Wordless Wednesday: Babes in the Woods

Mindful Monday: Resistance

When I was in my early 20's I wrote "Nulla dies sine linea" on the inside cover page of every new writing notebook: "Resistance always has meaning". Then I made a true effort to Become a Writer in my mid-20's. At least, in my mind it was a true effort. It certainly felt like one at the time, and I received enough rejection letters to prove I'd made a bit of effort. Then I stopped writing. And I didn't read any fiction for 6 years.

That was a long time ago, and since then I have tortured myself by not writing every day. I have had long stretches of not writing for weeks, months, even years. And lately I have not been writing this blog and I haven't been writing any fiction. And I feel shitty and restless and guilty and small and angry when I don't write. So the question is: If not writing makes me feel like hell, WHY DON"T I JUST DO IT??????????

Because Resistance ALWAYS has meaning.

I am re-reading a book called The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield. It is a book I should never stop reading, one I should pick up every day so I don't forget. This book is about kicking Resistance in the ass and getting on with your work, whatever it is. The idea is that if you are trying to elevate yourself in any way; spiritually, physically, emotionally, morally, then you will meet Resistance. If your are trying to make art of any kind, if you are an entrepreneur, trying to lose 20 pounds, you will meet Resistance.

Now here's the cool thing: Fear and self-doubt are great indicators of the action we should be taking. They serve to illuminate our path. The more intensely we experience Resistance, the more we can be sure that it is important to us and to the growth of our soul.

So. What's a miserable non-writing writer to do?

Write, I guess. Show up and let go of the rest. Stand up for herself. Fight the good fight like a warrior every day. Make a commitment and then get out of the way of herself. Stand tall in the face of the greatest fear of all: the fear of success. And I don't mean money and certainly not fame. I mean the success that is born from showing up for your life and giving the world what you've got.

So here I am. I hope to be here more often. I leave you with this abridged quote from Marianne Williamson that is often incorrectly attributed to Nelson Mandela:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Are you getting buried under the weight of Resistance like I am? It always has meaning.

Let's get to work.

Mindful Monday

I thought I'd try my hand at this blogging thing and see how she flies. Many things have conspired to make maintaining this log of my life hard right now. Health issues, a continuing bit of Post-Adoption Depression (mild and nebulous, but there nonetheless), summertime, and being the mama to my four lovelies (and especially my two youngest that have been particularly, um...spirited lately), have come together to make an inertia soup of my life that I'm finding hard to swim in. Or swallow. Or something more clever than that.

Okay, that was an awful metaphor. But I feel too dull to think of something better. Plus, I just don't have the time. Yonas will be awake any moment from his nap.

Here are some of the things I've been exploring and pondering in earnest lately:

1. Minimalistic living- I have given away box after box of toys, clothing, and STUFF that we can and should live without. I want less things to pick up, clean, trip on, or otherwise deal with in some way, not more. I'm going to keep filling boxes, looking for what's necessary and loved, and getting rid of as much of the rest as my family will bear. The girls have been great supporters and have given up way more than I would have ever considered asking them to. The idea that space is a commodity resonates deeply with me. I want to fill my space with things I need and love.

2. Deep, slow living- I have always had a need for this. I need massive amounts of downtime and I think my kids do to. I want time to connect with myself and Erik and my children. I want the pace of my life to be as peaceful and full of space as possible. I want time to contemplate banana trees in the backyard in all their tall, bright green glory. I want to laugh and dance and bake with my children and drive as little as possible. I want to savor this short life.

3. Frugal living- I'm cheap and want to learn to be cheaper.

4. Homeschooling/Unschooling- Ava and Eden go to an amazing alternative school. I love the staff, I love the families. But sending four kids to a private school (even a very reasonable one) may not be possible. So, for the millionth time I have spent some time looking and learning about homeschooling and for the first time spent some time exploring what unschooling is all about. (It's not crazy or neglectful or lazy. Done well, it is respectful and meaningful and creates critical, engaged thinkers that trust themselves enough to listen to their hearts.)

5. My health- I have finally found answers about the mystery illness that has been plaguing me for most of my life. It is no longer a mystery, and I am thankful. It's an auto-immune disease called Psoriatic Spondylitis. I have been processing what it means to finally be validated after so many years of searching, but also what it means to know this disease will be part of my life's path. I have been actively searching for ways to control it as much as I can with diet, exercise, and supplements.

I'm not sure how all this fits together in a Mindful Monday post, except that these are things things that are taking up my mental space, my energy; the reason posts here have been so few are far between (that, and an infected, broken-down laptop, hence the no-pictures as of late). I feel a paradigm shift coming on. I look at my sometimes glorious, sometimes tedious life and think: It's all too fast,too precious; don't live on the surface, don't get carried away by its current, don't let it whisk you away so fast. Dive deep, and deeper still, get down, way down where the waters are still and quiet and there is silence. Go deeper still and let the surface above move over you while you sit on the bottom and smile in silence and awe.

That's what I'm striving for. An authentic, vivid life that brings me closer to the best version of myself. One where I can foster the same for my children. One that honors what Erik and I want for ourselves, for each other, for our marriage, and our children. A life of opening and unfolding truth, a life that honors the magic and love that have bound the six of us on this crazy ride together. A life of love and peace.

Yeah

When you ask Yonas a question, almost any question, he answers "Yeah." This is fun.

The girls like to ask him things like,
"Yonas, are you going to the moon today?"
"Yeah."
"Are you going to meet an alien there?"
"Yeah."

I like to ask him things like,
"Am I the best mom in the whole wide world?"
"Do I look awesome in this bikini?"
And my favorite,
"Should I have a gin and tonic?"

It's good fun and gets me drinking and in a bikini. And Erik likes that. What could be better for a family?

It sort of embodies his Yonasness, this compulsion to say yeah.
"How are you doing Yonas?
"Yeah."

He's a juicy, life-loving boy. We all could use a little more yeah, couldn't we?

Be like Yonas. Just say yes.

Silent

As I was changing Yonas' diaper to get him ready for bed, I saw his face look up at mine and I was stopped in my tracks. My heart on pause, my eyes on his. I felt such a profound sense of loss for his Ethiopian parents. They don't get to change his diaper. Or get chatted up about how funny the dog is. They don't get to see his goofy faces, feel his sweet kisses, watch his life expand and unfold. I felt like I could weep. And I felt angry. Angry at a world where children and parents don't always stay together. And a weirder, shameful anger, one that is hard to explain, but mama-bear anger on behalf of my son for the Ethiopian parents that did the hardest thing anyone could do and made a choice for the life of their child, one that I will never have to face, but still it is there.

When we were Ethiopia we drove through Yonas' village. The one he would have grown up in. We saw the field he would have played soccer in; dusty, happy boys running free in the sun. I often think of what Yonas' life would have been like if he'd been able to stay in his village. These "what-ifs" don't serve much purpose I think. Or maybe they do, if they keep us remembering what our children have lost.

As much as I believe Yonas is where he is meant to be, as much as I believe every child deserves a family, as much as I believe he will have opportunity here that he wouldn't have had in Ethiopia, I can't escape what he has lost. What Ethiopia has lost. What two parents have lost. This lovely, chaotic boy that is so full of love he can't contain it sometimes. This lovely, chaotic boy that I claim, that claims me.

At the good-bye ceremony in Ethiopia, the children that were leaving with their families were dressed in traditional Ethiopian clothing. Yonas was subdued and wide-eyed. The children that were staying cried for the friends, brother and sisters really, that were leaving. They chanted the names of each child that was going home. Each family was asked to speak, to put into words what they were feeling. Erik and I were the only ones that didn't. I waited for the transfer to be made, from nanny's arms to mine, I looked around the sea of Ethiopian faces, my time spent there burying itself into the deepest places of who I am, and all I could think was: he's losing so much.

They chanted his name, those resilient unforgettable souls, they chanted for their brother, and I couldn't say a word.

Making It

I can now state with much gratitude and humility that we have moved from Faking It to making it. I'm not sure one is ever "made" when it comes to parenting. It's a lot like a marriage that way, you never stop working if you want it to work. And I would be remiss if I didn't state that I still have days when I struggle to open my heart the way I wish I could. But that isn't about Yonas. I have that experience with all of my children. But we are making it.

If you were one of the many that left a comment on that Faking It post, whether to say, yes I felt that too or hang in there, it will get better, I thank you from the very depths of my soul. Those comments carried me through some very dark times. I held on knowing that so many had gone before me and come out the other side. If you are in the thick of it now, or still, know you are not alone. Things will get better.

Yonas is doing spectacularly well. His language has exploded. He is deeply in love with each of his sisters. He likes skin and carbs and water. He is quick-tempered and squirrely. Funny and brave. He weighs a mere 3 pounds less than Safa. I look at him sometimes, my heart heavy with love and think of the strange magic that brought him our way. And other times I look at him and think of his first family, all they lost, and all I can think of is the strange hell that brought him our way.

I hold my warm-skinned water drinker in my lap while I type these words. He sucks his thumb and hums, moves his body deeper into my flesh, wiggles his newly-painted sister-pink toenails. He leans back and looks up at me, his eyes now more answer than question.

Almost Wordless Wednesday: Ethiopian Sunset

I ran up four flights of stairs to catch this sky. It was gone just moments later.

Mindless Tuesday

I feel like I let you guys down when I don't feel inspired enough to write a Mindful Monday post. I feel like I let myself down too. Shortly after we got home from Ethiopia, I signed up for two online classes. I've been around the post-new child block enough times to know how easy it is to lose yourself in new motherhood; the exhaustion, the feeling like you're treading water in the middle of the ocean, no land in sight. So I thought I'd make a proactive move and throw out a lifesaver to catch my drowning identity.

Guess what? It didn't work. I've hardly done a damn thing in either class. And I will say in all honesty and in order to save a bit of face that it is in part because I haven't felt well. But that's a bit too convenient. So I started thinking maybe that's just what is supposed to happen. Maybe you're supposed to lose yourself a little. Maybe you're supposed to look up after three months (or a year, five?) and think, "What the hell happened here?"

Maybe it's in the crawling back on bloody hands, knees and heart that you find this new version of yourself--bigger, badder, bolder than you ever knew you were. Is it the same after this phase of life is over? Will it be the same when all my children are in school and I look up from this too short/too long phase of life and find myself not knowing who I am? Probably.

It's juicy, isn't it, this re-discovery of self? It's also painful. I'm trying to get to the part where it's also exciting and fulfilling, but I'm not there yet. I'm still in the thick of it, trying to get okay with not knowing exactly who I am right now. I seem most to be defined as Mother of Four. Which is beautiful. It's exactly what I want. I also wanted to be able to complete an Extreme Visual Journaling class online and not look exhausted and feel ninety years old in my body. Oh well.

It may be too much for me to work toward right now. But it's worth trying, isn't it? I know women that are masterful at this balance, but it is a struggle for me. But there is always something to be said for fighting the good fight.

So to all you mamas out there that fight the good fight of continually claiming and reclaiming your sense of self, on this second day after Mother's Day, I bow deeply before you, one warrior to another. Good hunting.

Ava is Eight

She has been since the day we left for Ethiopia. Something about having a new toddler around has kept me from getting some things done. Like birthday dress pictures. Every year the girls wear an old dress of mine on their birthday and I take pictures of them. I can't believe I've been taking Ava's picture in this dress for eight years. These (and Safa's) were taken about a month ago. Since Eden's birthday is on Sunday, I thought I'd better get on it.

Every last bit of little girl is gone now. It has been for awhile. She moves through her world, her own life, and I see increasingly how parenting is indeed letting go a little each day. I'm thankful for her presence in our family, how she watches out for and loves her siblings, her sense of humor, her thoughtfulness. My degree is in Early Childhood. I was a nanny for years. Once kids hit eight though, I'm in unfamiliar territory, uncharted waters. I may not know what I'm in for, but I know she will be a beautiful, gracious teacher as I fumble my way through as her humble student.

Mindful Monday

I like to live my life with a sense of magic always intact. Always believing in the veil. Always waiting for the beautiful, rare moments when it is lifted for my heart and eyes and the expanse and beauty of life unfolds before me. But it feels gone right now. And so I think of this poem and try to remember...


Things To Think

Think in ways you've never thought before.
If the phone rings, think of it carrying a message
Larger than anything you've ever heard,
Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.

Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,
Maybe wounded and deranged; or think that a moose
Has risen out of the lake, and he's carrying on his antlers
A child of your own whom you've never seen.

When someone knocks on the door, think that he's about
To give you something large: tell you that you're forgiven,
Or that it's not necessary to work all the time, or that it's
Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.

~Robert Bly