Reduced to Joy???

About a month ago I was using our social worker’s office as a hallway, cutting through her office to get to the copy room – and I was stopped dead in my tracks. There on her desk was a book that seemed out of place. I expect to see picture books or books about the latest writing strategy in my work environment. This is not what lay there inviting my soul to pause at such an unlikely time. The title of the book – reduced to joy by Mark Nepo. 

Reduced to joy? 

My mind knew instantly that these words were not meant for each other. 

And yet, my heart recognized them as truth.

Reduced means to make smaller or to bring someone to a lesser state. However, the definition of joy is to feel great pleasure and happiness. 

How can one be brought to a lesser state of great pleasure? 

Does Webster’s Dictionary really know what joy means? 

Maybe joy is more than happiness.

I love this word joy and since I have a few days off, I am going to explore and reflect on this word. Where have I experienced joy? What has it looked like in my life? 

...the thought of taking time to pause fills me with delight...or possibly even joy.

Dear Blog,

Poor sad neglected blog. I know you feel pushed aside by my new expensive hobby called house. It's true. I've been pouring my creative juices elsewhere. At first it was the need to create organization out of our chaos, so I spent hours scouring the aisles of Target for the perfect container to house my overflowing supply of jewelry. Or the incessant desire to figure out the best way to arrange the pantry closet. The clear glass jars filled with snacks for the boys makes me happy every time I see them. My attention eventually moved to creating inviting spaces within our four walls. And now that the sun is consistently shining I am delighting in the beginnings of a lovely flower garden. As I walk through O'Tooles I am overcome with joy - so many colors and smells that speak to my very soul. I know that if I paused I could tuck away nuggets of ideas to write about later. But instead I fill my mind with new ways to enhance our flower bed. Where I use to spend Saturday mornings with you, I now sit on my bench with the vibrantly stripped cushion admiring the fresh new life growing in front of me. The yellow blossoms tantalize me and cause me to choose digging and planting over you, dear blog. I know that it will not always be this way, but for now my heart is torn between you and my newly found lilac bush. So, although I love you, I am off to investigate the ground covering I planted last night. See you again soon!

Fondly,

Your Author

Stamina...

I am consistently on the hunt for a new fitness class.

When I was younger it was step aerobics, endless hours of grapevines combined with steps and awkward turns. This led to a Latin dance aerobics class where I always stood in the back so as I learned to samba and cha-cha only a few people could see my silly missteps. There were usually brief moments where the music, my hips and my feet all aligned and I was one hot Latin dancer. At the end of class we would do extended stretches, I was able to effortlessly touch my nose to the floor. Those were the days.

I’ve also enjoyed weeks of fitness boot camps. Enjoyed? NOT! Running, jumping, throwing, push-uping, sit-ups…. I’m not sure I ever felt like I looked any different, but I definitely felt different. Sore. Everywhere.

The soreness of boot camp sent me on my way to a more soothing environment – yoga. Instead of constantly being yelled at to move faster and push harder, I had a pretty little lady calmly encouraging me to do my best. I never did respond well to yelling.

My latest attempt at organized fitness was a Zumba class. At heart I think I was meant to be a dancer, it’s just the rest of my body that seems to be confused about my true calling in life. During this fateful hour I realized something, my stamina sucks!

After about thirty minutes of focusing on the upcoming steps and using all my energy to stay with the instructor – things started to break down. I was consistently one step behind the beat, when the teacher would have us turn to the back wall – I ended up facing everyone who seemed to know all the moves. It was at this point that my self-talk began to decline.

“Why can’t you keep up? Did you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror? You look nothing like the instructor. Some of these ladies are twice your age and they can keep up.!”

There were attempts at more positive internal dialogue.

“You can do it. You look fine. It’s just a little longer. It’s ok if you are completely out of step, you’re exercising!”

As my mental stamina began to break down, so did my physical strength. By the end of the hour I was one big puddle.

My Zumba experience has caused me to reflect on the rhythms of my life. During the summer months I get up and go for a quick walk before Mike leaves for work. I typically have between twenty and forty minutes. It could be longer, but who wants to get up to an alarm on vacation. If I get to the gym during the school year I have about forty minutes, if I’m lucky.

It’s not just exercise that requires stamina – writing does too. I am a morning writer. Not surprising, I like to do most everything in the morning. I would be perfectly content with an eight to two (maybe three) o’clock day. If I was a night owl it would make writing so much easier. We could put the children to bed and I would have almost two hours of uninterrupted writing time. But I’m not. After the boys go to bed, I typically crumble onto the couch and spend my remaining waking hours watching fun shows like Design Star.

As I review some of my past Saturday mornings, I see that I do actually have a couple hours to write. The problem is that these hours are chopped up into little bits of time.

“Mom! Can I have breakfast?”

“Boys – stop shouting!!”

“Yes. You can watch cartoons.”

“Time to turn off the TV.”

“Mom! Can you tie my shoes?”…..

You get the idea.

So, I’ve been left wondering – How do I find time to do all the things I want do? Where does the time for building stamina fit into my life?

I’ve been working with first grade writers for about the past month. Every day I enter the classroom and they are all sitting on the tan carpet learning a new writing strategy from their teacher. They can barely contain their excitement. Hands pop up all throughout the lesson, desperate to share their connecting idea. And then, once they have this new nugget of writerly knowledge – they go and write. Book after book. Day after day. Talking with their friends about their writing. Writing and illustrating. Setting writing goals. Every day they practice and refine their skills as writers.

I’m jealous.

I don’t get to go to writing class, for an hour, every day. I don’t have a daily chunk of time to work out. I don’t have a quiet morning routine that allows for a sit down breakfast and time to read and reflect. I don’t have an art studio to go and paint in. I don’t have a standing lunch date with my friends. I don’t have a weekly date night with my husband or a consistent play date time with my children.

I am left instead with the job of finding balance. Snagging time to write, between distractions, on Saturday morning. Heading out for a quick walk with a coworker over the lunch hour. Making a special Sunday evening dinner, after the boys are in bed. Talking with friends, on the phone, as I make my daily commute home from work. Participating in a painting class with a friend. Or playing a spontaneous game of hide-and-seek with the boys.

I’m not sure that these things actually build stamina for any one thing – but they do seem to increase my overall endurance for the reality of life. And so, even though I am still jealous of the little six year olds in first grade, I must concede that balance does bring a bit of spice to my life.

Weekends Are For Seeing Beauty

Weekends are for seeing beauty. This was the title of a blog post I just clicked on and the reminder I needed today.

The work week can be filled with so many tasks that beauty is often missed by the naked eye. Sometimes the crazy “to do” list carries into the weekend too. I woke up this morning and realized I had forgotten to pay a bill; which lead me to reviewing the bank account and wondering where all the hard earned dollars went this month. Ugh!!

So, to combat the icky heavy feeling that comes with managing money I began my Saturday morning routine (see previous posts for the sacred process). As I worked my way around the kitchen, I opened my computer and clicked on a favorites blog, A Holy Experience, and up popped the blessed title along with a lovely picture of a young girl with flowers nestled in her basket filled shirt. Beauty. This idea of beauty is essential to the survival of my soul. I love those unexpected moments when beauty appears in my ordinary everyday world.

On this average Saturday morning I have been delighted with beauty:

·         I opened up Pandora, my iPod radio station, and realized I had started a new station but hadn’t had a chance to listen to in weeks. Colbie Caillat had me dancing with my refrigerator.

·         I had a creamy white egg for breakfast that didn’t have to travel thousands of miles in a truck before arriving on my plate. My coworker, James, gave me eggs that came straight from his chickens. Delicious!

·         On my balcony, I have auburn mums that catch the sunshine and embody the essence of fall. I look at them and am immediately immersed in the season.

·         My living room is filled with boxes. Boxes that signify change. Boxes that signify a new stage in our journey. Next week we will place our home, the one we’ve lived in for the majority of our married life, on the market. Beautiful.

Weekends are for seeing beauty - this will be my weekend mantra. I will peak around corners, lift piles, and extend my gaze – all in hopes of snagging a glance at beauty in the ordinary.

Stream of Consciousness

i have a coworker who writes her emails in one long stream of thought....connecting each idea with little dots...and half thoughts. i'm in need of just such a purge...it's saturday once again...you can picture the scene...me. kids wrestling around me. pile of dishes...blah, blah, blah.

i've spent the past half an hour enjoying other people's blogs...all the while itching to add something magnificent to my own...i could finish the post i started last weekend...oh, that would take some real brain power. i still can't figure out how to end it...i'm not sure i can concentrate for that long with the boys pulling for my attention...i could let them watch endless hours of tv, but that would cause the mother guilt to nag at my insides...which would then drain my creative juices.

even though i was with it and wrote a long "to do" list...it's still all swimming around in my head...the must dos are competing with the wants...i can't seem to find the balance...

i woke up pondering an incomplete creative project...making a growth chart for my children....so i got out of bed and looked at my paint options...after picking out ones that might work...i put them back on the shelf.

while the boys played angry birds i paid bills and balanced the checking account...trying to bring peace to a layer of household chaos...finished....deep exhale.

and yet still...chaos

my children will only have so much patience for mommy sitting at the computer...i've made a decision...clean...bring order to the disorderly home...hopefully providing me space for something more enjoyable & possible even inspiring

knock...knock...knock...that's my signal...the neighbor boys have come to play...time to end my stream of thought and take full advantage of the welcome distraction....

author's note: writing without consistent punctuation and capitalization is not for me...i know...shocking!!!

Leave Room for Margin

As my children ran toward the gurgling fountains, I paused and allowed my soul to take in the scene. It was an unusually cool June evening and the Old Towne Arvada fountains were surrounded by the weekly Farmer’s Market. Young children shrieked with delight as the surges of water forced them to dance their way through the maze. A young mother lounged on a bench, munching on fresh blueberries and reading a book she probably picked up at the neighboring library (just as we had done moments before).

After plunking down our towels, the boys peeled off their shirts and sprinted into the cool water. I took this moment to meander through the market’s booths. Earlier in the week I had made it a goal to visit a farmer’s market, and was pleased to be soaking in the experience (without any research or effort on my part). I started by surveying a local farmer’s array of fresh vegetables, moved on to sample deep red juicy cherries from the friendly man a few booths down, and finished the semi-circle by smelling the pots of lavender neatly displayed along the long white folding table.

My trip around the fountains was not without its tears over a skinned knee or a mad dash to the bathroom at the library; but oddly these seemed to only enhance my internal exhale. The week had felt like one long stream of summer activities; tennis lessons, vacation bible school, drive-through lunches, play dates, and gatherings with friends. All wonderful summer fun; but just a bit too packed for one who likes to move at a pace that allows for seeing beauty in the ordinary.

If you’ve ever talked with a teacher about summer, the days are often filled to overflowing with expectations and “to do” lists. It is the time of year that is meant to catch-up on every book not read (professional and leisure), every home project left undone, and every neglected friendship. We sign up for every fitness class we’ve missed, plan every family vacation we can afford, and resolve to write every day (ok, that might just be mine). Basically, we try and realize every dream not yet lived during our eight short weeks away from school. It’s no wonder therapists see a spike in their workload during these early months of summer, we teachers need someone to talk us off the ledge and remind us what reality looks like here on planet earth.

 

Fortunately for me, I did not need to pay a therapist hundreds of dollars to remind me of the beauty of summer; I just needed my friend Jenny. Earlier in the day, she shared her new favorite word with me – margin. Her desire for summer (and probably life in general) was to leave enough margin in her life to be able to enjoy the spontaneous nature of this season. That her family’s life would not be so packed with activities and plans that there would be no room for the impromptu summer barbeque or play date in the park.

Margin. Her word resonated with me. It spoke of intentionality; a deliberate choice to leave space in our days to play with our toys, read books that consume our attention, or to find adventures along our favorite Clear Creek Trail. It conjured up images of freedom; the ability, at the last minute, to gather up my family and spend an evening laughing and drinking a lovely glass of wine with friends. It left me with a contented feeling of joy; a feeling that envelops me on Saturday mornings while I write and my children happily play Legos in their room. This word, margin, was the reminder I needed (even during the leisurely months of summer) to create balance in my life. To plan outings and activities that fills our need for relationship and adventure; but also to leave space to enjoy the simple things of summer.

 

Before leaving the market that evening, I purchased a half bag of veggies for five dollars from the farmer (quite a steal) and three avocados, two packages of strawberries and four plums from the pleasant man at the fruit stand. The boys had never tried plums before, except maybe in baby food, and were unusually brave in taking a bite of these foreign fruits. Zak was in love with them, so much so that he ate the rest of my collection and begged for me to buy just a few more for the ride home. A deliciously sweet pleasure of summer.

Ahhh, the beauty of margin.

The Process has Begun!

Process. What process? My writing process. Oh! That process. I didn't really know I had one, I thought it was me staring at the blank page - terrified of the nothingness, hoping an idea would formulate and brilliance would fling itself onto my void of a document. The reality is my process starts days before the blank page. Someone (a.k.a my sister, Hannah) asks when I'm going to post again. I panic. Then I begin to ponder. To really get the juices flowing, I read through every blog I have listed in "my favorites". The list is quite extensive, and takes a good hour to work my way through it. Sitting on a rainy Saturday morning, reading posts, is so relaxing. It's inspiring to hear a myriad of voices and ideas coming through my computer screen. There is something magical about this process. I still have no idea of what I might write, but these bloggers make me want to write. So, today I will keep my eyes peeled and my heart open to a possible topic. Let the process continue!