Living intentionally

  

    I grew up in a household that was financed solely by my mother. She worked full-time as a therapist in private practice, and certainly pulled in enough money to provide monetarily for my brother and I. I watched my mom work hard, and find fulfillment in her job, and I always assumed my future as a woman and mother would be the same. For a long time, I tried to find my place in the world as a therapist of some kind; I wanted a profession that I could fully immerse myself in. I wanted something I loved to do, but more importantly, would make me a lot of money. I was stuck in the 'money =  happiness' myth that so many people, especially Americans, are trapped in, sometimes for a lifetime. Eventually, I was lucky enough to realize that what I really loved to do would never make me a lot of money, but simply having the opportunity to do what I loved provided the  happiness I was looking for.

I began to redefine happiness. I discovered that having a job that would make me rich was actually more likely to make me unhappy, as I would probably become a slave to my work in an attempt to keep the money flowing in. Being rich would make it difficult to be satisfied with what I had, because in our consumer culture, newer always equals better; and there is always something new and upgraded to be had. I thought success meant I would never have to clean my own house, my wardrobe would always have designer labels, and I could vacation around the world whenever I wanted. I began to redefine success.

What makes someone successful? I think the answer is different for everyone. Success is not a one-size-fits-all thing. To one person, being successful could mean owning a successful business, for another, it could be making a difference in other people's lives. After a long time of thought and self-discovery, I was quite surprised to find that, for me, success was a lot easier to achieve than I had thought. I didn't need a PHD to get it, nor did I need professional recognition or my name mounted on any walls. For me, success and happiness is a lot closer to home.

I want, above all things, to be the kind of wife, mother, and person who is never too busy to stop and listen to what someone else has to say. More than anything else, I want to be the kind of parent I couldn't possibly be if I were working full-time in a private practice. Being successful means my children will remember me as a source of love and comfort, an active presence in their lives. My friends will remember me as someone who genuinely cared about them and gave freely, even if I had little to offer. My husband will remember me as his constant supporter and #1 fan. Being successful is more about who I am as a person, as opposed to what I do for a living.  So what does that mean for my life right now? Especially considering I will soon be a stay-at-home mom, no longer working outside the home. That question beckons me to look even harder at my life, who I am as a person, and how I relate to the world.

I find the most meaning and fulfillment, the most success and happiness, when I live every day intentionally. Living intentionally means finding purpose in everything you do, especially in the small things. To me, it means refusing to conform to consumerism and convenience. For instance,  I do not own a microwave, so even the simple act of heating up a leftover becomes a practice in intention and mindfulness. The food ends up tasting better when I patiently wait for it to heat the naturally in the oven. Becoming a mother has made me more aware than ever of how my lifestyle directly reflects upon my mental condition and my relation to the universe. I want to inspire my future children to challenge cultural norms, and not to be conditioned into believing that faster and easier mean better. I want to be a reminder that success isn't about where you fit in the rat race. Being happy with your life is more about finding pleasure in simplicity, and chasing dreams is different from chasing dollars.

As Mother Teresa said, “We cannot do great things on this earth, only small things with great love.”

My return from the recesses of change

Six months pregnant.

Time has gone by, so much time since I’ve even looked at this journal. How could I look? Who was this girl that used to write here? She’s just a memory, someone I recognize from pictures, but someone who is long gone.

My life has changed so much. In these past six months, I have been turned upside down, flipped inside out, forgotten myself and discovered someone new. Now my life is not just mine, but co-owned by someone I have never met. In just three months, I will know this person. I will hold this little person in my arms and gaze at its face for hours. I will learn all about its likes and dislikes, teach it to love nature and good food, challenge it to create its own path in the world.

Pregnancy has been an interesting journey for me so far. Full of bumps and unglamorous moments, but also full of awe and anticipation. Exhilaration, every time I feel my little person squirm and kick. It loves music, and the sound of its father’s voice, two things that never fail to get a reaction. On Christmas Eve, Husband took me to see The San Francisco Ballet perform The Nutcracker, a brilliant performance highlighted by the excited thumps within my belly. My little Mozart.

I love this little person already, but in a strangely disconnected way. Perhaps I would feel more passionate if I could call it my son, or my daughter, but I would rather wait to know details like those. For now, I prefer to know it, to love it, simply as my child. Whether it is a boy or a girl is irrelevant to the fact that it is a piece of my soul, and a piece of Husband’s soul, manifested into a new soul within my body. Husband and I were two people, and soon we will be three. Our little family will become a little bigger. I will love this child with a sudden, primal passion that is reserved strictly for mothers. I will carry the torch, and bring the next generation to life.

Having a baby, and having chronic pain

Every now and then (Now. Right now.), I am struck with how much my life is going to change in nine months. It’s hard to believe I’m going to be a mother; particularly hard since, as I am only approx. three weeks pregnant, my body has yet to feel the ravaging effects of growing a new life. Right now, I’m only experiencing little glimpses, which in themselves have been enough to make me want to say, “Hey, wait a minute, that’s not what I signed up for!”

It’s hard to believe I am going to be somebody's mother. I am going to be somebody’s mother. Since when did I qualify to be somebody’s mother? I fear there may have been a lapse in cosmic judgment. I wondered for so long if it were even a possibility for me to be a biological mother. For most of my life, I just assumed it wasn’t, being as I have Epilepsy and Fibromyalgia. Well, turns out it’s quite possible. Now, where can I find a book called, What to Expect when You’re Expecting, When Your Body Already Hates You On a Good Day?

Somewhere, between my bewilderment and jaw-clenching anxiety, I am happy, even elated. I picture myself amongst the smug-looking Santa Cruz mamas, strolling through the Farmer’s Market with their newborns swaddled in slings like sleepy, angelic fashion accessories. One hand cradles the baby’s head, the other gropes a bushel of fresh Kale or holds the leash of a Labrador. Those mothers always have the same look about them, like they are present and walking through a crowd of people, yet somehow far away. Lost in the land of Motherhood.

So far, my pregnancy has been treating me pretty well. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty darned good. Quite the opposite of what I expected, and in some ways, I even feel a little bit better than I did before. Where my tailbone and hips used to be so sore and inflamed from Fibro that it hurt to walk, I’m now miraculously fine in that area, and I’ve actually been able to walk so much that my  legs and derriere have shaped up a little. Although, really, it feels like the weight has just shifted from my lower body to my upper body, and that pesky knot between my shoulder blades from growing womanhood can sometimes make things difficult. My Fibromyalgia affects me, like most people living with it, mostly by amplifying the sensation of pain; so a knot in my back can feel like a knife in my back (Not to say a knot lodged in any area of your body is pain-free, Fibro or no). Since pregnancy is universally understood to be a painful experience, I’ve been holding my breath and enjoying the days until bed rest. However, my step Mom (Who, coincidentally, also lives with Fibro), told me a story of a woman she knows who has terrible arthritis and had several children. Apparently, during all her pregnancies, this woman felt the best she’d ever felt in her life. Perhaps it will go the same way with me? Could pregnancy be the best source of relief from chronic pain? Something tells me it might not be that simple, but a mama-to-be can dream.

Growing with change

I am going to be a mother, something I thought I would never be able to do. I have wanted to have a baby with Husband so badly, and now that the opportunity is here, it feels a little unreal. Suddenly, a whole new world of beauty and fear has opened up to me. I’m finally pregnant- will I be able to keep my baby? It seems all anybody wants to tell me about is their miscarriage, or their sister’s miscarriage, or their friend’s miscarriage.

At one point, I felt suffocated with fear of losing the baby, and ran out of the house to escape my own thoughts. Outside, watching the lagoon, was a girl about my age. I stood beside her, and commented on the beauty of the water and the godzilla fish that lurked beneath the surface, sometimes breaching like whales. Mindless chatting helped, and soon I was able to feel my budding hysteria subside. The girl told me about herself. She had recently been hit by a car while riding her bike, and her friend was fixing it while she wandered the lagoon. She was homeless, jobless, and broke. She had recently lost her fiancee, and her baby.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” She said, shaking her head. I stopped her.
“You said you’d recently lost a baby?”

I told her my situation, the reason I, myself, was wandering beside the calm water. Listening to her story made me so grateful for everything I had. A loving husband, a home of our own, a job that I love. The girl told me she believed she’d lost her baby because, inwardly, she wasn’t ready to be a mother. She told me to have faith, that we manifest our destiny. She gave me a hug, and we walked away in opposite directions. Though I invited her for dinner at my place any time she was hungry, I don’t think I’ll ever see her again; but I’ll never forget her. I left the lagoon feeling strangely calm and confident, and gave my water bottle away to a thirsty stranger because it felt right. It was an act of faith.

Husband pointed out that my defense mechanism of choice was to assume and focus on the worst. Perhaps inwardly, I believe that if I reject happiness before it rejects me, I won’t be hurt or disappointed by life. However, extending that kind of energy to the Universe will only recycle back to me, a series of unfortunate self-fulfilling prophecies.

For now, I’ll enjoy being pregnant. I am grateful for every moment I am pregnant, and if I miscarry tomorrow, I will be grateful that I got to experience pregnancy in the first place. Or, at least, I’ll try.

Quaking in my boots.

I’ve taken a hiatus from my blog for a while, because I’ve had more thinking to do than talking (or typing). Sometimes, you have to just sit back and rest for a while in the shelter of contemplation before your words are of use to anyone.

Husband and I have finally found the spiritual community we were looking for in a Santa Cruz Quaker church. When I thought of Quakers, the first thing that came to mind were images of the Amish and Mennonites; people who look like a picture of the 1800s (we’ve all seen the Quaker Oat box). However, I couldn't have been more wrong, and thank God I didn’t limit myself to pre-concieved notions I’d gained from breakfast foods. Actually, I think I’m the most conservatively dressed in the whole church (more on that later).

The Quakers are actually a band of “odd ducks” (as described by a practicing Quaker), that gather together for weekly Sunday Meetings. The Meetings are similar to average Sunday religious services, except no one is in charge, and no one says anything (So, essentially, it’s nothing like average Sunday religious services). Quakers believe that no human can be closer to God than anyone else who actively seeks God, therefore there are no ministers, pastors, priests, or clergy of any kind. Longstanding church members are collectively appointed as Clerks, who orchestrate the Meetings, but do not preach or receive payment. Everyone is equal.

A typical Quaker Meeting involves sitting together in silence and stillness for an hour. An hour can be a long time for someone who isn’t used to it (ahem), but luckily for my sake, it wasn’t as intimidating as it sounds. People meditate or pray, depending on what moves them, and occasionally someone will stand and say something very profound and thought-provoking, or sing a song. Whatever the Spirit moves them to say or do. There is no right or wrong way to connect with God, and every path is respected.

Quakerism has its roots in Christianity, but it is by no means limited to Christians. Quakerism is more of a spiritual practice. You can be a Pagan Quaker, a Jewish Quaker, a Buddhist Quaker (There are all three and more at our church), or however people want to blend being a Quaker with their faith. Husband and I consider ourselves more along the lines of Everything Quakers. I believe there is no solitary spiritual path, but many meaningful paths amongst many meaningful spiritualities.

    Sitting through a Quaker meeting is an experience, especially if you’re particularly attuned to other people’s energy. The two times I’ve gone, I’ve felt propelled into a deep meditation along with the meditative energy of the fellow Friends (as they’re called) around me. The communicative channel to God feels clear and open, and I feel free to speak to the sacred, ask questions, and just savor the energy around me. After a long time of doing this, however, I start to come back down to earth, and spend the remaining time in a sort of spiritual afterglow. Everyone around me is still sitting in peace with God, and being in the presence of something so sincere makes me feel okay sitting still for so long. There is no need to fidget or move. I am at peace.
    I never thought myself to be a good meditator until I experienced a Meeting. There is something about the collective meditative energy that doesn’t just guide me to the sacred, it hurls me, ready or not.

The power of doing without

If you have the choice to acquire, or do without, choose to do without. Every time you choose to do without, you are practicing to make your life simple. A simple life, free of insecurities and distractions, is an open palette for wisdom.  And by actively choosing to do without, you are relinquishing attachments to pleasure and comfort, which will come in handy when life throws you challenges.

Doing without means restraining on our impulses, which teaches us how to properly do with; i.e. how to acquire in a healthy way. By deciding not to act on our impulses to eat when we're not hungry, shop when it doesn't fit our budget, etc, we are improving our inner discretion of what we really need and when we really need it.

Joy is the road to the divine

People say, "Do what makes you happy" when referring to faith, but they still secretly believe that their way is the 'right' way. However, even if we worshiped a stone and found happiness and peace, we are doing the right thing. The divine works through joy. Where there is happiness, there is the divine. So yes, do what makes you happy.