Please come find my blog and me on my site: www.alexandrahopeflood.com
I would love to see you there!!
Love,
Alix
I would love to see you there!!
Love,
Alix
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Sunday, March 4, 2012
The Hope of Social Media
Social media has its detractors, but I, for one, appreciate its power to connect us in a way that the human race has never been connected before.
Without Facebook, there are personal connections that I wouldn't be able to maintain, simply due to my limited time and resources.
With it, for instance, I am able to see pictures of my adorable baby cousins who live all over the country and haven't had a chance to visit yet.
I am also able to reconnect with old friends (and their adorable babies) who I also cherish but rarely get to see in person.
I will always take a virtual connection over no connection at all.
In addition to staying closer to friends and family, Facebook afforded me an opportunity last year to send a long overdue apology.
While in Middle School in Philadelphia, I participated in a spate of bullying that I have been hotly ashamed of ever since. There was a girl in our class who my friends and I taunted until she cried.
We relocated to Rhode Island shortly after my plaid uniform-skirted reign of terror and the opportunity to make amends with said girl never presented itself.
I have felt deep remorse ever since.
Then, last year, I saw our victim's name on Facebook through mutual friends.
I screwed up my courage and wrote to her telling her how terrible I had always felt about how we had treated her and that I wanted to whole-heartedly apologize for our actions.
I was not invested in what her response would be when I wrote. If I had been, I probably would have lost my nerve. I just knew that I needed to apologize.
Sometimes things just need to be said. How they are received is secondary.
I felt it was imperative for me to go on record and take responsibility for being a bodacious "mean girl" in 1980.
So I was prepared not to hear back -- fully understanding if she would want nothing to do with me.
In less than a day, I got a response... a lovely and graceful response telling me that she accepted my apology. This completely humbled me.
She also let me know that her experience at our old school was not a positive one, but that hearing from me could go toward healing this part of her past.
This humbled me even more.
Honestly, I still have not absolved myself for my aberrant episode of cruelty in my youth, but I was honored that this lovely woman and I connected in such a meaningful way.
We shared something I did not expect: a sacred exchange.
Because the act of forgiveness is always sacred.
Even if it's on Facebook.
Without Facebook, there are personal connections that I wouldn't be able to maintain, simply due to my limited time and resources.
With it, for instance, I am able to see pictures of my adorable baby cousins who live all over the country and haven't had a chance to visit yet.
I am also able to reconnect with old friends (and their adorable babies) who I also cherish but rarely get to see in person.
I will always take a virtual connection over no connection at all.
In addition to staying closer to friends and family, Facebook afforded me an opportunity last year to send a long overdue apology.
While in Middle School in Philadelphia, I participated in a spate of bullying that I have been hotly ashamed of ever since. There was a girl in our class who my friends and I taunted until she cried.
We relocated to Rhode Island shortly after my plaid uniform-skirted reign of terror and the opportunity to make amends with said girl never presented itself.
I have felt deep remorse ever since.
Then, last year, I saw our victim's name on Facebook through mutual friends.
I screwed up my courage and wrote to her telling her how terrible I had always felt about how we had treated her and that I wanted to whole-heartedly apologize for our actions.
I was not invested in what her response would be when I wrote. If I had been, I probably would have lost my nerve. I just knew that I needed to apologize.
Sometimes things just need to be said. How they are received is secondary.
I felt it was imperative for me to go on record and take responsibility for being a bodacious "mean girl" in 1980.
So I was prepared not to hear back -- fully understanding if she would want nothing to do with me.
In less than a day, I got a response... a lovely and graceful response telling me that she accepted my apology. This completely humbled me.
She also let me know that her experience at our old school was not a positive one, but that hearing from me could go toward healing this part of her past.
This humbled me even more.
Honestly, I still have not absolved myself for my aberrant episode of cruelty in my youth, but I was honored that this lovely woman and I connected in such a meaningful way.
We shared something I did not expect: a sacred exchange.
Because the act of forgiveness is always sacred.
Even if it's on Facebook.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The Ghost of Christmas Spirit Lost & Found
Our son Henry is a joyful boy. He's been known to sail through the house saying, "I'm expressing my joy!"
Like all kids, he has been excited for Christmas weeks. His joy factor is even more elevated.
He's turning ten years-old on January 6th.
He is on the delicate cusp of leaving the tender parts of childhood permanently behind in the coming years.
He hasn't asked me if Santa is real or not, though I have suspected he might have some suspicions, considering he's a 4th grader now.
However, if he does, he hasn't let on to any of us.
The other night at the dinner table, I asked him, as I have successfully several times already this season, a casual question about a item on his Christmas list.
"Really Mom?" he grinned winkingly. "Why do want to know? Mmmm? Doesn't Santa know?"
I was being busted.
I felt my heart sink. "It's over," I thought. "My youngest child officially knows." Sigh...
The door to this childhood chapter is about to slam shut like a door in the opening credits of Get Smart.
"Don't crack, Alix! Poker face! Poker face!" went my mental mild panic.
He was waiting for an answer, so I nonchalantly offered, "Yes... of course Santa knows, I was just curious."
Not my best work.
A moment later, Henry's eyes were downcast. His head in his hands. He'd ceased eating.
When I asked him what was wrong, he quietly said, "Nothing."
His big grin be done gone.
"Something must be wrong, please tell me."
He wouldn't. We go around like this a few more times.
Then, no longer able to fight it, he started to cry.
Henry doesn't cry often so when he does, it's a meaningful act. I pay extra attention.
Plus, I want our son to know that he's safe to express and articulate his feelings.
I went to him and he wrapped his strong, but still little kid arms tightly around my neck.
Turns out he'd asked his twelve year-old sister and she let it slip. I wasn't upset with her. This is how the Christmas cookie often crumbles.
Besides, she didn't want to lie to him.
"I wish I didn't know," he said, sounding heartbroken.
He didn't mention presents or how this new intel will impact his gift-getting logistics from now on if Santa is out of the picture.
His tears were grief tears. He was mourning the death of Christmas magic.
I knew immediately I had to find a way to recover this situation for him -- and fast. But how? I had nothing. I took a deep breath and hoped that if I started talking, something would come.
"Henry," I began, "Santa Claus as you understand him may not be real, but the spirit of Christmas is very real."
He released his arms from my neck and sat back to listen.
"Santa Claus is another name for St. Nicholas. He was a real person who lived over fifteen-hundred years ago and when he died, he became the patron saint of giving and generosity."
"It is his spirit that inspires millions of people to give to each other on Christmas in honor of the birth of baby Jesus."
As I spoke to Henry, I suddenly felt the Christmas spirit ignite within more than had in a long time. Years, in fact.
I had never spent a lot of considering St. Nicholas before that moment. Scholar of Saints I am not, but this felt like the right answer for our family.
Relief washed over Henry's face. He embraced me again, joyfully this time.
"Thank you for restoring my Christmas spirit, Mommy! I feel so much better now."
Like that, our magic was back.
And all was well once again...
In a new, very merry, Christmas paradigm.
*This was story published with Henry's permission.
Like all kids, he has been excited for Christmas weeks. His joy factor is even more elevated.
He's turning ten years-old on January 6th.
He is on the delicate cusp of leaving the tender parts of childhood permanently behind in the coming years.
He hasn't asked me if Santa is real or not, though I have suspected he might have some suspicions, considering he's a 4th grader now.
However, if he does, he hasn't let on to any of us.
The other night at the dinner table, I asked him, as I have successfully several times already this season, a casual question about a item on his Christmas list.
"Really Mom?" he grinned winkingly. "Why do want to know? Mmmm? Doesn't Santa know?"
I was being busted.
I felt my heart sink. "It's over," I thought. "My youngest child officially knows." Sigh...
The door to this childhood chapter is about to slam shut like a door in the opening credits of Get Smart.
"Don't crack, Alix! Poker face! Poker face!" went my mental mild panic.
He was waiting for an answer, so I nonchalantly offered, "Yes... of course Santa knows, I was just curious."
Not my best work.
A moment later, Henry's eyes were downcast. His head in his hands. He'd ceased eating.
When I asked him what was wrong, he quietly said, "Nothing."
His big grin be done gone.
"Something must be wrong, please tell me."
He wouldn't. We go around like this a few more times.
Then, no longer able to fight it, he started to cry.
Henry doesn't cry often so when he does, it's a meaningful act. I pay extra attention.
Plus, I want our son to know that he's safe to express and articulate his feelings.
I went to him and he wrapped his strong, but still little kid arms tightly around my neck.
Turns out he'd asked his twelve year-old sister and she let it slip. I wasn't upset with her. This is how the Christmas cookie often crumbles.
Besides, she didn't want to lie to him.
"I wish I didn't know," he said, sounding heartbroken.
He didn't mention presents or how this new intel will impact his gift-getting logistics from now on if Santa is out of the picture.
His tears were grief tears. He was mourning the death of Christmas magic.
I knew immediately I had to find a way to recover this situation for him -- and fast. But how? I had nothing. I took a deep breath and hoped that if I started talking, something would come.
"Henry," I began, "Santa Claus as you understand him may not be real, but the spirit of Christmas is very real."
He released his arms from my neck and sat back to listen.
"Santa Claus is another name for St. Nicholas. He was a real person who lived over fifteen-hundred years ago and when he died, he became the patron saint of giving and generosity."
"It is his spirit that inspires millions of people to give to each other on Christmas in honor of the birth of baby Jesus."
As I spoke to Henry, I suddenly felt the Christmas spirit ignite within more than had in a long time. Years, in fact.
I had never spent a lot of considering St. Nicholas before that moment. Scholar of Saints I am not, but this felt like the right answer for our family.
Relief washed over Henry's face. He embraced me again, joyfully this time.
"Thank you for restoring my Christmas spirit, Mommy! I feel so much better now."
Like that, our magic was back.
And all was well once again...
In a new, very merry, Christmas paradigm.
*This was story published with Henry's permission.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
"What All Children Know"
I
am working to organize my new office on our recently renovated third
floor. It's been slow going. In fact, it looks like a small U-Haul storage facility
threw up in here.
I
just found a black moleskin notebook in a box from our old house which a few years ago, I
used to carry with me everywhere.
Not only and I'm an innate archivist, I am a Junior Varsity record keeper. I
think this is an off-shoot of being a writer.
What's in this notebook?
Well,
notes; everything from daily "to dos"like "pick up dog pills" to a
five-year plan I wrote in 2007 that I still have one year to complete.
Turns out it was a pretty ambitious plan. I better get cracking.
I also found a list I dashed off on the morning of January 24, 2008.
This date isn't significant, but I'm glad I date everything since 2011
has been feeling like 2008 for months now. In fact, the last decade is a bit of a
blur.
I had forgotten about this list until I rediscovered it in my old notebook.
It goes...
What All Children Know:
That they are color blind
That war is wrong
That magic is real
That smoking is bad for you
That you must always wear a helmet on a bike
And a seat belt in the car
That we should all be friends
That playing is natural
That love is all there is
That God is everywhere
That we are all One
That every child deserves safety, love, and nourishment
That it is a good idea to go to bed when you are sleepy
That the only time is "now"
I don't recall what originally prompted me to write it, which I'm sure is due to the aforementioned blur.
I
suspect that I wanted to capture the essence of who I believe we are when we first enter the world...
And the innate wisdom we possess.
When my daughter Hope was fourteen-months old, I took her to New York City for a week-long visit to see friends.
We
were on the subway one afternoon. Everyone in the car, myself
included, had their eyes cast to the floor or the ceiling, afraid to
make eye contact with each other.
This is Subway Riding 101.
Then there is little Hope in her jogging stroller, looking around at her fellow riders.
She
starts waving and saying "hi" with her tiny hands to giant men who one
might not want to encounter in a brightly lit alley.
She was persistent. If they didn't acknowledge her, she would wave again and say "hi" a little louder until they noticed her.
Hope wasn't afraid to look them in the eye, because she didn't know she was supposed to be afraid.
She didn't see any separation between herself and the strangers on the train.
This was poignant, because I knew I would soon teach her about "stranger danger" and the ins and outs of personal safety.
The state of the world dictates that we must teach our children to protect themselves from our current roster of villains:
Pedophiles,
serial killers, regular killers, drug dealers, drunk drivers,
terrorists, rapists, thieves, abusers, stalkers, bullies, and
sociopaths.
This may be our current normal, but it's not natural.
What
is natural is when children needed to be taught to avoid the perils of
nature: deadly berries, precipices, and where the mountain lions hang
out.
Now
kids must learn to protect themselves from other people, which is what villains are -- mere people with a warped sense of right and wrong who
could shatter our worlds in an instant.
This is a modern necessity thanks to the few misguided apples that might threaten to blow up our whole barrel.
However...
I
believe my baby daughter greeting fellow passengers on the F Train is
symbolic of who we actually are, which is loving,
open, accepting, and non-judgmental.
Some might define this as "innocent" -- a child not knowing any better.
But what if it's the little kids who know best and it's us who've forgotten how things are supposed to be?
This is what I believe. Why? Because I clearly recall being little and embodying the qualities of the list. As an adult, I aim to remember this is who I was. It's who I am.
My goal is to thoroughly prepare my children for life in the world, but my approach strives to balance the duality of "don't talk to strangers"
but don't "judge the strangers" either.
So that none of us forget who we are...
Therefore, we don't say "I hate..." or "They're weird..." or "She's stupid" or "You're annoying."
When
personalities clash, we work to find the good in people, the bright
side, and seek a deeper understanding of underlying motivations so that
we can be as compassionate as possible.
This can be challenging, not only when I drive, but especially now as my kids' teenage years approach, but I am steadfast.
Children
are born with a light in their eyes. A light that belies their inner
wisdom, their spirits, their open hearts, their fundamental capacity for
non-judgment.
I feel it is part of my job as a parent to ensure that that light doesn't go out.
In them.
Or me.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
The Scariest Blog I Have Ever Written. Seriously!
Why scary?
Hint: It has nothing to do with Halloween.
I have been standing on the edge of a dizzyingly-high metaphorical diving board for about twenty-five years now.
Not only have I not had the courage to leap off, I haven't even had the guts to let most of you know I'm even on it.
So here I am, on the edge of this imaginary high dive... hiding in an allegorical closet.
I realize this is kind of ridiculous, but my fear of rejection, reproach, and recrimination is quite real. It’s dominated me for decades.
This is because I’ve lived an approval-seeking lifetime of pleasant neutrality, but I’ve been paying a price for my non-pot-stirring ways.
I recently came to the realization that I must jump off this board I’ve been perched on since I was a teenager -- and to heck with the consequences.
Besides, there is the distinct possibility that I may have just built this fear up in my mind over nothing.
First, The Back Story: For the last year or so, I have been dealing with a series of seemingly unrelated physical maladies.
Thankfully, none of them have been serious, but they have prevented me from living my life optimally. From an excruciating frozen shoulder to an infected molar (breaking my streak of pristine dental health), to laryngitis, the flu, a stomach bug, debilitating fatigue, and slews of little sore throats.
This didn’t made sense. I am very health conscious.
I am the pretty much the jpeg for clean living.
My doctor, who I’ve visited several times over the last year, ran a passel of tests, confirming that I am indeed exceptionally healthy.
Then I asked myself what I always do when I’m faced with a challenge: "Why is this happening? What do I need to learn?" and the oldie but goodie, "What is it that I'm not seeing here?"
The answer -- which deep down I've known all along -- appeared instantly.
"Time to leap off the diving board. Out with it already! Blog it, dude." I’d like to think that the wisest part of myself uses the “dude” quite liberally, connoting a casual confidence.
The moment -- and I literally mean the moment -- I decided to jump off my invisible high dive a.k.a. write this post, I instantaneously started to feel better. Just like that.
I've felt great ever since! My health has shifted back into balance.
What does the scary high dive stashed in a silly closet represent?
I’ll break it down like this.
We are all here to live authentic lives. This means different things to different people. For me, it means that I need to live as highest expression of myself, which is...
Not just someone who is innately optimistic and perennially hopeful, though I am these things, but...
What it REALLY means is that I am a typical modern woman living in the regular world of weekly laundry, varsity mothering, intermittent online shopping and gooey bites of vapid entertainment...
Who also happens to have a profound, completely nonsecular, spiritual calling which does not fit into any preexisting religious or spiritual mold.
That’s it. I said it. Finally!
In the past, when asked, I’ve always meekly admitted that I’m “spiritual.”
These days, "spiritual" to many means, "I believe in a higher power than myself, but I'm not religious."
This is a perfectly fine definition, but for my purposes here, it’s insufficient.
What "spiritual" means to me is that I look at all of life through a Universal/God-consciousness lens at all times. In every situation, at every moment, no matter how monumental or mundane.
It’s a “calling” because this path is my true life’s purpose. It’s something I MUST pursue.
Fortunately, the way for me to fulfill it for now is to just keep doing what I’ve been doing for the last two and half years, writing my books and blog, but with this as my focus.
Everything I’ve done previously has laid the perfect groundwork for this path. This includes modeling, MTV, and movie making.
I am very grateful to have a small coterie of people who already accept me in this regard, which includes my wonderful family. Believe me, I know how blessed I am to have their support.
However, it’s not enough anymore.
Why?
In order for me to live as the highest expression of myself, I need to be 100% myself, 100% of the time, which means being completely honest about who I am with everyone.
Just the notion of admitting this truth has scared me for ages, but merely saying it is a powerful step for my personal self-expression.
Lady Gaga expresses herself with her crazy meat dress. Telling you this is my version of a crazy meat dress.
The sheer act of spilling the beans is going to free me in a way that has been long overdue, so long in fact, it was taking a toll on my health.
This revelation isn’t going to change anything between us.
I really do love my neighbor as myself, whether they agree with me or not.
I'm not at all interested in convincing anyone to share my views. I'm too polite for that.
If you want to reach out to me and want to discuss the magical workings of the universe, of course, I will welcome it.
However, I will not to argue. There is too much negativity out there to create it right here, so if you want a debate, I'm not your gal.
Now, perhaps you are surprised by my board-leaping, spiritual closet-exiting, Universal consciousness-living/writing announcement.
Or perhaps you're not.
You may be intrigued.
Or totally indifferent.
You may judge. Or scoff. Or not.
You may receive it in any number of ways. I can't control this.
The important thing is that I’ve finally jumped into my whole truth.
And you know what? I am already starting to feel pretty free.
Dude!
Hint: It has nothing to do with Halloween.
I have been standing on the edge of a dizzyingly-high metaphorical diving board for about twenty-five years now.
Not only have I not had the courage to leap off, I haven't even had the guts to let most of you know I'm even on it.
So here I am, on the edge of this imaginary high dive... hiding in an allegorical closet.
I realize this is kind of ridiculous, but my fear of rejection, reproach, and recrimination is quite real. It’s dominated me for decades.
This is because I’ve lived an approval-seeking lifetime of pleasant neutrality, but I’ve been paying a price for my non-pot-stirring ways.
I recently came to the realization that I must jump off this board I’ve been perched on since I was a teenager -- and to heck with the consequences.
Besides, there is the distinct possibility that I may have just built this fear up in my mind over nothing.
First, The Back Story: For the last year or so, I have been dealing with a series of seemingly unrelated physical maladies.
Thankfully, none of them have been serious, but they have prevented me from living my life optimally. From an excruciating frozen shoulder to an infected molar (breaking my streak of pristine dental health), to laryngitis, the flu, a stomach bug, debilitating fatigue, and slews of little sore throats.
This didn’t made sense. I am very health conscious.
I am the pretty much the jpeg for clean living.
My doctor, who I’ve visited several times over the last year, ran a passel of tests, confirming that I am indeed exceptionally healthy.
Then I asked myself what I always do when I’m faced with a challenge: "Why is this happening? What do I need to learn?" and the oldie but goodie, "What is it that I'm not seeing here?"
The answer -- which deep down I've known all along -- appeared instantly.
"Time to leap off the diving board. Out with it already! Blog it, dude." I’d like to think that the wisest part of myself uses the “dude” quite liberally, connoting a casual confidence.
The moment -- and I literally mean the moment -- I decided to jump off my invisible high dive a.k.a. write this post, I instantaneously started to feel better. Just like that.
I've felt great ever since! My health has shifted back into balance.
What does the scary high dive stashed in a silly closet represent?
I’ll break it down like this.
We are all here to live authentic lives. This means different things to different people. For me, it means that I need to live as highest expression of myself, which is...
Not just someone who is innately optimistic and perennially hopeful, though I am these things, but...
What it REALLY means is that I am a typical modern woman living in the regular world of weekly laundry, varsity mothering, intermittent online shopping and gooey bites of vapid entertainment...
Who also happens to have a profound, completely nonsecular, spiritual calling which does not fit into any preexisting religious or spiritual mold.
That’s it. I said it. Finally!
In the past, when asked, I’ve always meekly admitted that I’m “spiritual.”
These days, "spiritual" to many means, "I believe in a higher power than myself, but I'm not religious."
This is a perfectly fine definition, but for my purposes here, it’s insufficient.
What "spiritual" means to me is that I look at all of life through a Universal/God-consciousness lens at all times. In every situation, at every moment, no matter how monumental or mundane.
It’s a “calling” because this path is my true life’s purpose. It’s something I MUST pursue.
Fortunately, the way for me to fulfill it for now is to just keep doing what I’ve been doing for the last two and half years, writing my books and blog, but with this as my focus.
Everything I’ve done previously has laid the perfect groundwork for this path. This includes modeling, MTV, and movie making.
I am very grateful to have a small coterie of people who already accept me in this regard, which includes my wonderful family. Believe me, I know how blessed I am to have their support.
However, it’s not enough anymore.
Why?
In order for me to live as the highest expression of myself, I need to be 100% myself, 100% of the time, which means being completely honest about who I am with everyone.
Just the notion of admitting this truth has scared me for ages, but merely saying it is a powerful step for my personal self-expression.
Lady Gaga expresses herself with her crazy meat dress. Telling you this is my version of a crazy meat dress.
The sheer act of spilling the beans is going to free me in a way that has been long overdue, so long in fact, it was taking a toll on my health.
This revelation isn’t going to change anything between us.
I really do love my neighbor as myself, whether they agree with me or not.
I'm not at all interested in convincing anyone to share my views. I'm too polite for that.
If you want to reach out to me and want to discuss the magical workings of the universe, of course, I will welcome it.
However, I will not to argue. There is too much negativity out there to create it right here, so if you want a debate, I'm not your gal.
Now, perhaps you are surprised by my board-leaping, spiritual closet-exiting, Universal consciousness-living/writing announcement.
Or perhaps you're not.
You may be intrigued.
Or totally indifferent.
You may judge. Or scoff. Or not.
You may receive it in any number of ways. I can't control this.
The important thing is that I’ve finally jumped into my whole truth.
And you know what? I am already starting to feel pretty free.
Dude!
Friday, September 2, 2011
Summer Lovin'... Had Me a Blast? Happened Too Fast?
The older I get... the more pressure I seem to place on summer. I've attempted to examine this dynamic but I've only managed to cobble together a few pale theories.
Is this because______?
A). I live in New England. Our winters and springs are long and cold. It seems to take summer forever to arrive. When it does it's time to get cracking on boating, beach-going, lobster rolls, and all manners of summer fun?
B.) Time feels like it's passing faster than ever, therefore I need to really make summer "count" because "it'll be over before we know it"?
C.) I want to futilely recapture some summer romance of days long gone by, while being in complete denial that this is no longer truly possible because I am a full-fledged grown-up?
D.) Unlike any of the other seasons that come and go with a slow fade, summer crashes closed?
I suspect the answer is a synthesis of all of the above.
Pathetic as it sounds, and I am not proud to admit this, I started to feel slightly melancholic on August 1st.
I know this is not the optimum way to be, since I strive to practice living in the moment -- every moment.
Most of the summer, I felt myself failing to practice this... practice.
Then I reminded myself that there is still time to pack it all in. The friends we want to see! The places we want to visit! The cool green salty water we want to plunge in! Go! Go! Go!
But that's pressure, see? Maybe for adults, there are no lazy, hazy dayz anymore.
As children, summer offers a promise of a certain ineffable magic that is hard to shake (catching fireflies at twilight anyone?)
I don't place intense expectations on the other seasons. I appreciate their special qualities: apple cider and hayrides, snowfall and reading by the fire, fresh green leaves and robins paratrooping into the yard.
I love all of it... but maybe not as much as I love rapid-fire summer.
Why isn't summer slow anymore? Summer lasted eons when I was a kid.
Now, it whooshes by like a firework making its ascent.
Believe me, I am not looking for sympathy here. Nor am I trying to whine. I really am just trying to understand my experience.
Writing enables me to get clear on subjects in a way that mulling them over in my mind does not.
This small act of articulating these thoughts here enables me to find peace that summer 2011 is screeching to a halt even as I write.
Ironically, writing about summer's all too immediate ending has brought me a sense of unexpected relief. It's like a turquoise liquid dip on a blistering day in July for my psyche.
Ahhh...
Now, I feel ready to embrace autumn and the crunchy leaf wonders it beholds.
* How did summer 2011 feel to you? I hope it was spectacular! Please share.
Is this because______?
A). I live in New England. Our winters and springs are long and cold. It seems to take summer forever to arrive. When it does it's time to get cracking on boating, beach-going, lobster rolls, and all manners of summer fun?
B.) Time feels like it's passing faster than ever, therefore I need to really make summer "count" because "it'll be over before we know it"?
C.) I want to futilely recapture some summer romance of days long gone by, while being in complete denial that this is no longer truly possible because I am a full-fledged grown-up?
D.) Unlike any of the other seasons that come and go with a slow fade, summer crashes closed?
I suspect the answer is a synthesis of all of the above.
Pathetic as it sounds, and I am not proud to admit this, I started to feel slightly melancholic on August 1st.
I know this is not the optimum way to be, since I strive to practice living in the moment -- every moment.
Most of the summer, I felt myself failing to practice this... practice.
Then I reminded myself that there is still time to pack it all in. The friends we want to see! The places we want to visit! The cool green salty water we want to plunge in! Go! Go! Go!
But that's pressure, see? Maybe for adults, there are no lazy, hazy dayz anymore.
As children, summer offers a promise of a certain ineffable magic that is hard to shake (catching fireflies at twilight anyone?)
I don't place intense expectations on the other seasons. I appreciate their special qualities: apple cider and hayrides, snowfall and reading by the fire, fresh green leaves and robins paratrooping into the yard.
I love all of it... but maybe not as much as I love rapid-fire summer.
Why isn't summer slow anymore? Summer lasted eons when I was a kid.
Now, it whooshes by like a firework making its ascent.
Believe me, I am not looking for sympathy here. Nor am I trying to whine. I really am just trying to understand my experience.
Writing enables me to get clear on subjects in a way that mulling them over in my mind does not.
This small act of articulating these thoughts here enables me to find peace that summer 2011 is screeching to a halt even as I write.
Ironically, writing about summer's all too immediate ending has brought me a sense of unexpected relief. It's like a turquoise liquid dip on a blistering day in July for my psyche.
Ahhh...
Now, I feel ready to embrace autumn and the crunchy leaf wonders it beholds.
* How did summer 2011 feel to you? I hope it was spectacular! Please share.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
The Death of (Most) Problems
I'm trying to get my kids out the door to get to camp on time. We're running behind.
I look at the clock. Rats! There is no avoiding that they're going to be at least ten minutes late.
"Oh the horror!" I mean, who cares? It's ridiculous, right?
Yet I do care to a certain extent, because I like to be organized and on the ball and all that.
Being late feels sloppy to me and I don't like sloppy.
Plus, I feel it's disrespectful to keep people waiting.
Clearly, I bring a lot of baggage to being late.
So we're dashing to camp (though not breaking any laws) and I'm chronically apologizing to the kids about their impending tardiness.
Meanwhile, they don't mind. It's camp after all, not school. Heck, they're just psyched it's summer.
"It's okay, Mom," they reassure me.
As I find myself getting wrapped up into what really amounts to a minuscule issue, I remind myself to apply a simple criteria I devised to quickly prioritize and often resolve problems (no matter how big or small they may be).
I ask myself two questions (they may sound dramatic, but they snap me out of my agita every time).
1.) "Am I going to be thinking about this situation on my death bed?"
2.) "Is this potentially life-threatening?"
Basically, I jump ahead to death and work backward.
Then the answers are invariably and mercifully an emphatic "no" to #1 and, thankfully, most of the time, it's "no" to #2 too (though tragically, not always).
It's easy for me to answer "no" to #1, because what really matters in life are the people we love, not the problems and challenges we face each day.
It's not going to be one of my big life regrets that my kids were late for camp in the summer of 2011.
When we're on our death beds (metaphorical or otherwise), we are only going to be thinking about the profound love we have shared with one another... not the fight over whose turn it was to gas up the car.
We are also not going to be wasting our last breaths on the laundry we resented folding, the traffic we were forced to sit in, that jerk who just cut us off, or the bills we had to pay ("f*** ing taxes!").
We're not even going to dwell on the bigger stuff: when we were unfairly fired, betrayed by someone we thought to be a close friend or partner, or the acts of a cruel and unconscious parent.
What we are going to be focusing on is the love we created.
That's all.
None of the other stuff will be relevant when we get to the end.
Only love will be present.
This love will transcend all fear, regret, and anger.
It is the true substance of our souls.
The rest? Just details.
I look at the clock. Rats! There is no avoiding that they're going to be at least ten minutes late.
"Oh the horror!" I mean, who cares? It's ridiculous, right?
Yet I do care to a certain extent, because I like to be organized and on the ball and all that.
Being late feels sloppy to me and I don't like sloppy.
Plus, I feel it's disrespectful to keep people waiting.
Clearly, I bring a lot of baggage to being late.
So we're dashing to camp (though not breaking any laws) and I'm chronically apologizing to the kids about their impending tardiness.
Meanwhile, they don't mind. It's camp after all, not school. Heck, they're just psyched it's summer.
"It's okay, Mom," they reassure me.
As I find myself getting wrapped up into what really amounts to a minuscule issue, I remind myself to apply a simple criteria I devised to quickly prioritize and often resolve problems (no matter how big or small they may be).
I ask myself two questions (they may sound dramatic, but they snap me out of my agita every time).
1.) "Am I going to be thinking about this situation on my death bed?"
2.) "Is this potentially life-threatening?"
Basically, I jump ahead to death and work backward.
Then the answers are invariably and mercifully an emphatic "no" to #1 and, thankfully, most of the time, it's "no" to #2 too (though tragically, not always).
It's easy for me to answer "no" to #1, because what really matters in life are the people we love, not the problems and challenges we face each day.
It's not going to be one of my big life regrets that my kids were late for camp in the summer of 2011.
When we're on our death beds (metaphorical or otherwise), we are only going to be thinking about the profound love we have shared with one another... not the fight over whose turn it was to gas up the car.
We are also not going to be wasting our last breaths on the laundry we resented folding, the traffic we were forced to sit in, that jerk who just cut us off, or the bills we had to pay ("f*** ing taxes!").
We're not even going to dwell on the bigger stuff: when we were unfairly fired, betrayed by someone we thought to be a close friend or partner, or the acts of a cruel and unconscious parent.
What we are going to be focusing on is the love we created.
That's all.
None of the other stuff will be relevant when we get to the end.
Only love will be present.
This love will transcend all fear, regret, and anger.
It is the true substance of our souls.
The rest? Just details.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Tao of Poop
Last winter, right before Christmas, I was trying to soothe my frozen shoulder (another story) with an Epsom salt bath. When the tub drained in our second floor bathroom, the tub in the first floor bathroom filled with water.
"Must be the salts," I thought.
We called the plumber who performed a thorough diagnostic. He had "bad news."
Water was backing up into the house from our sewer line connecting us to the street -- meaning our sewer line is collapsed. The water has no where to go, so it backs up into the lowest point in the house.
As far as I was concerned, the fact that it was only water backing up into the tub -- and not sewage -- was really pretty awesome.
Yes, we had a problem. Yes, it was going to be expensive to fix, but I was very grateful for what wasn't happening ... a veritable indoor shit storm at Christmas.
Fast forward to two weeks ago. It’s after dinner and I’ve just sat down to relax after a busy day.
My neighbor knocks on my back door.
"There is sewage coming out of your valve in front of your house and going into the street," she says.
CUE: Alix's eyes popping out of her head -- cartoon-style!!
I thank my neighbor profusely as we dash into my front yard to investigate. I apprise her of the fact that our sewer line in brand spanking new and supposed to last for decades.
How can this possibly be happening???
We peer over the fence.
Damn! There IS sewage coming out of the newly installed valve and plopping onto the sidewalk and running into the gutter. Fortunately, it’s not gushing... just oozing.
Yuckity-Yuck-Yuck-Yuck!
It is embarrassing, disgusting, confounding and infuriating all at once.
What to do?
Step One: An emergency call to the drain company who did our pricey pipe replacement.
“Can someone please come right away?”
“Yes, but we'll have to charge you,” says the person who answers the phone.
“What? For clearing the brand new pipe? Uh, no. Please call your boss and work it out with him. This shouldn’t be happening.”
[Later, when the pipe is cleared of whatever is causing it to back up, the drain boss will say it was “most likely a fluke and probably won't happen again.” Hmmmmm... this is not completely reassuring, but so far it hasn’t.]
Step Two: Call the police and alert them that there is raw sewage on the sidewalk and in the gutter. I don't want anyone unwittingly riding their bike through it.
“Can they please bring some orange cones?”
“Yes, and we’re going to call the sewer department to make sure it's not the public line creating the problem.” Good thinking (it won’t be).
Step Three: Clean... Uh-Oh. One of the grossest natural materials known to man -- forget that it is produced by man -- is on my sidewalk.
Crap!
Literally.
I gird myself and grab my rubber boots, my hose, my environmentally safe cleanser, trash bags, my garbage can, a bucket and my nerves as I get to work doing perhaps one of the dirtiest job ever.
As I start to clean up, I put my emotions aside in order to deal. It helps. A lot. Is this what "manning up" feels like?
It takes multiple steps to complete this nasty task over a period of at least forty-five minutes. After I've bagged and tossed all the, achem, refuse, I begin to fill the three gallon bucket with soapy water. I lug it out to the sidewalk, making a note that we need a much longer hose. I then carefully pour the suds over the sidewalk (we don't want any back splashing!!).
As I do this, I am intensely present. My methodology being that the more concerned I am about germs and toxins, the more focused I become. For instance, pumping gas practically turns me into a zen master.
In a moment, I notice a cluster of suds that is shaped like a heart gently floating down the walk. It’s pretty.
Then, I look up and notice the lovely pink evening sky. It’s gorgeous out here.
Then I look down the road and see the harbor. More beauty I am drinking in with my eyes, even as I am avoiding breathing through my nose.
I am intensely grateful to live here. What a blessing to be able to see boats peppering the bay now. Summer really has arrived.
I look back to the sidewalk. In the next swath of suds, I see a second bubbles heart cascading down the asphalt walk.
Then, as I’m hauling my sloshy bucket for like the fourteenth time, I spy a small heart-shaped rock lying in the grass. I smile. I pick it up and put it in my pocket.
I then find myself feeling surprisingly invigorated, if not downright alive.
Heck, I am just about joyous.
I then realize that I may be doing an unexpected and highly disgusting chore, but I am still doing it in concert with the universe. The universe, which often communicates in symbols, has reminded me that there is a subtle sacredness in all things, including when the fit is hitting the shan... or the sidewalk.
Friday, May 20, 2011
The Power of "No."
Some dear friends were recently complimenting me on my ability to say "no."
I was surprised yet pleased, because saying "no" doesn't come naturally to me. I've had to work at it like I've had to work on my posture or my penmanship, since saying "yes" is my reflex.
My sister and I have long shared a joke about the a nodding "yes" that almost indiscernibly segues into the gentle "no" -- complete with the casual shaking of the head. When we observed people doing the "yyyeahhhhhhhnnnnnoooooo," it cracked us up because it was so relatable. Neither of us really knew how to say "no."
For years, I would automatically answer "yes" to invitations -- Yo Alix, do you want to go ice fishing at 4 a.m.? (beat) Um, yeah -- because I didn't have the skills or confidence to kindly decline. God forbid I should offend someone. I mean, what if they don't like me? Everyone has to like me, right? Right?
I would accept jobs, social obligations, or projects that I really wasn't feeling for one reason or another but felt powerless to refuse. I really love people. I don't want to let them down. It seemed much easier to let me down than let others down.
A few years ago I realized that I had to make a change. I have focuses (foci?) in my life -- my family, my work, my writing -- and I owed it to them and me to say "no" to things that don't serve those purposes (purposi?). It already takes me too long to accomplish the few goals I have. Piling on more "to-dos" takes me further from my finish line.
Those first few "no's" were verbose and rawly awkward. I'm sorry, I would really, really love to -- it sounds amazing -- I'm sooooooo flattered that you asked me -- but, I don't think I can right now, though I wish I could, but um.... thanks. Sorry!!!!!!!!! (beat) Oh crap... now they hate me.
I also used to think that I had to have a concrete calender reason in order to say "no": the dentist, a drunk uncle, dropsy. Now I know I don't need anything other than what I'm saying "no" to isn't in alignment either with who I am or what I am doing with my life in that particular moment. I still remind myself it's okay to put myself first where appropriate. The world does not fall apart without me on its committee.
The beautiful aspect about this whole process is that people are exceedingly gracious when receiving a gracious "no." When grace meets grace everything is in its proper place.
I was surprised yet pleased, because saying "no" doesn't come naturally to me. I've had to work at it like I've had to work on my posture or my penmanship, since saying "yes" is my reflex.
My sister and I have long shared a joke about the a nodding "yes" that almost indiscernibly segues into the gentle "no" -- complete with the casual shaking of the head. When we observed people doing the "yyyeahhhhhhhnnnnnoooooo," it cracked us up because it was so relatable. Neither of us really knew how to say "no."
For years, I would automatically answer "yes" to invitations -- Yo Alix, do you want to go ice fishing at 4 a.m.? (beat) Um, yeah -- because I didn't have the skills or confidence to kindly decline. God forbid I should offend someone. I mean, what if they don't like me? Everyone has to like me, right? Right?
I would accept jobs, social obligations, or projects that I really wasn't feeling for one reason or another but felt powerless to refuse. I really love people. I don't want to let them down. It seemed much easier to let me down than let others down.
A few years ago I realized that I had to make a change. I have focuses (foci?) in my life -- my family, my work, my writing -- and I owed it to them and me to say "no" to things that don't serve those purposes (purposi?). It already takes me too long to accomplish the few goals I have. Piling on more "to-dos" takes me further from my finish line.
Those first few "no's" were verbose and rawly awkward. I'm sorry, I would really, really love to -- it sounds amazing -- I'm sooooooo flattered that you asked me -- but, I don't think I can right now, though I wish I could, but um.... thanks. Sorry!!!!!!!!! (beat) Oh crap... now they hate me.
I also used to think that I had to have a concrete calender reason in order to say "no": the dentist, a drunk uncle, dropsy. Now I know I don't need anything other than what I'm saying "no" to isn't in alignment either with who I am or what I am doing with my life in that particular moment. I still remind myself it's okay to put myself first where appropriate. The world does not fall apart without me on its committee.
The beautiful aspect about this whole process is that people are exceedingly gracious when receiving a gracious "no." When grace meets grace everything is in its proper place.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The Hope of Ye Olde U2
When I first heard this song, I was fifteen years-old, very impressionable and kinda boy crazy -- a classic combination! I loved to crank this song in my room on my Philco double-cassette stereo and try to sing along. Being an Alto, I thought I could vocally really get in there with Bono. In hindsight, I probably couldn't. The song's concept of true-romantic-soul-mate, Dublin-style-gray-sky love set to a pulsing drum beat, stirring base, and soaring guitar made me feel incredibly hopeful for the future. This is the song that made me love U2. I still think it's one of their best.
All of these years later, the song is still potent. I can't say as much for the production values of the video, but I think Bono's look still holds up, New Wave mullet and all (that's right, you heard me). Thankfully, I am no longer boy crazy, except for the one to whom I'm am happily married.
When I play this song for my kids in my car, my son thinks the refrain is "Two birds eating pie" instead of "Two hearts beat as one." Now when I listen, I laugh and hear his version of the song over the original. The song has taken on a new family-friendly meaning. Regardless, it still makes me hopeful for the future, probably because "They can't stop the dance" even if it's maybe their "last chance." The song, to me, is about persistence. Persistence is another form of hope, whether it be about hope for true love, or two birds sharing a baked fruit-filled desert.
All of these years later, the song is still potent. I can't say as much for the production values of the video, but I think Bono's look still holds up, New Wave mullet and all (that's right, you heard me). Thankfully, I am no longer boy crazy, except for the one to whom I'm am happily married.
When I play this song for my kids in my car, my son thinks the refrain is "Two birds eating pie" instead of "Two hearts beat as one." Now when I listen, I laugh and hear his version of the song over the original. The song has taken on a new family-friendly meaning. Regardless, it still makes me hopeful for the future, probably because "They can't stop the dance" even if it's maybe their "last chance." The song, to me, is about persistence. Persistence is another form of hope, whether it be about hope for true love, or two birds sharing a baked fruit-filled desert.
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