Pay attention

"The aspects of things that are important for us are hidden because of their simplicity and familiarity. One is unable to notice something because it is always before one's eyes." —Wittgenstein

For years when I was actively posting to this blog I chose a word or phrase to mark the new year. Although I've let this journal go dormant, two words have been showing up repeatedly over the last few days and I know I need to write them down. Maybe it's the significant birthday that just passed, the loss of my mom this last year, finding my baby has become a teenager, or just what Wittgenstein noted so astutely—that the most essential and important moments are like vapor, present for a fleeting moment, out of grasp or often not even consciously recognized.

I want to be aware of these moments. I want to see, hold and remember them. But I realize I not only need to do something to document and preserve what's right before my eyes—write, draw, sew, paint—I need to pay attention better. I need a way to look for them and hold on.

I'm not going to say that I'm going to start writing a book this year or sew a quilt or get serious about poetry. I'm not going to promise myself to post regularly to this blog. I'm just going to commit to pay attention. I'm going to keep my eyes open and survey every day in an effort to find the nugget of beauty, the fragment of story, the memory to save.

Here's where I've picked up that paying attention could be the secret to a life of wonder and possibility and more creativity:

• This intriguing TED talk. I'm going to give "homework for life" a try. For a week or two at least.
• This gorgeous interview with John O'Donohue about beauty.
• This heart-wrenchingly beautiful "textbook." I inhaled it and have a crazy impulse to send it to everyone I love.

Will paying attention slow time down? Will it make me more patient, more astute, more in tune? Will it give me access to that memory vapor that just slips through my grasp?

It's a new year. As good a time as any.  I resolve to find out.

embrace

"Here's the thing about trains, it doesn't matter where the train is going, it matters that you decide to get on." —The Polar Express

I have been thinking a lot about a word for 2013, a little exercise I've done at the beginning of every year since I've had this blog. Looking back I find it kind of funny that of all the words I've chosen, I am not any closer to achieving anything than when I started. I still forget to breathe all the time. I need to simplify more than ever. Considering all I'd like to accomplish this year, a little intention would be helpful. And, especially due to some darker days lately, I really need to be sunshine. Because I have basically accomplished nothing, I will just take that as a sign that I choose really good words. And that I am very aspirational.

For a few days I've been trying to find a word that encompasses all that I'd like to do this year. I'd like to write more and start knitting again. I'd like to clean more and save more and play games with my kids more. I'd like to complain less. But I've realized I can't just will myself to do these things.

Sitting on the couch with Elliott this morning watching The Polar Express for the thirtieth time in as many days, it occurred to me that despite his limitations, as far as I can tell, my five year old doesn't wish his life were different. He doesn't have a laundry list of things he'd like to do. He also doesn't simply accept where he is, he embraces the challenges and opportunities in his life with gusto.

I, on the other hand, am all about acceptance. I have accepted the fact that we have some major financial troubles that will take a while to set straight. I have accepted the fact that I have next to no free time anymore. I have accepted the fact that my house is disorganized and stuff needs to be purged. I have accepted the fact that my five year old wakes up at 4:30 a.m. almost every morning. I have accepted the fact that writing the book in my heart will now take a herculean effort. I have accepted the fact that my son may never thrive in a traditional school setting. I have accepted the fact that the 29-year-old girl who used to gaze at me in the mirror is no longer there. But here's the thing about accepting, it usually comes with a bad attitude. Just because I've accepted these truths about my life, doesn't mean I can't whine about them or be pissed about them or wish my days were different.

Acceptance and joy rarely go hand in hand.

Every morning I give Elliott an awful concoction of whole-food supplements our chiropractor has determined his skinny little body needs to thrive. They taste horrid but he doesn't understand how to swallow them whole. So I crush them up and try to mask the flavor in smoothies or yogurt. This morning as we watched Polar Express, he put a big spoonful of his vitamin-laden yogurt in his mouth and looked over at me.

"This good," he grinned, bouncing with a bizarre pre-dawn energy that doesn't seem to fill any other human I know. "Thank you, mommy."

What a crazy kid. His yogurt is terrible. I know, I've tasted it. But for some strange reason, Elliott does not reject it (and I know from the occasional times he does turn up his nose that he knows it's gross). The stranger thing is that he doesn't just accept it either, which is how his brother faces undesirable tasks and challenges—he'll do them, but grudgingly. Instead, Elliott embraces his lot in life. He finds the joy where the rest of us would find something to complain about.

And so I have decided to claim 2013 as the year to be more like Elliott. I claim 2013 as the year to embrace my life, the challenges and the opportunities. To stop whining and feeling sorry for myself. And, thanks to the example of my son and his favorite movie, no matter where the train is going, to decide to get on—with expectation, gratitude and joy.

a means to mental health

Recently I was cleaning out a file box and came across a plain white sheet of paper on which was typed a list of important things I used to try to remember. The list came from a contemporary of my grandfather, professor and scholar Clyde S. Kilby who was known for his scholarship on J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. I have no idea where I found this list, if I typed it myself or if someone gave it to me. I just remember that when I graduated from college and was living in a little studio apartment, with absolutely no idea what I was going to do with my life, this list rescued me countless times. I can still picture it taped on the wall by my kitchen sink. I guess I had put it there so as I was being born into a life where I was equal parts lonely, excited and terrified, I'd be reminded to read it multiple times a day. I smiled when I found the paper, and teared up when I read it. These beautiful words are timeless and I've taped them up by my kitchen sink so they can rescue me once again.

A Means to Mental Health
by Clyde S. Kilby

1. At least once every day I shall look steadily up to the sky and remember that I, a consciousness with a conscience, am on a planet traveling in space with wonderfully mysterious things above and about me.

2. Instead of the accustomed idea of a mindless and endless evolutionary change to which we can neither add nor subtract, I shall suppose the universe to be guided by an Intelligence which, as Aristotle said of Greek drama, requires a beginning, a middle and an end. I think this will save me from the cynicism expressed by Bertrand Russell before his death, when he said: "There is darkness without, and when I die there will be darkness within. There is no splendor, no vastness anywhere, only triviality for a moment, and then nothing."

3. I shall not fall into the falsehood that this day, or any day, is merely another ambiguous and plodding twenty-four hours, but rather a unique event filled, if I so wish, with worthy potentialities. I shall not be fool enough to suppose that trouble and pain are wholly evil parentheses in my existence but just as likely ladders to be climbed toward moral and spiritual manhood.

4. I shall not turn my life into a thin straight line which prefers abstractions to reality. I shall know what I am doing when I abstract, which of course I shall often have to do.

5. I shall not demean my own uniqueness by envy of others. I shall stop boring into myself to discover what psychological or social categories I might belong to. Mostly I shall simply forget about myself and do my work.

6. I shall open my eyes and ears. Once every day I shall simply stare at a tree, a flower, a cloud, or a person. I shall not then be concerned at all to ask what they are but simply be glad that they are. I shall joyfully allow them the mystery of what Lewis calls their "divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic" existence.

7. I shall sometimes look back at the freshness of vision I had in childhood and try, at least for a little while, to be, in the words of Lewis Carroll, the "child of pure unclouded brow, and dreaming eyes of wonder."

8. I shall follow Darwin's advice and turn frequently to imaginative things such as good literature and good music, preferably, as Lewis suggest, an old book and timeless music.

9. I shall not allow the devilish onrush of this century to usurp all my energies but will instead, as Charles Williams suggested, "fulfill the moment as the moment." I shall try to live well just now because the only time that exists is now.

10. If for nothing more than the sake of a change of view, I shall assume my ancestry to be from the heavens rather than from the caves.

11. Even if I turn out to be wrong, I shall bet my life on the assumption that this world is not idiotic, neither run by an absentee landlord, but that today, this very day, some stroke is being added to the cosmic canvas that in due course I shall understand with joy as a stroke made by the architect who calls Himself Alpha and Omega.

p.s. i love you

In the blink of an eye, my life has radically changed. Instead of long, leisurely weekday mornings getting breakfasts, making hot cocoa, drawing baths, playing board games, checking email, emptying the dishwasher and policing screen time, I am out the door at 6:40 a.m. to catch the train to Chicago. Although Elliott remains my faithful alarm clock and early morning companion, it's highly unlikely that I will ever catch a glimpse of Liam on a weekday morning. Age seven is the new sixteen.

The first morning I was gone, I scribbled Liam a quick note on scrap paper. He wrote me back that day. So I decided to get a notebook and collect our daily notes back and forth.

This morning I was running late and forgot to write. Liam, apparently, was a little heartbroken. But he faithfully wrote his note anyway.

I have always been a huge fan of the love letter. It's the writer in me, and the romantic. Although it is only day four of this new long-term adventure, I figure if my boy and I can keep up the note writing for at least a few months, I'll be grooming a little Shakespeare, and coming home after a 12-hour day to the best words I can imagine.

why I want to see like a child again

If you will cling to Nature, to the simple in Nature, to the little things that hardly anyone sees, and that can so unexpectedly become big and beyond measuring; if you have this love of inconsiderable things and seek quite simply, as one who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor: then everything will become easier, more coherent and somehow conciliatory for you, not in your intellect, perhaps, which lags marveling behind, but in your inmost consciousness, waking and cognizance. -Rainer Maria Rilke

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Check out my related column in the Tribune today.

some thoughts on marriage

This weekend my cousin Noel got married. The ceremony and reception, held at our favorite local farm, were near perfect. In my view, few weddings come close to the awesomeness of ours. Noel and Robyn's was one of them.

Several weeks ago my family held a bridal shower for Robyn and I was asked to prepare a reflection on marriage, some words of wisdom to share with this bride-to-be as she embarks on her new journey with Noel. Although 2011 marks ten years of marriage to Andrew, I feel about as far away from expert or even experienced as someone who is just beginning. Even so, I have definitely learned a few things. (Not that I always follow my own advice, of course, but I try to/want to/hope to.) After reading the first third ("the beginning") of the wonderful Billy Collins poem Aristotle (the other two thirds—"the middle" and "the end"—seemed a bit too overwhelming for a nearly newlywed), I offered my insights. More or less, this is what I said:

:: Be appreciative. When Andrew and I took a pre-marriage class, one long-married couple urged the group, upon waking every morning, to gaze into our spouse's eyes and say, "I appreciate you." I thought they were goofballs. But it's one of the few things I remember from that class. Because as silly as it sounded, it's key. Overall, there is a 99% chance that you—as the wife—will end up doing most of the work in the home. And after a while, this can be frustrating. But when your husband helps out, thank him. It will mean a lot to him to be acknowledged. It will encourage him to do more. It will make him more appreciative of you. And, best of all, it will change you from feeling sorry for yourself to feeling grateful.

:: Be available. There are a million good things you can be doing outside of your home and your relationship. And a million things people will ask you to do. Don't be gone all the time. Don't be too busy. Don't always say yes. This is a constant struggle for me. I am a natural-born helper. But sometimes doing good comes at the expense of the people I love the most. Figure out when it's most important for you to be around and available. Evening is primarily the time when Andrew and I connect and regroup. If I'm gone too many nights in a row, it quickly becomes clear that I need to readjust my priorities.

:: Be affectionate. Early on, I didn't have any trouble with this. Holding hands, hugging, it all came so naturally. But, touch is not my love language, and as life became busier and more complicated, affection fell by the wayside. Chances are very good that your husband will respond positively to physical touch. Most men do. Grabbing a hand, rubbing a back, sneaking a hug, these gestures are instant relaxers and diffusers. Literally reaching out will bring you back to the moment and make you a nicer person when you're in a not-so-nice mood.

:: Be awed. Regularly celebrate the amazing things about your spouse—his musical or athletic talent, the way he fixes a sink or writes a limerick. Husbands love to be told how excellent and gifted they are. Cheer yours on. You are his number one fan. Never forget it.

:: Be atonement. Be sacrificial love. Be forgiving. Be Jesus to each other. Be at-one-ment, but be yourself. I love how Madeline L'Engle puts it in her book Two-Part Invention:

What I must learn is to love with all of me, giving all of me, and yet remain whole in myself. Any other kind of love is too demanding of the other; it takes, rather than gives. To love so completely that you lose yourself in another person is not good. You are giving a weight, not the sense of lightness and light that loving someone should give. To love wholly, generously, and yet retain the core that makes you you.

Remain the beautiful, unique woman you are, but be "at one" with your spouse, living in a constant state of grace and awesomeness together.

:: Be amusing and adventurous. This is easy. You are this. It is a natural part of the beginning. But in the middle and the end, not so much. Being fun and spontaneous is more difficult later. But it's when your relationship needs it most. Take risks. Do silly things. Start fun traditions. You don't believe it now, but there will be mundane and difficult times ahead. Find the joy. Let go. Play games. Explore together. Laugh. Let these things buoy your relationship and fill your memories.

Now that I'm writing this advice, it occurs to me that every point in my little reflection requires intention. In other words, none of these things just happen. Sure, at the beginning of a marriage, we may do them all with very little effort, floating on the excitement of new love. But in time, all good things demand hard work. As the pastor at this very wedding said so poignantly, we don't create oneness, but it's our job to nurture it and protect it and work so very hard to keep it.

Amid the embrace of family and friends and a loving God, a beaming Noel and Robyn transformed from single to hitched. And like every couple that's gone before, they have absolutely no idea what they will find when the doors lurch apart. What hard and beautiful things lie ahead. But like all of us, they can choose how to be. And that can make a world of difference.

{photo by Liam}

how to be :: an open letter to my son

Dear Liam,

First grade is just a day away. Can you believe it? Some days I feel like I was just starting my first day of school and some days I feel one hundred years old. But for you this first year is huge and all encompassing. Soon, you'll be gone seven hours a day, eating your lunch at school, spending more waking time with others than you spend with your dad and me. But you're not thinking about the hugeness of this right now. You can hardly wait to go.

I once had thought of homeschooling you, and because you're such a cool kid who loves to learn, I still think of homeschooling you. But, for now at least, you couldn't be happier to be in a classroom with your best buddies and an awesome teacher - who is not your mother. I'll try not to take it personally.

However, since I am your mother, you still have to listen to me (at least a few more years) and since I can't be with you every minute of the day, I want to give you some words to remember, some rules to live by, some magic to conjure up in those moments when, as Dumbledore says to Harry Potter, you face the choice between what is right and what is easy.

Be kind. Your great-grandma Gaye taught you the Bible verse that can make the difference between a good year and a great one. Say it with me: Be kind to one another. You be kind and they'll be kind back. But more important than that, God asks you to, which means that no matter how you're feeling, being kind is always the right choice.

Be generous. When you were little, we called this sharing, and it usually involved your toys. Now being generous involves a lot more. It means this: If someone forgot their lunch, offer them the best part of yours. If someone is struggling to tie their shoes, help them, even if it makes you late to gym. If you wanted to be chosen to run the errand to the office, be happy for the student who was. Give freely, my little friend. Of your stuff. Of your time. Of your knowledge. Of your heart. God loves a cheerful giver. It'll make you happy, too.

Be present. Listen. Hear what a friend is saying before you take a turn to speak. Pay full attention to your teacher. Don't dwell on something you lost or didn't get to do or wish you were doing instead. Enjoy the moment. Have fun right where you are. Like Dumbledore told Harry as he stood paralyzed in front of the Mirror of Erised, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

Be enthusiastic. Ready for this one? You won't always be the winner. Let's say it again: You won't always be the winner. The important thing is to be a good player and to celebrate - yes, celebrate - the one who comes out on top. Smile, cheer, give a hug or a high five. If another student does something really well or earns an award or wins a game, tell them how awesomely they did. Be enthusiastic about other people's success. If you can learn to do this now, it'll save you years of unhappiness.

Be polite. When in doubt: Please. Thank you. Sorry. Excuse me. To everyone. All the time.

Be prepared. It's not your abilities that show who you really are. It is your choices. Be prepared to make choices that are healthy and loving and life giving. Know what you stand for and what you'll do in the face of ugliness or dishonesty or pressure. When someone is teased, be prepared to stand up for them. When someone wants you to do something wrong, be prepared to walk away. No matter what the circumstance, you can turn the tide. Remember what Dumbledore told Harry? "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends."

Be yourself. You are smart. You are funny. You are creative. You are helpful. You are kind. You are all these things I am asking you to be. Don't ever be someone different. And when you think you might, remember this, you are loved. Always. All the time. You are loved. What an amazing and powerful thing to be.

Have a magical year, my sweet boy. You're something special. I won't be one bit surprised if you end up with a lot to teach me.

Love,
Mama