Tag: empty nest

Two Sides to the Blade

PRAYER OF THE SELFISH CHILD

by Shel Silverstein 

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep,

And if I die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my toys to break.

So none of the other kids can use ’em….

Amen. 

“Egos trip, but humble doesn’t stumble, baby.” – Think Smarter (Twitter)

My husband and I stopped at a local “hole in the wall yesterday”, known mostly for its kooky-named craft beers. It was in an industrial park, was furnished with thrift store furniture, had only one, addicting, retro arcade game, only played vinyls on an old school record player, and until recently, was only open on Sundays. And it was so cool.

I read about it, in an article written by a hesitant fan of the place. The writer was caught on the edge of the blade, that we have all been before, that edge of wanting to share with the world, something that you love and adore; something that is so unique and special and unfathomably undiscovered, wanting to give a shout-out to the creator of such an amazing thing, and yet shaking in fear, and prescient of the disappointment, of the other side of the sword. The other side is knowing that inevitably, your discovery’s amazing-ness will catch on, the item/restaurant/singer/band/foodstuff/TV show/vacation spot/store/blog (ahem) will become as immensely popular as it deserves to be, and the magic of the best-kept secret gemstone, will be lost to the masses, to the pretenders, to those who only appreciate that which is already “proven,” and thus your discovery’s novelty, rareness and sui generis will fade to the rank and file, putting you on yet another quest for the next, unexplored, uncharted, great thing.

I almost felt guilty going to the joint yesterday. Wonderful places, yet undiscovered, make you question whether you are worthy. I wanted the waiter to say, “It’s okay. You’re kinda old, but you are cool enough to be here, because you were brave enough to try.” This is probably how the first discoverers of the ancient Egyptian tombs felt. I am sure that the explorers to the new world, had to wonder if it might be better to keep their magnificent findings, to themselves and retrospectively, the native people would have probably been better off remaining undiscovered. Things tend to follow the same cycle of life, that we do. Nothing escapes it. New, fresh, undiscovered people, places and things, grow and peak and then start to decline to the archives, until some of the new, fresh, undiscovered people of the new times, rediscover the validity of the stunning archives, and the cycle starts all over again. It’s the cusp periods, on the edge of the blade, that have us all holding our breaths, watching that what we love and sometimes try to hide and hoard, about to enter its peak on the life cycle of its ultimate story and history.

Ruminating

“The wise do not attach themselves to the ups and downs of life, but stay above them.” – Rumi

I recently read an excellent book that came to me, at just the right time. As an avid reader and a dedicated over-thinker, I believe sincerely that this is how our book connections happen. It so happens that the president’s daughter recently quoted a poem by Rumi, the ancient poet and philosopher, which reminded me that I had purchased a book about Rumi’s writings earlier this year. So, I looked for it and I read it over the past weekend. The book is called Rumi: Tales of the Spirit – A Journey to Healing the Heart, by Kamla K. Kapur. It turns out that even though Rumi is often known for his poetry, he was also an ardent story teller. In this book, Kapur translates twelve of Rumi’s stories which read more like parables or even sophisticated fairy tales, and then she explains the deeper depth of meaning, that she believes that Rumi is trying to convey. It is one of those books that you think about long after you have read it. It is a book that you keep for later reflection. It is one of those books that will find you, again.

The parables of Rumi that struck me the most were the ones talking about our need to let go of attachments. When your children start leaving the nest at a clip pace, and you have reached middle age with an acute sense that everything in your physical world is aging along with you (your things, your relations, your body), it becomes painfully clear of all of the strings that need to be cut. Just how attached am I to my children and the futures that I envision for my children, and the beliefs and mannerisms and ideas that I think they should have, to match my narrow vision? Just how attached am I to my main identity that I have taken on as my children’s mother and caretaker? Just how attached am I to all of the physical things that we have accumulated along the way to support our family and the life of our family unit? ( You may recall that I recently blogged about, while sobbing, just how hard it was to sell a family car that long had been part of our family history.) Just how attached am I to the relationships that I formed to teachers and coaches and friends, because of the connection to my children and their activities? Just how attached am I to my fading youth, and the vitality and beauty that flows away and starts to just trickle, as I age? Just how attached am I to the way things were, when the focus of our lives was this budding, growing family? Just how attached am I to all of the ups and downs, the exciting roller coaster of feelings that raising a family inevitably brings with it?

In the book, Kapur describes attachment this way:

“Attachment is something or someone we grasp desperately for our own survival; something or someone we think belongs to us instead of the Power that made it. . . . .Attachment to our opinions, prejudices, judgments and beliefs also imprison us.”

Recently my husband and I attended a dinner party at the home of a very wealthy man. He had vast collections of everything you could imagine. He had several gorgeous antique cars (and another warehouse somewhere else, apparently, full of more of them), beautiful paintings everywhere, rare hood ornaments, a brown liquor collection, a wine collection, a cigar collection, several antique sculptures, and he had so many Persian rugs, that they even surrounded his large, indoor pool. Many of us party goers asked him fascinated questions about his many beautiful objects. We asked him if it made him nervous, having everyone milling around and touching his things.

He looked at us incredulously. “No, I love to be able to share what I have found joy in,” he said.

We asked him if he rolled up the antique Persian rugs when his grandchildren came over to swim.

“No! I like the rugs to keep their feet comfortable,” he said, earnestly.

When we asked him what his favorite thing was, out of all his vast collections, he answered, without missing a beat,

“My marriage,” he said with a sweet smile.

Rumi says that detachment is not saying that you should own nothing. It is saying that nothing should own you. This man, who hosted the party, was a testament to this wisdom that Rumi extols.

The author includes one of her favorite Aboriginal proverbs, in the chapter on detachment. I’ll end this post with it:

We are all just visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. We are here to observe, to learn, to grow, to love and then to return home.

(For more reading on detachment, I also highly recommend Karen Casey’s Let Go Now – Embracing Detachment)

Never Lose Hope

In light of all of the painful world’s events that have occurred in just this short time, I think that this wisdom from the Dalai Lama is so correct:

“There is a saying in Tibetan, ‘Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.’
No matter what sort of difficulties, how painful experience is, if we lose our hope, that’s our real disaster.” 
― Dalai Lama XIV

I hope that you have a reflective, restful day off (if you are fortunate enough to have this Labor Day off) and enter into another fall season, refreshed and hopeful. Over the weekend, a dear friend of mine’s son, tragically lost one of his dearest friends. I wrote to him that every friendship that I have ever had, whether long or short, has affected my life and in essence, has become a part of, and helped to form, who I am, at my very core. So, in essence, those friendships will be with me forever. In that same sense, every tragedy and every triumph that we experience in our lifetimes, also becomes a part of who we are and helps to form us, and to grow us, individually and collectively. Thus, nothing is for naught.

1010!

I’ve mentioned before that I love playing the game 1010! on my phone. It is a grid game, sort of like Tetris, where you are trying to fit the pieces all together, so that when a solid line of ten blocks is formed, it disappears, making more room, for more pieces to be added. The game ends when you cannot fit the various shaped pieces to be played, on to the grid anywhere.

I have come to learn that I am most successful in the game and I tend to get my highest scores, when my focus is on just getting a line to disappear. On the other hand, when I try to make the grid look perfect and set up patterns and I try to make a whole lot of lines disappear at once, is usually, when I set myself up for failure. Invariably, an odd figured shape comes out of nowhere and because I have so many pieces neatly placed on the grid, there is nowhere to put the unexpected shape.

I was a marketing major in college and I have held various sales positions, over the years. “Always be closing!” is something that they preach to you in sales. I repeat that mantra to myself when I am playing 1010!. It reminds me to keep my eye on the goal, racking up points and keeping the grid relatively empty, by making lines disappear, no matter how messily that happens.

It struck me the other day, that life is a lot like this. We get goals in mind, but we get tripped up, thinking exactly how those goals should come about. We want things to be neat, easy and orderly, but that’s not really how a lot of life goes. When we keep our eye on the prize – our goal, we are more open to the different avenues and approaches of how that goal may be attained. We aren’t as easily thrown for a loop, when something unexpected (that dang, hard to place shape) comes our way. When we believe in the goal, we know that there are many possible ways to get to the goal and that forces bigger than us, are helping us along the way. When we keep focused on the desired end result, and we aren’t as worried about how we get to that end, but just hold on to our faith that we will get there, however messy and hard and full of surprises the journey to the goal may end up being, we have a much better likelihood of success. When we hold fast to how we think an objective should be attained, we more easily get stuck and mired in disappointment. We have lost our vision of the goal, because we keep eyeing “the pretty picture” of how we think the goal should come about. When we do that, we have lost our way.

“Failed plans should not be interpreted as a failed vision. Visions don’t change, they are only refined. Plans rarely stay the same, and are scrapped or adjusted as needed. Be stubborn about the vision, but flexible with your plan.”

John C. Maxwell

Open Arms, Open Heart

Tonight is Open House night at my daughter’s high school. This will probably be about the 20th Open House that I have attended, in the capacity as a parent. I’m not even really sure the actual number, as they all start running into each other, in my mind. Usually my husband and I have had to “tag team” these events, going to different of our children’s classes and coming back together to compare notes. (I have to admit that he has always been more earnest in his note taking than I have been.) Sometimes we haven’t even been at the same school. It will be strange to be able to go to the same classrooms together and greet the teachers, as a team.

My daughter is a sophomore, so her classes are still likely to be pretty full with parents during this Open House. Senior classes tend to be pretty sparse. One year, my eldest son’s senior English class only had one parent attending. It was me. This poor young, earnest, first year teacher had prepared probably the best PowerPoint presentation I had ever seen produced at an Open House event. I half expected fireworks to be let off at the end of it. When he asked if there were any questions at the end of it, I wanted to ask, “Should we cry now?” It was definitely an awkward situation.

I had my eldest child when I was 25. It has been good for my ego over the years to be “the young mom” when I visited with his teachers and friends and coaches. My son is a big man with a full beard who looks older than his age, so one time, when I was donning a baseball cap and big sunglasses, someone once even confused us as husband and wife. It was definitely another awkward moment for me. I think it was a traumatic, nauseating, possibly “in need of therapy”, moment for him.

But now, as I enter the last three years of Open Houses to go, I’m definitely not one of the young moms. I’ve been around the block a few times. I have the worry lines on my forehead to prove it. But with the lines, also comes the sage wisdom that everything is going to be okay. My daughter will find her path, just as her brothers before her have, and her father and I have, before our precious children even came into being. Her earnest, kind, dedicated teachers will do their best to impart their knowledge to broaden her mind’s understanding of this world and to keep her thirsting for more learning. Her tennis coaches will coax the best of her physical prowess out of her, which will give her the best prize of all – confidence in her strength and her abilities to overcome challenges. Her art teachers will encourage her to expand her amazing creativity and her unique expressions of the world’s wonder. Her friends will be her mutual cheerleaders, supporters, experience-sharers, and perhaps, among the best teachers that she will have in many regards, as she morphs into her womanhood. The administrators at her high school will keep her life structured, ordered and hopefully safe, for the next three years. So knowing all of this, I greet tonight’s Open House with open arms and an open heart of gratitude for this warm, connected community that is helping me to launch my final little ship, of the fleet of ships, that makes up our family.

Love Life

I had a lot of free time this weekend, which is a beautiful thing. I actually got to sit out in the sun, and casually flip through my magazines, which have been piling up, like paper bricks, forming the “Wall of the Unread.” It turns out that In Style magazine is 25 years old this year. It was born, the same year that I got married. One of the features of this month’s issue, was interviews with frequent cover girls of In Style. They interviewed celebrity women like Jennifer Anniston, Demi Moore, Jessica Alba, Michelle Pfeiffer, Halle Berry, Salma Hayek, Kate Hudson and Meg Ryan, among others. They asked each woman to describe in a few words what she was like when she did her first cover for In Style, versus what she was like now, 25 years down the road. Here are some of the words that the women used to describe how they were in their first cover sessions, in their younger years (1994 – early 2000s):

sweet, naive, curious, hopeful, insecure, prickly, fiery, ambitious, overwhelmed, sassy, hardworking, loving, no idea where it was all headed, surprised, excited, immature, optimistic, flat-stomached, fearful

Here are some of the words these famous women use to describe themselves now:

strong, knowing, excited, dedicated, introspective, quirky, eccentric, happy, smart, independent, thoughtful, generous, more forgiving of myself, less controlling, blessed, centered, focused, content, very strong, always curious, still a nerd, more wise and less sure, very optimistic, humble, grateful, fearless

When I compared the lists, I realized that I have a lot more in common with these celebrity women than I would have ever guessed. All of these years of watching them on the big screen, I guess I always just equated them to the characters that they played, which were often bigger than life superheroes. (literally) It was interesting to see them from a very relate-able, humane view.

As I was reading my magazines, I had put on a cover-up that I haven’t worn in quite some time. The brand of this article of clothing is Gretchen Scott and this is what the company put on all of their tags:

Laugh More, Gripe Less, Ignore Critics, Say Yes, Order Dessert, Love Life

I think what is sweet about being 25 years older (and I believe that the above mentioned celebrity women would probably agree with me, based on their personality trait lists) is that I understand and I apply the wisdom of the Gretchen Scott clothing tag, more than I ever did. Love Life. It’s that simple.

To Market! To Market!

Yesterday we went to one of my “happy places.” This happy place is an absolutely fabulous gourmet Italian market, filled with scrumptious cuisine, lots of kitsch, and a dessert selection worth waiting the half hour, until it is your turn to order. Not everyone is happy here. I overheard one woman talking on her cell phone, “I can’t believe that they brought us to this place. It’s a cluster. It’s insane.”

This market is so fantastic, that it is always filled with people. And the people are such a good microcosm of the entire world. You hear all sorts of languages being spoken. You see every age, every color, every style of fashion that you would see in an international airport or touristy shopping mall. I honestly would come to this precious market for the people watching alone. It takes an army of employees to run the show, including flag waving parking attendants. You definitely have to be in the right mindset before you visit it. At Christmas time, there are so many people in the market, that you kind of have to allow yourself to be pushed around in a mass blob, yelling your orders out to the serious, “no time for nonsense” employees, as you pass the meat section or the pasta section or the gourmet coffee stand, holding your old-fashioned bakery ticker number, high into the air.

Don’t get me started on the sandwiches. Each sandwich runs you around $7 and you will never taste a better combination of fresh bread, insanely fresh vegetables, any kind of protein you can imagine, and sauces that bring it together like no other can, and make the whole mash of it all just sing in harmony. Even though they are huge, I ordered two sandwiches, the hot Italian and the wasabi tuna, because I can never make up my mind which of the two sandwiches is better. I ate half of each for lunch and for dinner. And I went to bed with a smile on my face.

While I was sitting in the center of all of the collective, excited chaos, with our over-filled baskets (yes baskets), waiting for my husband and my daughter to bring us even more goodies and treasures to place into the baskets, I just breathed it all in. There was noisy chatter-y voices, and excited anticipatory expressions on everyone’s faces. Everyone there, no matter their ages, had transformed into their “inner kid in a candy store.” There were spilled drinks, and carts bumping ankles and little kids looking up, wide-eyed, overwhelmingly lost in a sea of legs. There was every scent you could imagine wafting in the air, overwhelmed by the best aromas of rich coffee, mixed with a whiff of fresh baking bread, and warm chocolate chip cookies, rounding it all out. I knew what to expect as we waited in line to just enter the market. I had set my mindset to the right dial of patience and presence, and so there, right in the center of it all, I just basked it all in.

I suppose, in the end, one woman’s insane cluster, is another woman’s cacophonous bundle of joy.

Today I Noticed

Today I noticed. Not every day that I drive my daughter to school, do I notice. Sometimes my mind is far away, focused on the to-do list for the day or trying to solve “a problem” that I have allowed to grow in my psyche and peppered it with fear and worry. But not today. Today I just noticed. I noticed people of all ages walking beautiful dogs of all varieties, so many that they could make up one of those gorgeous dog coffee table books that I can never seem to resist at Barnes and Noble. I noticed a strange dew covering an overgrown conglomerate of bushes that was actually so eye-catching, that if painted by just the right artist, or photographed by just the right photographer with just the right lens, this botanical mess would be shown to be a breathtaking masterpiece. I noticed that the brightly colored book mailbox, created by earnest Eagle Scouts, at the local church, where we stopped to drop a couple of books, was brimming with donations and I smiled to myself, knowing how many others share my love for reading. Today I noticed the kind eyes of the school police officer as he offered a reassuring smile to every child leaving their cars and I felt thankful, as I prayed for his safety, as he protects our children from dark forces that seem to swarm to the surface more these days. Today I noticed beautiful wild flowers blooming out of the wide mouth of an overworked sewer drain and I remembered that beauty can come out of the foulest of circumstances. Not every day that I drive my daughter to school, do I notice. But today . . . I noticed.

You Old Crone!

I started reading a book about menopause. (I realize that I have just lost all of my male readers. I am surprised that I have any male readers, but my macho, cigar smoking, ex-soldier cousin tells me that he is a fan and has quotes from my blog to prove it.) This book that I started reading, is a new-agey kind of book, popular in yoga circles, but apparently it has a lot of good advice on herbal remedies during this stage in a woman’s life. And, I am all about natural remedies.

However, when I first started reading the book, I was more than a little off-put, when the beginning of the book starts telling me to embrace the start of my changing into a “crone.”

What?! Is this some kind of cruel joke?! How evil, at this vulnerable time of my life, at this emotionally volatile stage of my existence, to suggest that I am turning into a crone!!

Here are some definitions of “crone”, I found on-line:

crone/krōn/

  1. an old woman who is thin and ugly.

Crone definition is – a cruel or ugly old woman.

Wikipedia starts out mean, but gets a little nicer, at the end:

“The crone is a character in folklore and fairy tales, an old woman. In some stories, she is disagreeable, malicious, or sinister in manner, often with magical or supernatural associations that can make her either helpful or obstructing. The Crone is also an archetypal figure, a Wise Woman.” Wikipedia

Having matured (obviously, I’m at beginning crone-stage), I didn’t burn the book or even throw it at anyone, or even away. (the herbs must be working) I read further. And then, it all started making more sense and then I did more research, and by the end of it all, I started to almost embrace the term, “crone”. (almost)

In ancient times, the cycles of life, were highly revered and honored. Women’s life cycles were divided into three parts: Maiden, Mother and Crone, creating the “Triple Goddess.” The Crone was often thought to be the wisest, most powerful stage in a woman’s life, and that was very threatening to the “powers that be.” Here is some background from goddess-guide.com:

“In today’s society where we worship youth and beauty, this aspect of the Goddess is the most frightening and misunderstood of the three, as she represents our destruction, decay and death. Traditional societies however, view death as part of a cycle. . . . . In her positive aspect she is often depicted as a Grandmother, a wise woman, or a midwife. The word Crone is derived from the old word for crown, suggesting the wisdom that emanates from the head like a halo. Her own child baring days are past; she is the wisdom keeper, seer and healer and midwife, whose knowledge is sought out to guide others during life’s hardships and transitions. . . . . Unfortunately in the Middle Ages the church feared these wise women and the esteem with which their communities held them. Many of them were killed during the Inquisition and the wise woman of old was relegated to the Wicked Witch and Hag Archetype of our fairy tales. This is a corruption of the original meanings of the word witch and hag which respectively derived from the word wit, denoting wisdom and hagio meaning holy. Today as more woman live longer and take more prominent roles within society the tide is starting to turn as they start to reclaim their power.”

Another source had this to say: “In the days of the matriarchy, and in some matrifocal cultures yet, a woman who has completed her menopausal metamorphosis initiates young men into the ways of love play most pleasing to women. She is honored as the teller of truth and the keeper of peace. She is the tradition keeper and the people’s link to the spirit world.” – Susun Weed

Like anything, how we see any subject, all falls to our own perspectives and viewpoints. I, admittedly, am always a seeker of the positive point of view. If I am headed into “crone-hood”, these definitions are what I think describes a crone the best:

“The Crone is the wise-woman who has crossed the developmental threshold that marks her “a woman unto herself.” The Crone dusts the red dirt of the world from her feet and begins her real soul-centric work. The Crone has grown wise and potent enough to chart an inward course that takes her to the center of the world where she finds her authentic self in total communion with Life. She is then able to bring those gifts back and offer them to those around her.” -TreeSisters

And I’ll end with this:

“The Crone is a symbol of inherent wisdom that comes from experience. She has lived through love, sorrow, hope, and fear, coming out of it all a wise and confident spirit. Through these experiences she has learned the secrets of life and death and of the mysteries beyond this world. She has tasted death itself and watched those she loved make the journey before her. It is through her mourning that she faces death, grows to understand it, and becomes the gatekeeper between worlds.

The wisdom of the Crone comes only after learning the lessons of non-judgment and compassion. Through these lessons the Crone becomes the balancing scales between light and dark and between life and death. She is selfless, yet she loves herself. She is kind, yet she knows when to be harsh. She is free, she is compassionate, and she is wise. Only the Crone can complete the journey to the Otherworld and birth the Child of Completion.

The Crone is full of power. Her body is no longer fertile, but her mind is sharp and able. She no longer bleeds, keeping her power within her and owning it without shame or fear.” – boundariesarebeautiful.com

Modern Momming

For all of the grumbling that I sometimes do, about technology and “Big Brother”, yesterday I found myself so grateful for what we have available to us, at the click of a button. I received pictures from family and friends sharing their weekend adventures with me. I tracked my son’s flight safely back from South America, to home. And when he got home, he shared so many pictures and videos with his father and I, that it almost felt like I had been there with him. (a little piece of my heart is always with him, but that goes without saying) I had a quick little text exchange with my youngest son, just enough to let him know how much I miss and love him, but also how excited I was for him and his new adventures at college. When he said that he missed the dogs, I was able to send some video of them, being their crazy, lovable selves, to him, in an instant. The peace of mind that modern technology affords, is a mother’s dream come true. Even if the rest of our family doesn’t always agree . . . .

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