Coach and soccer player # 1.
My meditation focus for this month is: anxiety.
I spend way more time not in my office, writing, than sometimes I’d like. But hey. This is Life. For the record, here is what I do when I’m not in my office, writing. This is not a lifestyle endorsement, trust me. After reading this, you may suspect that I need an intervention.
Yesterday. Pack laptop, leave house at 2:30 to pick up AppleApple early from school, drop her at piano lessons; drive back to different school, pick up CJ for piano. There’s a lag between the two pick-ups, so I edit in the car for 25 minutes, shutting down my laptop only with great pain; CJ wonders why I’m late. Drive back across town to music school. Arrive in time for CJ to do his home reading out loud before his lesson, while I attempt to listen and finish the edit I’d abandoned in order to pick him up. Fooey calls around 4 to say she’s home (Albus texted earlier, same message; now I know where everyone is). Fooey has a friend over—is that okay? Okay, so long as dogs are crated. Soon, a text from Fooey: Can another friend come over too? Parenting by text; answer, no. I’m now downstairs at the music store buying an intro to cello book for AppleApple, and discussing the launch party plan for Candy Conspiracy with my friend Zoe who works at the music store. CJ’s lesson done at 4:30, home again, I set out food for supper, start oven to make store-bought french fries, chop veggies to go with hummus. I also telephone my friend Marnie to discuss our coaching plan for the boys’ team and to arrange transportation/child exchange for this evening; while on phone I wash the walls going up the stairs, because I happen to notice they are filthy and my mother-in-law and her new boyfriend are coming to visit this weekend; I’m sure they won’t care, but this is the kind of detail one notices under these circumstances. Kev home at 5:10. I’m changing into soccer gear, urging AppleApple to pack a supper for herself and get ready for rehearsal, and by 5:30, we are back in the car driving across town. I’ve eaten a pita smeared with baba ghanoush and a few red peppers. Traffic is nuts. I’m oddly calm—no, it isn’t odd, actually. I’m calm because just after we pull out of the driveway, I ask AppleApple to entertain me on the drive, to take my mind off the many anxieties about our evening’s schedule; and she tells me cool things her class learned during a lecture on quantum physics from a visiting scholar. And my anxiety melts away.
Drop off AppleApple, enjoy a few minutes alone in the car by listening to pop music on the radio—Chandelier gets stuck in my head; in fact, is still stuck in my head. Windows down. Sweet. Switch station at 6PM to listen to CBC news about NDP win in Alberta. Back home, grab a few fries, locate a watch, briefly talk to Kevin, clear table and help clean up from supper. At 6:40 everyone in the house is back in the vehicle, with a bag of balls in the trunk. Drive up the street and drop off CJ, pick up Fooey’s friend who is also on her team (a fair exchange of children!), visit briefly with Marnie, pick up coaching stuff. Drive across town and drop off Albus and Kevin at their practice field. Continue on to our practice field. Find parking, haul balls to field, talk to a friend whose son is playing in the time slot before ours.
Coach and soccer player #2.
Realize the so-called planned club-led practice is not going to materialize: this practice is going to be Carrie-led. Set up drills and games and try to teach skills and make it fun for nine friendly funny nine-year-old girls for an hour. Make up a team cheer to go with new team name: The Fierce Green Grapes! Wait with child whose parent is late to pick up. Begin to quietly panic. Call parent. Parent arrives. Drive back to pick up Kevin and Albus at their field, discuss practices and strategies for future drills on the drive home. Drop Albus at home. Drop off Fooey’s friend, pick up CJ, chat with Marnie. Home to use the bathroom. Return to truck, drive across town to pick up AppleApple from dress rehearsal for play. Discover dress rehearsal is going late. And later. And later. Sit in parking lot, listening to an interesting program on CBC Radio’s Ideas, by Lynn Coady, on literary snobbery and the future of books. AppleApple finally done, arrives dressed in clown costume.
Drive home. So hungry. Kevin has made tea. I drink tea and scarf the rest of the baba ghanouj (not homemade) with very stale tortilla chips that I find on the counter. And a few leftover carrots.
Bed. Read two pages of Knausgaard. Sleep instantly.
Alarm goes at 5:30, and I’m off for a run, and at it again. More soccer tonight!
“I think I’m going to need therapy to get through the next two and a half months,” I told my friend at the soccer field, only half-kidding. So be it. The quiet during the day is keeping me sane, I think, and the early morning exercise, and the writing. Although the writing also consumes me terribly; or wonderfully. So maybe it’s good to be distracted and occupied by evenings spent outdoors with one’s children, even if it requires a whole lot of driving and elite-level scheduling acuity.
Wish me luck. I need it. Or better yet, wish me calm.
photo by Sarah L.
My day is split into chunks of time. Often, I set the timer to remind myself not to let time slip away. Forty minutes of spinning. Thirty minutes of napping. Fifteen minutes of meditation. Ten minutes of blogging.
Today’s post includes a bit of horn-tooting (for which I dearly want to apologize, and am telling myself that I needn’t and probably actually shouldn’t, and so am compromising with this lengthy expository aside).
A friend sent me a photo from a review of Girl Runner in Bust magazine (US): Look, they gave me 5 out of 5 boobs! Or could be nipples! But definitely bust-related!
Also, the lovely people at Two Roads in the UK made this graphic with actual quotes from the Daily Mail review, and look — no nots between the nice words. (I still haven’t read the review because I don’t read reviews, and I’m not just saying that; I really don’t. We can chat about this later if you want, but basically, I find it stirs me up inside, for good or for ill, and whenever possible, when it relates to my writing life, I like to avoid being stirred, shaken, or otherwise muddled.)
In other parts of my life, I don’t object to being stirred. Fun is stirring, for example. And this was a weekend when I didn’t feel I needed to try to have fun or be fun; fun was just there, inviting me out, into the world, to share in its exuberance. See the above photo: cross-country skiing yesterday with friends in a winter wonderland, the trees blossoming with hoar-frost.
Ding-ding-ding. That’s my time.
Whenever I float the idea of not blogging anymore (and it’s an idea that keeps bubbling up, with somewhat alarming frequency, actually), I know exactly what I would miss most: connections. A friend texted after my last post to say it had reminded her of a cartoon she’s kept for years: a woman stands alone, thinking, “I wonder if I would be happier if I put as much effort into accepting myself as I do into changing myself.”
That got me thinking.
What if I were to focus on accepting myself? What would that look like?
It would mean I wouldn’t shame myself for wanting to share my thoughts out loud. I would stop calling it a compulsion (a pretty judgemental word).
It would mean I might see my writing in simpler terms. I would accept what I’m able to create and do.
It would mean, maybe, too, that I wouldn’t be so frustrated during these rough patches (like right now) when I’m squeezed for writing time and my days are spent looking after sick kids, out of routine; because these days are gifts too, and my work is not only to write write write, but to live live live. To be alive is to be with others, to be interrupted, to fail, to be frustrated, emotional, achy, tired, weak, and surrounded by the fruits of your labours, which sometimes feel really heavy. If I accept myself, I accept that my days are broken. I accept that I have limits and limitations. I accept, too, that I’m on a path of my own choosing and virtually everything I do is in service to something or someone I care deeply about–how fortunate is that!
I have a question for myself: if I focus on accepting myself, would I discover that I am an ambitious woman, or a woman who is content with muddling along? Can I be both?
I wasn’t going to blog this morning, because I didn’t want to disappear into internet-land, where time melts away. But I wanted to share a morning thought, a fireside thought, so I’ve set my timer for 15 minutes, and here goes.
I spend a lot of time taking care of myself.
I didn’t always.
I spend a lot of time taking care of myself and my family seems to have benefitted, too.
Mothering doesn’t mean never doing anything for yourself. Okay, this is easier to state and to claim once your babies are weaned, potty-trained, sleeping through the night, and going to school full-time. Much much much easier. And maybe that period of mothering did mean never doing anything exclusively for myself, and maybe I didn’t feel like a martyr because I found the involvement in my babies’ lives so satisfying.
But now–now. Now, I wake up early to exercise. I don’t have to. No one’s making me. But it makes my whole day better. So I do it.
I do it even though the only way I can manage it is if I nap to compensate for lost sleep. So I do. I prioritize napping. Today I napped a little longer because last night I was at a book club in a restaurant, speaking and reading, and that took more energy than my usual evenings demand. And I wanted to get up early and meet my friend and go for a walk this morning. So I did.
I walked, I did physio exercises by the fire, I napped extra long. Tonight, I’ll be at the same book club, only with different ticket-holders. (4 minutes left on timer! Agh! The pressure!)
This morning, I also helped with violin and piano practice and getting kids off to school. I was pleasant and calm, without having to remind myself to be pleasant and calm — I was pleasant and calm because the walk was good, talking with a friend was good, the feedback from the book club was good, and even though I was extra-tired, I knew I could nap extra-long.
Does my life seem ideally rather than realistically organized? Maybe so. I’m extremely fortunate not to be working outside my home during school hours. And that I get to take my laptop to gymnastics and soccer and work at odd hours. And that I get to write for a living. I don’t know whether I deserve any of this (probably not), but I know that it’s taken deliberate work to arrange my days and hours, given life’s many variables, in a way that allows me to take care of myself. I’ve thrown out a lot of bad habits along the way.
And I’ve (noooo! 15 minutes gone by. Setting timer for another 7…)
What was I going to say?
Take care of yourself, people, that’s what I was going to say. Recognize what feeds you, what makes you feel good, what makes you feel cared for and loved, what challenges you to be your better self. Recognize it. And do it. I know this isn’t realistic advice for everyone. I know not everyone has support or financial resources or time. Maybe you’re in a whirl of despair or depression. This will sound naive and blinkered, this advice. Or maybe you’ve already figured all of this out!
What’s your recipe for self-care? What are the things you do that make your day better?
Here’s my recipe, right now, January 2015: wake up early, exercise, naps, friends, being with the kids, music while driving, Friends episodes while doing boring physio exercises, books, writing, and the phrase “I accept”
PS Timer totally went while I was typing that last sentence …
birthday messages on the chalkboard
Tonight, I’m meeting with my Word of the Year friends. This will mark nearly a decade of participating in this ritual. I’m not positive I can remember all of the words chosen, but here are most of them, from oldest to newest: Create. Imagine. Spirit. Heart. Work/Play. Stretch. Success.
Success was my most recent word: the word for 2014. Chosen in anticipation of a big year career-wise; chosen because I realized that I was terrified and strangely ashamed by the idea of Success, and I wanted to explore why. I tried, but didn’t dig very far into the why. Maybe that would have required therapy. But I dug deep into the idea of Success and its meanings, its definitions, and learned that it’s very personal. There are external markers of Success that we tend to rely on: how much we earn, what we own, how much recognition we receive for our efforts.
Conversely, there are internal markers of Success that no one else will ever see or recognize. These are your values. What matters to you. What you care about. And it may just be that what you care about doesn’t align perfectly with what the world cares about.
That’s good to know. It helped me during this year to separate my own hopes and disappointments and dreams from the hopes and disappointments and dreams out there.
It was a good year, there’s no doubt about it. What I remember best and value most are the friendships and connections. New connections, ongoing friendships, give and take, small adventures. Fun. I’ll remember a gathering of friends and family in my living-room, singing and playing on the night I turned 40. I’ll remember skiing with a friend in the bitter cold last winter; and with the kids too. I’ll remember the generosity of friends hosting and feeding me in London, England last spring. And being part of the Published-A-Book-In-Canada Class of 2014 on tour this past fall. Looking back, it’s the people, I see.
I’m good with that definition of Success: not as a popularity contest, but as the formation of real bonds, strong connections.
Think of those throngs of people marching in Paris yesterday. To my mind, that is Success: an outpouring of collective, peaceful strength.
Up next: word of the year, 2015. Stay tuned.
Seen: park bench, Vancouver
I spent part of this morning at a friend’s annual solstice breakfast, a neighbourhood gathering of women friends, many of us known to each other for a decade or more, and I think the feeling around the table this morning was gratitude for the deepening of friendships over time, and the welcoming of new friendships, too.
Kevin and I landed by chance in this neighbourhood eleven years ago; we knew one couple who lived nearby (she was there this morning too). I wouldn’t have even known what to hope for at the time, much less could I have imagined how the move would shape our lives–our daily lives and our lives as they’ve unfolded and continue to unfold through all of the stages and seasons. My own childhood was very different from the childhood I’ve chosen to give to my own kids. There are upsides and downsides to both. I moved often as a kid, changed schools often, had to make new friends, find ways to fit in, and say goodbye, often. I remember relishing the adventures. It was sometimes hard to be the outsider, but I also became almost effortlessly adaptable, a natural observer and mimic; and also effortlessly open to adventure, my mind full of possibilities and dreams, open to new places, cultures, languages. It was a lucky childhood for a writer, and perhaps it made me into one. My own children know what I didn’t know, and what I sometimes longed for — friendships predating memory, continuity of ritual and landscape and seasons, the stability of rootedness.
I didn’t know what moving to this neighbourhood would give me. But maybe I intuited the possibilities. It is so good to be a part of a community. We went around the table this morning, each naming what we were grateful for. I felt grateful that friends continue to invite and include me, even though I’ve been missing-in-action so much of this year, often too tired or simply not present, not available to come and share the friendship. I recognize how important presence is to friendship. I’m so grateful to be invited to the table.
This may sound ever so slightly off-topic, but bear with me. There are times when I’m overwhelmed by fear or sadness. And I ask, in those moments, what comforts me? The answer is friendship. Even if I don’t always choose to reach out, I know in my bones that help and support would flood in my direction if I were to call out in need, just as I would offer the same. To be part of a community is to know, to trust, I’m not alone. We’re not alone.
I can’t think of a greater comfort.
I hope for you the same.
PS My two-word letter to my younger self is up on the 4Mothers blog today. An interesting and challenging exercise, if you want to try it too.
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