Over the Wall and Back on Track

Well hello. 

So, about May…

Yeah. I kind of missed that month. 

At the end of April I hit a wall. Figuratively, not literally, thank goodness.  I did that one time in rage and I think I sprained a finger, so don’t hit a wall, people. Between working more, family stuff, friend stuff, life stuff, all the stuff, my words just got clogged. And as all good procrastinators know, the longer you put off something you meant to do, the harder it gets to do it, and the worse you feel about procrastinating, and then a vicious cycle of ugh takes over.

my wall

May tends to be a challenging month for me for a variety of reasons that I don’t feel like writing about again. Even sitting here typing about May, my hands keep freezing at the keyboard, my insides curl up with meh. I LOVE the outside during May, the flowers and birds and sunshine and rain and all the things.  My insides just won out this year when it came to writing.

Even with art, I hit a wall. Once I finished a gift for my parents’ 50^th wedding anniversary, I floundered about a bit. No project seemed right. No ideas really came. Even my attempts at sketching ideas felt meh.

Not everything fell apart. Everyone here still ate regular meals (with a not unreasonable number of foraging days), I found a better rug cleaner for my dog who anxiety or rage pees when we are not around, laundry is done and mostly put away. I did go to work regularly. I drove everyone where they needed to be all the times.  I have not missed a day of my home yoga practice since January 1 (will write about that another time). I threw a 50^th birthday party for my spouse and a graduation party for my miracle child. 

I bought nail polish.  That took weeks to get myself to do. The weird internal struggle is real, peoples. 

I couldn’t even post little inspirational quotes on the MRA page! You know, the one I created to actually make myself do the thing of trying to be encouraging and real and using the ugh of so much to maybe help folks bear their own ugh. I couldn’t even write a line on a page and post it. What the what??

Someday I will figure out what this kind of creative resistance is about, or why I can do one thing energetically and then crash or wander. 

But I have also realized that this is kind of just me. Facebook memories serve to remind me that I am always juggling things, always trying to make time, always trying to find energy, always affected by the weather…in the last 10 years, that has not changed a whole lot, and if I try hard to think back to before social media reminded me of things, I have to admit I probably operated the same way. 

Accepting that is key to addressing my own patterns and self-limiting beliefs (ie I never get anything done, I am a slug, etc). 

Now that I know I am done subbing for the year, it is time to regroup. Last week I floundered all week. Today it is time to get Movin’ Right Along again.  

The wall is always there, but I can keep climbing.  I still feel a deep responsibility to do SOMETHING during the time of medical reprieve we have been in for a couple of years now. I know to the depths of my core that this zen time can change in a heartbeat. Literally.  I have to use the time. So many of our friends are in such tough places right now. I have to use the time.

And at the same time—I have to figure out how to navigate a new season for my children (always a new season, it’s like getting shoes for a 13 year old boy, you finally find the right pair on sale and in the right size and two days later the kid has outgrown them. Urp. Yay, growth, but urp to the constant re-mapping of the way of things!). I have to figure out what I am supposed to be doing. Maybe it’s just to stay the course, to do the little things, to just do the next right thing? 

Whatever the case may be, I am done being paralyzed by the questions. I can do the next right thing. 

Today I get back on track. I will not edit this to death, or let it sit (like the little pencil sketch here) on my craft table for a month. Even my picture of a wall hit a wall. Doh. 

Movin’ right along…

Today is the day.

Also, now I am singing the Broadway Shrek. TODAY IS THE DAAAAAY…..

Hm.

Spring!

SPRING!!!!!

That is the short version of why I have had no words recently. 

As I dance around my kitchen each morning, in a style that can only be described as Spastic Muppet, my husband sighs. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING???” 

He is not prone to fits of early morning exuberance.

“I AM DANCING BECAUSE SPRING!!!” 

Apparently daylight is my favorite. The slowly increasing warmth of days is my favorite. The magic of every morning when I walk the dog, seeing new buds, new tiny bits of green, new blooms on old ShopRite bulbs I planted after they wilted post-Easters long ago…all of these are my favorite.

Blue sky when I was doing 

yoga on my deck a few days ago. 

ALSO MY FAVORITE.

The trees I can see outside my home office window are still brown and twiggy, but the edge of my weeping willow just peeks past the window frame, and just this morning I think the number of buds on that tree have doubled, lime green dots of happiness.

By contrast, I see how extremely I am affected by the change of seasons…the challenges of late fall/early winter’s darkness are so quickly forgotten when I get more hours of daylight.  Not forgotten—but gosh I appreciate EVERY SECOND of spring.

Woo!

Even my house plants look so happy. 

Well, the succulent looks all spindly and straining to the window. I have to Google how to re-pot it. Even a little poinsettia I got for Christmas is still blooming!  Next to my spindly succulent is a little plant in a box, I think it’s some kind of kalanchoe? 

Last spring, as I prepared to leave the only job I ever really had, my principal, a mighty, compassionate, wise woman, gave me this little flower as a parting gift, with her thanks.  

This flower means a lot to me. No other administrative person, most of whom I have known for 20-30 years, most of whom have had many children in my classes—not one ever acknowledged that I left. Not one acknowledged I ever had even been there. Complete radio silence. 

This is ok. It is, in many ways, a confirmation of things long known. 

By contrast, that little flower means a LOT to me.

It sits on my kitchen windowsill, slightly tilted over the months of winter to drink in every speck of the western exposure’s light. The leaves are dark green and round, the stems strong…

And I realized the other day, as I came home from substitute teaching, tired but happy, that my plant has been growing like CRAZY. It is starting to get new blooms even, tiny white flowers that lean toward the sun.  It looks…happy, too. 

Look at all the Happiness! Tiny flowers on right...

Whoa. That’s kind of a metaphor, no? 

Growing, blooming, gaining strength—that parting gift from my principal is so much more than a flower, so much more than a sign of her gratitude for the time we got to work together. In a lot of ways, that little plant reflects so much of the last few months since I took my leap of faith—literally faith, I prayed so much to discern the right path. I wasn’t sure I could keep that plant alive all winter, but there are new leaves now, new blooms, new growth.  In the first few months after leaving my job, I wasn’t sure I could make it work. I knew I’d survive, let’s not be melodramatic (she says for the first time ever). But I guess I did not realize I could grow, too. I wanted to think I could, but my deep-seated defensive pessimism lurks always beneath the surface of my aspirational optimism.

But—I am so much happier now. Even in the dark of winter—so much happier. And so grateful for everyone who supported me in my leap (especially my husband, my children, my extended family).

Spring this year reminds me that there is ALWAYS possibility for growth. There is ALWAYS at least a window to lean towards when a door needs to be closed. 

A year ago at this time, Movin’ Right Along was a mantra I repeated to give myself oomph to do the hard thing I needed to do.  THIS spring, I am so grateful to be Movin’ Right Along in a different way, more of a hey, not sure where I’m exactly headed yet, but the uncertainty can also be exhilarating too, getting there IS half the fun, and hey, FORSYTHIA ARE BLOOMING ALL OF A SUDDEN!  

A little bit of space can provide a lot of perspective.

I can’t say things are perfect. Subbing has its own challenges—but they are the right challenges for right now, and that brings me a measure of peace, understanding that. I may not be able to create zen (still a bit irked about THAT reality), but acceptance and understanding of life are kind of what zen is all about.

If you feel stuck—if you are in the middle of a super dark place (and reading this and thinking SPRING YOUR FAT FANNY, KRISTIN!—I respect and resemble that) – hold on.  Just holding on is huge.  I have been there—in those moments where my life feels like an endless cycle of hospital time, anxiety, mom responsibilities, anxiety, work, anxiety, teenager troubles, anxiety, laundry, anxiety, oncology mom responsibilities, (anxiety)…the frustration of those seasons is so real.  So many years of winter… but Spring will come. I hold on to that hope for you. Spring can’t make the bad stuff go away, but its light and warmth can give us the strength to keep going.

I hope for everyone a moment of seeing where YOU HAVE COME A LONG WAY! Learning, growing, doing the things—every day! You are doing it!  Do you know how hard I am resisting the urge to quote a Barney the Dinosaur song??? GAH…

Instead—be proud of your own Spring, friends. YOUR growing. You are awesome. :)

Moments to Grow

If life were made of moments—

Even now and then a bad one—

If life were made of moments—

Then you’d never know you had one.

                                Stephen Sondheim, Into the Woods

              As much as that song gets stuck in my head on a regular basis—life IS made of moments woven together. Trying to be IN the moment, trying to remember all the moments—this has long been my work. I fear forgetting.

                This weekend held moments that made me stop, and think, and reflect, and weirdly NOT get emotionally overwhelmed by the racing torrent of time and loss that for so long has hijacked my response to most things.

                On Saturday morning some of my former students came to help us with yard work. They are fundraising for a trip, and I know they are great kids, so we got ourselves a little crew to help with the branchpocalypse our willow trees left in our yard after one too many windy winter storms.  I haven’t seen many of my students since I left my old job, so having a few come to my house was lovely.

Spring willow (last year--no leaves yet this year!)--one of 4 in the yard.

We had pros come take down the storm-damaged branches,

don't be alarmed. 

                I looked out my kitchen window as the boys arrived—did they have a new kid in the class? I did not recognize one of the young men bundled up against the cold. I went outside to say hello and realized the unrecognizable young man WAS one of my former students, who apparently grew 6 inches since last June.  Like, now he is taller than I am—which was NOT the case before.  And yes, I went out and said “OH MY GOSH DID YOU GROW LIKE 6 INCHES SINCE LAST YEAR???”

                He did, as did the classmate next to him, which I only realized when standing next to both of them.

                AGOG!

                Ok, so I know this happens, I have a son who grew through clothes before I even took the tags off, and even my formerly tiny child has finally grown to be a short teen—but in context of all, seeing this young man so tall and grown up gave me a moment of joy.

                I know, I know, me leaving would not stunt students’ physical growth—I just felt so happy to see these young people doing so well, growing, working together, chatting about silly things. It was a good moment that reminded me of a lot of good moments in my old job with these great kids.

                Once the yard was cleared, my husband started a job we have long discussed—taking down the swingset. We had put off this moment quite a while since my youngest was loath to part with the swingset, but the steps and rails were rotting despite our repair efforts, and with little cousins who come to play, I did not want anyone to get injured out there. Also, my youngest will be 17 in a few months.

The time had come.

I feared my response to this. I have often written about how hard it is for me to part with pretty much any part of our family history, especially in light of my daughter’s catastrophic illness. The Furby she received after very high stakes brain surgery in 2006 still stands as a creepy sentinel in the top of a closet. I can’t get rid of it. So I figured getting rid of the swingset would be excruciating.

Furby is Listening...always listening...

I remember agonizing over which one we could get on our very limited budget, spending hours looking online in the early internet days.  I remember getting it set up while my firstborn was away at camp, surprising him and his little sister when he got home. I remember the baby swing we had on there for my now almost 17 year old, and all the fun my kids have had out there over the years. So much remembering. So many good moments.

the last swing

But somehow, in this moment, I could remember all those moments and NOT get trapped there. Grace? Progress? Healing? No clue why. Just – it was ok. And I had to stop and say, whoa. This IS OK.

I didn’t see THAT coming. I fully expected angst galore!

Taking down the swingset, ending this era of my parenting is ok.

Letting go of a reminder of when my kids were young is ok—because we made it through. For so long I have been terrified to let go of ANYTHING, lest someday that be all we have left.

But our past can be better honored by taking DOWN the rotting cedar, and putting up something new. We will create a new lovely space out there for new rememberings, new moments of joy.

I am grateful for these moments, for zen flowing where normally anxiety and uncertainty rule.

Growth is good. Outgrowing a job, a swingset, heck, even a pair of jeans—ok, maybe less that one—celebrate those moments of growth. Know that you have them. And keep movin’ right along.

Um, officially outgrew the swing. 

Claiming Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all.

                        Emily Dickinson

            Ten days ago, a friend’s daughter was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

We are not super close, this friend and I, but I have known her since childhood. Growing up, our families spent a lot of time together, my dad worked with her dad, we were in the same prayer group, etc.  In grown up life, my husband’s sister married her brother; two of her children were classmates with my children, and I taught 3 of her kids over the years.

So I know her well enough that the gut punch of any new diagnosis was magnified a hundred fold.

            Our smite was supposed to protect everyone else who ever knew us.

            Seriously. WE ALREADY GOT DEALT THE RANDOM BRAIN TUMOR CARD, HOW MANY MORE ARE IN THAT STINKING DECK?

            My “no F-bombs during Lent” went out the window on literally the second day. Dang.

            Watching the pain ripple through family and friends, seeing from another vantage point what it must have been like for those who love us when G got sick…and knowing pretty solidly how little S’s parents were feeling in each of those first nights in the PICU with their third grader, the long hours waiting for answers in the surgical waiting room, the dearth of information, worrying about your kids at home…my soul just shook. I don’t know how else to describe it.

            My husband doesn’t have the searing memories of those first days like I do.

            He is lucky.

            I just can’t believe there is no herd immunity for smite. Seriously. I have 2 kids with brain tumors. How can this happen to anyone else we know from pre-brain tumor world?

            I know my friend is not mercurial like I am. She is zen and steady and wrangles 9 kids with a smile. I am hiding under my bed most days with 3 kids (2 of whom are technically adults!).  I have talked to her via text a little to offer support and little words of whatever. I don’t want to be Bargey McBargepants—and not everything I know will be helpful right now.

            But I need her to know Hope.

            Hope is real.

            When things are so, so dark, and hope seems to be lost or at the very least obscured…hope is still real.

            Hope sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all.

            Hope has to be grabbed in the dark, like a cosmic Marco Polo…holler for it, and reach out. You may end up splashing around for a while, but eventually, you might just catch it.

            I have written before about my challenges in holding on to hope over the years, my pins, bracelets, pictures, words, things I hold on to—literally tangible items—to remind me of hope.  I desperately yearned for hope, and some days had it, some days couldn’t grasp it…but hope is real.

            I have to find a way to share this with my friend.

            Two days after this devastating news, my G and I trekked to Massachusetts to surprise two of our dearest brain tumor friends who are celebrating their 21^st birthdays this year. I felt a little nervous about driving there alone, but the conviction that we Had To Be There was unshakeable.

            This was a celebration of 21, yes. But really—we were celebrating HOPE.

            These two mighty young women have been dealing with brain tumors and all their concurrent horrors for most of their lives. Surgeries, chemo, radiation, complications, lingering challenges, everything that onco-yikes can be, these young women have faced with strength and dignity. They are beaten but unbowed.

            As we shared pizza and ice cream and some ridiculously tasty cookies from NYC, all I could feel was a deep love and joy for these young women. They are both still in the thick of things. Both face challenges every minute. AND YET they ARE HOPE. They are hope over time.  

            Funny, spunky, and just keep going, slowly sometimes, but they keep on going.

            Even in the worst of brain tumor ugh—to paraphrase Maya Angelou –

            Still, they rise.

            And with them, their families, those who love them, their friends in and out of the brain tumor community. Hugging their mommas, these mighty, beaten but unbowed women who stood with me in our toughest hours, I just felt that connection, the connection of shared hope and pain and love and understanding.  Just being there reminded me that even as my soul relived that terrible aloneness of our own early days in brain tumor world, NOW we know we are connected to a much larger community—just not being alone is a great, great hope.

            Seeing these mommas renewed my hope.

            Hope does not guarantee a happy ending. Hope just helps us navigate whatever the story is in the moment we are in it. Hope helps us connect to something bigger than the bad moment that threatens to swallow us.

            This is the hope I need to share with my friend.  Hope is real. Hope is slippery, but it is real, and when things are darkest…hope can help us get through the night.

Please pray for little Shannon, as her family works to plan their next step through great uncertainty….

Zen and the Not Zen

Recently I have been working a lot, and while I find the balance of working 8 hours/then coming home and driving everywhere/feeding the horde/etc. almost impossible—hats off to everyone who does this all the time—the rhythm of being in a school, of working in an academic schedule, of a day broken into 40 minute blocks—all of these things are so delicious. There is zen in these moments, that sense of balance and peace that can be so elusive when everything in life is hitting the fan.

And when things are NOT hitting the fan, I feel acutely aware of how, in the words of Cosmo Sheldrake, “there’s no such thing as time to kill or time to throw away.” I have to use the time…

But I get stuck. I turn into a slug.

Maybe part of zen is accepting the moments of not zen, of accepting the stuck., of embracing the slug.

Ew.

I wonder if the Dalai Lama ever gets frazzled or overwhelmed by all the things? He is the most zen person I can think of. I wonder if he sometimes feels so much the weight of things, the old “the world is too much with us” reality.

The other day I did not have to go to school. My house was quiet and empty, the sky gray and cold. The hours before pickup #1 stretched out in a quilt of possibility.

Cue Slug Mode. 

Where was my do all the things? 

Where was my “no time to throw away”?

Sluuuuuuuuuuuuggy.

I made myself go on the exercise bike…when I know I have to exercise but feel like a slug, I know I can distract myself with YouTube while I get in 22 minutes on the bike. So I did. Building habits helps push past slug moments, even if in this case I was just a slug on a bike. 

I have not missed a day of yoga since January 1 (a goal for the year, even if it’s only 5 minutes)…so after the bike I decided to pick a quick yoga video. But hey, I said to myself, as I prepared to choose a yoga video on YouTube, first I’ll watch the new John Legend “Preach” video while I cool off for a second.

Fast forward 5 minutes to me in a weeping heap on my yoga mat.

Probably not Mr. Legend’s intention, but his artistic representation of how pain and injustice run rampant in our world flattened me. Literally to the ground, face to yoga mat, tears streaming.

How do we fix this? How do we end violence and strife and awfulness? How do we end the dehumanizing of each other? 

Does zen even matter? How do we fix this? 

I wish I could say that a blinding light appeared and an answer presented itself. 

Nope. 

I managed to scrape myself up and do some vinyasa flow to Brandi Carlile music, just trying to breathe, regroup, and settle my emotions.

15 minutes later, I trudged upstairs to my still empty house, a few less hours spread before me. My phone blinked a pile of notifications—

One of Dave’s family members had texted to share that a new baby would be joining the family in late summer.

And here, I CAN say that a light appeared, and in that group text flurry fest of hoorays and congratulations and smiles there was hope. Hope that life does go on, and families grow, and new beginnings keep beginning.

Awfulness still pervades so many daily interactions in America (and elsewhere). Injustice did not get fixed in that few minutes on a Friday morning.  But hope continues, and I could feel that.

Really—what came to me out of this day was a deep realization that it is ok to feel deeply. Maybe part of zen is NOT always staying completely unflappable—that is so outside the realm of my personality, I am flapping about all the time, a veritable Flappy McFlapmeister.

Even as we work to respond and not react to provocations both negative and positive—feeling deeply is good, and human, and honestly I think how God made us. Elie Weisel wrote about the perils of indifference, how NOT caring is worse than hate, more destructive and dehumanizing.  To feel deeply builds connection and wholeheartedness (to borrow from Brene Brown).  Freaking out-not healthy or productive. But the opposite of freaking out is not “I am a rock, I am an island.” I have tried that. That is misery, too.

My own quest for zen has, perhaps, been something of a quest to heal a lot of pain built up over a lot of years. Zen doesn’t mean being an automaton, or so deeply om-ing about that you disconnect from sorrow OR joy.  Zen isn’t hardening yourself so that you are impervious to stress (sigh). Maybe zen really means feeling the feelings, acknowledging that they are real, sitting with them, and continuing on may ultimately be what zen is all about.

Feeling all the feelings is hard.

Weeping over injustice and the pain of others, rejoicing in the joys of others—living life fully, engaging in the hard and the beautiful without getting sucked under—here is the challenge of zen.  I guess in my definition, zen really just means living in a state of shared humanity. Once again, in movin’ right along, I circle back to this. And once again, we return to zen as a journey, a progress, a path…living in a way that honors every other person as awesome. 

Phoo. I definitely need more coffee.

Zen and the Pep Talk

Last week was an up/down sort of week. Hospital weeks always flatten me. Weirdly, the flattening extends beyond medical ugh into all kinds of other ugh.  Staying afloat pretty much becomes the goal of each day.

In that vein, I procrastinated about going to the supermarket until we were out of too many things, and my secret stash of kettle corn was threatened by the hungry horde. 

The store was unusually NOT crowded when I went, huzzah! As I loaded my things onto the conveyor to check out, I realized my cashier was one of the special needs adults who works at our store.

The local ShopRite in my town is one of the most inclusive employers I have ever seen. Kudos to them for the support they give to folks of all kinds. 

Anyway, the young woman checking out my stuff was obviously new in this role—she has helped me bag before, so I knew her a little. As she slid each item across the sensor, she oozed confidence. 

“I am doing such a great job!” she announced, about halfway through. She smiled. I smiled. How could I not smile?

A few minutes later, when an organic apple boggled the sensor for a minute, she added, “I’m not scared. There is a lot of stuff to remember, but I can do it.”

 Not only could she do it—she was DOING IT. Doing the thing…

I carried this moment with me,  and over the past week I kept thinking about my young cashier and her positive attitude, her pep talks to herself. Everytime I thought about her, I smiled.

She radiated cheerful positivity, and my day improved just by being in proximity to her pep talk.

This has been a week or two where I could use a self-pep talk, even just a simple, “I am doing a great job” in the little moments where I am, instead of wallowing in the “I am horrible at everythingggggggggggg”  that echoes in my brain in the down moments. So maybe my bathroom grout is near tragic in its biohazardness. Maybe the pile of books I am supposed to read is now about 20 high and I know I have to admit I won’t get to most of them—but I can pep talk my way through one book, one grout wipe down at a time.

A simple pep talk--there is always something to cheer

A little pep talk goes a long way to reframing a moment from ugh to positive. A pep talk acknowledges the hard, but encourages us to push through.  Even if I AM scared about something, even if I don’t have that young woman’s grit in a moment, I can do it.  Or I can tell myself I’m not scared. Scared is a state of mind, and I am not choosing to waste it on something like a to-do list of grout and reading.

I do self-pep-talk sometimes, but my ShopRite moment reminded me that I should up my pep talk game. I don’t have a cheerleader in the house to remind me “keep it up! Keep it up! Keep that momma spirit up! Keep! It! Up! WOO!”

…ok, lies, I actually do have a cheerleader in the house, but she only cheers at school, at home she is 100% teen.  And cheerleaders "don't say "woo!" mom, except in that ONE CHEER." Just so you know.

We need to cheer ourselves on! A little self-pep is a step towards zen. 

So maybe it’s “I am doing a great job!”…or “I got this”…or “Keep on Swimming!”…or “I can do this!”. Pep talks are like mantras, I guess, but really more self-encouragement as opposed to an aid to focus/motivate. 

There is always, ALWAYS something we can pep talk ourselves for. Always.

So give yourself a pep talk. YOU CAN DO IT! And you know what? You ARE doing a great job. 

Below I have included a helpful visual aid so you can give yourself a pep talk RIGHT NOW! 

Everyone loves a good word bank. 

You CAN do it! Woo!

p.s. my kettle corn stash remains safe. I know you were probably concerned about that. 

Zen and Practice (aka Hey, a Post After a Hospital Day!)

(first: our MRI day showed everything is stable--time to breathe)

“Practice makes perfect”

Yay, perfect!

Boo, practice.

And really—does practice make perfect?

Practice promotes progress. Practice builds perseverance. Practice fosters peace.

Perfection doesn’t exist. Except O’Bagel bagels (Stirling, NJ). They are pretty perfect. 

Cinnamon Bagel, O'Bagel.

 Yes, it has icing. Be Amazed.

According to family history, my grandmother was a piano prodigy. By 15 she could play Rachmaninoff with ease—but she hated performing, she would accompany other musicians or singers, but she never liked to perform solo, despite her gift.

Enter the first grandchild—the only one lucky enough to meet Grandma, who died very young. My grandfather wanted me to have piano lessons so I could play like Grandma…

But…I am no prodigy, and I hated practicing, and I hated performing on the piano as much if not more than Grandma did. Probably more, since I had zero of her skill—and even as a kid, I hated not being perfect.  I used to pray I would get the flu before recitals.

I never did. 

I know this disappointed my Grandfather (my terror of playing for him, not my immunity to spontaneous flu), which I regret, but my 9 year old self really liked reading and drawing and collecting stickers and pretending to be on Broadway more than piano—even after my parents told me that there were certain songs from Man of La Mancha that I should not belt out at Christian summer camp. 

Probably STILL a good idea not to belt “It’s All the Same” at Camp. Ahem.

And yet, while I know now that it is ok that I did not embrace piano like my Grandma did, as an adult I see the benefits of practice.  More accurately—I understand the absolute compelling need for daily practice in so many areas. Practice no longer means Hanon finger exercises on piano—although sans performance pressure those are kind of zen! Practicing things that promote health, personal priorities, and ultimately what is best for our families is essential, not for perfection, but for progress toward reaching whatever goals we have set for ourselves—even if those goals are as silly as not having Screaming Loud Face when not speaking my opinion (my kid begged me at a recent event not to make “mad face”, I told her that ship had sailed. I have resting SOMEBODY IS GOING DOWN AND IT IS PROBABLY YOU face, which can be problematic. My face YELLS what I am thinking even when I am silent, alas.)

Practice, even when it seems tedious or ineffective, encourages growth. When I started running, I ran secretly, on a field near my house when nobody would see me galumphing about. Over time I ventured on to roads, bought “running clothes”, signed up for a race—not to win, (bwahahaha) but to show up, to prove to myself that perfection doesn’t matter, practice and progress do.

Practice is simply about showing up.

Yoga is all about practice, a theme that has helped me a lot.  Each day is different. Some days are great, other days, every inhale and exhale takes effort, every moment is distracted. But with practice, yoga progresses. After a few years of practice -- AND MEDICINE—to leave that piece of the practice of self-care puzzle out is to mislead, I needed both chemistry and physiology to heal my brain—the breathing, stretching, and focus of yoga has become an important part of my life. Will I be Instagramming pictures of myself upside down on top of a mountain any time soon? That would be a resounding NO.  Will I get back on the mat tomorrow and see where my practice leads? Indeed.

Just show up. Practice.

My morning prayer practice is the same—somedays I am totally “SQUIRREL!” while reading my morning meditation and taking time to pray for friends, family, and the world. Literally “SQUIRREL!”,

I put birdseed on my deck and I see the squirrels coming for breakfast…and an occasional gray cat, recently…but in the practice of showing up for 15 minutes each morning, I am slowly getting better at being present, at checking in with God, at centering my mind and refusing to get caught up in the anxiety that a new day so often holds for me.

Practice never ends; my dad is past 70 and practices his French horn every single day—which is how he maintains his musical excellence—his phenomenal natural talent from his mom provided a base, practice grows the gift—over decades! Practice keeps us in the game, on the road, moving forward—a magical end point does not exist.

So I practice stilling my noisy face. I practice telling my self-loathing interior monologue that some days rumbles to shut up already.  My perpetually cluttered counter: I have to keep practicing dealing with papers and putting things away. Writing AFTER a scan day—here is my practice at that, at writing a few drafts BEFOREHAND--and being ok with having only one little pencil/ink sketch. Progress!

The Goal: Practice showing up. Practice regrouping and starting again when things go sideways. Practice NOT freaking out, practice responding NOT reacting. Practice seeing with eyes of charity, not eyes of OH NO YOU DID NOT.  Practice being ok with imperfection. These practices I must pursue. These are my zen practices.

We won’t reach perfection. Can’t happen. Reminding myself that that is ok is part of my daily practice.  Knowing that tomorrow is another day to try…that practice is an ongoing process…THAT is what keeps me moving right along.

What are your practices that help you get where you want to be each day?