This latest surge of coronavirus in our country has brought back some gloom and doom into our everyday conversations. But we will make it through it. This too shall pass. The interesting thing is that when you reflect back on your worst days, you realize how greatly outnumbered the worst days are, by your good days (or at the very least, by your normal, average days).
If someone asked my kids, “What does your mother always tell you?”, I hope that “I love you,” would be the first thing to pop into their minds, to give as their answer. I tell my children that I love them, all of the time. I think that’s so important for them to hear regularly. “I love you.” I also believe that my kids would say, “My mother always tells us to ‘Finish Strong.’ ” When raising children there are so many beginnings and yet also, so many endings involved. At the end of any school year, at the end of any games or competitions which they were involved in, at the final days of their summer jobs, I would always repeat the mantra, “Finish Strong.”
Lately, I have been repeating, “Finish Strong” to myself, quite a lot. My youngest child just started her senior year in high school. This is my final year of full-time mothering, which has been my main task and duty, for the last 25 years of my life. There are going to be a lot of easy, fun, celebratory days, in this coming year, but there will also be some “worst days” sprinkled in. That’s just the way of life. And I believe that we will survive, and even thrive through all of it. I believe that everyone I know has the capacity to “Finish Strong.” And I must model my own words to my children, if these words are to have any meaning and wisdom and worth. “I love you. Finish Strong.” Say these words of confidence and conviction often, to your loved ones, and most importantly, to yourself.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Yesterday, I spent a little bit too much time ruminating in my fear and my worries and my disappointments. It didn’t help that I had woken up in the morning to a terrible dream in which I had been told by a doctor that I had throat cancer. I spazzed out on that one. Interestingly, about half of the hundreds of dream interpretation websites which I looked at, said that this was actually an excellent dream that foretold fortune and happiness and lovely surprises. Nice. Let me tell you, Dreams, “There are much kinder ways to tell me that good things lie ahead.”
Also, yesterday morning, my son texted a picture from his first medical school class. It was occurring on Zoom, in his teensy little apartment bedroom, for eight hours straight. Sigh. Thanks again, Coronavirus. So awful to see you again!
The great mask debate is in full force (and obviously on national display) here again in Florida, and my daughter starts her senior year of high school tomorrow. The ugly vibes are swirling on the news, and in social media, and in the neighborhood and like everyone else, I am so, so, so tired of it all. I had tricked myself, earlier this summer, that with the vaccinations, Covid was practically a thing of the past, and instead it has come back with an ugly vengeance. Some of my closest friends, despite being vaccinated, are in quarantine, healing from Covid infections. Luckily they have seemingly mild cases, so far.
So those three paragraphs above, show you where my mindset (and heartsick) was yesterday, and even into last night, as I crawled into bed. I don’t like that mindset. I don’t like negativity. It doesn’t feel good. As I was waiting to go to sleep, and I was thinking that I really didn’t care to have anymore scary dreams, I went to my phone and I looked up “the most comforting, reassuring thought in the world.”
Over a decade ago, when my family and I were the poster kids for the Great Recession, and we were watching our savings go down the drain like rushing water, this Bible verse helped me to get through those tough times (Matthew 6: 28-30):
28 And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, 29 yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 30 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?
This verse made a lot of sense to me and it became my daily mantra. And thankfully, we made it through the Great Recession just fine. Last night, though, I wanted a new, fresh mantra. My current worries and stresses are more about the health of my family, and of my friends, and of our world, and maybe even my own mental health. My worries are more about the overall health and well-being of everyone I love, including our Mother Earth. So, when I searched up “the most comforting, reassuring thought in the world” last night, the search wasn’t as satisfactory as I wanted it to be. It turns out that there are about 18 million comforting thoughts to pick from.
My love language is the written word. I love to read. I love to write. I love comforting thoughts. My search had me strumming through hundreds and hundreds of uplifting verses and quotes, many that I had already seen, and had already read before, many, many times. So many of these quotes talked about the fruitlessness of worrying. Duh. But that’s not particularly comforting when you are stuck in the worry cycle, which has taken up a life of its own, in your head. It’s hard to find the “off button” for the Worry Cycle, at that point. So reading about how taxing worrying and anxiety is, to your body and to your spirit, is honestly, at times, just more upsetting and worrying, than anything close to being reassuring and comforting.
I was frustrated that there was not one simple consensus as to what is the “the most comforting,reassuring thought in the world”. So, I figured that I might as well take a few screenshots of quotes that at least, resonated with me. This quote was very similar to my favorite Bible verse:
“Don’t try to force anything. Let life be a deep Let-Go. God opens millions of flowers every day without forcing their buds.” – Osho
This one has always made sense to me:
“You are the sky. Everything else is just the weather.” – Pema Chodron
And as I was beating myself up angrily for being such a Wanda Worrier/Debbie Downer/Negative Nancy, this one really struck home:
“I just give myself permission to suck. I find this hugely liberating.” – John Green
But then, some kind of Divine Intervention happened. Without searching for it, I somehow ended up reading a scientific article that talked about comforting music. My guardian angel must have been saying to me, “Girl, you don’t need any more words. You need to get out of that silly little pissy-missy mind of yours, if you want to have a good night’s sleep, and a hope for a more positive tomorrow.” The article that I miraculously landed on, said that this ONE song, created by professional sound therapists, has proven to reduce anxiety by 65%, and shows a 35% reduction in any one person’s typical physiological resting rate. This song is wordless. I played the song as I was trying to fall asleep. And I slept so soundly. My husband didn’t know that we were both being “treated” by this song last night, because he was already asleep when I played it, but this morning, the first thing that he remarked to me was how well he had slept last night. The lesson I gleaned from this experience was that we shouldn’t get so stuck in trying to control the ways in which we are going to be comforted, or fixed, or reassured, or loved to sleep. When we do the “deep Let-Go”, the Universe gives us exactly what we need. I slept incredibly well last night. I don’t recall any negative dreams. I feel comforted. I feel reassured this morning. It turns out that last night, for me, Marconi Union’s “Weightless” was “the most comforting, reassuring thought in the world,” and it is not even a thought. It doesn’t even have words. Last night’s comfort came from pure sound. Be open to every amazing resource available to us, friends. Keep the faith. We are loved. We are protected. All is well.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
There’s a stand-up comedian, Dusty Slay, whose catch phrase is “We’re having a good time.” He says that most comedians leave the overall atmosphere up to chance, or up to the critical opinions of others, by asking their audiences, “Are you having a good time?” Dusty decides just to manifest it. Throughout his set, he makes a point of throwing in the decisive statement, “We’re having a good time.” The way that Dusty says it sounds so reassuring and light, and it comes across like, “Chill out, man, we’re just having fun.” You can’t help but agree with him.
I’ve decided to keep Dusty’s friendly voice, with its catchy, southern twang, in the back of my mind, for times when things seem just too serious (or for when I make times too serious in my own mind, which is an unfortunate tendency of mine). I repeat to myself, “We’re having a good time.” I figure that even if it isn’t a particularly good time, I’ll at least get a giggle out of it. Like yesterday, when I was driving home from helping my youngest son move some of his stuff to a new apartment at his university, and then having to drive back home through the pouring rain, with a huge load of some of my son’s other stuff rolling around in the car, while the usual crazies on the slick highway, were weaving through 18 wheelers and oversized loads, as if it were an Olympic sport. I just repeated to myself, “We’re having a good time.” “Good times, we’re going for gold!” The statement makes me smile to myself, every time I think about it. I am sure that Dusty would be happy to let you use the phrase liberally, in your own life, too. “We’re having a good time.”
It’s Thursday. It’s summer. It’s late July. It’s hot. It’s humid. It’s bright. We’re alive. “We’re having a good time.”
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Later today, I will board an airplane and I will head back to my own well-established, mature, and sometimes even a tad staid, “adult life.” I will be leaving our middle son at the starting gate of his own adult life. He will be living right in the heart of a major city, on the 27th floor of a skyscraper. This is something that I have never done in my life. My children are usually pretty adventurous and independent. They know themselves really well. This makes me swell with happiness and pride and even with some relief.
My husband didn’t sleep well in our hotel room last night. I slept like a log. I tend to process a lot of my feelings during an event, and even before a major rite of passage. I am good at anticipating how I will feel, and then marinating in my feelings, soaking in all of the feelings, – the good, the bad and the ugly. I think about my feelings. I talk about my feelings. I write about my feelings. I watch movies that relate to my feelings. I know, and I name each of my emotions, intimately and easily. I release my feelings openly and freely. It is how I better understand myself and my life.
On the other hand, my husband has more of a delayed reaction to even noticing that change is happening, but then I think that it “hits” him suddenly, and with force. I sense that all of his mixed feelings (pride, nostalgia, excitement, melancholy, his own sense of age and mortality, curiosity, loss, hope) are all hitting him now with a direct blunt force. He doesn’t admit that to me. My husband blames his restlessness and lower energy and inability to sleep deeply, on the gelato which we had for dessert last night.
I wish that I could chalk up all of my emotions that I am experiencing right now, to gelato. “Oh, this unleashing of yet another one of my most precious children, fully and freely into the pastures of the wild, wild world, without me trotting alongside, is almost complete. Why is it that my stomach is churning, my mind is buzzing, my eyes are all blurry, and my heart is aching? Oh, silly me! It must be the Dulce de Leche gelato that I ate last night. “Gelato” can be really, really hard and difficult to digest. It takes time.”
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Raise your hand if you are grumpy. It comes with the territory of the Monday after the clocks spring forward. Both hands raised here.
My favorite story of the weekend involved “the mystery letter” addressed, in neat, pretty handwriting, to my daughter. It came in a fancy envelope and the return address belonged to a woman whose name I had never heard. I brought the letter to my daughter. She didn’t recognize the name on the return address stamp, either. It made me feel curious, yet also kind of suspicious and protective, too. Handwritten letters are such a rare thing these days. It turns out that it was a thank you note, coming from a teacher. My daughter had volunteered to help pre-cut some craft items for our local elementary school. In all honesty, my daughter did the activity, in order to fulfill her required community volunteering hours, required by some of her clubs and honor societies. Still, my daughter likes to do crafty things, and she did a really nice job with the project, in a timely manner.
The teacher wrote a very sincere thank you note, making it clear how much time my daughter had saved her, so that she could focus her attention on other important activities going on in her classroom. My daughter beamed. I beamed. I am one of those moms who has always insisted on my children writing handwritten thank you notes for gifts and experiences. I think that my daughter finally fully understood why I have always required this act of kindness and respect. My daughter felt appreciated. It feels good to feel appreciated. Thank you, dear teacher, for giving us this very “teachable” moment. Teachers are amazing.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Yesterday, at my daughter’s tennis match, I spotted an extraordinary and beautiful luna moth. It is an exceptional occurrence to see a luna moth because, like most butterfly types, the moths only live 7-10 days, and they are mostly nocturnal and rarely seen during the day. In case you are having trouble seeing my lovely moth in that brown pile of leaves, I outlined her for you, here:
Some sources believe that there is a spiritual meaning behind seeing a luna moth, representing rebirth and the renewal of body and spirit.
“The Luna Moth presents as a reminder that many of the battles we face are not even our own. Be sure to clean and clear your surroundings and be sure you’re not absorbing the energy and karma of others. The Luna Moth is a symbolic message of blossoming in adversity, empowerment, enlightenment and epiphany. Release all outdated concerns.” – Sacred Spirit Shaman
The above quote is the perfect segue to what I had intended to write about all along today, before even witnessing my beautiful luna moth, especially the last line: Release all outdated concerns. I took calendar notes yesterday morning, to remind myself that I wanted to write about “worry.” It all started with a quote that I saw recently, from Esther Hicks:
“Don’t worry about this world; it is not broken. And don’t worry about others. You worry more about them than they do. There are people waging war; there are people on the battlefield who are more alive than they’ve ever been before. Don’t try to protect people from life; just let them have their experience while you focus on your own experience.”
I admit that I am a terrible worrier. Taking an informal survey among people I know, I find that many of us mothers, are particularly practiced worriers. I worry about one of my children, and then I feel guilty that I am not spreading the worry evenly, so I start worrying about my other children, in equal measure. I do the same thing with my friends, and my dogs, and all of the other people whom I care about in my life. I am very calculated in how I spread out my worry and concerns among my loved ones, mostly because I have found in my life, that most of the stuff that I worry about never, ever happens. Instead, I often get blindsided by the things which I never worry about. So, knowing this about myself, I try to cover all of my bases by worrying about as much stuff as I possibly can. Yesterday, when I read the quote above, I guiltily, started worrying about how much I worry about everybody. The quote was a firm and sharp reminder to me, that “worry” is not equal to “love”. In fact, it is quite the opposite. “Worry” has its roots in fear and control and avoidance of dealing with one’s own “stuff”, in one’s own precious life. Worry says, “I don’t trust you, my loved one, to live your life the way Ithink you should, to keep me safe from my fears of losing you.” Ouch, sounds kind of selfish, doesn’t it? Worry says, “I don’t trust you, God/Universe/Creation/Spirit, nor Your plans for ALL and EVERYTHING that You, Yourself have lovingly brought into existence.” Ouch, sounds kind of blasphemous, doesn’t it? Fear and control and projection do not equal love. Love is rooted in faith and enthusiasm and respect for individuals to live their lives on their own terms. Most importantly, worry is fruitless and pointless. It doesn’t stop or control anything. Worry is a destroyer (a wolf in sheep’s clothing). Worry destroys health, peace, relationships and our personal connection to our Higher Source. Perhaps I should use this particular luna moth sighting, as a reminder to let go of all of my worries and worrying. It would be a wonderful tribute to her short, luminous, mysterious, beautiful life, lived on her own unique terms, and according to the mysterious Master Plan.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
“Many of us have spent our lives being batteries for others.” – Julia Cameron.
Julia Cameron is the author of The Artist’s Way. Many creatives consider that book to be the one holy book, for getting creative juices to flow. I read The Artist’s Way once. Admittedly, at the time that I read the book, I was half-hearted about doing the activities described in the book, so I can’t honestly say that it moved me, in the way that this book has inspired so many other creatives. Recently I picked up Julia Cameron’s latest book (she has written about 40 books), The Listening Path, in hopes of maybe getting a better understanding of what I may have missed in The Artist’s Way. Truthfully, I like the fact that The Listening Path is a much skinnier book than The Artist’s Way. When I started reading The Listening Path last night, and I got to the quote written above, I got up from the couch, and I found a pen, and I underlined the quote three times. In fact, I must have been pressing so hard when I underlined that sentence that the line shows through with a teeny hole, on to the opposite side of the page. I find it hard to believe that I am the first person to do this. Certainly, I am not the first mother to do this.
No one asks us to be their batteries. It is not fair to put that onus on anyone else. But it is something we motherly types tend to do, and to become. I was having a text conversation with some friends yesterday, and we were talking about the fact that we will never stop worrying about our children, until forever. (and we are all mothers of mostly adult children) Yet, when we took on the role of “mother”, we never fully understood the depth of that responsibility, nor also the mother role’s deep, echoing emotional reach. When we put on the “mother robe”, it never fully occurred to us, that the mother robe is not removable, ever, and it can be a heavy robe, at times. When we entered into motherhood, it was like entering into any new adventure, like a new job, or a budding romantic relationship, or a new place to live – you have some ideas and expectations, of what you are getting yourself into, but you are never fully prepared. Pregnancy or adoption, is signing you on to an experience that you will have some level of responsibility for, (and also a whole heap full of vulnerability, and love like you’ve never felt, and sometimes even a few negative emotions like guilt, fear and resentment) for the rest of your life, and perhaps even beyond, without escape. And you sign on to this mother role, without fully grasping what this lifetime role really means for you, and for your children. Because no matter how good a storyteller, experience cannot really ever be fully captured in its entire scope and its full essence. Experience must be felt and it must be absorbed, while it is happening to you.
Therefore, when we mothers reach this emptying nest stage of our lives, where our family members are coming into their own “extended life battery” charge, it’s a jarring experience. We complain about being “drained”, but then we sometimes feel a little useless and listless, like a dangling plug. But yet we are also excited about the prospect of recharging our own batteries. Still, it feels rather foreign to us, to allow ourselves to take most of our own power back, for our own dreams and for our own goals. It feels a little strange and a little nerve-wracking, yet also extremely exciting and reinvigorating, to nurture our own selves, and our own passions, with the energy reserves that we had mostly given away, when raising our families. It is one of those times in life, like entering any new adventure, where we have some ideas and expectations, but we are never fully prepared. This is a new experience and experience must be felt and absorbed, while it is happening to you.
The interesting thing to note is that even now, in this empty nest stage of parenting, by giving the majority of your energy stores back to yourself, you are still, inadvertently, doing a crucial part of your mothering role. You are showing your children to value themselves, and to value their individual lives and dreams, and this example, might very well be the most important lesson which you ever impart to your precious children. You are freeing your children from feeling emotionally responsible for your life, and for your happiness. You are the one, bravely pulling the plug, knowing that your loved ones have the natural ability to keep themselves charged. You also know that a Universal Everlasting charge is always available to them, as it is, and has always been, available to you, for the rest of all of your lives.
We know by now, that our mother robe never comes off. And with experience under our belts, we fully understand what that means. But truthfully, as mothers, we don’t want the mother robe to come off, but still, it feels good to remember that we are the ones wearing the robes. Just as mothering is a profound pleasure and a great privilege, it is also a special pleasure and a privilege, to get reacquainted with, and curious about, the interesting, and multi-faceted “wearer of the robe,” and where her next adventures in life will lead her.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I know that these days a lot of us mamas have heavy hearts. We worry about every single person whom we love. We worry about what our loved ones are doing, and what they aren’t doing. We also worry about how what our loved ones are doing, and what they aren’t doing, is affecting them, physically, mentally and emotionally. And as women, especially, we tend to love many, many people in our lives, with a very caring, nurturing, protective form of love. We love with a ferocious energy, and wide open hearts, which bleed profusely when anyone who we care about is hurting. We can get depleted quite easily in times like these. But I would like to suggest that we are not alone. Whatever your faith is, you, as a open-hearted person, intuitively know that there are much bigger, stronger, vital forces that keep you sustained, even in the worst of your days. I would like for you to cement the above visual into your brain. Print it and carry it around, if need be. I would like for you to superimpose pictures of all of your beloved family members, your friends, your pets, your community – all being embraced by their own Higher Powers, all of the time. I would like for you to be sure to include your own picture in this visualization. Any time a worry thought comes to mind, about anybody or anything, I would like for you to have to breezily brush away the feathers from your face, and for you to relax comfortably and breath easily, in the hands and the arms that are holding you, and sustaining you, and healing you, and strengthening you, and at the same time, doing all of this for everyone who you love and who you care about, all of the time. Because that is what is happening. Every single day. Do not be afraid. Just take it easy and rest and center yourself, whenever you feel overloaded and just ask for help. It is here for the taking. Right with you. Every single day. This I know.
Happy 16th birthday, to my beautiful daughter! This isn’t quite the plans at Disney which we had made, but at least we (your parents and your brothers and your doggies) are your captive audience, and your dutiful servants for the day. xoxo Disney is just delayed.
I think that in a time of uncertainty, fear, and boredom, another one of my “no horse pucky” stories is called for, to lighten the mood. The other day (I can’t remember which day; they are all melting into each other. Quarantine days look remarkably the same around here.) I went into my garage and started poking through the storage boxes. Back in the year 2000, I had belonged to an online pregnancy chat group. I was pregnant with our third son, during that time. Our other two boys were ages four and two, and our daughter was not even yet, a glimmer in our eyes. It turns out that I printed out every single post that I had made on the chat group, and I kept the printed sheets, as sort of a pregnancy journal. The other night, when I rediscovered the “journal”, I delighted myself and my captive audience family, with various anecdotes that I talked about in the journal, including the time my 4-year-old son said that my new haircut made me look like “a monster” and he meant it sincerely, as a major compliment. Anyway, Tuesday, November 7th, 2000’s entry is absolutely “no horse pucky” worthy and reading the entry, brings me back to the sheer horror of that day, like it was just yesterday. Keep in mind, my third son was born in early December of 2000, so I was very, very, very pregnant that infamous day, with a 4 year-old son and a 2-year-old son (who had the nickname “Road Rage” at that time period; his temper was legendary) in tow. Here is the journal entry (Tuesday, November 7th, 2000):
“I just got back from voting and running a few errands. The boys and I enter Eckerd Drug Store, and we are no sooner in the door, when my four-year-old announces that he has to “go potty real bad,” (number two, mind you) and starts groaning and grunting loudly. I ask the clerk where the bathroom is, only to be told that they had no public bathrooms. I announce that it is an emergency and the clerk, noticing my obviously huge pregnant belly ushers us through the store, through the warehouse into this skanky bathroom where my son “blows it out.” (sorry to be gross, but it was GROSS)
After that episode, I decide to buy some sodas that are on sale and I pick up a 12 pack, only to have the bottom give out on me and all twelve cans roll all over the floor. Both sons think that this is great fun and once again, we are the spectacle of the day, at the store. The sweet clerk comes over a with a calm smile on his face and cleans it all up. I then go over to another aisle and I pick up two plastic, one gallon jugs filled with grape juice. As I am walking to the cashier, one of these bottles hit one of those giant steel poles that support the ceiling of the store. The whole plastic top is ripped off and the juice sprays all over us, and the floor. At this point, I was seriously considering running out of the store, but I notice that the puddle of juice is gaining momentum towards the “too-nice-of-a-guy” clerk, busy cleaning up our other mess. He once again, just smiles and says, “Not your day, huh?” and proceeds to clean up the new mess.
Well, you would think that this story would be over, but no. Now, the entirely frazzled me, goes to pay for the juice, and the gallon jug that is now broken, is still filled a quarter of the way, so I decide to set it on the counter. In my utter frustration, I set the jug down too hard and a geyser of grape juice lands all over the completely shocked cashier.
I won’t be frequenting that store any time in the near future or maybe even, ever again. I bet the store personnel started thinking that they were all victims of Candid Camera!”
No horse pucky, true story. I found this true account, in the printed pages of my online pregnancy journal, found in a Mattel’s Hot Wheels paper folder; the folder having a copyright date of 1997.
I think that it is great when you can still laugh at yourself, twenty years later. I can’t wait for the time when we can all look at this coronavirus situation in the rear view mirror, and perhaps even get a couple of chuckles out of what is otherwise, a horrific ordeal.
Stay well, my friends.
Fortune for the day – “Just remain in the center, watching, and then forget that you are there.” – Lao Tzu
It’s a very interesting experience, blogging through this global health crisis. I am very attached to my blog. It’s one of my creations. I feel very maternal towards it, and thus, towards you, my readers. How are you doing? How are you coping? What can I do for you? How can I comfort you?
I noticed that I feel a major responsibility with this blog. I want to be a constant in your life. I want you to know that I am here for you, on a daily basis. I will not let this connection go, even as we get more and more isolated, in every other realm of our lives. I never thought that I would say this, but thank goodness for all of our technology, and our various ways which we can communicate (instead of just face-to-face). Thank goodness for all of the entertainment we get from our technical gadgets. Last night, I got into a major laugh-fest reading tweets about Generation X. Supposedly, since we Gen-Xers are used to being ignored and abandoned, we are the ones who are truly most suited for quarantine. Who knew? Laughter is really good medicine. I also got a good laugh out of myself. I wore garden gloves to shop in my grocery store yesterday. And I didn’t avert my eyes to anyone. Thankfully, I’ve never been one to embarrass easily.
I’m not going to pretend. I’m disappointed. I’m scared. I’m overwhelmed. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m putting on a brave face for my family, which is sometimes a majorly pretend facade for what’s crumbling underneath. Sometimes, the facade doesn’t cover up much of anything and then I feel like a failure as the maternal head of household. Still, perfection is not what is called for, here. Showing up and doing the best that we can is all that we need to do, one day at a time. And that’s what we are all doing. We are doing our best, every day, and that is all that is needed. We will prevail. Stay well, friends and readers. I love you!
