Tag: holidays

The Peace In Bartleby’s “I Would Prefer Not To”

Photo by sarah richer on Unsplash

“Blessed are the high in agency for they have done enough already.” ~taken from The Book of the Firstborn, probably

Three weeks ago, my sister sent me this video about finding the high agency people in your life. In the video, one gentleman asks another whom he would call for help if he were trapped in a South American jail and were to be transferred in 24 hours to an undisclosed location. He explained a high-agency person is someone who can think on their own, without instructions, and solve problems at a very high level under pressure very quickly. My sister added this comment to the video: “You are this person. You should know that most of your friends would feel the same way. This is a high compliment and you should feel really good about yourself.” I watched the video, read her comment, and realized it didn’t sit with me the way I knew she intended it to. I responded with a laugh and then said, “I think that most of the people who would be chosen for this job would be first-born daughters.” Perhaps taking my comment as self-effacing and dismissive of my skills, she replied the “only response necessary is yep. I’m awesome.” I decided to let it go at that.

The exchange has been lodged in my mind ever since, though, due to my visceral, real-time reaction to that video. It was an emphatic inner voice saying, “Yes. I could be that person but no thank you.” There was a time in my not-too-distant past when I might have received that video and corresponding accolades and felt quite honored to be someone else’s chosen savior in a tough situation. I don’t feel that way anymore, though. Thousands of hours of therapy have helped me understand I have some deep-seated issues around constantly being called on to be the adult in the room, to be the one who makes things run smoothly, the one who steps back from her own tasks to ensure everyone else is taken care of and not inconvenienced. This is not to imply that I have never been selfish because I certainly have. Who hasn’t? But my reaction was inner me finally standing up and saying, “I’m finished looking out for others at my own expense.” I would most certainly help my sister if she called me from a South American jail. I’m simply now, more than ever, finding myself capable of telling others to be accountable for their choices and figure out their own shit. It’s a small measure of heretofore unimaginable success for me.

Some people who are high agency might be so because they were required at a young age to be the adult they were not. Some people who are high agency might be so because they were taught they had no intrinsic value outside of service to others. Not everyone who is high agency loves being called on to help in every situation. Some of us are struggling trying to deal with our own crap but aren’t skilled at saying no just yet. We may not yet have learned to channel Melville’s Bartleby-the-Scrivener-level attitude of “I would prefer not to.” It’s admirable to be high agency, but being high agency for others without being high agency for yourself first will lead to burn out, regret, and bitterness. Every mother who has survived a holiday season knows this.

So this holiday season, if you have high agency people in your life upon whom you call regularly, maybe consider giving them a break and not contacting them for assistance. Yes. The holidays are stressful and you could probably use their help, but maybe give them the gift of unburdening instead. And, all you high agency people, you know who you are. Please also know it’s okay for you not to respond to someone else’s emergency, especially when you are overwhelmed yourself. It’s not only acceptable but advisable to tell the relative who is flying out to see you for the holidays and asking a gazillion unnecessary questions of you to check tsa.gov for airport security information and weather.com for updated forecasts. You don’t have to take it all on. And if someone calls you from a South American prison, maybe you choose to help them or maybe you tell them perhaps they shouldn’t have ended up in one in the first place and wish them the best.

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The Mother’s Day Mixed Handbag

Two days until Mother’s Day. The days leading up to the second Sunday in May have left with me with different feels over the years. As a child, for Mother’s Day we’d do a school art project to give to her and then participate in a family activity together after church, like a trip to a zoo. Once I was out of the house, Mother’s Day became a day I had to make sure not to forget. I’d buy a card and a small gift and make sure I was available for whatever my mother wanted to do that day. This was compulsory. When I had my own children, Mother’s Day became something different again. My husband would try to find some way for us to celebrate with our young sons as a family, but we were already previously committed to doing something with my mother too. As I was the only daughter with children, my sisters could always be free for my mom and I knew there would be consequences for me in my relationship with my mother if i couldn’t make myself available. I was low-key angry about Mother’s Day back then. I wondered when Mother’s Day would honestly get to be about me and my sons. I didn’t know how to stand up for myself and say, “It’s my turn to be feted.” So, I learned that the best way to get my day was to be out of town or otherwise engaged on Mother’s Day. I would escape. Then family drama changed things yet again, and I came to dread Mother’s Day. I mean, how do you celebrate the varied emotions that come with having children and being so grateful for the family you created and yet knowing that your relationship with your own mother is non-existent? Now my sons are in college and not around on Mother’s Day. I’m finding Mother’s Day feels different again. I guess Mother’s Day and I have never been in sync.

I will avoid social media this weekend. While I don’t begrudge anyone their happiness or their positive brunch experiences with their loving mother, I don’t really need to witness it as a reminder of a relationship I never honestly had. I also don’t need to be reminded that my sons can’t be here. I miss them every single day and I don’t need a Hallmark holiday to point out to me how much I love them or how their births changed me forever. I live that every single day.

I’m writing this not as some sad-sack whine fest, but as a note to all those who have healthy, loving, close relationships with their mothers. Mother’s Day is a mixed bag for many people. Some have lost their mother and will spend Sunday mourning her. Some women wanted to become mothers more than anything in the world but were unable. Some mothers are experiencing the day alone because their children have died. Some are mothers of children who live with adoptive families. Some have mothers who have forgotten them because of dementia. Some have mothers who are ill and will be spending their last Mother’s Day with their mom. Some have difficult relationships with their offspring and will spend the day living in that pain. Some women had abortions for heartbreaking reasons and will be reminded again what might have been. And some, like me, are sandwiched between two experiences and aren’t able to find mental peace on this holiday.

Mother’s Day is not all flowers, heartfelt cards, and Sunday brunches or family picnics. Mother’s Day is as complicated as motherhood. So while many are genuinely excited about this Sunday, others of us cannot wait for Monday.

Be gentle.

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Mele Kalikimaka Meditation

My morning meditation spot

I christened my day with a meditation. Sitting on a lava boulder, facing the indomitable Pacific, with the actual ocean as my ambient noise and guide. When I meditate, I prefer to do so through mantras. That seems to be the only way my writer’s mind can focus, through words. I start my mediation with an intention, something on which I wish to focus, and I pick a phrase. From there, I let that phrase morph until I land on an organic one that sticks. Then I let that one settle in and carry my intention with it.

Today’s intention was to focus on being curious rather than judgmental, ala Ted Lasso’s advice. I settled upon a Hawaiian image. I imagined myself as a lava rock, washed by the sea, but not changed by it, an immovable object not reacting to the forces before me but simply noticing them. It seemed the ideal way to practice observing other people’s comments and reactions with curiosity without allowing them to affect my calmness and stability.

After a few breaths, my mantra settled in. As I inhaled, my mind asserted “I am a rock,” and as I exhaled, it reminded me “Nothing can disturb my peace.” I focused on that for ten minutes, mentally acknowledging only the sea breeze, the sounds of breaking surf and birds, the hardness of the rock beneath me. (Perhaps next time I will bring a blanket for my rock meditation?)

Any skill comes through practice, which is why meditation is a practice. It’s not something you perfect. Not unlike the ocean tides, it has ebbs and flows. One day, your focus is legendary. The next it is complete horse shit. And the good news is that is exactly as it should be. Sometimes your mind is calm, quiet, and peaceful. Other times, it is rough, cloudy, and choppy. It is what it is to be human. For a long time, I, like many others, thought meditation was a place you arrive at, a destination which only few are allowed to inhabit. Not so. Meditation is a commitment to quieting your mind. That is all. It’s the practice through which you can begin to control your thoughts rather than be controlled by them. It’s available to everyone who endeavors to take the journey. It costs nothing, but yields great things.

So, my Christmas wish for all of you is the strength and perseverance to find inner calm in the chaos of this holiday. I hope you take a moment to be a rock, to pause to observe what is happening around you without allowing it to move you, to be present in the presence of presents. Let the insanity of your crazy uncle’s comments wash over you rather than shake you from the peace that this day represents. You are a rock. Nothing need disturb your inner peace.

With that thought in mind and with any luck, perhaps you won’t have to swill spiked eggnog to enjoy your day with your natural or chosen family. Be strong. Be curious. Inhabit stillness in the midst of noise and wrapping paper and requests and obligations.

Mele Kalikimaka from Hawaii, my fellow travelers through this life!

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Can The Grinch Be Tamed By Mele Kalikimaka?

Picturing myself here

The worst part about vacation is the getting ready. The worst part about taking a vacation during the holiday season is that you have to do all the work for the holidays that you normally do, but you have to do it in less time, and you have to add all the vacation prep to your already tightened schedule. I’ve been a stressed out nightmare the past couple weeks. My days packed, my list of things to do seemingly insurmountable, trying only to get from one event to the next, never being able to get ahead. I’ve been testy and tired, anxious and annoyed. I’ve not been my best self. Some days, I wasn’t sure who I was. Today, it hit me that I have been the Grinch.

My goal for vacation is to toss off my grinch mindset and embrace the present with peace in my head. That will be achieved through some meditation, some fresh, salty air, and some sand under my feet. And maybe a piña colada or mai tai or two. Maybe without all the traditional trappings of the holidays, without the obligations and the busy work, the peace that is meant to consume this season will consume me and allow my grinch heart to grow three sizes.

Can the Grinch be tamed by a Mele Kalikimaka? I will let you know if Hawaii is able to work her magic. Stay tuned.

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Walking In A (Snowless) Winter Wonderland

It was 24 degrees when we went to the Trail of Lights in a nature preserve near our home. We have gone to this event several times over the years, but it has been a while. It’s a fun thing to do, but the colder it is, the faster we seem to move through it. We moved pretty fast tonight. But a quick winter walk with both our sons was worth it.

Back together again
Not enough layers for this, but we took this photo before our faces froze
This tree is amazing, and the ambiance around it was ethereal
Neon trees
Quiet night along the trail
Brothers

We may have had cold bodies, but we had warm hearts.

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2021…Like 2020 But Somehow More Exhausting

Is it just me or has 2021 felt like the longest year ever? Maybe it’s just because I did a lot this year in comparison to 2020? Maybe it’s because it was only six days into 2021 that a bunch of Trump supporters broke into the Capitol while we all watched on television? Maybe it’s because my oldest started college in January after delaying for a semester and, consequently, I made that 2000-mile round-trip journey to his school three times this year? Maybe it’s because we’re still dealing with rising Covid-19 infections and news about another novel, more contagious variant? Maybe it’s because I’ve had so much going on that I can only handle one day at a time, and 365 days seem like a lot when each day is packed? Or maybe it’s because in the midst of all of this insanity, we thought it would be a great time to get a puppy?

We’re heading to Hawaii in six days. In between now and then, though, here is a partial list of what’s on our plates: Thing 1 comes home, puppy has playgroup, we have several social obligations, hubby has his 52nd birthday, Christmas shopping and wrapping needs to be completed, we need to finish our Hawaii pre-travel paperwork, and somehow we have to get our house cleaned up and our belongings packed up for our departure. I know I will get through the next six days in much the same way I have gotten through this year, one long, full day at a time. I know that a week from now I will be in Hawaii, exhausted and (hopefully) finally getting some rest. And I am going to need it because I’m not sure how much sleep I will be getting between now and the 23rd.

So, my wish for the New Year is a little more balance. After not going anywhere or doing anything in 2020, we, like many others, put a lot more on our calendars in 2021. We spent a lot more time with friends socializing. We traveled more. We did more of everything. And as nice as it has been after a year of quiet, I am tired. T.I.R.E.D. So my wish for 2022 is an activity level somewhere between those of 2020 and 2021. And maybe eventually a little less Covid. And maybe some air-tight voting rights. But that’s it.

Did anyone ever think they would look back and wish to return to 2019?

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I’m Not Quite Old Enough For A Solid Doris Day Reference, But Here Is One Anyway

The other day I wrote about perfectionism. I like to think of myself as a recovering perfectionist. I no longer strive to have things perfect, as if such a thing ever existed for me to strive for in the first place. I have learned to make do, to meet myself where I am, to try my best, and to accept whatever outcome arises from my efforts, be it impressive or meh or better-luck-next-time. I do, however, still suffer from another illness that is related to perfectionism. This illness is the setting of expectations.

Most of the time, I don’t even realize I am setting expectations at all. I’m like Clark Griswold in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation; I think I am just making plans, but those plans have expectations tacked on that might not be met. Tonight, we hosted a party for our neighbors. We hand-delivered invitations about a month ago with an RSVP request. Out of the twelve couples we invited, one kindly RSVPd to say they could not attend. Five couples RSVPd yes. We did not hear from the others. I planned for 10 guests and felt a little disappointment when one couple could not attend at the last minute. This was when I realized I had set expectations based on the RSVPs. I had thought, “Okay, with five couples we should have enough people to make the white elephant gift exchange fun” and when one couple had to go out of town unexpectedly, I immediately imagined everything would go to hell. I imagined the remaining four couples would be bored. All I could picture was it ending up a lame party that would be over 8:30. I was borrowing trouble I needn’t have borrowed. Because, as it turned out, one couple who didn’t text me with an RSVP showed up and took the place of the other couple who had RSVPd but ultimately couldn’t make it. All my consternation about a failed party was wasted. In the end, we had five couples after all. We had the right amount of food and beverage, everyone socialized with everyone else, and the white elephant gift exchange went well too. It was a Clark Griswold holiday dream.

The best neighbors ever

It all got me to thinking about how much energy I waste putting expectations in place when I ought to practice having none. No one knows what any outcome will be because the future has yet to be written. So, we’re fooling ourselves with our perfectionism and our expectations because, in the end, we are in control of not a whole hell of a lot. I could have done everything “right”, thereby setting up expectations that everything would go swimmingly, and in the end there could have been any number of things to interfere with my desired outcome despite my best efforts. As it turned out, I imagined gloom and doom and none of that happened. In fact, everyone had a great time. Silly girl.

Now, to play devil’s advocate, it could have all worked out because we truly do have the best neighbors ever. It could have worked out because my careful planning set us up for success. Or it could have worked out because the stars aligned. In any case, my ability to control the situation was minimal. My ability to control my expectations, however, is something I can work on. I’ve heard it said that “expectation is the mother of disappointment,” and that is the only absolute truth of which I am aware (I mean, outside of the one that says that a piece of toast with jam that falls to the floor will land on the jam side every damn time).

You can work on curbing your perfectionism, but if you don’t work on bringing your expectations to heel you will still suffer. So, I guess I know what I need to meditate on and devote myself to next. It’s time to pull a Doris Day and sing Que Sera Sera.

“Que sera sera, whatever will be will be, the future’s not ours to see, que sera sera.” ~Doris Day

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Back To Life BC

Photo by Mike Petrucci on Unsplash

When I was a teenager in the 80s, I hung out at the mall. I played in the arcade, had the occasional strawberry julius drink from the Orange Julius store, bought Smurfs and clothes there, but mostly I went hoping to run into cute boys I knew from our church who lived nearby. It was pretty much like the mall scenes in Stranger Things, except there was no demogorgon. After I graduated college, I worked retail in a Mervyn’s store in a mall in Boulder for three years. All of this is to say that malls and I go way back.

Like my younger self, I went to hang out at the mall tonight. I haven’t spent any measurable time in this nearby mall for about two years. I’ve picked things up from there while I remained in my car. I’ve walked into the Lego store for about 3 minutes, masked of course, to look for a coveted set. I know many people have not eschewed malls during the pandemic the way I have. I know many people haven’t blinked an eye about going out indoors in public spaces unmasked, but we had Covid-19 in our house a year ago and I’ve spent the past year trying to avoid getting it again. Tonight, though, my husband and I threw caution to the wind because there was holiday shopping to be done, so we spent a whole hour inside Park Meadows Mall. We went for the last hour the stores were open, so it wasn’t busy like it will be this weekend or the weekend after that, but we were not the only ones who had the same idea.

Once we came through the hallway from the parking lot and hit the main part of the mall it all felt familiar again. The wafting scents from the Nordstrom perfume counter took me right back. It might sound strange, but I took a mindful moment to inhale and be present. I was out in a mall for heaven’s sake. Being a strongly introverted person, I normally don’t enjoy shopping surrounded by other people so I took to pandemic shopping on the Internet from my home like a Labrador Retriever takes to water. But tonight hubby and I actually enjoyed being in and looking around a mall. We spent most of our time in, ironically enough, the Amazon 4-Star store (I had no idea such a thing existed) and a local boutique looking for unique gifts and stocking stuffers. It’s amazing what you miss when you shop with determination rather than curiosity.

In the end, we left with some fun finds we can’t wait to share with our family and friends and the conclusion that we will probably have to return some night next week to finish the shopping we started. We left with something else too, the feeling that maybe it’s time to start getting out a bit more…within reason and as Delta and Omicron allow. We are fully vaccinated and boosted. We can still do the things at off-peak times and find a bit of normalcy. To that end, we’ve also started booking travel for 2022 because we need to move on. If we end up having to cancel because of travel restrictions, we’ll fall off that bridge then.

We’ve had a taste of the freedom of our old lives BC (before Covid), and I think we kind of liked it. Life goes on.

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The 21st Century Thanksgiving Catastrophe Equivalent

Thanksgiving is in a couple days. My husband just finished having a late night snack. He went to load his plate in the dishwasher and start it.

Excuse the filthy stainless, but the dishtowel should explain it

Him: “Uh oh.”

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Him: “The dishwasher isn’t working.”

In my past, at this point, I can say with all confidence I would be losing my shit. Just in time for Thanksgiving? Of course. Why not? That makes perfect sense. Even with only 7 people dining, that’s 7 dinner plates, 7 dessert plates, 7 glasses, 21 pieces of silverware, assorted serving utensils and pieces, and this would add up fast. Way too fast for this English major to figure in her head. The whole reason I unloaded the china we asked people to buy for our wedding was because I decided I would not ever want to wash all the dishes from Thanksgiving by hand.

Me: (incredulously) “It’s not working?”

Him: “No.”

He is pressing all sorts of buttons, and I can tell from his expression nothing on the display panel is lighting up.

This gives me pause, but rather than lose my mind as I would have done in the past, I simply decide that it’s fine. We can hand wash or we can use paper plates and plastic utensils (not environmentally sound, but desperate times call for lowered moral standards). Maybe we have it both ways and can use some paper and do some hand washing of other items, thereby alleviating some of my guilt for using disposable items out of sheer laziness while still managing to be somewhat lazy.

I watch him for a few more seconds as he pushes buttons. Then, I can tell from a look on his face, it is working again.

Him: “Never mind. It’s working again.”

Me: “That’s a relief.”

Him: “My hands must have been wet.”

I assumed that meant that wet hands interfered with the touch screen. I made my peace with the fact that the whole incident had been a non-starter. And just like back we were back to normal. Steve was finishing the last bite of his toast, and I was back to watching episodes of Seinfeld. Thanksgiving was saved. We could use three plates a piece instead of just two and could put saucers under the cups now if we wanted to. Oh, reckless abandon!

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It’s Freshman Year Again

Since Joe went off and started college in January, I’ve worked very hard to figure out how not to miss him. I understand this is a process. When a child rightfully extricates himself from your home to pursue his own life, there’s going to be some sadness. I was pretty depressed for about a month back in January and February when we left him in Washington. There are some ups and downs that first semester at college, and it’s hard to be away from your child when you want to be there to hug them and let them know they’ve got this. But he and I both held it together and made it until mid-May when he came home for the summer. It was a little less sad dropping him back at school in late August because I knew he was going back to friends and had reason to believe he was getting the hang of the whole college life thing. We saw him for four days in October when he came home to see us and meet the new puppy. We had a great time during his visit and when he left, I was actually not sad at all. It felt like progress.

Thing One at home and being derpy…some things never change

Today he came home for Thanksgiving. Everything in his life is going well. He’s got a new girlfriend at school and he has decided on a major. He’s back in his room tonight. He played with his dog and went to In-n-Out with us and even went on our nightly dog walk. It feels a little weird having him here now because I know he isn’t staying. Even though he is still our kid, he’s not anymore. It’s like he’s on loan.

This kind of makes me sad, and I have to think that I would be broken as a parent if I didn’t find this separation process a little daunting. But, having him on loan is actually kind of amazing too. Like, I realized the other day that he does his own laundry and grocery shopping. He makes his bed. He runs errands. He makes his own appointments and fills his own prescriptions. He goes to classes and takes his tests. None of this is my problem anymore. It’s all off my plate.

Having kids is an odd thing. You’re your own person, living your own life, and then you get pregnant and there’s this new life you have full responsibility for. They need you for everything. It’s exhausting and frustrating. Some times you love it. Some times you want to get in your car and drive to Guam. Then they begin to become independent. They start driving. They get a job. They go out with friends. They get into college. Then they’re gone most of the year and you’re back to being on your own and living your own life. But now it’s like you’re relearning how to do those things because you haven’t paid much attention to them for eighteen years.

So, as it turns out, Joe is starting his life and figuring it out during his college freshman year in Washington. And I am in my freshman year of part two of my adult life. (There was the Pre Kids phase and now there’s a Post Kids phase.) It’s kind of exciting. Wonder what I will decide to major in this time?

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