Neglect of self is unbecoming in its blatant abandonment of the soul

When we allow the world to pass us by at a record clip, our lives lose color and flavor. Clarity does not come from the absence of color, but more from an abundance of varied shades. The nuances allow us to rise and dip...flowing into a rhythm with context. In opposition, Colorless is a world that loses shape and contour from a life of busy.

Whether the lipstick index holds validity in today's economy or not...  sometimes the gift of color brought to you in a small package is all it takes to boost your spirits. Spending $2 or $20 on that little tube of tint somehow makes the world a bit better. Do we look better? Maybe. But, it's bigger than that. More than the artifice of adding on. It's the idea of prioritizing "me."

Inevitably, in our everyday lives, we get caught up in the mundane - our self-defeating safety net in avoiding risk at all costs becoming addictive. But, like any addiction over time, it begins to chafe and burn until its unbearable weight becomes the very thorn in the flesh that forces us out of our dozing complacency and back into the world.

Neglect of self is unbecoming in its blatant abandonment of the soul. Far more than a lipstick lift, caring for oneself as if you matter raises the spirit in ways often beyond description. When our souls are livened, the inner fires burn hot and we exude a seductive vibrancy.

Life is full of color. A varietal of subtle hues and dazzling, messy stains. It isn't a distant destination at the end of the rainbow. It is in the right here and the right now. So, slap on those sunglasses, ease the seat back and release the break. You're in the driver's seat...


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Complacency is a state of mind that exists only in retrospective: it has to be shattered before being ascertained. 

Vladimir Nabokov

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What is it about me that finds life such a struggle?

The rhythm of my days are stretched taut like an overwrought violin. I have bitten off more than I can chew this time. The moments of calm within the cacophony of "Must Do's" are scarce, but tantalizing. Sometimes I don't recognize myself cloaked in stress overdrive. When the world stops spinning -by snuffling my nose into my 7 year old daughter's round cheek of bliss, or, threading my fingers through my son's golden hair, I am reminded to breathe - and to be here, in the here and now. These two, these sweet children deserve better than my frazzled mom-who-is-trying-to-do-too-much can deliver.

What is it about me that finds life such a struggle?

This time will pass and my children will no longer be 7 and 8. Their limbs lengthening, their longing for mommy will move on to other longings. To have space and carved out time for themselves. The days of lullabies and good-night kisses, full body hugs and tickles...will be replaced by other, more evolving needs.

So, here I sit -not as a task of self-flagellation, for I can do that. But, to recognize that it is the here and now that is calling to me. Work is work. But, life is LIFE. In all it's splendid glory, screeching tantrums to inescapable snuggles. Secrets held until lights out and slipped into the darkness like little gems. Mommy, remember when.... Mommy, one more song.... Mama, can we play together tomorrow...

There are tomorrows and then there are...tomorrows. It is important to grab them, hold them tight, but with a looseness that bodes joy and delight for all...

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the blessing of a rainy day...

A couple of weeks ago, on a Saturday, it poured - the rain coming down in sheets. Baseball was canceled, and we had no afternoon events scheduled. BOY & GIRL played in their pajamas all day, building a fort in the living room out of couch cushions, blankets and pillows. Having recently acquired a stack of play money, they called it The Big Bucks Bank. Amazing how children figure out who has the money...

Later, I was coerced into dealing with The Big Bucks Bank and two very cute Tellers. The teller window was crafted out of an overturned laundry basket, with BOY within its plastic contours. My job was to approach the teller window and withdraw funds. As is the way with children, we did this over and over and over again... I slipped my flattened, paper airplane paycheck through the slot of the laundry basket teller window. BOY would then address the other teller, GIRL, who being the true banker, would count each amount out in 5's, 10's and 20's.

We played for a while, stopping for lunch, then each went to our own corners for an hour of quiet time. After E.K. was home and an early dinner, we all watched a movie together. It was the best day I've had in weeks.

I've thought about that day since - and find myself gabbing about it to anyone who will listen. As if I need witnesses to some kind of testimony of a very real, personal rapture..."I stopped moving and going and DOing." "I just stopped." I have the need to say it aloud.

We all need more of that-kind-of-day, when we aren't ruled by schedules and worn-out by obligations. It is those days that replenish us, that we remember and hold on to - that we reflect back on and breathe into. The trick is to declare "a day off" on our own - when it is not imposed upon us. To just STOP...because, we can. And, not be dependent on the blessing of a rainy day...

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schedule my own intermezzo

Returning to work full-time has had its share of dips and dives. I love the paycheck, partnering as an income earner, and helping my family financially. Sharing the weight of it with my husband -this piece is very good. I feel more empowered, taller, calmer - someone to be taken seriously. For better or worse...I perceive my world as being better.

The challenge continues to be finding the rhythm of my days, fitting in what absolutely needs to be done for our household, and fitting in what I need to keep myself invigorated and creative. That last treasured piece has felt a bit like ruins under my feet. But... I am beginning to salvage fragments, and am determined to create the whole puzzle- even if it looks misshapen. Balance, perhaps not. Perhaps never. Passionate drive, always...yet, so elusive it slides into the darkness.

My children have adjusted well to aftercare three days a week. It is different...to pick them up and have them so happy to see me. They fling themselves upon me, wrapping their limbs around my legs... shouting MOMMY!! at the top of their lungs - faces covered with Happy Dirt, and mouths rapidly moving describing their day. Our evenings are fast paced- dinner, more times than not, is scrabbled together, then baths, and off to bed. The cherished story time often gets superseded by a game or all of us being just... too damn tired.

I'm not sure why I am so opposed to putting myself on a schedule. I know intellectually that my life will be the better for it. Yet, I avoid it at all costs, not wanting to be boxed in. There's that stubborn piece. The one that keeps me stuck, complaining that I don't have time for it all, when what I really need to do is schedule my own intermezzo. Excuse me...while I have a word with the conductor...

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"Wisdom Follows" -painting by Chuck Gumpert.

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