Keeping it Real on Valentine’s Day

Here we are – it’s Valentine’s Day. For some it’s all about love sweet love and for others, it’s just another day. When my daughter was born on Valentine’s Day four years ago, February 14 became a permanent LOVE day for me. I’m a sucker for romance. I love chocolate. Love it! I love roses and sparkly things, and I of course love my husband, but more than anything I love this day because it is Sophia’s birthday.

That said, I’m still thinking about love today. I have been trying to imagine what love looks like? I have a few ideas…

This is a picture of Dan and me on our wedding day (August 16, 1997). This was after the ceremony in the backseat of our getaway car – the 1969 Chevelle SuperSport that he and his dad built together. His brother, Max, was getting ready to drive and my sister, Sarah, was riding shotgun. I love this picture. When I look at it, it reminds me of what it felt like to have our whole lives in front of us and all the people we loved most in the world around us. It felt like we could handle anything as long as we had each other. I was probably being goofy when the picture was snapped, but I think I look like I adore him. And he looks like he adores me. Love looks like this, I think.

Love also looks like this:

Oh my gosh, I love this picture! My sister took it last year after my niece’s birthday party. Maybe my mom took it? Anyway, I love that this moment was captured to enjoy for the rest of time. Or however long it lasts. No matter how I’m feeling, I can’t help but to smile when I see this picture. Look at it – my three kids laughing together in my arms and me holding them tightly as if nothing else matters. We are in our own little blissful mother and child utopia at that moment. It’s like a commercial for motherhood. All smiles, all laughter, all hugs!

I think love looks like this too:

Yes, I’m sure of it. This is from Thanksgiving, 2009. The last Thanksgiving we had with my dad. This picture captures the complete chaos that ensues wherever children go. We try to contain them, but they cannot be contained. Kids embody life in all of its glory, with their goofy smiles and random poses. Kids don’t worry what people think about them or whether they have food on their faces. If they don’t feel like smiling or looking at the camera, they don’t. No matter how you try to bribe them. They are impulsive and uninhibited and I love that about kids. They LIVE.

I think love looks like fun. In these pictures, love is about laughter and living and sharing and feeling connected to others. Love has its hair done, mostly, and it is dressed well and it probably smells good too. I just remembered my dad’s friend, Andy. At my dad’s funeral Andy shared that during their gigs (my dad played the guitar and Andy was the drummer), my dad would say, “We may not be good lookin’ but we’re sure looking good…!” Love looks good here.

We are BOMBARDED with images in our lives. Most of these images make love look good. In commercials and television shows and in movies we may see a glimpse or two of heartache, but mostly love looks good. And then there is Facebook! Love always looks good on Facebook. Okay, maybe not always, but for the most part, let’s be honest, with the exception of the picture I saw today of a cupid laid out flat with an arrow – presumably his own arrow – sticking up out of him and blood all around him (seriously People, why the face?), love looks good.

This is where my mama bear springs into action today, on Valentine’s Day, on Love Day. I know there are people out there, and you may be one of them, who see these images and think that what they see looks so good, beyond good, to the point where what they have in their own lives looks bad. Really bad.

So, we don’t typically post pictures of the moments, right before a wedding, when a bride might be acting a little bridezilla-ish in the dressing room, perhaps. I don’t post pictures of myself on days like today where I look like I have two black eyes because I stayed up way too late last night doing God only knows what because I hate going to bed when Dan is out of town. Concealer’s got nothing on these dark circles. I NEVER post pictures of the look on my face, every afternoon, when I am about to sit down for a cup of coffee, and the coffee is actually hot, and Sophia screams out from the bathroom, “MOM! WILL YOU WIPE MY BUTT?” And I think I might just go the opposite way, out the door, and away… To someplace warm, maybe? But far, where nobody ever asks me to wipe his or her butt. And, thankfully, I have not yet posted a picture of Sophia’s butt. And there are no pictures of less lovely grandparental moments, like when my son used to kick my dad under the table at restaurants and after about the six thousandth kick, my dad would look like he was about to blow. My son kicks me now. It’s karma for wondering how my dad could possibly lose patience with my perfect little son, while knowing full well that little kids kick hard. And, all those people on TV, well, we know by now that they are not even REAL anymore with all the millions of ways they are made-up and digitally “perfected,” so while their love looks good, it’s not REAL either.

I think this is so important to remember, as sweet spiritual beings, in our human bodies, surrounded by images that make love and life look so good and words (i.e,. “status updates”) that make it all sound SO GOOD, that what we see isn’t always real. There is a place where we can celebrate along with our friends and family members and even strangers, and that is a nice, happy place. There is another place where we begin to feel badly when we see people looking really good and hear that things are going well for them. We might feel like we don’t measure up, or wonder if there is something wrong with us because we aren’t looking or sounding so good – because while they are on a beach in Hawaii we are wiping butts in snowy Michigan. We might ask, “Why can’t I have that (that love, that family, that child, that spouse, that body, that house, that job, that vacation…whatever that is)?” That place is a little darker, a little sadder, and it doesn’t really feel good. Not at all. Sometimes we get stuck there. We might think it is our destiny to stay in that dark, sad, uncomfortable place forever.

I know now, like I have never known before, that each of us, all of us, each and every single one of us, is worthy. We all measure up. We are all lovable. I want you to trust me on this one. I may have dark circles under my eyes and I don’t love wiping butts, but I am trustworthy. I can say with all the confidence in the world that you measure up. You absolutely, positively measure up. That dark place? You can go there if you must, but please don’t stay there.

We all hurt. We all have bad hair days. We all make mistakes. We are all learning. Please tell me we all have bags under our eyes? Sometimes? We all have not so picture perfect moments. Even if we don’t share them. Even if we pretend they don’t exist. Oh, they do. Some of us lie. Some of us are fake. Some of us aren’t keeping it real. All things considered, it’s not fair to compare our worst with someone else’s best, or someone else’s attempt to look their best. You know what? It’s not fair to compare. At all. When you compare yourself to someone else, for better or for worse, your own light dims. We need bright, shining lights on this planet.

On this day, this LOVE DAY, I would like to invite you NOT to compare your love or your life or your light to anybody else’s love, life, or light. If you are wondering what love looks like, like I was. Look in the mirror! What you see there is love. Don’t look online or in magazines or in books or on television, look at yourself. YOU are LOVE. You are worthy. You measure up! You have talents and dreams and a beautiful mind that can make them all come true. You are lovable. You are a knock-out and an AMAZING soul. Love yourself on Valentine’s Day. Be your own very best Valentine. YOU are what love looks like. Take my word for it.

Me and Sophia Pearl, my little love girl.

I Choose Love

I Choose Love! I found this at http://www.etsy.com/listing/75578334/whimsical-folk-art-girl-with-butterflies. If you like whimsical folk art, this artist has a beautiful collection of work.

I hope it’s not too late in the game to be thinking about Martin Luther King Jr. I have been thinking a lot about him since we observed his birthday last Monday. If it were up to me, every day would be MLK Day because then I’d have an excuse to search the Internet for the perfect MLK quote to post on Facebook. Last week I posted this one: “We have flown the air like birds and swum the sea like fishes, but have yet to learn the simple act of walking the earth like brothers.” It grabbed me. I didn’t recall having heard it before. It made me think too.

I wondered what Martin Luther King Jr. would say today, about how far we have come since he spoke these words. I think he would say, “We’ve come a long way because no matter how many stories you hear or books you read, you cannot begin to imagine what life was like back then, Anna. We’ve come a long way, and we have a long way to go.” I’ve had quite a few reminders that we do indeed have a long way to go before we can safely say that we have learned the simple act of walking the earth like brothers and sisters. I’m beginning to hold my breath thinking about the upcoming elections. It’s already getting ugly and it’s just Republican candidates fighting against each other. What will happen when the party has selected a candidate to run against President Obama? The thought of that scares me. I vividly remember the election season of 2008. It was rough to watch as people took jabs at Barack Obama. I fully understand not agreeing with his policy, his experience, or whether he was right for the job, of course there will be disagreement. That’s what the election is all about! But a lot of what I saw was downright hateful. People said some really cruel things. I didn’t get it. Why is it so hard to walk the earth like brothers and sisters?

About two weeks ago I was in the parking lot of my daughter’s pre-school helping her get into the car and buckle her seatbelt. Out of nowhere, it seemed, this giant man (okay, about 6’4″) appeared next to me, YELLING AT ME! He yelled that he saw me speeding by his house, that he sees me all the time, that he followed me to the school and that he was sick of it. When I spoke, he waved his hand at me and walked away. Another mom said, “Are you okay?” I said, “I’m okay, but I don’t think he is okay.” By that time he was standing at the entrance of the school yelling at one of the teachers. He waved his arms all over the place yelling things like, “IT’S THE MOMS! THEY ARE CRAZY! IT’S GOING TO TAKE SOMEONE GETTING KILLED!” AND SO ON while pre-schoolers stopped in their tracks to stare at him and mothers tried to usher them into their cars. I said to the mom next to me, “I wasn’t speeding and there is no way he could have been fo—.” She cut me off. She said, “I don’t care if you were going FIFTY miles per hour passed his house, he has no right to yell at you like that. Somebody needs to call the police.” I was in shock. I had places to go. I fumbled with my phone, thinking I’d call the police, but really I needed to get on the road. When I settled into my seat and started the car, my Sophia’s sweet little voice said, “I’m scared. Why was that man yelling at you Mom?”

You can yell at me. I can take it. I am tough. I gave birth to three children and I am raising them (not alone, but you get the picture). They are ruthless. I can take just about anything, but don’t mess with my kids. The yelling man had backed into one of the last parking spots in the lot before speeding off in his big red truck. None of us had a chance to get his license plate number. What he doesn’t know about me is that I watched Charlie’s Angels when I was a little girl. I knew how to find him. Plus, in the course of his yelling he gave us the name of his street. I drove down his street until I saw a red truck. My heart dropped. I couldn’t be positive it was his until I checked out the entire truck so I got out of the car to make a positive identification. I saw him in his garage watching me from the shadows. I didn’t care because I am an Angel. I called the police because it seemed like the most appropriate thing to do. Eventually, a couple of hours later, the Sheriff assured me that he would be paying this guy a visit.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this guy too. Part of me wants to do something really obnoxious. Oddly enough, one of the other mamas was able to identify the guy when she found out where he lived. Within minutes, we were looking at his Facebook page on her phone! That’s another thing this guy clearly does not know: don’t mess with mamas. He may watch us, but we are watching him too. So anyway, I’ve had a few ideas about what I could do to torment him. I would love for my husband to beat him up or something. Stuff like that… This guy is pretty scary though so I think it best to keep our distance. I still wonder what kind of man would pull into a pre-school parking lot to scream at the mothers and teachers of small children? A troubled man? A man with some serious mom issues? I don’t need revenge. I think we’re safe. But I’ll be driving through his neighborhood for at least another school year and I would love to think that at some point, we could figure out how to walk the earth like brothers and sisters. I don’t see that happening. And again, why is that so hard?

I like to believe that in our hearts, we all do what we think is best – for the most part. The truth is, even brothers and sisters disagree. In fact, they probably disagree more than anyone else. I see it every day. At the end of the day though, as they say good-night to each other, there is a sea of underlying and unconditional love that swells between them. That is what I would love to see between all of us here on Earth. I know we are in this together. I know, that if we have nothing else in common, it is our humanity that binds us. I think that should be enough to inspire us to choose to walk together, like brothers and sisters, disagreeing by day, and loving each other as we part at night. It is a choice. No matter what occurs between us, we can choose to walk together. One of my favorite things that Martin Luther King Jr. said is this: “I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.” I am with you, MLK. I choose LOVE. I trust that in the coming months and years and through the end of time, I won’t be alone in this decision. I can’t wait to see who joins me!

Beautiful Days

I’ve had some really neat opportunities lately to gather with large groups of friends, family, and mostly strangers. These are opportunities that weave in and out of my life frequently, really, but for whatever reason (three kids, large dog, messy house, mounds of laundry…?), I don’t always notice the magic contained within them. Thankfully though, I’ve been paying attention. I’m so excited about these miraculous little moments, that I had to share…

It all started at a U2 concert a few weeks ago. I was with my husband, Dan, and a group of our very dear friends. The concert was held in Spartan Stadium, which is, to be frank, sacred ground. Dan and I met at Michigan State University our sophomore year, so naturally MSU holds a special place in our hearts. It’s where we fell in love and decided to take on the world together. Over the recent years we have made many memories tailgating with friends on campus and attending football games. We are MSU fans, yes, but first and foremost we are Spartans (there is a difference). And, we take that very seriously. And, we have lots and lots of fun.

I like U2, but I wasn’t a huge U2 fan when we planned to attend the concert. For me, U2 was secondary to a night with great friends in East Lansing. I love music, but I don’t usually remember lyrics or bands or any of the important details. I hear a song and I love it or hate it, and then each time I hear it after that, I remember what was happening when I first heard it, or when I heard it again and again, or the way I felt back then. A lot of U2 was played in college and hearing their songs reminds me of that time in my life. It was such a carefree and exciting time. I felt like an adult, but I was really still so sheltered from the rest of the world, from reality, from true responsibility. So anyway, there we were with our MSU friends in Spartan Stadium and life couldn’t get much better than that.

I cannot remember which song Bono was singing when I looked around and felt something magical sprout from deep in my soul. I was surrounded by thousands of people and whether or not we were presidents of our local U2 fan clubs, we were all there in Spartan Stadium for the very same reason: to hear U2. We swayed together, we sang together, we came together as one for a few hours on a summer night, and it was beautiful. A Beautiful Day, according to U2.

I tucked that moment in my heart and life went on as usual until last weekend. For the last several years Dan and I have made the trek from wherever we are in Northern Michigan to Glen Arbor for the Independence Day parade. The first year we were in Glen Arbor for our family vacation. We liked it so much, we keep going back! In all fairness, I don’t recall meeting a parade I didn’t like, but this parade is special to me. I’m sure it has something to do with my kids going crazy about it, plotting their candy grabbing strategies, and talking about all the fun for days afterward. It’s also something we’ve been lucky enough to share with my mom and we’re all about making new traditions. There is also a Spartan float (truck) and well, we know how much it means to me to be a Sparty. As we stood there in the sun, my husband, my kids, my mom, and me, with hundreds of other people, watching the parade go by, my soul started to stir once again.

I didn’t care much for history when I was younger, and I’m nowhere near a buff now, but somewhere in between lies a place of deep appreciation for the past, gratitude for the present, and trust in the future. I like that place. I love connecting the pieces of the past to the present and thinking about what is to come for me, my family, my community, my state, my country, my world…our world. The stories, people’s stories of how they began, and what motivated them, and where they went with it all fascinate me. Standing on M-22 in Glen Arbor, Michigan on July 4, 2011, it felt as if all of it – past, present, and future merged into one single moment. A fantastic moment where all of these virtual strangers came together to celebrate independence. We weren’t individuals or even parts of groups with which we typically identify. We were one. The military vehicles carrying Veterans and service men and women and their families, the flags waving in the wind, kids clad in red, white and blue, and my favorite – a young woman, stopping us all in our trackes, as she beautifully belted out the Spangled Banner from the Boon Doggies float, these are reminders of what it takes to gain independence and to keep it – they connect all of us to one another and to our shared history as Americans. Another beautiful day.

The third and final moment in this story occurred last night. This was more of a series of moments though. Dan’s cousin, Michael, was set to marry his bride, Jennifer. Dan and I dropped the kids off with one of their beloved grandmas and headed to Saginaw for the ceremony. Already, the feeling of oneness began to set in as we rode and I thought about how wonderful it would be for Mike and Jenn to experience their wedding day surrounded by friends and family, just as Dan and I had almost 14 years ago. I don’t know Mike that well and I had never met Jenn, but I was very excited for them. It was neat to think of myself, so many years ago, being welcomed to the Oginsky family with many of the same people around me, and to imagine Jenn having a similar experience.

Once the music started and the moms were escorted down the aisle, I was a little misty-eyed. I know I’m not the only sap who cries at weddings. When Jenn’s dad delivered her at the end of the aisle, I saw her say, “I love you Dad.” My eyes flooded. For a split second, I thought I was going to lose it and I knew I would probably be one of the few who completely loses it at a wedding, especially someone else’s wedding. But then that a bit of warmth spread from deep in my soul and I was overcome with gratitude. I threw up a prayer of thanks, grateful for Jenn and her dad that they had that moment, and grateful that I too had had that moment with my dad, even though her declaration reminded me that the hug and “I love you” I yearn to give my own dad now isn’t going to happen.

Jenn was beautiful, Mike looked handsome, and their bridal party, friends, and family sparkled in the radiant glow of the love shared by the bride and groom. It warms my heart thinking about all the different people who traveled to the wedding to share in the love and the beauty of the day. Again, separately, we were family, we were friends, we were the people who worked to make it all happen, but together we were one in Jenn and Mike’s love. I am grateful to have been part of it, to have been touched by that love. Another beautiful day.

I trust that these profound moments of connectedness will continue for me, and I hope that I will recognize them. I hope that I will remain open to these moments – to being touched by something. To the little spark in my soul that comes from singing in unison with thousands of people in a place that I love, from standing with my family cheering for the Glen Arbor Kazoo Corps in the Independence Day parade, and from witnessing the marriage vows of two people in love. All in all, it makes for some truly beautiful days.

A Royal Epiphany

To be completely honest, I didn’t care much about Kate or William or their wedding. I was a little turned off by it all. I didn’t have anything against Kate or William, it was the hype. The couple, their plans, their pasts, their futures, their choices, and then all the “controversies”…the guest list, the dress, the hairdo, the speculation about all of it and what it meant. And then the speculation about the speculation. I haven’t even watched a lot of TV or paid much attention to current events lately, but somehow I knew all these things were brewing, and I decided I just didn’t care. So, I didn’t plan a Royal Wedding Viewing Party. I didn’t set the DVR to record the wedding. I didn’t set my alarm to wake up to watch the wedding. I didn’t plan on regretting my lack of interest. Worst case scenario, I’d watch highlights on YouTube.

When I returned home from the morning drop-off routine yesterday, I had a very rare opportunity to enjoy a cup of hot coffee in front of the TV (alone). I turned on the TV and sat down with my coffee and within seconds, despite my best efforts to avoid the hype, I was watching Royal Wedding highlights. Before too long, I was sobbing.

I am laughing right now because it all seems so ridiculous. So there I was crying, and of course I couldn’t just cry, I had to stop and analyze it. Why was I crying? I decided that there were two possibilities: 1) in a past life I had my own royal wedding and seeing William and Kate in HD triggered those cell memories; or, 2) I was uncontrollably, undeniably, and very unsurprisingly moved to tears. It was all very beautiful. That goes without saying, but what struck me, as I tried to figure out what was so moving, was the connection. Here were hundreds of thousands of people gathered outside Buckingham Palace to catch a glimpse of the Prince and his new Princess, maybe millions of viewers watching on TV, and then the actual couple and their true friends and family who were very clearly celebrating love and a new beginning for all involved. In every replay of each lovely moment of that day, we are connected. We are united. We are one in love.

So then I tuned in to the commentators…some British woman sharing her predictions for a dark, lonely, and difficult transformation from commoner to Princess for poor Kate. Sure William loves her, but her life is forever changed and it could get really ugly. She will need to surround herself with friends. Let’s all hope she asks Pippa to serve as a Lady in Waiting… (I’m paraphrasing). This woman was turning a breathtaking moment into mush right before my eyes. And then something clicked.

I have had the privilege of working with a fantastic life coach for the past month or so (grief therapy was great, but a girl has to move on at some point). One of the references he has made over and over is to the question of whether I will stand in choice. I have heard it and theoretically, I get it. In fact, I constantly talk to my kids about choices. “It’s okay to be angry, it’s not okay to punch your brother in the gut when you are angry, what are some other ways to deal with your anger? You have a choice… Your choices have consequences… Nobody can hurt you without your permission (Eleanor Roosevelt)” and so on. I even knew at the beginning of this journey, that at some point, I would need to make a choice about whether or not I would spend the rest of my life wallowing in grief over the loss of my dad. I would always miss him, I might often be sad, but then what? Would I be bitter? Choices would need to be made.

It sounds very simple at first, but in that moment I had a choice too. I could either allow myself to get sucked in to Lady Buzzkill’s analysis of all that laid ahead for the Royal couple, or continue to bask in the glow of the Radiant Kate and William on their wedding day. Simple. I went to the light. My epiphany though, was that this choice mirrored all the others I can make in every matter big and small. The jerk who cuts me off on the highway. Do I let him get me down? In the past I have. There have been days in my life where that careless jerk sent me on a downward spiral and I was stuck there for the rest of the day. I might have even gone as far as to blame him for everything else that wasn’t going right in my life. And then I’d have to order pizza for dinner that night because nobody could really expect me to cook in my fragile state. I was shaken up and it was all the jerk’s fault.

The jerk is just the beginning. Choices get complicated. I could go on for hours about all the injustices in the world. I am not a Saint, but I don’t get hate. I get acceptance. That is who I am. We don’t have to agree with each other, in fact it would be boring if we did, but because of that connection, that oneness that I feel with humanity, I do believe we need to treat each other kindly. And we don’t. And that hurts. I often take it personally. I don’t need to though. I can choose to let the hurt flow through me, or to be transformed by the hurt, and I can choose whether that transformation will be for better or for worse. Kate and I have at least one thing in common.

So often we allow ourselves to get caught up in the hype. Most of it isn’t even real, by the way. I am fighting the urge to run in several different directions here. There is so much to say about injustice, the media, the hype, and so on. I don’t see that as part of this journey. Not now. This journey is about creating a sense of balance in my life. Thank you William and Kate for sharing your extraordinary day with the world. We all need a little more love and light in our lives. I completely understand now, thanks to a few highlights from the Royal Wedding and Ken the Angel Life Coach, that the love and light is always available. Truly. The choice is ours about whether or not to access it. Whether or not to spread it.

Forward Fold

I remember being a little girl and hearing my mom talk about yoga. It seemed like a very mysterious and beautiful exercise. She looked so peaceful when breathing deeply with her eyes closed, sitting cross-legged in the living room. I loved sitting there with her. As a result of these magical moments with my mother, the practice of yoga has always seemed sacred to me. Back in the day, as a recent college graduate living on my own in Alexandria, Virginia, I decided to enroll in a Hatha yoga class through the Community Education program. I loved it and since then I have attended yoga classes off and on and used videos to practice at home. But I didn’t move beyond a very surface, acquaintance-like relationship with yoga. We waved hello at each other in passing, but we never became real intimate.

Enter my Mind, Body, Spirit hat trick. Yoga was calling my name. Something told me yoga had the potential to help me on my journey, on my quest for inner peace and balance. I was a little apprehensive to jump right in though. I was definitely someone who tucked my mat into the deepest, darkest corner of the studio, took a deep breath, than wondered for the next 60 minutes, “am I doing this right?” while everyone around me seemed to move with ease and not a care in the world. I asked one of my most favorite yoga instructors, Lee Ann, if she would help me get started on my journey. We met for several weeks and discussed some of the many, many aspects of yoga. Studying yoga is fascinating. I find that yoga is indeed beautiful and sacred, but it is not mysterious as I had once thought. It is a science. I am in love with it now. We are becoming very intimate.

One of the first things I remember Lee Ann sharing with me was the symbolism of the forward fold. It’s all about letting go. Letting go has always been a challenge for me. Letting go of the expectations I had for my continued life with my dad by my side, that’s a biggie. Of course, that would take some time. But in the immediate future, I was often (okay, almost always) bogged down by obsessive mind-chatter. As I drove around town, I wondered if I had said the right thing to my friend when she asked for advice? I agonized over whether or not I bought the right dish soap. I couldn’t remember, did I pack a snack for my child? And if so, was it nutritious? Would he have time to eat it? Would the other kids laugh at it? Then, I would think, oh crap, I should have just cut up an apple. Why wouldn’t I just give him fruit for a snack? I knew that he didn’t even really care for Teddy Grahams. I would wonder, what kind of mother am I? And finally, I would decide that I probably never should have had children… Good God! I needed help. This pattern of crazy making self-talk and not being able to move past it was not serving me well.

Oddly enough, another not so fond memory from my girlhood was me sitting in gym class. Mrs. Price would yell out, “Pike positionnn!” And everyone around me would sit up nice and tall with their legs straight out in front of them. As we were directed to reach for our toes, and everyone did as they were told, I could barely reach past my knees. I was stuck, I didn’t fold forward. I’m not kidding. So the whole resistance to letting go thing, I’ve been dealing with it for a very long time. And I felt like a fool in gym class.

I told Lee Ann I had never been able to do a forward fold. Now, there is something to be said for bone structure in yoga. We’re not all built the same so we don’t all move in the same ways, it’s that simple. Lee Ann assured me there could be modifications. It’s been a few months now and a yoga miracle has taken place. First, I plop my mat anywhere, close my eyes, breathe, and sometimes forget that there are other people in the room with me. I can focus inward (cue angels singing from heaven above)! Second, so I’m not quite a nose-to-the-knee forward folder, but I can sit up straight and I can reach for my toes and sometimes, I actually touch them! And third, I am learning to let go! When the critical crazy lady in my head pipes in with her second-guessing and obsessing, I can now say, “Oh Honey, thanks for stopping by. I’m glad you care, but I’m good on my own now.” And she actually leaves. Sometimes she might even add an encouraging word on her way out.

I am amazed by the ways in which the connection between my mind, body, and spirit manifests itself through my yoga practice. I am not exaggerating when I say that with each inch that I move toward my toes (and I have very long legs), I can literally feel myself letting go. It’s as if every cell in my body joins a chorus in mind to sing, “I surrender!” It’s all very blissful. There is so much more to it too. I feel that I have barely scratched the surface of my yoga practice and that, in and of itself, is invigorating. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to do a forward fold.

The Things We Make, Make Us

Today is a big day in my house. My 8 year-old son had his braces removed! When he got them on over a year ago some of his little teeth hadn’t even made their complete descent yet! I was a little choked up when I saw his new smile. He looks so grown up. No matter how many tiny infants I see grow into walking, talking children, I am still completely in awe of the miracle of life. It is absolutely amazing to think that we all started as a little speck and grew from there into the bodies we now inhabit. I sometimes look at my kids and I think, “I made you…” Arguably, I had some help, but I think it is safe to say that I did much of the footwork.

I recently found this quote: “The things we make, make us.” I don’t know to whom to attribute it because I cut it out from a magazine and pasted it onto a collage. It’s actually quite possible that it was never intended to read like that. Maybe I made it up? But anyway, I think of my kids when I see it. “Making” people is an unending process. With each choice I make to nod and say, “Mmmhmm” rather than take the time to answer the streams of questions I hear each day, I continue to make my children. And sometimes it’s okay to just say Mmmhmm because really, who am I to argue that there is anything more (or less) to Anakin Skywalker than meets the eye? I’m so unenlightened in the intricacies of Star Wars that sometimes Mmmhmm is the best I can do. And my 8 year-old is okay with that. Because he makes me too. The things we make, make us. If you took everything I have learned in the last 8 baby making years, and compared it in range, depth, and relevance to everything I had learned in my 30 years before that, I am pretty sure there would be no comparison. I am learning and growing right along with my children.

And, with each of you. We are all connected and we all make each other. Very seldom do we get to hear feedback about the ways in which we touch each other’s lives. From one smile in passing, to a wave on the street, to a great big hug, the choices we make about what to do or say affect the people around us. Again and again, I see proof of how we are connected and how these connections can both help and hurt us.

After my dad passed away I was really surprised to hear about some of the connections he had made with my friends. I’ve heard stories about little inside jokes he shared with some or, with others, in-depth exchanges that I had never known about. I’ve also heard about some of the ways my dad influenced people who I didn’t really know that well while he was alive. I am so touched by people’s stories and that they take the time to share things about their relationships with my dad. Sometimes that can get a little embarrassing too. But we will leave those stories for another day…

It’s one thing to think we’re connected, it’s an entirely different experience to see it in action. To actually feel the connection takes it to an even deeper level. Have you ever hugged someone and you didn’t want to let go? It’s that feeling, that connection, that shared energy that makes us. Or, sometimes, breaks us. It is that connection, the one that occurs between each of us, that feeds us, nurtures us, and helps us grow, even when we don’t realize it.

So there you have it. From gummy smiles to tinsel teeth to an almost full set of pearly whites, my son is growing fast and I am still growing too.