. I paused. I think I heard it. I tossed my laptop on the bed, threw off the covers, and pulled open the window for verification. I scanned the landscape behind our home looking for its tell-tale figure resting on the barbed wire fencing or a tall, long-dead prairie weed. I heard the songs of finches, but no meadowlark. Damn. It wasn’t the meadowlark. Just as I started to close the window, though, the song came again. It was the meadowlark. It was back.

My heart smiled. And, just as I do every year, I leaped to my feet and began yelling to my family at the top of my lungs.

“It’s back! It’s back! The meadowlark is back!!”

Long used to my obsessive ranting about this tan and yellow bird, my family ignored me. Their lack of enthusiasm, however, didn’t dampen my joy. I pulled the blinds up, sat on the floor at the window, and listened for his song again, my heart a bit lighter, my day made, summer finally on the horizon. People often say it’s the little things that make life worth it, and they’re right. The big things are wonderful, but if we take the time to search out and appreciate the little things every day there’s no need to sit around and wait for the big ones. Our souls are filled already.

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No More Monkeying Around

Time to tame my monkeys

Ever have one of those days when you are determined to be miserable? I had one today. Every single thing anyone said was an affront or insult or accusation. Nothing worked out the way I wanted. The universe was conspiring against me. I felt completely misunderstood, unappreciated, and thwarted. I even had a headache. Nothing could improve my day. That’s all there was too it.

As self-fulfilling prophecies go, I set up my bad day with my lousy attitude. I acted it out that way with my grumpy behavior. And, I poisoned everyone I came in contact with by sharing my foul mood. And, even though I knew I was my own worst enemy, I couldn’t seem to stop the train wreck that I was creating with my self-defeating thoughts. Sometimes it’s difficult to get my brain to cooperate with what my heart knows. My monkey mind was messing with me. My head was filled with chattering monkeys clamoring for attention and directing me away from what I know is important. Today the fear monkey was the loudest, but his idiot brother the self-doubt monkey chimed in too, creating a cacophony of dissonant noise that disquieted my soul and turned me into someone I am not. Oh, how I hate those bloody monkeys. I can’t believe I allowed those blathering, stinky beasts carte blanche in my head today. I let them win.

In a valiant attempt to silence the monkeys and alter my state of mind, I forced myself to go to yoga tonight even though I had concocted a million and one reasons not to go. I went because when I least want to go is the exact time that I most need to go. I was right, too. The minute I got on my mat, my blood pressure came down, my day melted away, and those monkeys finally shut up. By the time I got to my car after class was over, I was a new person.

I’m not happy with myself for paying attention to the primates in my brain today. If I’d been a little quicker with the self-realization I would have muffled them sooner and tossed them back into their cages where the belong. I would have done it before I’d spoken out of turn and been hurtful to people I truly care about. Just as I was bound and determined today to be miserable, though, I am determined to make tomorrow an infinitely better, healthier, more productive day for myself. No more negativity. Those poo-slinging primates will not live rent free in my brain tomorrow. They’re going to have to take their monkey business elsewhere.

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Hundred Dollar Advice

Time flies when you're growing up

“Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that’s the stuff life is made of.”              ~ Benjamin Franklin

Took this photo today of my hubby holding our youngest (who is almost 9). It made me think of how quickly time flies and how fast our boys are growing up. Luke and Joe are 23 months apart, so I was a very tired mom when Luke was born. Keeping up with a two year old while caring for an infant wore me out. When Joe was small, I eagerly anticipated each milestone. I could not wait for him to sleep through the night and to walk. I wanted him to race to get bigger so I could do things with him, talk to him, begin a relationship with him. I was lost with an infant and longed for a child to play with.

But when Luke came along it was a different story because I knew he was my last baby. I knew he was my last opportunity to cherish all those little moments. So, despite being incredibly tired, I paid better attention to each moment than I did when Joe was small. When Joe woke me up in the middle of the night, I prayed he would fall back asleep quickly. Later, I spent hours awake in the middle of the night consciously holding Luke in the rocking chair in the silence of the house, trying to imprint that feeling, that joy, that peace into my brain because I knew how ephemeral it was.

I’m much more careful now about cherishing these moments before they’re gone. I take every opportunity I get to hug my boys. I love it when they fall asleep on the couch and I get to carry them up to bed. When Joe comes in during the middle of the night and asks me to tuck him back into bed I no longer get frustrated by it; I know that in a couple years he won’t need me that way anymore and I will miss it. They’re growing up so quickly and I don’t want to miss a thing, so I pay better attention these days.

I’ve always been a forward-thinking gal. I don’t spend much time living in the past. The choices and mistakes I made created the person I am today and I’m happy with who I am, which means it’s all worked out well. The problem with looking ahead, though, is that sometimes you miss what’s right in front of you. I’m working to be more aware these days. I’m only guaranteed this moment. I will not squander it.

Posted on by Me 2

Under House Arrest

We've been stuck here so long Joe's grown a very full, 70s-era mustache. We should get out more.

When my husband has the boys for the weekend without me, the three of them go do things and then eat out. This weekend, I’m here with our boys while hubby is skiing in Steamboat Springs with his college buddies. I thought maybe I could follow Steve’s trend and convince them to go do something and eat out with me. The three of us haven’t had much of a chance to do that since school let out, so I thought I would ask them. I was denied. Apparently, after our big weekend last weekend, they just wanted to stay in. So, that’s what we’ve done. My car hasn’t moved since 3 p.m. yesterday. Actually, I really haven’t moved since 3 p.m. yesterday.

I’m sure this is exactly what I need right now. Downtime. I spent back-to-back weekends in the mountains, away from home. A weekend without plans should sound like heaven to me at this point. For some reason, though, instead of feeling free and unencumbered, I feel as if I am under house arrest.

I wondered why it is that dad is allowed to have fun with them and when I want to do something fun with them they act like it’s such a hassle? So, I asked them why they refused to go out to eat with me last night. They told me it’s because they like it when I cook. They feel safe and peaceful here at home. They don’t feel like running around town. They’re comfortable.

As annoying as it is that their dad gets to do all the cool parental things with them while I’m relegated to the role of chef and caretaker, I suppose there is something positive in it too. The bottom line is that my boys feel cozy and happy when they’re here with me. They can be themselves. They are relaxed. I keep trying to remind myself that this is a good thing. In a couple years they will be too cool for school and too cool for me. So, I’m going to stop feeling trapped and try to count my blessings. And, I’m going to hope that I haven’t created such a wonderful home for them that they never want to leave it. I love my boys, and I’m infinitely glad that they like being home with me. But, if they think they’re staying here forever, they’re mistaken. Don’t tell them yet but I already have plans for their rooms the minute they leave for college, and I’m buying them luggage for high school graduation. 😉

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No Way, Big Bad Wolf!

Where I am bedding down tonight

Early this morning my husband, who works downtown, texted to ask if it was windy at our house. This is not an unusual question. We live at the base of the foothills, which means we live in the rough equivalent of a wind tunnel. We have seen our fair share of unpleasant winds. These winds have tossed our wrought iron patio furniture and our heavy Weber grill off our flagstone patio and into our fence. They once took our roof down to bare wood in a 3 foot square section on the crown of our house. They have snapped street lights and taken them down. And, they have kept us awake more nights than we care to remember.

A couple hours later, I received another text. “Windy downtown” was all it said. It hadn’t sunk in yet but in retrospect I now realize hubby was trying to prepare me for a wind event. I hadn’t seen a weather forecast, so I had no idea. Around 5 o’clock tonight, the winds started picking up. By 7:00, I could hear roof tiles from the neighbor’s house smacking against the side of our house. By 8:30, I realized we were missing the entire south side section of the fence in the backyard. It was knocked over in some sections and torn to shreds in others. At 9 p.m., our neighbor Randy called us. His house is on the north side of ours so it bears the brunt of these winds from the northwest. In the last windstorm, which did not have the 75 mile per hour gusts we’ve seen tonight, their roof was damaged badly enough to require replacement. He was calling to let me know that they could not locate the glass top to their patio table and wanted to make sure we kept an eye out for broken glass in our yard. Good to know.

We have a standard operating procedure when the winds are bad. We set up shop in Luke’s tiny room. Luke’s bedroom faces south and is the only bedroom protected from the wind during storms like this. Steve and I have tried sleeping through winds in our west facing bedroom, but the weep holes in the windows make the wind rumble through loudly. It sounds as if an elephant is trumpeting in the room. True story. Over the past ten years, we’ve tried sound machines, fans, ear plugs, and sleep medication as means of helping us sleep through the wind but to no avail. I’ve spent many a night with two pillows on top of my head, drifting in and out of sleep as the wind growled at our house. We gave up. We learned that a few nights a year it’s worth it to crash on an air mattress on the floor of Luke’s room. The boys love it (they call it Family Sleepover Night) and we all sleep, which means I am a much less cranky mommy the next day.

As the winds continue to wreak havoc tonight, I find myself counting my blessings. With each loud bump I hear on the roof above me, I know that the shingles are mostly still there. And when the roof tiles fly off our neighbor’s house and hit ours, with each impact I am grateful that they hit siding and not a window. I’m happy that if we have to sleep on the floor in Luke’s room to avoid the wind, at least the queen-size air mattress fits perfectly in the little bit of space available. The dog’s stainless steel water bowl may have ended up in the neighbor’s front yard (don’t ask me how), but at least I found it and that’s one less thing we’ll have to replace when we assess damage in the morning. Tomorrow we’ll call the insurance company to send out an adjuster so we can fix the fence and the roof, but for now we’re all nestled safely in our beds. The winds can continue to howl. It’s all good. I’m not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. His huffing and puffing haven’t blown this house down yet. With any luck, he will blow so hard tonight he’ll pass out for a while and tomorrow night we can go back to sleeping in our own bed.

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Too Young for the Rocking Chair

One of my favorite sayings

As the hours of the long holiday weekend counted down today, I noticed my oldest son becoming more and more agitated. He was so worried about wasting a second of what was left of his time off school that he became obsessed with the passing of time. The later it got this afternoon, the more frenzied and frustrated he became. He had just a small amount of homework to complete, but instead of buckling down and focusing on getting it out of the way so he could enjoy himself he railed against it. He spent two full hours fussing over what should have taken him no more than 30 minutes, and then he still had to put in the 30 minutes’ worth of work.

This is a common pattern for Joe. He has a tendency to procrastinate and then worry about the time he’s wasted. I don’t know how to help him, and I feel for bad for him. I am not a procrastinator. I loathe the feeling of having something hanging over my head, so in school I was the kid who worked on her homework on the bus ride home. Any free minute I had during the day was devoted to making sure I was caught up or, better yet, ahead of the curve on my assignments. At work, a boss never had to bother me about a deadline because I perpetually met them in advance. For me, the dread of having something undone is worse than the effort of getting right down to business and simply getting it over with.

After Joe had finally finished his work and was able to relax a bit, I reminded him of my favorite phrase about worry, procrastination’s dear friend. The phrase is one I share often with friends when they talk about the heavy mental burdens they are carrying. In my early 20s, I was deeply in debt. Between student loans, my used car, and credit cards, I had racked up more debt than I could pay off even while working two jobs. I remember waking up in the middle of the night with a panic attack and rifling through my closet, desperately searching for items I could possibly return or sell for extra cash. I was in a downward spiral. I had friends who were preparing to file for bankruptcy at the same time but, at 23, I found that option unthinkable. Instead I faced the miserable fact that I was in a hole, walked into a Consumer Credit Counseling office, and signed up to pay off my debt. Bit by bit I clawed my way out of that self-dug, cavernous abyss. It took me three full years, but at 26 I was debt free. Those lean years in debt management were tough, but that period of my life changed me. I now understand that worry is a waste of time and that I am plenty strong enough to face and overcome hardships. Those years, desolate and trying, were a gift.

I do hope that Joe will learn sooner rather than later that worry is pointless. It’s just another form of procrastination, another way to rob ourselves of the present moment. I also hope Joe’s lesson won’t be a three-year trial like mine was. Most things in life have a way of working themselves out. And, the things that don’t resolve themselves can be remedied with a little hard work. I know Joe will ultimately be successful because he’s bright and capable. I just hope he gets out of the habit of worrying sooner than I did. He’s far too young to be wasting time in a rocking chair.

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Found: Not Just Someone’s Mom

I found a snow cave!

Today, while skiing in Crested Butte, I found myself again. Funny thing is that I’m not even sure I knew I was missing. Once you have children, it is far too easy to forget that you exist outside of the role of parent. I am fairly adept at carving out an hour or two for myself each day, but it’s not until I step away from our home and children and fully relinquish my duties for a while that I rediscover who I am independent of them. When I take away the duty of caring for others, I become a bit lighter and freer.

None of this is to say that I don’t miss my boys. I do. They are everything to me. I can’t imagine my life without them now. Every once in a while, though, it’s good to reconnect with me, the me that I am when I can let go of accountability and relax. I laughed today. In fact, I laughed so hard I quite inappropriately spit some beer. I crawled around in a snow cave. I caught a tiny bit of air on my skis and actually did a bit of woo-hooing (out loud, even) on the slopes. I had a shot of Wild Turkey in the middle of a ski run. And, not once did I worry about the well-being of anyone other than myself.

When we got back to the room after a leisurely late-afternoon latte, I had messages waiting for me from our oldest son via text, voice mail, and video, asking us to come home because he missed us. I felt for him. I really did. It’s hard to know my children are sad. But, I understand how important it is for him to learn that he can function without us. I also know how much better of a parent I am when I have a chance to let go once in a while and be me and not just “Mom.” I’ll be home with my life’s work tomorrow night. But, for the next 18 hours or so, I’m going to revel in being my only responsibility.

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Summa Cum Laude

“Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young. The greatest thing in life is to keep your mind young.”  ~Henry Ford

Me and Rosie the Tarantula...making nice

Ever since I hit 40, I’ve been on a quest to try new things. I originally attributed this quest to a desire to do as much as I can with my life while I still can do it. Midlife scares the bejeezus out of me daily because I know that from here it’s merely a blink of an eye to the day when I’m 70, assuming of course that I’m graced with that many years. The more I’ve reflected on the more open attitude I’ve taken about life since turning 40, the more I consider how many new things I’ve tried than I would have even considered 10 years ago, the clearer it has become that my desire to do these new things is not rooted in a thirst for adventure but rather in a pilgrimage for knowledge.

Ever since I was young, learning has been important to me. I knew in grade school that I wanted to get an advanced degree after four years of college. I’ve never considered any class a waste of time. I enjoy studying new a wide variety of things. At CU, I studied astronomy, Latin, Chicana studies, and the history of the English language. I’ve seriously considered pursuing a law degree for the sake of learning and not for the sake of practicing it. Outside college, I’ve taken cooking classes, burlesque classes, wine classes, and rock climbing classes. I’ve tried my hand at cake decorating, snowboarding, swing dancing, and ropes courses.

Even outside of classes, things I’ve done have been an education. Last year when I let Rosie (the tarantula) walk on my hand at the Butterfly Pavilion, for example, I learned that maybe I’m not as afraid of spiders as I thought I was. Rosie was actually quite nice in that she tickled me as she walked across my hand and she didn’t bite me. She didn’t even visit me in my dreams, nice spider she is. I learn something new every single time I step onto my yoga mat, which is probably why after two years I still look forward to practicing. A little over a year ago when I did the Polar Plunge in Boulder, I learned that two minutes of discomfort can yield days of euphoria. And, when my boys have a question, I’m quick to the jump on the internet or go to the library and find us all an answer. It’s a little known fact that there’s a reason why my sisters joke that I’m their Cliff Clavin.

I’ve been thinking as I approach 44 that the only way a person can remain young as their body ages is by trying new things and remaining open to novel experiences. I get depressed if I’m not regularly discovering and then reveling in something new about life, my friends and family, myself, or the world. This morning Joe told me that hammerhead sharks swim in schools during the day. Good to know, I thought. Knowledge can sometimes come from unlikely sources, so it’s best to pay attention. The happiest people I know are the ones who are insatiably curious and open to life. When I leave this world, at whatever age I depart, my plan is to graduate from my class summa cum laude.

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