Zen Mama Wannabe

The Fortunate Ones

We are not lucky, my father would tell me.  Luck is for people that win the lottery.  We are fortunate.

Thanksgiving was my dad’s favorite holiday (with the Fourth of July a close 2nd – as a former Lieutenant Commander in the Navy who fought in World War II, he was definitely a patriotic man).  He told me once people always selected Christmas as their favorite time of year, as if that was the right and proper answer (with the birth of Christ and all).  But for him, it was Thanksgiving.  That 4th Thursday in November – a day dedicated to giving thanks, for acknowledging your blessings, and yes, for realizing just how fortunate you are.

Today it feels like all of us are dodging bullets on our own private battlegrounds.  I scolded my husband for saying we are all just one blink away from disaster/crisis/tragedy (fill in the blank) – but he is right.  It is as though we are tightrope walkers, teetering on a thin line known as life.  Today we are fine.  Yet, one slight hesitation, one little misstep, and down we go.

In a blink of an eye, life changes. The devastating diagnosis, the horrific car crash, the loss of a job – or 401K saving accounts, and poof!  Gone just like that.

And just as fast, in that same instant, good fortune can pop in too.  A friend, financially struggling in the worst way, forced to give up things like health insurance, a phone, and what others would call the basic essentials, interviews for a new job and lands a 6-figure income.  Just like that – she is back on her feet!

Another friend, resigned after so many years alone to live without love, meets a man while waiting at a deli.  They continue their conversation at a coffee shop next door; that was over a year ago and now wedding rumors fly.  Regardless, we have never seen her look so happy.

It all happens so quickly.  At times it feels like all we really can do is just be grateful for that which we have.  No matter what our circumstances, we can always find people who have it worse – or better – than us.  All we have to do is hold fast to the belief that the more we give thanks, the more blessings come our way.

My father knew this.  We are fortunate, he would say.  Whether his business was doing well, or they were struggling to make ends meet, that was his mantra. 

As we sit around the Thanksgiving table this year, this Zen Mama Wannabe will think of his optimism, of his generous spirit, and remember the words he taught me in hard times and in good:  we are fortunate!

(This blog entry is being entered in the November writing contest sponsored by Michelle at Scribbit, a mother of 4 living in Alaska.  I had the opportunity to hear her speak at the BlogHer08 conference and found the info she shared really helpful.  Her site offers many tips to bloggers -- thank you!!! -- as well as crafts and parenting insights and is definitely one to check out).

Ghosts from the Past

(This blog entry is being entered in the October writing contest sponsored by Michelle at Scribbit, a mother of 4 living in Alaska.  I had the opportunity to hear her speak at the BlogHer08 conference and found the info she shared really helpful.  Her site offers many tips to bloggers -- thank you!!! -- as well as crafts and parenting insights and is definitely one to check out).

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They pop in to haunt me from time to time - never expected, rarely welcome.  Sometimes they stay for only a second or two.  Just enough time to announce their presence, to remind me of their previous existence.  On some occasions they choose to linger, hoping to get enough of my attention to play the “What if” game.  What if I had handled it differently, what if I had said this or not said that?  Yes, what if? 

Dickens writes of Ghosts of Past, Present and Future; in my case it is a multitude of ghosts from the past that haunt me in ways I cannot imagine are healthy.  Am I somehow continuing to invite them back into my life?   How do we gain power over these ethereal creatures and send them away for good?

Are ghosts really just unsettled situations we have in our past?  If there had been closure in the perfect sense of the word, would that be the lock that would keep the door shut?  Instead of trying to barricade the door, perhaps we should greet them warmly, “Oh it’s you! What brings you around today?” They could deliver their message and hurry along, without making us relive the tumultuous feelings that usually get stirred up when they drop in.  Do ghosts ever visit without their baggage?  Or have they learned it is never as effective to show up empty-handed?

In my case, their haunting thoughts are silly ones:  what if I had dated the other guy – you know, the infamous “road not taken?” Would I still have gotten involved with him, Mr. Elusive, and put up with him flitting in and out of my life, leaving turmoil in his wake? If it hasn’t been for Mr. Elusive, would I have rebounded over to Mr. Un-Motivated who although able to commit to the relationship (which was a definite step in the right direction) was not motivated to set and achieve goals toward a real job or career, although he did do well keeping the local bar in business with his patronage.

At times these ghosts from the past creep over into the present.  Occasionally there will be a moment or a nighttime dream where my head is filled with endless questions:  what would it be like if I saw that person today??  What would I say?  How would I act?  It is as if the ghosts desire to tease and challenge me: where is your bravado now??

I share author Iyanla Vanzant’s belief in the fact that all people come into your life for a reason – just not always for the reason you expect.  Sometimes we think, “This is it!  This is the one!” when they are not “the one” at all.  But as it turns out, you needed that experience as a stepping-stone, bringing you that much closer to your goal.  If I was explaining this to my son, I would use the baseball metaphor:  you were playing Double A ball (the Minors) and now you have moved up to Triple A ball.  You are still in the Minors, but now have become one step closer to the Major Leagues.  Maybe that person’s purpose in your life was NOT to be “the one” (or get you to the Majors) but simply to help you grow a bit along the way – preparing you for that which lies ahead!

This works not only when thinking of romantic love, but with friendships too.  There are women I was close to at one point or another that are no longer in my life.  Physical distance is usually the culprit; I have moved around the country, made friends in various places, kept in touch a bit after moving away, but found over time contact has just dribbled off.  Soon we are down to just exchanging Christmas cards; after a few more years that often dies off too.  A few of them I wish I was still friendly with and that they were still an active part of my life.  They were fabulous women and I am disappointed I did not make more an effort to keep things going.  Or maybe I did, and they didn’t – or maybe they did and I didn’t – at this point it is hard to remember.  Others I never think about.  They have gone on with their lives and I with mine and it feels very much as if it all happened the way it was suppose to. 

However, those people are not the ghosts.  Ghosts are the ones that are emotionally charged.  The woman that wronged me and I am still not sure why.  The one so threaten by me that she tried her best to excommunicate me from the group and the saddest part wasn’t her (psycho) behavior, it was the mutual “friends” (I use that term loosely – very loosely) who weren’t able to stand up for what was right.  I tell myself I have moved on, but at times the ghosts pop in; What if I had done this? What if I had said that?  What if instead of feeling disgust, I could have shown more compassion?  Would the outcome still remain the same?

Ghosts bring back situations that happened when I was a working girl.  Could I have made more of my career by making different choices?  What if I had taken that other job instead?  What if I had stayed longer at the next one instead of choosing to leave?  What if I had handled that boss and her power-tripping behavior differently?  Would I still find myself in the same place today?

The power I have against these ghosts (when I use it) is my overwhelming belief that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.  Through a series of events, I met the right guy.  If I hadn’t previously been involved with Mr. Illusive and Mr. Un-Motivated, I might not have appreciated the qualities my husband has (he is, among other things, deeply committed to me, can talk openly about his feelings, always has high-reaching goals and ambitions, and works hard – sometimes too hard – to achieve them).  If I hadn’t experienced those shallow women, I might not appreciate and treasure the virtuous, loyal girlfriends (who enrich my life in so many ways) when they come along.  If I hadn’t had the mixed bag of work experience, I wouldn’t be the person I am today – someone who feels blessed being a stay-at-home mom and not torn by the calling of a certain career. 

My heart knows it is all as it should be.  It is my head that allows these thoughts to enter, occasionally stirring things up.  Will I ever get that door to lock, preventing the ghosts from returning once and for all?  Or do their visits keep me in check, reminding me of how far I have come and how I could perhaps do better the next time around? 

There is one secret this Zen Mama Wannabe has learned over the years: ghosts only haunt us as long as we let them.  Perhaps it is time to ask ourselves when will we be ready to put the ghosts where they belong – in the past – and gently but firmly close the door. 

When Pink Isn't Cool

(This blog entry is being entered in the September writing contest sponsored by Michelle at Scribbit, a mother of 4 living in Alaska.  I had the opportunity to hear her speak at the BlogHer08 conference and found the info she shared really helpful.  Her site offers many tips to bloggers -- thank you!!! -- as well as crafts and parenting insights and is definitely one to check out).

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The picture is still in my mind – my blond-haired son proudly holding his pink balloon at the local county fair.  Of all the bright, vivacious colors in the Balloon Man’s massive bundle, he wanted the pink one.  Because after all, pink was his favorite color.  At the grown-up age of 6, he was neither aware nor concerned of the unspoken 4-word rule all most kids know to follow: pink is for girls. 

It didn’t matter to him that in the kid world, pink basically equaled Princess.  That generally speaking, girls wore pink and boys wore blue.  That his baby sister’s bedroom walls were painted a soft, pale, powder pink while his were a soothing, deeper shade of Costa Rica blue.  Or, that his Kindergarten buddies were choosing green and red and blue as their favorite colors.  My son liked pink. 

When he was in preschool, no one thought anything of it.  Around age 5, my husband began to get a little concerned.  By 6 years old, it made most adults raise their eyebrows in that “Oh REALLY??” sort of way. 

I looked at it differently.  I was secretly proud that he was not succumbing to peer pressure.  He was choosing what he liked just for that reason – because HE liked it.  Shouldn’t your favorite color be your own personal decision?  Oh sure, naturally…as long as you pick the right one.  Was there really a “wrong” color for a child to pick?  Apparently so. 

Interestingly, the other boys in his class were not caught up in the commotion of it all.  On one assignment, his Kindergarten teacher told me, the children had to fill in this graph with their favorite color.  She watched in astonishment as nearly every little boy in his group switched over to pink after my son used it.  Who knew, she joked with me, there was such a love for pink?!

The little girls were a different story. 

I will never forget one night that summer when my kids and I took a trip back east.  As we lay there in bed, suffering from jet lag and trying to fall asleep, he confided in me about something that had happened months before.  Three girls (and as he named them, I could instantly hear their voices, their tone, their wiser-than-their-years mannerisms) making fun of him for liking the color pink.

“Mommy,” he said to me in this solemn little voice, “They were laughing about my favorite color being pink…but it wasn’t a nice laugh – like something is funny – you know??”

Oh yes, how I did know.  Only too well.  Here we go – it was starting already.  I was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see the moisture building in my eyes.  “What did you do?” I gently asked him. 

“I told them – yep, I sure do like pink,” he said rather matter-of-factly. 

“Good.” I told him.  Minutes passed by in silence, each of us no doubt thinking about what he just said and processing it in our own ways.  Finally I spoke out, “Buddy? You know, I am proud of you.” 

I knew that would not be the first time girls would laugh at him.  Or the first time he would make an “un-cool” decision.  But I loved how he stuck to his guns, held strong to his own opinion and wasn’t swayed by these three Disney Channel wannabes. 

He continued to like pink all the way through the middle of 1st grade, when he gradually, but without much ado, switched over to blue.  Dodger blue.  Now it is just my daughter who likes pink, but who will on occasion switch over to purple just because she knows it is my favorite color, or green because one of her best friends likes it.  No! I want to yell – stick with pink (or green, or purple, or whatever) – pick the one YOU like the best! 

It starts so early, doesn’t it?  This pressure of conforming, of having to be like all the rest.  Once it begins, it quickly builds into this growing snowball of conventional wisdom.  Don’t think out of the box, or color outside the lines.  Remember, the sun is yellow, grass is green, sky is blue – stick with the status quo and you’ll be fine (i.e. fit in). I still don’t know who “they” are – but THEY sure do make a lot of rules. 

I say to heck with “them!”  Go ahead, choose pink if you are a boy, or baseball (not softball) if you are a girl!  Isn’t this the message we want to teach our kids?  Mix it up the way YOU want to.  Have orange grass and a purple sun.  Be bold, not boring. 

If you care to join my bandwagon, you know how to spot me:  this Zen Mama Wannabe will be wearing white in October, with a belt that doesn’t match my shoes, waving my pink flag high in the air. 

On second thought, make that a purple flag -- because for me, purple is color I prefer (and it dates all the way back to my *I Love Donny Osmond* days).  Yes, I’m sticking with what I like – no matter what “they” might think or say – just like a former 6 year old I know once did.   After all, I have been shown by example just how cool sticking up for what YOU believe in really is! 

First Kiss

(This blog entry is being entered in a contest sponsored by Michelle at Scribbit, a mother of 4 living in Alaska.  I had the opportunity to hear her speak at the BlogHer08 conference last month and found the info she shared really helpful.  Her site offers many tips to new bloggers -- thank you!!! -- as well as crafts and parenting insights and is definitely one to check out).

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My husband and I will from time to time shake our heads in disbelief and think, “How did we get here?” –  HERE being a house full of noise laughter and chaos kids running around, constantly underfoot.  It goes without saying we feel blessed, but occasionally we can’t help but wonder how two people that you wouldn’t necessarily pair up together crossed paths, with the end result being HERE, now, this noisy, chaotic, wonderful moment in time.

In some ways, it is quite simple how we ended up here together.  It was the kiss.  That first kiss – the one that shook the earth like only a LA trembler could and permanently altered the course our lives were on.

Had that kiss been anything other than magical we would have said good night and gone our separate ways.  Perhaps that is what he was hoping for.  In some ways, it would have been easier.  It could have been easily written off to a moonlit night, some great music and one too many White Russians in that smoky little French café after the concert.  When we ran into each other again, we would just smile and wave hi, talk of the weather and go about our business, our separate business, and that would be that. 

But Fate had other ideas.  Instead that kiss on the front steps, sheltered by a canopy of overgrown fichus and eucalyptus trees, confirmed what had been bubbling at the surface for weeks:  chemistry…magical, intoxicating chemistry.  Bam!  The future was changed forever. Fate wasn’t messing around. 

I was well aware of how special that chemistry was.  It is a rare find actually, and people who tell you differently are either oblivious to it or continually lucky in that department.  I wasn’t one of them.  I had kissed enough toads in my single days to know very few of them turned into a prince.  I too had hopes – hopes that the passion now building inside me wouldn’t be extinguished by an awkward meeting of the lips, hopes that this time would be different than the others, hopes that I still could experience that weak-in-the-knees feeling for someone (and not that my spark had been doused out – permanently!!). 

A long stretch with no chemistry, no magic, will do that to you – make you doubt yourself and any romantic possibilities you may encounter.  Your heart hardens a bit, in self-preservation I think.  It then makes it that much harder to find that connection with someone for now you’ve realized just how extraordinary finding that connection truly is.  And we all know the more desperately you want some thing and try to grab onto it, the more elusive it becomes, slipping away out of your reach. 

Even with all that, I wasn’t nervous as we stood there, slowly moving closer and closer to each other – merely curious.  I was feeling carefree, caught up in the moment of this lazy August night.  At the concert, I had been singing in his ear; he had had his hand on my knee.  Our friends were oblivious to what was happening; I felt the signals we were sending off were louder than the songs we were all listening to.  My skin felt on fire every time he brushed up against it.  I was giddy and drunk – not so much by the drinks (although they helped) but by the music and moonlight and his subtle sweet smell. 

And so then, on those front porch steps, we kissed.  And it was magical, and passionate and promising – it was everything a first kiss should be.  It showed me I was still alive, I still had that spark inside me – it just took a prince (THIS prince) to get it fired up again.  It muddled up everything, changed all our plans, but ultimately left no doubt that Fate was working hard at bringing two people together. 

11 years and two kids later, this Zen Mama Wannabe still feels the magic of that night, of his lips as they moved in to touch mine, and the sparks that flew up and ignited a fire that we were powerless to resist. Ah yes, the magic of a kiss – that first kiss - the one that can, if you’re fortunate enough, forever change your life. 

Post-note:  3 years after that First Kiss, we had this one to seal the deal.