March 5th, 2010
Driving with Gates to a swim lesson this afternoon, I noticed a skeletal tree basking in sunlight. As we zipped by, I pointed it out and offered, “trees can be so beautiful even without their leaves.” I really believe that and that poetic truth has stayed with me all evening. In autumn I’m one of the first to ooh and awe over the brightly colored leaves, but I never gave the winter tree much thought. If anything, I felt a little sorry for it looking so bare and arthritic.
Today I saw a tree in a different light (pun intended) and it’s courage, vulnerability, and grace have inspired me. I’m going to spend less time with magazines touting the latest anti-aging products and more time in the presence of those who really have something to teach: trees. Like Rickie Lee says, this thing that makes you beautiful never comes out of a jar.
March 1st, 2010
Our son attends a Quaker school. The other day the Lower School Head sent an email recounting some of the things students had shared in their “meeting for worship” (in a Quaker meeting, everyone comes together in silence and then when someone is moved to speak, they stand and share with the group). The query involved contemplation of the Quaker belief that “there is that of God in everyone.” The students were asked to consider what this might look like, and what it means for them. Various children stood and spoke about the light of God, and then one student rose and offered this:
I think when I try to see the light of God in others, it helps others find it in me.
I bow at the feet of a master and, in this moment, it is that child. Thank God for them. They keep it so simple.
February 3rd, 2010
“It’s a really special occasion, every day I’m alive.”
Our son, Gates, said this over dinner tonight. He was making a joke about how his babysitter only gave him chocolate milk on really special occasions. Apparently he wanted milk more often. What astounded was the effortless way in which a simple, powerful truth tapped me on the shoulder and waved, bringing with it a tsunami of joy. I’m still catching my breath.
To some it may sound like I’m exaggerating. I am not. Maybe it comes with age, maybe with experience. I don’t know, but life is good. More accurately, life dazzles. Sure, there are challenges. Yes, we are sometimes asked to grow in ways we’d rather not. But HELLO have we noticed the geese soaring across the fields. Have we been catching snowflakes on our tongues? Did we sing in our car today - I mean really SING?
It’s a really special occasion every day you’re alive.
I’m going to toast that truth with a glass of chocolate milk. Salute, Bonzai, and thank you, Gates.
January 30th, 2010
In his book Letters to a Young Brother, actor/activist Hill Harper defines balance as being:
“…secure enough to be vulnerable, strong enough to be gentle, wise enough to be humble, and powerful enough to serve others.”
I first heard this more than a year ago on Oprah. I was reminded of it again recently. And I LOVE it. I mean I really LOVE IT. Not as an idea or a thought but as a deeper, fuller, richer way to experience the “sweet spot” of life. When we are balanced, we are clear and, when we are clear, the eternal light (within all of us) shines through.
I was hooked on drama for a long time. I believed I had to create things around me to complain about or attack or gossip over, in order to feel better about my imperfect self. Now I realize that judging myself as flawed kept me from experiencing my divinity. I know I’m not perfect, but I also know that I am love. We all are. And when we are balanced, our true self (love) is expressed.
Out my window, it’s snowing. Inside Rob makes tea. Balance is beautiful.
January 24th, 2010
Our three year old daughter, Frances, sat on the potty enumerating her best friends. Dashiell is my best friend, and Revell is my best friend. These are her teenage cousins. I pointed out that she had a lot of best friends, each day bringing with it the revelation of another best friend. Sometimes it’s Daddy, sometimes Mommy. Often it’s her grandmothers. The other day our potty was a great friend because it’s warm (unlike the downstairs loo which apparently is not).
As her legs swung about and we both waited patiently, suddenly Frances’ eyes widened and she inhaled her breath, You know who else is my best friend? Who? I asked. MYSELF! she beamed. Seemingly effortlessly Frances landed on an essential truth: our ability to love one another is directly proportional with our ability to love ourselves. If we don’t love ourselves enough to be our own best friend, then chances are good our life is not.
We are all worth loving. Even a three year old knows that.