Celebrate :: Audacious Dreams

Today is a day for big dreams, audacious dreams, dreams that aim high, dreams that that imagine a future as yet unseen.

Today is a day for the kinds of dreams that ripple out, take hold, build up, and topple over all at once.  

Today is a day for dreams that are rooted in love.  

Today is a day for dreams that are powered by faith.  

Today is a day for dreams that recognize the mutuality of human nature and the interconnectedness of all life.

Do not be mistaken.  Audacious dreams are not the same as ambitious dreams.  They may be related, but they are not the same.  What is small is sometimes very big.  

On December 1, 1955 Rosa Parks simply took her seat.  It was audacious.  I don't know if she imagined it would change the world.  But it did.  

It is audacious to believe that washing a dish today, changing a diaper today, or holding a hand today will change the world.  But this dream is rooted in love, powered by faith, and skillfully recognizes the interconnectedness of all life.  

It is audacious to imagine that the conversation you have with a co-worker today, that the email you send to your team today, that the way you conduct yourself in the office today changes the world  just as much as the new product you are launching, maybe more.   This is a dream that aims high, this is a dream that topples over the rules of power, this is a dream that imagines a future yet unseen.

Audacious dreams are magical dreams.  They defy day-in-day out rationality, and yet adhere to a logic that is eternal and crystal clear.  They require faith, because the normal pencil and paper calculations don't always apply, and yet, over the long arc of history, the bottom line is clear.  Love never fails.  

Don't be mistaken.  Today is not the day to get out your pencil and paper, scratch your head and wonder, "Gee, I need an audacious dream. What is my audacious dream?" No, this would be a very unkind thing to do.  This is a subtle form of self-agression, a message to yourself that who you are today, what you need to attend to today, is not enough to matter.  

Who you are and what you do today matters more than you may know, possibly, more than you are able to know.   Because the future will always remain unseen.

The question today is...Can you see the audacious dream you are living right now?  Can you be bold enough to imagine that the loving actions you take today will change the world forever?

Rosa Parks took her seat, what will you do?

If you have a minute today, don't miss the opportunity to re-read or watch MLK's "I have a dream" speech.  You never know, giving yourself time to really absorb this message, to receive this incredible gift of oration, may just change the future forever.

Read the full text version from the National Archives or watch it on youtube.

Water

This is where I go, where I always go, to refresh and renew.  

Again and again I return to water.

Where do you go?

A little work

Last Tuesday I worked a little bit,

yes, worked. 

I interviewed a friend 

about how she wants to 

acknowledge her

upcoming milestone 

Birthday.

It was an honor

and a pleasure.

I don't know how 

this kind of work

which I've been doing for

ten years

will figure into my next

chapter of work.

But for now,

it was enough,

just to enjoy this work.

Five Beautiful Things

This week, I really enjoyed reading Tara Mohr's post called Five Beautiful Things.  I especially appreciated that looking for beauty is a strategy she chose to turn to in a moment of stress and frustration.  That feels like a fit for me too (we all have our different ways of managing stress) and reminds me of a post I wrote last summer about how preschool teachers are masters at instructing children to turn to their senses to shift moods.

My buddy Laurel, took Five Beautiful Things to the next level and blogged her own version, which I loved.  So I thought I'd do one too.  Thanks for the inspiration, friends!

We're in Tahoe now, and the word that comes to mind here is glittering.  The lake, the aspen leaves, even the air itself, vibrates with light.  I love watching the natural world create a visual effect that I usually experience in a more hand-made crafty way.  I love encountering glitter in any context!

And then there are the trees.  All over this property there are various versions of pine trees grouped together in clusters, giving meaning to a "stand of trees."  Like a group of friends standing around at a cocktail party..friendly, convivial, giving shelter.  Comforting and lovely.

A morning cup of tea in front of it all.  No description necessary!

While here, I'm enjoying the beauty of time, long stretches of do nothing time, which for me often turns into doodling and painting.  No pressure to produce something special, just playing, often with the kids.  This is some of my favorite type of parenting time.

And most beautiful of all, is time with friends.  We are here with Graham's best friend from high school and his family who are from Austin (I want to spend more time there!).  It is amazing to see the depth of connection between the two dads.  When I first met Graham, one thing about him that inspired me was the group of friends he had created for himself.  I had actually never encountered such warm, connected, deep men in my life.  Across the board they were (and continue to be) strong without being macho, committed, smart and funny.  Graham's BFF from high school set a high bar for those college friends, and I'm loving connecting with him and the family he and his wife have created.  

Celebrate :: Both Ways, One Road

Did you know that there are places in the world where the street signs indicate that you are traveling both North and South at the same time, and in reality, by way of the compass, you are actually travelling West?  New Englanders out there, you know I am not talking about the third world.  I'm not talking about the alleys of Kibera  or the dusty paths through the Oaxacan pueblos--those places Americans might point the finger at and call "backward."  Nope, at the moment I'm thinking about one of the original American settlements, the crucible of our American Revolution, and the place that continues to set the standard for what "tradition" means in the United States.  That's right, the Boston Area.

Last week I went East to retrace some of my own steps in New England.  I visited with a good friend (if you follow the blog, you have met her before) and went back to my educational roots.  And in the process, even with all of the tech that I had with me, I got lost...frequently.  

I should have remembered to expect it.  The roads around Boston are a tangle of history and progress.  Entire Wikipedia entries are devoted to the depth of roadway confusion in New England.  One entry deals with the Yankee Division Highway, more commonly called route 128 (where I got lost twice, once on my way south to my high school, and the other the way south to my college), there is another entry that elucidates the history of Massachusetts Route 3, Pilgrims Highway (where I got lost leaving my college campus, in a heavy downpour after my phone battery died), and there is an entry that deals with roadway concurrency (when two highways overlap) in which the main visual is a photograph taken outside of Boston (where I got lost leaving the airport).  

Just this month an article ran in the Boston Globe entitled, "Road signs aimed to end driver confusion."  

I wonder who's brainstorm that was, who's thinking-out-of-the-box, aha, moment it was to envision the big dream, that Boston road signs might actually contribute to ending driver confusion.  It must have felt good, dwelling in the idea that drivers could get where they needed to go without getting lost, that the way could be straight forward and efficient, or that travelers could have 100% confidence all the time that they were driving on the right road in the right direction.  100% confidence--what a concept!  It has such appeal to me, personally, right now, I can see how the highway planners go onboard with the idea.

But truth be told, both for me and for New England, I'm not sure 100% confidence a reasonable or even wise minded goal.  The state of confusion in the road way has to do with its layered history.  The weird highway overlaps, the maddening signs that point in opposite directions at the same time, and the multiple names for almost every major artery, are almost entirely due to the long history of the place.  The history itself is neither good nor bad, not something to romanticize or deny, but instead something to consider and to remember.  That the old roads continue to exist points to the fact that in some way they still have meaning or usefulness to the people who regularly drive on them (even if that meaning and use is lost on outsiders).  No one is willing to throw out the history completely, even if it might reduce confusion.

And to me, having just come back from some of my own roots, the idea of holding space for both history and progress seems a worthwhile effort, at least for now.  Even though it is more confusing.  Even though I am not sure where exactly I'm going when the road points both ways.  And even though it is probably one the things about myself that most frequently launches me into the woody allen trapped in yoga pants mind.  My plan, for now, is to just hold space for it all and have faith that, eventually, I'll come upon a patch of road that is more straightforward (and then knowing myself, I will romanticize how interesting it was when the road was so confusing!).

But even in that imagined day, that day when I have a clearer sense of direction, I'm sure I will still end up at the gym the way I did last week...

And in that moment, just like I did last week, I'll make it work.  I'll do yoga or pilates and get my workout in anyway:-)

A special toast to everyone out there, moms especially, who are juggling what feels like a little too much...I know you are making it work even when the conditions are a little less than ideal.  I know you are getting the book done, creating new ways to love in your family, and you are holding space for our girls and us, women, to figure it out.  

Celebrate :: 44th Anniversary of the Lunar Landing

July 20, 1969 Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong landed on the moon.  I happened upon the commentary written by E.B. White that was reported in the New Yorker the following week.  I thought I'd share it...

"The moon, it turns out, is a great place for men.  One-sixth gravity must be a lot of fun, and when Armstrong and Aldrin went into their bouncy little dance, like two happy children, it was a moment not only of triumph but of gaiety.  The moon on the other hand, is a poor place for flags.  Ours looked stiff and awkward, trying to float on the breeze that does not blow.  (There must be a lesson here somewhere.)  It is traditional, of course, for explorers to plant the flag, but it struck us, as we watched with awe and admiration and pride, that our two fellows were universal men, not national men, and should have been equipped accordingly.  Like every great river and every great sea, the moon belongs to none and belongs to all.  It still holds the key to madness, still controls the tides that lap on shores everywhere, still guards the lovers who kiss in every land under no banner but the sky.  What a pity that in our moment of triumph we did not forswear the familiar Iwo Jima scene and plant instead a device acceptable to all:  a limp white handkerchief, perhaps, the symbol of the common cold, which, like the moon, affects us all, unites us all."

Flag raising

This Fourth of July I had a chance to return home.  Not to the actual house I lived in, not even to the place where I lived with my family the longest, but to the place where I felt most connected to my family and most cradled by the place itself.  As I write down these words, I’m stunned with the reality that this was the first time my children visited this place, and the corollary, that this visit was the first time I had been back in over ten years.

A string of archetypally charming seaside beach towns, east coast style, that attract lifestyles of the rich and famous levels of wealth, is how most people think of this place.  But this is never how it was for my family.  

For us it has always been:  stretches of beach so long that at the water's edge the ocean can take over your peripheral vision, broad rectangular carpets of green farmland, and spools of days that are all the same. Days in which you get to touch every bit of what the day offers up--the thin lipped breakfast saucer and the toast lying upon it, the sand still in the bathing suit from the day before, the brace of early summer atlantic ocean, blades of grass that trail into the house on pool wet feet, water in your nose from one last cannonball, slippery beads of sweat on a wine glass, cobs of summer corn dripping with butter, and of course, on the Fourth of July, the nylon slip of the flag between your fingers.

Our hostess this visit was a good friend of my mother’s.  They lived in the same apartment building in New York City, shuttling dinners, newspapers, and friendship between floors.  This spring she invited us, my mom, my aunt, Graham, me and the kids, out to share the holiday week with her.  Though we have a long, affectionate history, I have to admit, I was somewhat baffled by the idea that someone would host someone else’s grandchildren as house guests for a week.  Grateful, absolutely; but concerned that the reality of three small girls at a beach house went something beyond what a good hostess could reasonably be expected to tolerate.

And then, on the Fourth I understood.  It was the flag raising.

For years, our friend’s recently deceased husband, John, hosted Camp Poppi on his own, a week long summer camp for his grandchildren.  In the morning there would be flag raising, and then I suspect the summer day would unfold just in the way that it always does in this place.  What was remarkable to me about Camp Poppi wasn’t so much what happened over the course of the week, but the very fact of its existence.  John, of all the adult men in my life, had the career I admired most.  He was a journalist, a successful one.  He wrote books, travelled the world, and made his career covering politics at the highest level.  He did all that, and he hosted Camp Poppi, by himself, summer after summer, because loving his grandchildren was as big a part of his life as anything.  

Camp Poppi, and the flag raising that went along with it held what was most precious and dear about his life.  And while this was never said to me directly, I think my mom’s friend knew raising the flag again was going to take a whole lot of us.  Kids especially.

So when she said to us, I guess we should raise the flag, which late in the afternoon on July Fourth seemed almost like an afterthought, Graham, hoisted Gwendolyn onto his shoulders.  She teetered against the leverage of the flagpole, and the two of them bobbed precariously on the front steps.  It took them three tries, but on the third it was up.  

We had the kids recite the Pledge of Allegiance, and they responded by alternately following along and then telling fart jokes.  We sang the Star Spangled Banner then all together started to teach  Eloise It’s a Grand Old Flag (which she mastered by the end of the weekend).  They romped around on the grass and the adults drank champagne, as we all admired the proud vision of the stars and stripes whipping and flapping in the summer wind.  

And that’s the way this place works, it slows time, it holds generations, and in this case, helped us get the job that needed doing done.  The flag was raised again.  A joyful salute to John, whose name, because I was a kid in this crowd, was only mentioned to me once over the course of the weekend, but whose presence and absence was everywhere.

Saying Goodbye and Saying Hello

Just yesterday, Eloise asked me, "Mommy, why doesn't our trees don't have flowers on them anymore?"  She was referring our pear trees out front that blooms delicate white flowers which blow down like snow in March.  And I tried to explain to her that the seasons had changed.  That was spring and this was summer, leafy, green, warm, summer.   And even though I love summer and imagine that she will too, officially saying goodbye to the pretty decor of spring was a little sad.  

The seasons are changing here on many fronts, not just the weather.  The girls are getting bigger.  We're wrapping up another year of school, the piles of papers coming in, the library books desperately screaming from the nooks and crannies of our house...Return us, or else.  And this mom, seeing the time pass, feeling tender for all of it, and yet needing a little more, a playground of my own, with mental challenges and adults to play with.  

It was in the aisle of Whole Foods the other day that I saw it.  Eloise was in the child's seat, hungry, asking for a snack.  I opened up the bag of salted pretzel sticks, gave her a few, and put one in my own mouth.  And strolling the aisle like that, in my sweat pants, a baby in the cart, and an open bag of pretzels, ended something for me.  I'm not sure what exactly.  But I'm thinking things will start to get a little different around here.  I hope you'll stick around to find out how.

In the meantime, we're saying hello to summer, and on the blog, I'm thinking I'm going to continue celebrating, but for the summer it will be about celebrating less structure.  I'm going to be writing more free form, maybe talking about things that are a little outside the realm of family and celebration.  But we'll see.  I'm also going to give myself some time to recharge, and I hope you do too.

Happy Summer!

Is it just me?

Lately I've been getting that feeling with unnerving frequency.  I've been feeling doubts about how I spend my time, doubts about the state of gender equality, doubts about what success looks like and what it actually is, doubts about the future of the planet...you know, the small questions.  They pop into my head and I suddenly feel like I'm looking over the edge of a high precipice.  Everyone else has safely distanced themselves from the ledge, and there I am with a foot on crumbly ground that might fall into the sea at any minute.  My heart beats faster and my breathing gets a little shallow.   I peer over the edge, and I wonder how much longer the ground will hold.

I know, it sounds dramatic.  My emotional tone is sometimes like Woody Allen trapped in Lululemon pants.  I'm sure my buddy, Laurel, would be glad to attest to that.

Because I'm not at the ledge, at all.  

I'm nowhere near it.  I'm actually mostly driving my white minivan (aka Big Marshmallow) padded by safety on all sides.  But lately, I've been wondering if I've somehow gotten snared into the 2013 version of The Feminine Mystique.

Is it just me?

It turns out, this is the perfect question to take on retreat, which would not surprise my teacher, who would probably say something like retreat is the right place for all questions.  

(Zen is so weird like that, so empty, so pointless, really, that there is space for anything and everything under the sun.  I don't really get it, and if I did I probably wouldn't end up on retreat.)

Because if you're lucky, you've never been on one of these retreats.  

They are long, physically challenging, and excruciatingly boring.  You only end up at one of them if you've exhausted all of the other options.  (Note: this was not my first retreat.  I got to the point of exhausting all my other options sometime in 2001, and since then, I don't waste time with the other options, or at least I waste less time with the other options and then I just go because it works for me.  I can't explain it, and half the time I don't even believe it will help, but I just go).  The lingering feeling is that retreat is good, very good (the blog I wrote before leaving proves that I was actually looking forward to this experience).  But it's kind of a trick of the mind, because before it is good it can be hard, very hard.

When I packed the car on Saturday I was all happy like I was about to go do something fun.  I had even invited a friend, a real girlfriend road trip.  Fun.  And then the sitting began.  And it was long.  Physically challenging.  And, excruciatingly boring.  Relief came in the form of silent, brisk walking in a circle around the edge of the conference room in which we were sitting.  Consider yourself lucky that you weren't the friend I roped into this.

Because what good could ever come of sitting still, in some degree of discomfort, for a really long time?  I'm not exactly sure how I would describe it, but the word basic comes to mind, basic good.

1.  Food tastes good.  

I experienced this the last time on retreat too.  It turns out sitting still and attempting to focus your mind is actually physically draining.  I think the last few times I felt that kind of hunger was after delivering my third child and after running a half marathon.  I'm not kidding.   

When that kind of hunger meets simple, well-prepared food...well, I think it could be one reason why the monks say that enlightenment comes cleaning the rice bowl.  No big mystical thing.  There is just simple comfort in basic needs being met.  Period.  Nothing extra.  Just that.  The delight of food when you are hungry.  

2.   What you need to do is clear.

There are instructions for everything.  How to sit down, how to stand up.  When to bow.  Even what to say when you meet your teacher.  No need to be creative or stand out or be "attention getting" whatever that means.  When you meet your teacher you say your name and tell your teacher what your practice is (the teacher will even tell you what your practice is--it's counting your breath).  The only think you need to know is your name.  Check!

You don't have to think.  This is the point.  When, in your adult life, has someone told you not to think?  People say don't worry about it.  But what that sometimes feels like is that what worries you is not really important to the other person.  This is different.  Something else is allowed to be in charge.  In fact, thousands of years of tradition has figured this out for you.  In Silicon Valley terms, this is "big data;" generations of information passed down in a specific set of instructions.  All you have to do is show up and let the process work you.  This is simple, but far from easy.  The hard part is believing that just following the instruction is enough.  That somehow, saying your name and stating your practice will somehow help answer all of these big overwhelming questions.  I'm still not sure how I feel about this.  But one thing I am sure about--I know my name.  I have no idea how my presence on the planet might contribute to answering those big hairy questions, but at least I know my name.  In the spirit of doing what I can--when the minimum requirement is knowing my name--at least I have a place to start.

3.  You are not alone.

We were given time to ask questions after sitting.  One woman said, "Here's the thing, when I get bored, I have all of these things I start to think about.  Things I kind of like to think about.  What's that about?"  Another woman said, "When we practiced with our eyes open it got boring.  And I started finding these animals in the pattern of the carpet.  I saw zebras and I thought of my autistic son and what he sees."  Another woman, one of the priests there said, "I saw those animals too."  And there was great comfort in that.  We were all bored.  Our minds all did the same things when we were bored.  They wandered, they looked for an interesting story or decision to chew on.  We realized we all live with this kind of mind, and just knowing that minds do this can be reassuring and helpful.  

So is it just me living with my Woody Allen in Lululemon pants in my head?  Well, I think the answer is probably yes and no.  Yes, other people are being harped at by other voices inside their heads, and probably yes, there might be other women wondering if they've somehow landed in a post-feminist gender role fun house.  And well, as for Woody Allen in Lululemons, I hope the voice in your head is a little less neurotic than that.  I hope you don't worry about doing enough for your kids, or doing too much for your kids, or if it's ok to buy strawberries that aren't organic, or if the kids on the other side of the highway are getting a decent education, or if the one plastic bottle of water you just bought is going to be the thing that tips our environment over the edge, or gives you cancer, or chokes a seal or something like that.  I hope you don't have a friend or a loved one who is facing a serious health challenge.  I hope no one you know lost their child, or their mother, or their brother.  I hope you never suffer these losses yourself, and I hope you never worry if your about whether or not your life is on the right track, because I tell you, that particular one can really get my Woody Allen stuffed into Lululemon pants going, because of course, if I'm not on the right track it must be all my own fault.  Well, anyway, if none of that ever bothers you, consider yourself lucky.  You'll definitely be able to resist when I reach out and ask you if you want to go on a retreat with me.  For the rest of you, I promise I won't lie and tell you it's really super fun.  That it will be awesome and you'll feel so empowered (not that I have a problem with you feeling empowered).    What I can tell you is that it will be good, basically good, and that if all you know about your life right now is your name, well that will be a very encouraging place to start.

What I found

This is what I found when I went on retreat last year:

and

The Dining Hall

to Carolina and Cristin

Was there ever anything

so friendly

as a mound of ripe bananas

waiting

or

a hot chafing dish

weighed down

with uncountable eggs

when we were famished?

The next time

I meet up

with this much

sunshine

or

no sunshine at all

I will think of you.

I'm very curious what I will find this time, while I'm here: