Now Is Enough

Perhaps this next chapter is to be devoted to cultivating the Zen principle of non-attachment. To learning to cherish without holding too tightly.

Raising children somehow kept me nimble, flexible, and open. There was no time to get stuck in any moment, for better or worse. When the little people went through rough patches, it was a relief to realize that it wouldn't last long; but it also meant that triumphs were fleeting. While life was changing so quickly, it was apparent that both the pain and joy created a foundation for future perspective and balance.

But now I've ended up at a place in life that feels like a pit stop that I want to make last forever. It's not perfection, as dear people and once-dear dreams have been already lost along the way. But in sum, this place is more than I ever expected. It shines with promise, it rests lightly on the years past, and it nearly bursts with more happiness than I can hold. So much so that I am suspicious of its beauty and want to hold it so tightly that it can never change.

But change it will. And the more attached I become to the beauty of this particular moment, the harder it is to keep it unpolluted by the knowledge that there are challenges lurking ahead. Therein lies the challenge and the goal. For in order to truly honor and cherish these wonderful people who are the loves of my life, I must hold them ever lightly in my heart, welcome the changes ahead, and realize that now is enough.

The Other Side of the Trenches

I work in an industry in which the majority of my colleagues are not parents. In a fit of madness, I took my first job in this industry the year my first child was born. Perfect timing.

Much of my last quarter century has been consumed with the tension between work and family, and that makes me no different that any other working mom. For decades, I resented the pull that my work exerted on my time with my kids, and I was exhausted by the way my family responsibilities ate into time when I really should've been working. All that time, I looked forward to the day when the diapers and daycare and homework and carpooling would be gone, and the tension would abate.

You know what's coming, don't you?

The predictable part: The kids grew up way too fast, and I have no idea where I misplaced the last 26 years. But I knew that would happen; it's a cliché for a reason.

The surprising part? Having more time to devote to my work is not necessarily a good thing. To be sure, it   is a relief not to be distracted as much. But there was something about having little people who needed me to come home that kept me grounded, kept my worldview wide, kept me out of my own head. I was exhausted and terrified, but I was keenly in touch with who I was and with what mattered.

Now there are other wonderful things calling to me - my own music, my friends, my grownup kids, my husband, books, theatre - but it's far too easy to tune them out. Their demands aren't nearly as insistent as those two young people who forced me to stay in touch with what's important in life. And so I ignore them. At my peril.

The take-away? If you sit where I did decades ago, take some comfort in knowing that the exhaustion and frustration are small and temporary prices to pay for the gift that is your kids. Meanwhile, on the other side of this divide, I will resist the pull to disappear into my job, and I'll honor the lessons that parenthood taught me.

I'm Not Afraid

My kids turned me into a Jason Robert Brown fanatic. Productions of Parade and Songs for a New World in which they sang in high school and college are etched in my memory. And today's inner soundtrack is dominated by "I'm Not Afraid of Anything" from SFANW.

I've recognized that the thing that keeps me from living my life as I should (and as I wish) is fear. An odd revelation, for I have never considered myself a fearful person. But not only is fear a powerful motivator, it's also a pretty sneaky operator.

Fear of failure drives me to dot every "i" and cross every "t" until I've convinced myself that my karma is so spotless that the gods wouldn't dare hand me a bad outcome.

Fear of disappointment leads me to allow everyone else's opinion to trump my own best instincts.

Fear of disapproval forces me to swallow every potentially dissenting opinion and belief, superficially agreeing with things that I resent.

And of course, the imagined outcome of not keeping these fears at bay is far worse that whatever actual repercussions they would bring. And so, armed with courage and optimism, I begin to slay these dragons.

I'm not afraid of anything,

Be it growing old or going out of style.

I'm not afraid of anything,

Who would give up what they want without a trial?

Another mile...

I'm not afraid.

Subtraction

The annual late August detox has turned into the September Desperate To Get My Life In Order Master Plan.

I stumbled onto my own blog today and skimmed these few dozen posts spanning over 3 years. And I thought that I'd really like to know this woman who is so honest and wishes to be wise. So I will fight my tendency to believe that writing on these pages is selfish and self-centered. Or perhaps I will just acknowledge that it is indeed selfish, but that such selfishness is no longer a vice.

The detox is all about subtraction. I've done it enough times in my roller coaster work life to be intimately familiar with it. 

Visual subtraction, in which I purge everything within my sight that isn't beautiful or highly functional. 

Aural subtraction, in which huge swaths of silence are punctuated occasionally by embarrassing new age music played on a single instrument, with no interesting artistic content... the musical equivalent of warm milk, I guess.

Physical subtraction, in which my daily caloric intake is cut in half, with a satisfying (yet sadly typically short-lived) loss of extra pounds.

Interpersonal subtraction, in which my social world shrinks to my husband and children, and the occasional conversation with a neighbor.

Time subtraction, in which my internal speedometer slows to a crawl, so completely against the grain, but somehow the most important gesture of all.

And this time, one addition: returning to write in these pages. So that perhaps the woman who writes here will have the courage to take over the rest of my life.

Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in*

Thank you, dear Presidents Washington and Lincoln, for being born in February and giving us this federal holiday. First day off in over a month, and wow, do I need it.

Having a day with no clock demands is the secret to almost everything. Oddly enough, I still get a lot done, but I am significantly more grounded and calm. Routine is helpful, yes, but I am consumed with the regimentation of it, and I end up spending endless energy managing the system and not the content. When I'm not watching the clock for the next landmark (or staring with panic at the minutes slipping away) am fully present. Perhaps I just need to turn into one of those people who are unpredictably late and otherwise undependable :)

(*Henry David Thoreau)

Losing Myself in my Work

It would seem like a good thing. It conjures up images of immersion in something that is exciting and rewarding; of letting go of all of the habits and fears that get in the way.

Possibly all of those things are true, and yet there is a trap.

During almost half of every calendar year I lose myself in my work, and when I emerge, it feels like a sad and scary mistake. The work itself is wonderful, and of course, the devil's advocate position is that it might not have been so wonderful had I not given up my soul to it. The ongoing challenge is figuring out whether it's worth it.

The things that make us most valuable to the people around us and the circles in which we travel are those things that are at the core of our beings. Our instincts, value systems, courage, hearts, and souls. When I lose myself, I lose traction with all of those things. I draw upon them, but it's mostly a one-way transaction. And when I step off the treadmill, I find them in short supply, replaced by anger, fear and sadness.

The only parallel experience was that of raising my children. But that trade-off was voluntary and conscious, and the potential rewards loomed large. A couple decades' worth of sacrificing chunks of my sanity, health, and desires to those of my kids was part of the bargain. An investment of sorts; not the kind with a guaranteed return, but one that demanded to be made. This is similar but somehow different.

It's a useful skill to be able to switch off personal feelings, opinions, and desires. It certainly clears out all of the noise and facilitates focusing on work that needs to be done. But I actually kind of like that woman who gets buried deep inside the machine. And when I struggle to be reintroduced to her, I find that I missed her more than I knew.

Sunday Before Work

Every day should start like this.

Rested, after a day off and a dreamless night's sleep.
Slow enough for stretching.
With sunshine in the garden, still in its late spring uncomplicated prepubescence.
Filled with unhurried time at the piano.
Offering slow time in these beautiful spaces built by someone I love.
In the wake of a visit from loved ones, who are happy and healthy.
Knowing that my children are finding their way into their own lives.
Without hurry.