What journeys have you found yourself on recently? Life offers us a wide variety of them and, of course, let us not forget about the journey of life itself.
My recent pathways have included caring for my aging parent, teaching my teenager how to drive, expanding my knowledge and experiences as an educator, embarking on a new course of wellness and self-care, and dealing with the consequences of a clogged cellar drain and a higher-than-usual water table in the backyard…fun…just to name a few of the myriad travels I've experienced over the past few months. I’ve been busy, but today I’ll go nowhere…as long as you don’t count treating my father to breakfast at the cozy eatery in town or the trip to the local grocer. I’m still on all of the journeys above and more (although, thank God, the cellar drain issue has recently veered off its bumpy, rocky road, in favor of a much smoother route), but today I’ll enjoy a precious moment of stillness. I’m a teacher enjoying the first snow day of the school year. The snow hasn’t arrived yet, and I know it’ll bring some work, like shoveling the deck, clearing the cars, and snow blowing a path to the mailbox, along with the possibility of treacherous driving conditions—all the more reason to stay home—but it also brings an opportunity to unplug. Sure, I’ll get ahead on a bit of school work, write another—much delayed—blog post, and accomplish some random “to-do’s” (a few items seem to have taken up a near-permanent residence on my list), but I’ll also make time to unwind and simply “be,” however that unfolds today. As Anne Lamott reminds us in chapter four of Almost Everything: Notes on Hope (a great book recommended to me by a dear friend that I’d suggest for anyone looking to read a real, humorous, touching reflection on life), “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” That’s it. Chapter four. All of it. (I love when authors use brevity for emphasis.) Unplug. That’s just what I’ll do today, and I invite you to do the same. Here and now, the snow is beginning to fall, lightly and beautifully. Life’s journeys can be all at once exhilarating, exciting, and exhausting. Take a moment to unplug, wherever you are on your journey, if only for a moment. Unplugging will hopefully offer a sense of renewal, supporting us as we continue on our ways in bright-eyed wonder and amazement of all that is.
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Valentine's Day has come and gone, but love has stayed on my mind. Who do you love in life? What places and objects also have a special place in your heart and being? Moreover, how do you express the love you feel for those dear to you? And how does that love feel within you? I grew up in a family that was hit by two deaths within less than a year of each other. My father's mother and sister both died of the same type of cancer, and my family felt the losses strongly. I was 10 at the time of my grandmother's death; 11 at the time of my aunt's. Their passing shook my relatively comfortable world and led me to some pretty profound questions, which no "answers" spoken by my caring loved ones seemed able to satisfy. I wrestled with such questions on and off for years to come. Eventually, a deep faith--one that can be questioned and unanswerable--resulted, and for that I am grateful. In addition to helping me develop a deeply- rooted faith, however, the losses I experienced in those formative years also had a great impact on how I view the people, places, and things that are most dear to me in life. Fairly early on, I learned that life--just like so many of its treasures--is fleeting. Each day does count, and what we make of it, how we spend it, how we treat others and ourselves, and what we learn from it shapes us, just as it influences the people, places, and things around us. Whatever our circumstances, we have a choice of how to respond to them. I was reminded of this a couple weeks ago by Scarlett Lewis. On Monday, February 12th, the after-school professional development session for some of the elementary schools in the district where I teach was an introduction to the Jesse Lewis Choose Love Movement. The movement was founded by Scarlett Lewis, whose six-year-old son, Jesse, was killed in Sandy Hook. Dealt what must be considered one of life's hardest circumstances, Scarlett Lewis has dedicated herself to bringing this movement to schools and families across the United States and around the globe. The movement calls for social-emotional learning for all children--and adults, as everyone can benefit from the teachings--with the goal, as stated on their website (www.jesselewischooselove.org), "to foster the understanding that with the right tools, we can educate and encourage individuals to choose loving thoughts over angry thoughts." Two days later, another mass school shooting occurred in Florida. Such events are all too common, and a multi-faceted approach is needed to curb them, as the problems behind them are also multi-faceted and complex. Yet, I agree with Scarlett Lewis that learning to love and to be loved--lessons many of us take for granted, but in doing so should also realize that they aren't the norm for every person nor, furthermore, for every child--are essential components of any long-term solution. I've been thinking a lot lately about this idea of love. And I've been thinking about how mindfulness, over the past three years, has helped me learn to love others and myself more deeply, more genuinely, and more selflessly than I ever had before exploring mindfulness. I've always been quite loving and have learned through life how to express that love through actions and words. But love can be a tricky emotion, as it can become entangled with jealousy, anger, resentment, fear, and a whole host of other complicated feelings. This is where mindfulness has helped me grow the most, as love has become less and less about who or what I love, and more and more about love as the energy of feeling connected and grounded, supporting me at my "center," while encouraging others to be fully at theirs, too. It is as much about looking outward at the people, places, and things I love as it is about looking inward, and seeing or, more accurately, feeling the resonation within me that indicates the sense of connection love fosters. Through my own explorations of social-emotional learning and mindfulness, I have, indeed, learned better how to love and to be loved, and I fully agree that if everyone had the chance in life to learn these lessons, the world would be a better, more peaceful place. If you are a parent, an educator, or anyone who works with children in any capacity, I encourage you to check out the Jesse Lewis website, as there are a lot of free resources available to support social-emotional learning. And on a personal note, I ask you to consider the words of a Kenny Roger's song: "Through the years, through all the good and bad, I know how much we've had. I've always been so glad to be with you...I've learned what life's about, by loving you through the years." (You can listen to the whole song at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9z1A1R8RQZs if you'd like.) The song brings tears to my eyes nearly every time I listen to it, as it is accompanied in my mind by a slideshow of the family and friends who have all helped make my days so rich. Perhaps the song reminds you of someone, too? A significant other, a treasured sibling, or a best friend who's been through so much with you in life? Whoever the song brings up, consider reaching out to that person or people just to check in, say hello, and see how things are going. Each day with our loved ones is a blessing, and what we say and do each day does count...will you choose love today? Lovingly, Lisa Having lived in New England all of my life, I've grown accustomed to an environment with four distinct seasons. Although they usually play a background role, the changing patterns of winter, spring, summer, and fall probably impact my day-to-day life in ways much more complex than the obvious ones that appear at surface level. I've sometimes wondered how different my internal life would feel if I lived in a place without four such distinct seasons. (Regardless of where we live, I imagine that, on some level, our environment comes to reside within, impacting each of us, to varying degrees, at the core of our being.) Clearing my car of snow in below-freezing temperatures in January, for example, I'm always amazed to think that in six months I may be enjoying a summer read on a beach chair, warmed by the sun and relaxing with my toes in the sand. I love visiting places like Guatemala, Florida, California, and even South Carolina, where different seasons exist, but--from my New Englander's perspective--seem linked more by similarities than differences. However, I can't imagine living there year-round. For me, at this point in my life, that wouldn't be a comfortable match. Yet, I know that for others, that is their ideal. One of my sisters, for instance, is very content living year-round in Florida, where she can enjoy some beach or pool time nearly any month of the year. And my Godparents, who've lived in New England for most of their lives, are happy to leave the cold weather behind as they travel south each year during the winter months as snowbirds in their RV. Occasionally in conversations, my sister and Godparents have sounded almost apologetic when I've mentioned cold temperatures or a forecasted snowstorm . I've quickly reassured them there's no need to feel sorry for me...I love the cold and snow of winter (and if not careful to consider their perspectives, I could feel sorry for them, missing out on what I see as winter's beauty). But that wasn't always the case. During one phase of my life, I strongly disliked winter. It was, by far, my least favorite of the four seasons, and, in my opinion, it couldn't leave quickly enough. But gradually that feeling shifted, first to tolerance, then to still-reluctant acceptance, and finally to where I am today, at deep appreciation. As far as I can remember, the shift occurred most markedly when I became a mother, when a certain magic that accompanies the transformations of the seasons was renewed within me. I was excited to share this sense of wonder with my daughter, who had recently arrived from Guatemala, a country known as the land of "eternal spring." Ever since, my love of each season has grown stronger, and though I still have a least favorite among the four, I appreciate the unique beauty each one brings. Just recently, however, and with thanks to mindfulness, which has helped bring a new awareness to the topic, I began to learn a new lesson from this shift: embrace life's seasons. As the Bible and The Byrds have already made known, "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven." As the years have passed, and I've gone through the births and deaths of loved ones, the challenges and joys of raising a child, the ins and outs of relationships of all sorts, the struggles and accomplishments of a fulfilling career, and each of life's "ups and downs" that have painted my days, I've come to gain an acceptance of everything that happens as an intricate part of life's wondrous complexity. Yet, only within the past few weeks and months have I been able to shift from accepting to embracing. Some words I read last night in Rolf Gates's and Katrina Kenison's Meditations from the Mat: Daily Reflections on the Path of Yoga really hit home on this idea of embracing life's circumstances: "Mindfulness is the art of paying attention. But there is more to it than that. It is paying attention with an abiding faith in a loving universe...When we pay attention with faith that we will be supported, then growth really is possible, our vision becomes clear, our path becomes unobstructed, and we are able to see the 'Good in every person and situation.'" That can be difficult to do, especially when roadblocks and mountains may seem to dominate our life's pathways, as they do in certain challenging times. But if we believe, as Deepak Chopra and others might suggest, that the universe is here to support our learning and deepening understanding of self and others, then somewhere, on some level, we can make a certain peace with life's challenges. Just like the seasons, life's challenges come and go. I can fight them, or I can go with the flow and accept them. Or, moving beyond both of those options, I can embrace them as I look for the good in each situation and each person I encounter. The last course may not be easy, but it brings with it a deep sense of peace that, for me, doesn't accompany the others. Each day presents new opportunities to learn. I hope that today and in moments to come, I can have a new appreciation for each season of my life, embracing alike the warmth and cold, the sun and clouds, the rain and snow, the rose and thorn that each person and each situation presents, openly, willingly, and lovingly. Open to all seasons, I'll be more receptive to the wisdom each one offers, allowing the lessons to enter my heart. What might we learn if we embrace each of life's seasons? I imagine the lessons will stick with us for a lifetime. Gratefully, Lisa Recently, I've been mulling over a plan for presenting my culminating project to my cohort at The Graduate Institute. However, it's July. And I am a teacher who doesn't--at least not officially--"work" in the summer. So I've also been paddle boarding and otherwise adventuring, as well as attending workshops and reading and cleaning and organizing...which is to say I've been doing the things that, often, during the school year, I don't have as much time for as I'd like.
I've been procrastinating more than usual about developing my presentation plan. "Prep culm proj pres" has been on my to-do list for almost a month, but I haven't felt bothered by this "unfinished" presence. Nor have I been constantly worrying about it. Rather, I believe, I may finally be learning to float. Let me explain. This idea began to take root within me after one of my ritualistic nighttime readings of Mark Nepo's The Book of Awakening. Nepo writes, "When we stop struggling, we float." He explains, "I remember learning to float. Mysteriously, it required letting almost all of me rest below the surface before the deep would hold me up. It seems to me, almost forty years later, that the practice of finding our faith is very much like that--we need to rest enough of ourselves below the surface of things until we find ourselves upheld." Learning to float requires a sense of surrender. When I'm struggling to swim and keep my head above the water--lofty goals, no doubt--I'm not fully giving of myself to whatever it is I'm struggling with. In my life, I have tended to be a struggler. Planning and thoroughly thinking things through certainly have their time and place, and many tasks couldn't be accomplished without them. But over planning and obsessively thinking and worrying about something usually aren't much help. From my understanding, some people can go through life never or rarely struggling in this way. I envy them. For me, learning to float has been challenging on many fronts--with intellectual tasks like completing a project for work or school, emotional tasks like developing a new friendship or nurturing a hurt one , or physical tasks like learning how to paddle board or do a headstand pose in yoga--the latter still being on my bucket list. In each of these cases, I see the truth of Nepo's claims, just like a pattern repeating itself in fractals at every level. As a dear friend of mine likes to say, "It's a physics thing." This is where mindfulness has been a great friend to me. The very same tools that help me look and listen to what's within have helped me learn to surrender. Don't get me wrong...I still slip into patterns of struggling tooth and nail, especially when I'm fearful. But then the words of a reiki practitioner for whom I have a lot of respect come to mind, "May your actions be rooted in love and not fear." Repeating this mantra, I remember who I am deep within and the person I aim to be, and that's an individual whose actions are, more often than not, rooted in love. Mindfulness helps me turn into the "storm" just enough, helps me immerse myself just enough into whatever "is" to then notice the feeling of being upheld. For it is a physics thing. We will always float. But as long as we're thrashing our arms and legs about wildly, trying to keep ourselves "above" the water, we may never know the peace that comes with floating. Nepo notes, "Perhaps faith is nothing more than taking the risk to rest below the surface." Being upheld is an amazing feeling. Have you felt it in your life, physically, emotionally, intellectually, or spiritually? I've struggled, at times, on each of these levels, but I've also known the peace that comes with "floating" on each of them. In fact, this theme of delving into something just enough to be upheld and learning to trust that things will get accomplished or turn out just as they're meant to be will be the connecting theme of my project presentation. I will recount the journey of my diving in and being upheld at various points in my work. But I hope to share more than just my research. I hope to share my understanding of the peace that comes with learning to float. And perhaps someone else will be encouraged to let go, just enough, to know the serenity of being upheld. Buoyantly, LAH Despite what they say about karma, when something "good" goes out into the world and comes back to us, it can be a welcome return! I've found this to be the case with mindfulness more than once in the relatively short amount of life that I've been exploring mindfulness practices and sharing them with my family, friends, students, and colleagues. Just last week, it happened again...
A couple of months ago in a graduate class I was taking, our weekend session opened with a guided meditation. Simple and quick, yet entirely "right" for me at that moment, the practice consisted of some relaxed deep breathing, centered around a three-lined mantra: "What I have is enough. What I do is enough. Who I am is enough." Given time to "sink in" and be felt, the words had a calming effect on me, prompting a feeling of peace with my present moment and circumstances. I liked the practice so much that I decided to share it with the teachers and other staff in the Mindfulness Exploration Group that I co-facilitate at the school where I work. Many in the group liked it, too, jotting it down to remember and use on future occasions. Enter last week. Despite having been teaching for 15 years, I can still feel unsettled, at times, about the stresses of my job, particularly observations. I've grown a lot in this area since earlier in my career, when the knowledge of an upcoming observation by an administrator or other could leave me feeling anxious for a whole week ahead of time and sleepless the night before. But last week, my upcoming observation was making me feel more uneasy than I had felt about an observation in quite a while. Perhaps it was the two days of stressful state tests my students endured earlier that week or the finishing touches on my culminating project for grad school that kept me busy every evening that were shaking me. Or maybe it was just that life had been very busy, overall, and this observation was "one more thing." Whatever it was, I walked into school that day feeling not my usual, fairly confident self. Shortly after my arrival, however, while making some copies in the workroom, I shared my feelings with a colleague while she also prepared for the day. "Just remember," she suggested, "What I have is enough. What I do is enough. Who I am is enough." I hadn't taken a mindful moment for myself yet that morning since arriving in my classroom--as has become a common practice for me--and, even though I appreciate that mantra and carry it within me, I hadn't thought to put it to use that morning. I went right to my classroom after my preparations and did so. A few moments of quiet, focused breathing and a centering mantra later, I was feeling much more grounded and ready for the day ahead. We had a discussion, in our Mindfulness Exploration Group, about that mantra the day I introduced it. Could saying it be interpreted as a pathway to accepting mediocrity? In some cases, perhaps, it could be interpreted as such. To me, however, the mantra doesn't have to be at odds with striving to do my best with something. Rather, for me, it helps me find balance between my efforts to influence something or do something in a particular way, and my simultaneous resolution to "go with the flow," and find peace in accepting things as they are. That's when I appreciate this mantra the most. We make plans in life, we have dreams, and many times we take action to try to achieve them, uncertain of the future and of whether or not they'll succeed. If things don't turn out as we might have pictured them, our failures can be humbling and profound, though not defeating. I think planning and dreaming and acting with the future in mind is part of our human nature. When we can fully accept our present, however, with whatever challenges and joys it may hold, we become a little stronger, a little more flexible, and a little wiser. "What I have is enough. What I do is enough. Who I am is enough." With acceptance of what is now--not that things are perfect and not that there aren't things that we wish could be different--we can find peace now. And with peace now, we can enjoy a renewable source of strength to fall back on in the pursuit of our dreams. Thanks to my colleague for reminding me of this mantra just when I needed it. Life can throw curve balls at any moment, and whether before a relatively "little" challenge of being observed or while facing a major twist or turn on the roadway to pursuing my dreams in life, this mantra will keep me company and lend support. Maybe you'll welcome it on your journey, too. What I have is enough, what I do is enough, who I am is enough, LAH |
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