January 25, 2018 § 1 Comment
Late last fall, my 12 year old daughter casually mentions to me that the book One for the Murphys by Lynda Mullaly Hunt is one she would like to read. I make a mental note to myself that it would be a good Christmas gift for her (the kind of gift that is extra special because not only does she want the book, but because I listened and remembered, surprise!). Later in the month, during our online Christmas shopping trip together over a Chai latte at our kitchen table, I say to my husband that we should order the book for her. He tells me that she already had a plan to submit the book request to her teacher. (Back story: each month my daughter’s Social Studies teacher invites her students to write a short essay on why they wish to own a particular book, what they hope to learn from it, and if the teacher is convinced, she will buy it for them.) Back to my gift idea, I’m a little disappointed, but it’s a great way for her to get a book she likes, so I let it go.
Flash forward to January. My daughter hasn’t gotten around to writing the essay to request the book. It’s a Thursday morning and I am volunteering at our school library processing the piles of returned books. I love this job, because it allows me to see what the most frequently read books are, noting that the ones that get “holds” put on them repeatedly must be real gems. As I’m scanning the bar codes to check each book back in, I suddenly discover One for the Murphys is in my hands. A wave of recollection washes over me and I smile at the synchronicity. My daughter was clearly meant to read this book, and I get excited once again at the prospect of being the one to give it to her. I set it aside to sign out and bring it home to my daughter later.
Before bed each night I have a routine: check the doors are locked, turn off the lights, clean up any straggling dishes or abandoned snacks, cycle the laundry I had forgotten I’d put in hours ago, and then, I check on my children. I collect the phones from the teenagers, place a silent kiss on each of my other two, tell Alexa she can stop spouting stories to my sleeping children, and then I head to bed. On this night, as I stop in at my daughter’s room, she is reading One for the Murphys. “Oh!” I say delighted, “how is it?” She pulls her nose out of the book and responds emphatically “I loooove it”, her eyes growing bigger as she says loooove. “Oh terrific!” I say, as I listen to her go on for several minutes about what is happening in the book at that moment. My mind wanders a little as she is talking and I wonder to myself why she seems to always love stories about orphans. After she finishes and returns her nose to the book, I kiss her good night and take my leave, satisfied with a good result. But, as I was to learn, there was so much more to this book coming into our home.
The next day, the book is laying on the part of the kitchen counter I refer to as “The Landing Area”, as it is where my paperwork and weekly tasks pile up. My daughter is making her lunch nearby and I say “you finished it already?” She turns to look at what I am referring to and when she sees the book, her face brightens and she says “oh yeah!, Mom, it was SO good! You should read it actually, I bet you’d like it”. Inside I was thinking of the five partially-read books currently piled on my night stand, as well as the many bought-but-not-yet-read books I have elsewhere in the house, and I think so myself, I don’t have time to read my kids books. But later that day when I saw the book sitting on my “to-do” pile spot on the counter, I remembered a friend of mine commenting to me about how she really enjoyed reading the same books as her kids because it translated so nicely into great conversations about the story with them. Alright, I said to myself, I’ll read it, then my daughter and I can have fun discussing it – always a great thing to stay connected with your tween, right? My intentions were purely focused on “what would a good parent do”.
Well, as I often say (and yes, I can hear my kids groaning in agreement), “What you focus on, expands”, and boy did it ever. My energy was on the choice to read a book because I thought it would make me a good parent to do so, and boy is that what expanded.
This book is about mothers. Bad ones, good ones, and a young girl my daughter’s age perceiving what makes a mom good or bad, through her young eyes. As I am reading, I am silently comparing my own parenting with what is happening in the book, wondering if my daughter did the same thing as she was reading it. On which end of the spectrum did my parenting land in her experience? As I finish the book a day later (cause I couldn’t put it down), I am in tears over the ending. My tears while prompted by what is happening in the story, have a much different feel to them. I’m not crying about the characters, I’m crying because I have suddenly experienced such clarity about the kind of mother I want to be in my children’s eyes. Not the eyes of other parents, or of my parents, or even my own perception, but the kind of mother I want my children to know me as. And suddenly any tension, anxiety, frustration and resentment I had hidden away in my body about my children’s behaviour and choices, is released. I remove my reading glasses because I cannot see anymore through the tears now flowing down my cheeks. I start laughing, partially because I’ve totally lost it over a book, but mostly cause I’m happy. Happy and so grateful for the clarity.
Like a refreshing splash of water on a hot day, my energy to parent my children is renewed, and I suddenly can’t wait for them to get home from school so I can love on them.
January 31, 2017 § Leave a comment
Funny how some days can sneak up on you. Today for instance, I am missing home. I am missing home, but not just home – I am also yearning for special moments I once enjoyed. I miss inviting a good friend over for tea and chatting while our children play, laughing at the mischief they create together, always with one eye watchful for potential toddler tumbles. I miss spa pedicures and special dinners with my mom and sister, relaxing into the ease that family brings. I miss the house I rocked my babies in, and the beautiful views of sunrises it offers.
You wouldn’t think I would be missing home today, a rare sunny day during a Pacific NorthWest winter, but here I am. Alexa is playing the Lumineers and the song Nobody Knows comes on. It speaks of how hard it is to say goodbye, and how you don’t really realize how hard till you try. It speaks of journeys, and the road home, and how love keeps us going. It recommends to live the day doing what you can, ‘cause nobody knows how the story ends.
So here I am, writing, and doing what I can. I have interspersed my obligations of the day with tasks that bring me joy so as not to slip too deep into a sadness. As I am watchful of my self-care today, in some funny way I begin to sense a heavy ribbon of gratitude woven through all that I feel. I embrace the sweet memories created with loved ones in a place I call home, and I feel grateful for each beautiful experience. More than grateful, I feel enriched.
Each time I look at my teenage son, about to turn fourteen and already taller than me and wearing his Daddy’s shoes, even though he no longer says “Daddy”, I marvel at the light speed with which he has grown. My first born, I recall holding him in my arms and can even still remember his newborn smell. My eyes well up as I realize how far away those days are from where I stand now, and I pray the experience will be echo’d when I hold my future grandchildren one day.
With each wave of temptation to sink into what I am missing, I strive to see what is right in my world. A smile comes to my face as I recall with great clarity dreaming of this exact day. It was during a decade of pregnancies and nursing, up several times a night and rarely ever experiencing a moment to myself for all the demands of my young children. I remember imagining a day when my children would have more independence and not cling to me for every need. I emphatically wondered how far away that day was and how I would fare on the journey to get there.
I recall once, during my early high school years, one of my friends was unexpectedly scolded by her mother for repeatedly wishing for the coming weekend, barely able to contain her excitement about the planned activities. I found it remarkable that she would be scolded for such excitement until her mother explained that she was wishing her life away, and suggested she enjoy where she was at right now. Wise words commonly heard today, but not often heard in the early nineties.
As I close, I resolve to return to the present and embrace the gifts of the here and now. With a beautiful Namaste, I express my gratitude for the walk through cherished memories of my past and open my heart to how I want to feel today.
April 19, 2016 § Leave a comment
Every parent knows well the rule of thumb that you must be disciplined with antibiotics. You administer them one time, effectively, and deliver the full dose. Fearful consequences have been drilled into every parent’s head that if you are not precise in following this rule, the result is that the germs will become used to the antibiotics and no longer respond to their impact.
It dawned upon me today that reminding your kids to do stuff works the same way!
We recently re-started our kids piano lessons. They went on hiatus when we moved across the country and took back burner to the many other items on our list required to get settled in (find a doctor, dentist, school, etc.). Through a friend’s referral, we landed a fantastic piano teacher. The kids love him and we love that he comes to the house – everybody wins. Except my kids don’t practice.
What good are lessons without the daily practice – nada. So I nag, and I remind, and offer conditions. Everything you’d find in the What-Not-To-Do Parenting Manual (there isn’t one manual actually, there are loads, but you get my point). Even so, in the absence of a better solution, here we are.
As I tried to coax my two younger children out of the sprinkler on this unusually warm spring day, and into the hottest room in the house to practice their piano, I could hardly blame them for resisting. I reminded them several times, but it had no real intention behind it, and like the germs that have become immune to the antibiotics, my words had no effect.
Then the epiphany came. It’s like antibiotics. If I am constantly asking for the same thing over and over, the kids never know when action is truly required. They also learn no self-management for themselves. When they need to do something, it needs to be delivered one time, strong and true and with a full dose, just like antiobiotics!
It was one of those moments when you wonder how you got this far into parenting without realizing sooner what seems so obvious now. The metaphor of me standing on a mountain top proclaiming the news quickly fills my brain….”And my voice will be like antiobiotics!”
February 24, 2016 § 1 Comment
Family Meeting 4:30 today, at the table.
Really it was a Mom-and-kids meeting because Dad was in Barcelona for work, but as they say, timing is everything. These are the words my kids saw written in window marker on our kitchen window when they came home from school today.
Flashback to earlier this morning when we were a spectacle of unpreparedness and harsh words flying down to the bus stop in the car cause we were too late to walk, lacing up shoes and pulling on jackets as they hopped on one foot, granola bar in hand, up the stairs of the school bus. Exhale.
How did this even happen? It’s the same routine every morning getting ready for school, and they’ve been doing it for years, so how did we get to this point? It’s not every day like this, but when it’s bad, it’s awful. Something’s gotta change.
So this is how the meeting went down. I spoke, while they drank hot chocolate and coloured (so they could sit still long enough to listen, well mostly listen, we had several tangents where I had to bring them back to the initial discussion).
Mom: This morning was yucky. For all of us. I’m sure you didn’t appreciate my behaviour any more than I appreciated yours. I don’t feel it is necessary to re-hash everything that happened, because it’s really the same stuff that goes down all the time, but that is precisely why I wish to talk to you right now. That type of behaviour, from either of us, should not be the norm. While it’s normal to get off balance every once in a while, what happened this morning should not be the expectation. There is no joy in that. And we should always strive for joy. And the quickest way to get there is by love.
It is true that we all have triggers. Things that spur us into a strong emotion. Buttons that get pressed in us that elicit a much larger response than would be expected: a sudden burst of emotion, sometimes you aren’t even sure where it came from, but there it is. You will find there is inner work you can do to release these triggers, but for now, let us agree that they exist and learn how to best support each other when we recognize them happening.
The answer to that, is bravery. It comes from a place of love, but ultimately it is bravery.
As a child your age, when my own mother was triggered, I did not understand what it was, let alone how to support her in it. Bravery is easier when you understand a situation. So I’m going to explain to you what is happening when I get triggered, in the hopes that you all can be brave enough to call me on it when it happens, rather than absorbing the negative energy yourself, or throwing it back at me, which as we saw this morning, leads to no good either.
You see, when someone is triggered, the emotion feels so much larger than anything else, so it’s difficult to see the forest for the trees. Are you familiar with that expression? It means that if someone is on top of a mountain looking down, it is easier to spot where there is a forest, what its boundaries are, and how big or small it is. For someone standing inside the forest, there are so many trees in the way that they cannot see how big or small it is, or where it ends and begins. It becomes very helpful to get out of the forest, if that person on the mountain calls down to them and says, “Hey, you’re in a forest! But if you go in that direction, you can find your way out”. The person in the forest can then make their way out of the forest.
Does that make sense to you guys? Any comments or questions so far?
So my question to you is, are you brave enough to call me on my triggers? When Mommy is caught up in a whirlwind of emotion, will you please call to me from your mountain of different perspective, and let me know I’m in a forest?
And when you are in a triggered state, full of powerful emotions, will you receive my words when I call you on it, and tell you that you are in a forest?
If we can all try our best to be brave forest rangers, perhaps we can better support each other through our weakest moments, and we can all get on to more joyful moments?
I closed the meeting with a right hand in air promise to be brave and receptive as the moment may call for it, to treat our family members the way we ourselves would wish to be treated, and to lead with love whenever we are able.
Onward Brave Forest Rangers!
November 2, 2015 § Leave a comment
Here we go, I’m learning again. I know you recognize those moments, when you thought you had learned something, and then you are offered up an opportunity to show you’ve mastered it and you come up short, bumping you back to the lesson again. “Okay – for sure I’m going to get it this time – I know this stuff”, but then in the moment, you revert back to your old pattern again. Man is this rut deep.
Yesterday I was surprised to hear my son chime in while we were listening to a quote being recited by Maya Angelou”
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
It surprised me that 1) he had heard the quote before, and 2) it resonated enough with him for him to remember it. I discovered the next day that this realization was just setting the stage for my next day’s re-learning.
As I am nagging my children this morning, as I do most mornings, to get out of bed, get dressed, eat breakfast, pack their lunch, brush their teeth, etc. etc., I walk amongst them bewildered that I still have to give them the play-by-play nudge on what to do each morning. As I carry this energy around with me, I manifest my way straight into a comical step-by-step grand-finale instruction banter to get my 6 year old out the door to the bus “Put. On. Your. Shoes. Pick. Up. Your. Bag. Take. One. Step. After. Another. Toward. The. Door. Down. The. Stairs. SO WE DON”T MISS THE BUS!” As I am amping up into my tirade, my children start laughing at me, giggling their way down the driveway each doing their own impression of my step-by-step instructions.
Ah, children. The best teachers.
Immediately my mood is transformed by their lightheartedness and I am grateful for their beautiful energy. But alas, my lesson was not done yet.
Later that morning, as the house is quiet, I hear my nagging words floating down the hallway in front of me as I recall the morning rush. And another favourite quote by Peggy O’Mara pops into my head:
“How you speak to your children becomes their inner voice”
My shoulders sink a little. Right. Yuck.
I move on to create this week’s chore chart for the kids, feeling at a bit of a loss, since the last two week’s chore charts have gone mostly un-done. “How do I get the kids back into doing their chores?” I ask myself. So I go to my usual idea generator (Google), and type in the request. Lots of stuff I’ve already tried, and lots of parent-guilt about creating children with good work ethics, comparing your children to others who have already nailed it. Yuck.
Feeling only more exasperated, I move onto my next item on the to-do list: Finish Girl Scout Volunteer training. Seven online modules, of which I have only done one. As I watch the training module moving in smart little images and graphics across my laptop screen, I hear the words “girl-led”, “finding her talents”, “developing her skills”, and I am reminded of the best way to support someone is to “come alongside”, rather than trying to “fix”.
Okay, okay, I’m getting it. Thank you for the grand design of multiple people, situations, thoughts and memories it takes to move me into a better place.
And here I go again, re-learning a lesson that keeps coming back to me.
We so often as adults feel that we need to move children into the direction we see is best for them, teaching them how to get along in this world, explaining and advising, outright forcing them when they aren’t moving along fast enough or in the proper direction.
We forget that they came from the same place as us, are going to the same place as us, and in many cases have not started carrying as much baggage as us due to their fewer years of exposure. Their belief systems are not yet fully formed by their experiences, BUT they are becoming more entrenched with every word, action and feeling they pick up from us. What they see and hear from the people in their world, especially the adults, is changing them. Forming them.
When I examine my own belief systems and trace them back to the original experience that formed them it is so very often from an experience I had when I was the age of my children.
So the lesson just became so much more powerful. It just changed from “yeah, I lost my temper, but I bet they’ll think twice before doing it again” to “I just yelled at my kid, and it sucks to be yelled at by anyone, let alone one of the most important people in your life”.
Suddenly I see my kids for the Beings they are. Not youth. Not inexperienced, don’t-know-better-yet, children. I can see them as beautiful souls, who have also come to this earth to experience life, and contrast, and love. LOVE! The most powerful force in existence.
Whatever I feel the need to “teach” my children, is really just sharing what I myself have learned. And if I cannot share that from a place of love, then I am contributing to a belief system in them that I do not want to have anything to do with. I do not want to be the one that taught them unworthiness. I do not want to be the one that made them feel unsafe to shine their natural light.
When my children look back on their childhood, and remember their mother, I want them to feel they always had a soft place to land, surrounded by love, feeling supported enough to always shine their light, whatever that looks like to them. I want them to feel believed in, and lifted up by my faith in their abilities. Sometimes they will see a firm hand was necessary, but ultimately the love in it will shine brighter.
I want their inner voice to be full of joy, peace, and forever speaking to them from a place of knowing. Knowing they are here to experience amazing things, and that life is meant to be enjoyed.
Exhale. With gratitude for the lesson.
September 10, 2015 § 1 Comment
It occurred to me yesterday as I was chatting with a good friend over the most delicious chai tea latte I’ve had in months, that I have discovered a secret that not every stay-at-home parent knows. Naturally, I have to share it with you.
Backstory: During our family’s “newborn years” (we have four children, so this lasted for roughly a decade), there was one argument trap my husband and I would repeatedly fall into. You may recognize it from your own newborn and infant years, and it goes a little something like this:
Parent 1: “Hi honey, I’m home”. <slowly takes in the home environment noticing that it looks like a tornado went through>. “Um, so, what did you do today?”
Parent 2: <already exhausted and amped up at the same time because the day has been long but the reinforcements have arrived> ”Hi honey,” <huge exhale>, “Geez I don’t even know, it’s just a blur most days.” <wondering why the reinforcements have draped their coat over the chair instead of hanging it up and are sitting down instead of reaching to take the baby from your hip while you are preparing supper>. “How was your day?”
Parent 1: “I don’t know why you always ask how my day was. It’s always busy and it’s always hard.” <sighing deeply as Parent 2 passes the baby over>
Parent 2: <feeling like they have made a monumental effort to be interested in Parent 1’s day as it’s the last bit of energy they have left to give to someone else; feels like the edge is near and it’s time to tag out>. “Oh-kaaaaay. Well, I’m exhausted from [insert long list of play-by-plays arising from the day at home that seem trivial to Parent 1 but represents a huge amount of work for Parent 2]. Oh, and don’t forget I have my dentist appointment this evening”. <secretly grateful to have even a few minutes to themselves even if it does mean fluoride and teeth cleaning>
Parent 1: <feeling the barometer rising because their mind is already overloaded with stuff from work, and their brain just can’t take any further items today; they just need a break> “Ugh, ok. You couldn’t have booked that during the day? I’m exhausted. You get so much time at home, and I’m at work all day, then I gotta come home and watch the kids – I get no break!”
Parent 2: “Are you kidding me?! YOU get no break? You have it so much easier. At least you get to pee alone, and shower peacefully every morning without children banging on the door! You get to have lunch hours and speak to adults regularly and use your brain!. I’M the one who is exhausted!
Parent 1: “You get to stay home with our children. I would trade you that in a heartbeat. You have no idea what I do at work or how hard it is. Have you seen my calendar?!”
And close scene.
The argument goes on from there with each side trying to “convince” the other of who has it easier, only the joke’s on them because neither one of them have it easy. There is no winner. Alas, they won’t learn that until later when they have entered the “sweet spot” (the stage where the all the kids are out of diapers and sippy cups, but not yet teenagers).
You may have noticed that much of that argument was in italics. That is because there is a lot of underlying emotion influencing the situation that neither of them can appreciate because they’ve never walked a mile in the other’s shoes. More on this later.
I don’t remember the exact date I figured out the secret. I feel like it was more of an evolution as I gradually gave myself permission to use it. But here is what it comes down to.
Most work days, legally, consist of 8 hours. A lot of professions demand closer to 10, but at some point you get to leave work and go do something else. Maybe it is family, sports, relaxing, or whatever. The work day ends, and your personal choices begin. Speaking of personal choices, for many working parents, they have probably chosen a job/field that is challenging, rewarding or fulfilling to them in some way (some working parents have not, and to that I say, go find a job you love cause you spend more time working than you do anything else and if you aren’t loving it then it isn’t worth it). Bottom line, the work can be demanding, but in most cases you have chosen it because it fits with what you love/are good at, and you get fulfilment from that.
Same goes for stay-at-home parents. They also have chosen what they do because they love it. They love their children, caring for them, and experiencing amazing childhood moments with them. And they get fulfilment from that. That doesn’t mean it isn’t demanding, just like above, but they have chosen it for a reason, just like above. Where the difference lies, is that the stay-at-home-parent’s day DOES NOT END. From the time they wake (which is often through the night when you have newborns), straight through to supper time, dishes and bedtime, the work day continues. If you’re lucky, you still have a little energy left to spend with your spouse between kid’s bedtime and adult bedtime, but you consistently have that lack-of-energy/sleep fog that never seems to end.
So what’s the solution? What is the secret to the stay-at-home-parent’s sanity and energy saver? What is the magical answer that allows you to feel yourself (not just someone else’s caretaker) and allows you to appreciate your working spouse instead of resenting them for being able to sit down at their computer with a coffee and read their email without interruption? Quite simply, you give yourself permission to have a break. A break for you. You find a time during the day that has the least resistance with the kids (nap time, TV time, whatever) and you create “me time”. And you don’t feel guilty for it. Here’s why.
If you are going to work from sun up to sun down, you need a break. If you take that break when your working spouse comes home, that builds resentment because they haven’t yet walked that mile in your shoes. They don’t see all those italics. So you take your break when your body is telling you to. You know exactly what time that is. Early to mid-afternoon, when your body starts feeling sluggish, your head is feeling heavier, and you think to myself “man, I need a coffee”. So get one, grab that book that’s been waiting for you, or your journal and pen, or better yet, meditation cushion, and start your break. Commit to it. Don’t just justify it as a well-deserved indulgence, own it as time that is rightfully yours.
I still practice this secret today! I’m out of the diaper and sippy cup stage, but my evenings are now filled with soccer practices, girl scout meetings and drama rehearsals. My day starts at 6:30am and doesn’t end until 9pm (even later if hubby needs a knot rubbed out of his shoulder). If I don’t take my “me time” in the afternoon, when my body starts telling me it’s needed, then I am not nearly as fun to be around in the evening.
You know this stuff.
The better you are to yourself, the better you are for everyone else. “Me time” is the opportunity to connect with yourself, which allows the highest good to flow through you when you do interact with your family members. Do you really think they are getting the best of you when you are strung out exhausted, feeling like you lost the contest of who has it easiest? Of course not.
Don’t live your life in the italics. Be free to be yourself.
With light and love. Namaste.
July 30, 2015 § 2 Comments
I have been working on something lately. It is about being unconditional.
When I first decided that unconditional is how I wanted to be, it was within the context of relationships. Husband, children, teachers, neighbours, the person driving in front of me whose car can’t seem to go fast enough when I’m late. Seeing each person, especially my closest family members, unconditionally. At first it seemed a very steep hill to climb. I had to consciously step out of my self-interested tendencies and ways of perceiving others behaviour, and encourage my brain to widen itself beyond the messages my eyes and ears were relaying:
- My husband isn’t actually picking a fight with me. He is experiencing residual waves from a crappy thing that happened at work. Which provides me with a choice. Provide resistance to something that has nothing to do with me, or flow like water over and around it, washing over him with refreshing, unconditional support
- My children are not ignoring me when I ask the first, second and third time for them to do something. When I pay attention (instead of just yelling from the other room), I realize that they are happily engaged in a world of imaginative play (which is exactly what I love to see them do!)
Then it grew to other contexts. For example, when things don’t go the way I had set my expectations to – red lights instead of green, missing something I really wanted, choppy waters instead of smooth sailing. When someone asks me about something on my to-do list that I haven’t gotten to despite my several attempts, they are not reminding me that I am deficient. Every day I am presented with opportunities to remain neutral and untriggered, allowing the situation to unfold and staying connected to source, knowing that what I need will come to me if I do.
Unconditional means seeing the soul behind each physical body. Reaching past what is being dished out to me, and allowing for an understanding of the scenario to wash over me. And it also means resting in the knowledge given to me, even when my ego wants to shout out what I have realized.
It takes some practice, for sure.
Perhaps the biggest lesson that has come to me, is that the power of being unconditional stems from being present in each moment.
In Deepak Chopra’s latest book, The 13th Disciple, he explains the following:
Every life contains moments when a person sees beyond the illusion. The secret is to pay attention, because once the moment is gone, so is its power to change you. You must be open and alert to signals from your true self.
What this takes is a kind of second attention. First attention, which we’re all familiar with, deals with the events in daily life. You eat breakfast, go to work, pick up groceries, watch TV None of this has any intrinsic meaning. It can be good, bad or neutral. When second attention enters, you keep doing the same things you always did, but you are aware of your inner contentment, or of the food’s subtle tastes, or of gratitude for nature’s abundance. Going to work, you may feel inner satisfaction, excitement about new possibilities, or empowerment. There is often no neat match between what the first attention is noticing and what the second attention is realizing.
How lovely that this beautiful piece of wisdom happens to come through the book I am reading exactly at the time that I am looking for guidance on how to become more unconditional. Even better, the first time I was attempting to read that part of the book was during the landing of our plane, while one child is asking for gum, and another wants my help to beat the next level on their video game. I put the book away and embraced the moment I was in (I rock at that video game, and love that I can play it with her). Later, when I returned to the book, it was in the sanctuary of my bedroom, when my heart and mind were wide open to receiving it. Gratitude.
Being present in each moment allows you to understand the difference between feeling like life is happening to you, versus life is happening for you. Each moment is an opportunity for expansion and you get to choose!
It’s like when you watch a movie, and you comment to the person watching next to you that you know what is going to happen next, or that you know the answer to the mystery, long before the movie is over. You have been fully engaged, present to the details as they develop, allowing the meaning of each to flow and blend together in such a way that the answer seems obvious. Even easy.
Being unconditional not only becomes easier when you are present, it becomes natural, familiar, blissful. It feels like everything around you is water, flowing gently and refreshingly around and through you.
I have also grown to realize that being unconditional does not equal the absence of emotion. Like waves that toss a small boat around on the ocean, emotions can flare; anger, frustration, disappointment splash up. You get wet. Drenched even. But the difference is you embrace it as a part of an ocean journey. Remember those signs on the water rides at the amusement parks? You *will* get wet on this ride. You still jump on, stand in line even, just to know what it feels like. Experience it, expand from it, and move on to the next experience bolstered with what you learned from the last one.
I am excited at the opportunities being presented to me to become consistent in my unconditional approach. I look forward to being unconditional every day, every moment, and allowing it to flow to everyone I encounter. Wade in, the water feels great!