Category: Spirit

Good morning, good mornings

IMG_20150505_081647.jpg

Waiting for the school bus.

Funny postscript to my last post on my forgetful daughter. Yesterday, the school bus arrived, she said goodbye, I watched her walk across the street and board the bus. A couple of minutes later, the front door slammed open and she rushed into the house. “What’s happening?!” we said. “No time to talk! I just forgot a few things!” “And the bus driver BROUGHT YOU BACK?” “Yes!” Rush, rush, slam.

I ran to the door to see what she’d forgotten — backpack, lunch? Nope.

SHOES. Running shoes.

And the bus driver brought her back. Now that’s a special bus driver.

Here are a few other things we do in the morning, before leaving for school (with apologies for lousy cellphone photos).

IMG_20150505_081607.jpgIMG_20150505_083531.jpg

Practice piano and violin. Read.

I really enjoy our mornings. Kevin and I both get up before the kids. I run or go to an exercise class. He runs the dogs and does yoga and strength exercises in our living-room. He makes a giant smoothie for the kids’ breakfast (yogurt, kefir, almond milk, bananas, frozen fruit). Various people take showers. Dishwasher is emptied (by the kids; this is a new routine). Big kids pack their own lunches. Kev packs his lunch, plus lunches for the younger two (I think they could manage it on their own, but if he’s willing to do it …). What else? First load of laundry goes in the washer. Musical instruments get practiced. Forms get signed. Dogs get fed. Weather gets checked. Music is played.

It’s a sweet start, and worth the early hour, says the woman who remembers being a night owl, once upon a time.

xo, Carrie

An exercise that is not interested in right or wrong

IMG_20150302_101337.jpg

Yesterday, my youngest stayed home from school. I didn’t want to alter my routine too drastically and he is old enough now to be accommodating and to entertain himself quite easily. I said I was going to meditate for twenty minutes, and he was okay with it, especially when I told him to bring his little mini-super-hero figures into my office so he could play while I meditated. I told him he could make noise, but please not to ask me for anything for those twenty minutes (genuine emergencies excepted; but the beauty of having an office is that the kids already know that rule about interrupting me).

He played for the first ten minutes or so. Then I heard him leave. I heard him come back. And it got very quiet. I knew he was in the room with me, but I didn’t know what he was doing.

When I opened my eyes at the end of the exercise, that’s what I saw: see photo above. He was meditating. He had chosen to sit cross-legged with his hands in a prayer position. This is not how I sit when I meditate. He wasn’t copying me; it was the position he chose on his own. When I asked him about why he’d chosen to sit that way, he couldn’t explain it. He had a few questions about the voice in the computer (I use a guided meditation app). Who was that man, and is he real, and can other people hear him too?

I have a couple of observations about meditating. I love it. Or maybe I only have one observation. That’s it. Clearly this is something my mind takes to; reminds me of running, a bit, how when I found the running, it seemed to answer some question in me that I hadn’t known was there, silently being asked.

I love following the tracks of my thoughts into a corner of the mind where I am suddenly falling backward into deep snow and staring at an enormous open sky, in awe.

Even today, meditating alone (with dog snoring at my feet), with my mind in a state of apparent dissatisfaction–even today, I loved the exercise. Why?

My mind flitted today, ran everywhere, often to places I did not want to be.

I kept returning to breath and that helped, but didn’t cure what ailed my mind, its anxiety that I was doing everything wrong.

But you know what? Even while I worried, I knew on a deeper level: This is not an exercise interested in right or wrong. Do it, and it counts. You will learn something, every time. Not necessarily something big and astonishing. But something interesting–it’s waiting to be found, every single time. Today’s exercise was a good reminder to the frustrated, dissatisfied self: you won’t always think you’re doing a good job at the tasks you’re doing; maybe you’re even right about that. But the real work isn’t confined to a single instance, it’s in the accumulation of many instances. It’s in repetition of effort, and returning again and again to the discipline you’ve chosen to get to know more deeply. You can’t know in advance where it’s taking you. You don’t know exactly what you’re making. But that’s the beauty and the mystery.

xo, Carrie

Sitting in stillness amidst the whirl

IMG_20150224_122920.jpg

“I am beautiful, I am bountiful, I am bliss, I am, I am.” —from the song “I am the light of my soul”

These are the words that came into my head as I finished today’s meditation, which was for thirty minutes. It amazes me that I am now able to sit still for thirty minutes. Me! Sitting still, doing, apparently, nothing but breathing. Today, as I was falling into and out of my breath, feeling the stillness and comfort of my body, I heard a car zoom by on the street outside, and I had a strong and joyful sense of the world going on around me in its whirl and bustle, and yet here I was, still and at peace. Still and at peace and not necessary. That sounds odd. It’s what I felt.

It was a very peaceful feeling. I felt the world whirling on around me and without me and it didn’t need me to whirl too. I could sit here in stillness and all would be well; maybe I even understood in that moment that sitting here in stillness was as important as all of the whirling I do.

I have filled my life up with responsibilities and cares. I love being in motion, driving somewhere with somebody to something, or setting goals for myself in everything I do, from swimming lengths to running miles to lifting weights, to the word count I keep track of with pleasure on my new novel. I am also keenly aware of the needs that must be met to keep this family operating in a healthy and happy way. The dog hair that must be vacuumed. The meals planned and prepared.

So it is somehow profoundly soothing to also see the flip side, to recognize that I am not as necessary as I tell myself. That if I am busy, it is because I’ve chosen to be busy, not because busyness is essential to my being. That there is always room to sit still for a few moments and breathe, and pay attention.

I feel hopeful today.

I am hopeful about my writing. I am hopeful about my children and my relationship with each of them. I am hopeful about what meditation is bringing into my daily life. I am hopeful about practice. I am hopeful about today. And right now.

xo, Carrie

The power of play and imagination

IMG_20150223_173125.jpg

recorder concert, while we wait

Earlier this week, I walked the two little kids partway to school, the uphill part.

The tall snowbanks make the sidewalk narrow, so it’s hard to walk three abreast, which is what they want to do, each holding one of my hands. CJ tends to fall behind. He was hanging onto my hand, walking behind me, and I felt like I was pulling him along.

So I told them a story that I think is at least partially accurate. I’ll have to ask my dad, because it’s really his story. I remember him telling it to me when I was little. I loved horses and I loved stories about horses. In my memory of this story, Dad was living in Puerto Rico. He wasn’t very old, perhaps 7 or 8, and he had a little pony. Was the pony called Star? I could be making that up. I could be making all of this up, which is why I don’t trust myself to write a memoir. In the story, as I told it to my kids, my dad was riding his pony up a steep hill, and it got steeper and steeper as they got close to the top, so he got off and held onto the pony’s tail, and the pony pulled him up the rest of the way.

I told CJ that I felt like my dad’s little pony, pulling him up the hill.

Telling the story made our walk so much easier, not just for the kids, but for me too. It reminded me of my own power, as the adult in the situation, to change the tenor of an experience by introducing a creative element, such as a story.

When the older kids were little, we used to pretend things all the time when we were walking places–and we walked a lot of places, and we walked really slowly. So it took patience, and in all honesty, I am not a patient person by nature. It could have been really boring. But instead, we were in the arctic or the desert, we were explorers, the cars were polar bears, the streets were rivers of ice, we were going up mountains, we were looking for our home, it was really cold, or really hot. The story would expand, mostly just describing what we were doing; sometimes we were hiding or hurrying from an imaginary threat. It turned our walks to the library or school or on errands into little adventures. We had to be doing these things, and yet we were enjoying doing them—the errands became bigger than what they appeared to be, on the surface. It’s something I’ve tried to pass along to my kids, to give them the tools to recognize and experiment with creative solutions to momentary problems: creative ways to overcome boredom, to soothe the self, to interact with others. (Whether it’s worked, I don’t know; my kids nevertheless seem to like best to self-soothe and fight boredom with a variety of glowing screens ….)

But this little uphill climb got me thinking about the power of a story. And the power of a storyteller. It’s also the power of play and imagination, two things I get to tap into regularly in my writing life as well as in my parenting life. I recognize that it’s a luxury–that play is a luxury and imagination is a luxury–because you have to have the patience and energy to locate and use your creative self. You have to know it’s there, in the first place. You have to trust yourself. But it’s a luxury anyone can afford, which is the only kind of luxury that really interests me, access to which I would love to somehow spread out into the world.

xo, Carrie

I’m thinking about being

IMG_20150215_222343.jpg

six-year-old asks the big questions on the chalkboard wall

I’m thinking of not trying to be the best at everything.

I’m thinking of cutting myself some slack, maybe a whole lot of slack.

I’m thinking of what my inner life would look like, were I to celebrate my successes, and accept my failures.

I’m thinking of exploring even more closely the work that comes naturally to me.

I’m thinking of not wishing I were better at [fill in the blank].

I’m thinking of letting myself attempt things for which I have no discernible talent.

I’m thinking of taking pleasure in the wonders of life as it exists right now. Right now!

The sound of a garbage truck idling outside the house. The icy blue sky. The brightness of sun on deep snow. My feet in warm socks chilly against one another, toes touching. Life. Breath. The way my kids head boldly out the door every morning to take on the world in their own brave ways. The way my kids crash through the door every afternoon and shout a greeting, Hey Mom! Are you here? The ebb and flow of multiple conversations washing over me. The smell of dirty hair and of clean hair.

I’m thinking of frightening things that have no good answers and I’m thinking of prayer and of love.

I’m thinking of how brief I am. I’m thinking of the spaces within myself. I’m thinking of atoms and of stars.

I’m thinking of how much I like hanging around laughing and talking about stuff that doesn’t matter, that has no substance, that is lightness itself, utterly irreverent, in moments that mimic forever.

I’m thinking about not being the best, or even distinguished, or even accomplished, or even any comparative description at all. I’m thinking about being.

xo, Carrie

A knock at the door

IMG_20150212_130852.jpg

Today is the official release day for Girl Runner in the UK, and it is now also available in the US. You might wonder what this means for me in terms of publicity expectations, and I have to tell you: not very much. Unless the book takes off running, so to speak, I don’t anticipate being called upon to fly around the world to promote it.

So Girl Runner runs on her own–but not entirely on her own. She’s being well-taken care of in her new homes. There was just a knock on the door and a delivery person handed me flowers. The note is from my UK publishers: Thank you for bringing Aggie to life, and for letting us be part of her race.

I’m continuing my daily meditations; I think this is going to be my project for this year and I’m excited about that. I like having a year-long project on which to focus my attention. Today, I observed that my mind tends to wander into categories of distraction. Planning; Memory; Critique; Judgement; and a category I call Meta, in which I can feel myself thinking about my thoughts. What’s most interesting to observe is how often my mind tracks a subject without me even noticing what’s happening, and the subject may be drawing forth emotions or desires, but I’m not even conscious of the changes in interior direction. All that busyness. Going on without notice. Meditation is making me look a little more closely, ask: what’s happening here?

xo, Carrie

Page 10 of 26« First...89101112...20...Last »