Empty is the New Full

I’m ready to spend the rest of winter hibernating under a blanket next to a mug of steaming coffee and a book. With only so much free time…or maybe that’s so little…I resist the lure of indefinite titles of TV shows to binge watch…opting for the quieter option of reading. Since watching Coach Taylor and other memorable characters on Friday Night Lights a few years ago I haven’t been inspired to watch another series…(I welcome your recommendations).

One Netflix show—Marie Kondo’s series about tidying up—has been in the spotlight. Yet I don’t have the desire to sit on my couch while watching someone else purge when I know that my garage, bedroom, and basement need a full-time consultant to help rid my house of joyless clutter.

Last week I talked to my good friend who recently moved into her new home. They sold most of their furniture before crossing 5 states, so her voice echoed while walking through her living room. I suggested taking photos of the open space. To take it in. Enjoy the vast room and possibilities. To savor that freedom to acquire at leisure. Over the course of time and the natural need to have a sofa and other furniture—the house will fill up.

For our wellness we all can concentrate on “clearing house” versus just donating unused things. We can choose mind over matter. Like, literally….choose a clear mind and focus on simplifying thoughts and energy vs. time spent on purging actual objects.

There is value to feeling empty. To be able to breathe deeply. To reflect how you’d like to fill it. If you’re so stuffed…how can anything new fit in? It’s uncomfortable and unhealthy.

From my own perspective I have noticed my personal habits change. From working at an aggressive pace every day and going out nightly as a twentysomething. To having a schedule so full with ink that somehow I got through it all. Thrived on it, actually. To my thirties balancing playdates with constant diaper changes and tossing in a part-time job. To now…how choked I feel if I don’t build in that space. A natural buffer. How stressed I feel when the candle burns on 6 ends. I gravitate towards the pull to just be—reading, writing, spending time outside…

In getting older--do you need more quiet? More space? More free time?

If seeing posts about cleaning out stuff exhausts you—if that isn’t you or your priority—then I suggest looking inward. You can get your fill out of emptying your schedule, clearing your head, saying no to commitments, and crafting time for yourself. Emptiness allows time to breathe, to get hungry, to quietly reflect, and to appreciate the space. By allowing yourself breaks you open yourself up to other ways to feed and fuel your soul. As Coach Taylor cheered with his team on my favorite TV show—“Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.” Free your mind and enjoy the fullness of that emptiness.

Late Bloomers May Bring Unexpected Joys

Some gardeners look at seed catalogs during the winter, anticipating new plants to become food delicacies to enjoy. I look out at my simple, overgrown weedy garden on this January day and wonder if I’ll ever grow more than one cantaloupe a season. And will it be worth it?

As much as I love gardening—it’s backbreaking work. Sometimes with little rewards. Some plants do better than others. Even last week I was surprised by a tiny indoor spider plant—one that I’ve had for 11 years. It bloomed a delicate flower that lasted a day. For more than a decade this plant never bloomed a flower. What a delightful surprise! All this time…and this week, for a fraction of time, it gave me an unexpected joy.

Last weekend I was talking to two moms, and I had no clue that one has an interest in being a young adult novelist. I say has for a reason, because I believe anyone who has a dream, who feels a calling, can pursue it—no matter when in life they bloom.

Do you feel like a late bloomer? What soulful calling churns in your deepest thoughts? What whispers ideas that excite your imagination?

Those moments crackle in my spine…I get urges to create, to make connections, to produce something new. And when those moments germinate my pulse quickens and physically I feel a lightness and energy: hope intertwined with innovation and joy. In some ways I feel like seeds had been buried deep in some wintry garden of my soul, and who knows when the flower will burst?

I wonder if others feel the same. Like even Vera Wang---I had no idea that she worked as a fashion editor until age 39. Then she opened her boutique and began designing wedding gowns. Or that American painter Grandma Moses, born in 1860, had her first big show in 1940. How impressive that a young-at-heart 78, Moses began painting in earnest.

What has always intrigued me about creativity and art—and that applies to entrepreneurs starting a new company, engineers striking up product ideas, amateur chefs concocting a dish—in ALL areas of life--is that everyone is juiced with the ability to create. That all it takes is a glimmer of an idea, some carved out time to focus on it, and a pure joy of simmering in the creation.

Everyone has a creative spark inside. It may take 11 years to see it surface, like the delicate spider plant flower. It may take decades for a book to sell. It may be even decades before you start. It may be a lifetime of backbreaking work to see any success…but that’s not the point, is it?  If you feel that sensation bubbling, that you just want to start, who knows what will burst forth? Along the way the inner joy will bring you a sense of lightness and purpose. You may even surprise yourself, I’m sure.

Time article about Grandma Moses

Photo Finish? A Real Race to Picture Popularity

Over Thanksgiving my family spent some peaceful time in Cape Cod. On a sunny yet frigid day I drove my boys to a beach to check out the late afternoon sun on the bay. Surprised, we were struck by the impressive beauty of the frozen sea foam creating an Arctic scene. Knowing that my 14 year-old daughter would love taking landscape pictures I called my husband to drive her to the same spot.

My daughter loves taking photos, and I wholeheartedly encourage this passion. Immediately I could sense her excitement—she started clicking, standing on ice, kneeling, trying to capture the best possible angles. Granted, she was wearing Birkenstocks unlike the polar expedition attire I wore. When she lost her sandal somewhere in icy slush she didn’t even tell me…determined to find it. I saw her gloveless hands digging, searching, when I realized what happened. Going after the ideal photo and lost in the moment she did not think about possibly losing the sandal. I told her to get to the car and put on the heat. She needed to defrost. And while the sun set I started poking the frosty surf, muttering under my breath at the moment’s absurdity.

I thought—how far would she go for a photo?

Hello, perspective…recently my newsfeed highlighted an article about senseless deaths from people going much farther than my daughter to snap the enviable pic: a culture of extremes for social media fame. People literally sitting on the edge of skyscrapers for Instagram popularity. Hiking scary cliffs. Taking a selfie with a bear. The adrenaline achieved plus the likes and follower tallies fuel even the average person to take high risks and make questionable decisions.

Now I fully realize that my daughter’s shutterbug quest isn’t the same as posing next to an erupting volcano—but I wonder: how far will people go in potentially harmful situations? And as  parents…do we understand the intense social pressures that stir these extreme choices? And I don’t mean for just photography--sake, I mean in life. For 13 years total I will parent teenagers, (calculating until my youngest will be 19), and merely at the cusp now I wonder if my nerves can hack it. I worry about my kids’ safety. And my fortitude. This when my kids haven’t pushed the limits. Yet.

Researching risky teen behavior I found that the most profound influence is, surprise, their peers. That teen brains are wired to focus on their friends, seek peer rewards, and long to be included. And the brain’s lateral prefrontal cortex, which is responsible for mature self-regulation, develops gradually during adolescence. 

So how far will kids go? How much effort will we make to literally peer into our teens’ own lenses to understand their motivations and decisions? As I continue this journey with the sacred sisterhood of cherished mom friends, I can only hope to glean some insights before our kids—or us—literally snap.

And if you’re wondering what happened to my daughter’s Birkenstock…I determinedly plowed through that Cape Cod Bay slush, and with frozen fingers extracted her sandal.

Photo Extremes article in Fast Company

Teens and Risk Taking article in Psychology Today

Spinning My Own 45

Growing up we had a Fisher Price record player, and I remember being at the age when I was beyond listening to books on records. At Allentown’s Laneco, the equivalent of today’s Target, (food, home goods, even clothes), the music section pulled me every shopping trip. One day my mom told us we could pick out our own record, and I took the task seriously, flipping through the 45s in their paper covers, wanting to make a good first purchase. I ended up choosing Diana Ross’s “Upside Down”—the first of many musical buys in my life.

And here I am…turning 45. Sometimes I relate to those records, constantly spinning. As much as I’ve seen our world turn upside down I hold many steady truths close to my heart. What truths propel you? What keeps you grounded? Inspired? Here’s just a sampling of things I’ve witnessed, internalized, and ponder, especially in the first half of my 40s:

• Senseless events happen in every community.
• Kids’ unique glow and their impressionable souls need to be celebrated and encouraged.
• Our livers harbor too many toxins. We all need to hydrate and eat healthier.
• Toxicity in all areas of life should be eliminated.
• Stay true to yourself. And always strive to improve.
• A democracy should have government representation that truly represents its citizens.
• Some of society’s “machines” seem too daunting to fix.
• Every single child needs teachers who have their backs.
• Surround yourself with people who feel like sunshine.
• Don’t take wins to your head or losses to your heart.
• I’ll never tire of reading and loving the power of an amazing book.
• Finding activities that bring you joy should never tag along with guilt.
• Moms amaze me for their strength, how much they carry, and all that they do.
• It’s a tough tightrope of living for today and saving for the future.
• We cannot grasp the digital effects on our children—they live a different childhood than ours.
• Time seems to be moving at a faster clip.
• Mainstream medicine still does not have a handle on autoimmune diseases.
• Leaders should follow a moral code.
• The rampant sexual harassment reported over the past year disturbs me.
• Everyone has a story to tell. They’re worth listening to.
• I still get awestruck by privilege. That certain people’s paths are instantly easier because of money and connections. I often wonder if they sincerely, humbly are grateful for it.
• Coordinating trips with friends is nearly impossible because everyone has so much happening. But those relationships and “time off” nourish the soul.
• I believe in the promise of kids. And I hope they believe in themselves.

As I spin from day to day at the age of 45, I rely more on instincts, often having my emotions turned “inside out” like Diana Ross sings, and I know this much to be true. That even at 45—with the right people around—you can still feel hopeful, young, and inspired. There’s so much life yet to be played! 

Seeking Simplicity

Like in my journal where a blank page offers a sense of hope, the clicking over into a new year brings that same sense of optimism and clarity. A sincere taking stock of both the good and frustrating from the last 12 months with a twist of yearning, wide-eyed promise into the next. In some ways the mental page flip of the kitchen calendar reminds me what is most important in life. 

With renewed spirit after the overindulgence of the holidays—the mind/body/house clutter—always returns with a need to simplify. The need to refine. Years ago when I was a business consultant in Boston my favorite manager, Bob, told me that we should be able to relay our overarching plan to the client in haiku form. That the usual consulting-ese often convolutes the purpose of engagements. We should stay focused with a clear objective in everything we do and say. That idea stuck with me.

I just read Stephen King’s memoir On Writing, and he would agree with Bob. He suggests during the first edit that you reduce the writing by 10% and stay focused on the overall theme. That every detail, action, and dialogue should all advance in the sweeping notion of the story’s central idea. 

With too many life distractions how difficult is it to stay focused? Can we all edit 10% of our lives?

I am in awe of successful people who achieve beyond what I have done in my 44 years. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I wander too much…that multitasking in different directions stands as a feeble, flimsy yet realistic excuse for not doing more. I can justify that of course I haven’t finished my 180,000 page novel; that I’m too busy cleaning up my kitchen five times a day along with everything else that drains my energy. As Seth Meyers and Amy Poehler would say, “Really?!?!”

So in seeking simplicity I took a stab at writing my own haiku:

Striving for simple,

honest, true living

sometimes exhausts me.

Granted, traditional Japanese poets wrote haiku poems inspired by nature, a moment of beauty, or a poignant experience, and mine is none of that…but those 17 syllables encapsulate how I feel. Why does carving out a simpler life take so much work?

In A Whole New Mind author Daniel Pink suggests drawing a five-line self-portrait for a creative spin at looking at the bigger picture. I interpreted the exercise as a way to distill the true essence of who you are. A graphical haiku of sorts. Here’s mine:

As with all new year’s resolutions filled with an expectant hope, my search for simplicity will, I’m sure, veer off-course as life’s mundane consumes my minutes. But I pray that glimpses of filtered, stripped-down priorities make their way into my cluttered mind as reminders to keep it simple. And I suggest that you try the same—pen a poem or draw upon what’s truly essential for you.

When Do You Take A Knee?

“I’ve made a decision tonight that this is going to be my last show. There’s a lot more to me than playing on the road and this is the last one I’m going to do.” Elton John, 1977

“This is my farewell tour. I’m never coming back. I swear to God.” Cher, 2002

Many musical artists declare their final tours—over and over again. Is it for money? That allure of performing? Connecting with their fans? The rush of creativity? Not knowing when to stop even if their voices have weakened?

As we get older why is it so difficult for people to take a knee?

Granted, I personally don’t know any rock stars or live that glittery life, but I do witness people not stepping down in other areas. I’m always observing how women approach their athletic decline, wondering how I’ll be and whom I’ll emulate in the coming decades. I’ve witnessed stubborn tenacity, a willful ignoring shrug. Last year in my tennis contract a sweet 70-ish woman could not hold her own with the rest in the group. At the end of the season she surprised us by declaring that she was coming back—certain she would have bowed out.

On the flipside last week I was blown away by a different older lady on the court. After our ninety minutes she slowly walked to the bench. As we gathered our things she quietly uttered, “I need to find a different group. My playing is weaker than yours—and it’s not fun for you or me.” Of course we gave her our support, saying we’re just playing for fun, she should think about that decision. But I was so impressed that she was willing to take a knee. She emitted a graceful honesty—true, laced with some sadness—but how differently these two women interpreted their abilities struck me.

There’s a consistent rush with always having hope, that thinking you can improve, that you are still up to par—and I admit that inertia creates an exciting energy. There’s a youthful elixir brewing in that spiritual force of strong belief in self. But at some point you’d think you’d look in the mirror and reflect. Do some checks. As I’ve been considering this post and its meaning—my theory is taking that knee requires a lack of ego, a welcoming acceptance, and an honest respect/awareness of others.

I’ve seen legends like Ray Charles and Tina Turner perform past their prime, and I had goosebumps in the audience watching them, grateful to experience their brilliance. But in real life—most of us aren’t legendary artists. We all age. We all weaken. We all become a different version of ourselves. I hope when that time comes—in whatever life arena---that arthritis or stubborn self-denial will not prevent me to purposefully take a knee when I choose to. Like Cher will sing during her 2018 Here We Go Again tour, I hope I’m “strong enough.”

Grace or Grit: Taking the High Road For Our Kids' Disappointments

While watching the latest royal wedding one word buzzed through my head—grace. How everyone—the bridal party, gospel choir, commentators—displayed true grace as they went through the motions. Perhaps the perfect 70 degree, blue sky weather helped set the mood, but even without that backdrop the royals’ event would have gone on without—(and with)—a hitch.

But not everyone’s life mirrors pristine perfection like that day. As someone who feels emotional cuts like sharp wounds, I try to muster grace, even when challenged, to reach a Zen-like state. Taking the high road is not always easy--especially as a mother when you feel that crushing, belly busting hurt others cause your kids. It’s not easy to let go of the heartache, disappointment, and anger. I struggle.

Should we be more graceful as we get older?  

This past spring—and even last week-- I experienced that tidal wave of outrage that I had to stifle. For the first instance with my daughter I turned the event into a teachable moment, trying to inspire strong character, when behind the scenes I didn’t sleep for nights and cried for her disappointment. Last week I opted to not bring it up with my son—waiting for the right moment when I wouldn’t feel my chest ache so I could be more present and level-headed.

I recently watched Rocky IV with my two youngest boys. I hadn’t seen that movie in decades, but what I remembered, (besides Apollo Creed dying), was the powerful montage of Rocky Balboa training for his bout with Ivan Drago. The beard, the snow, the leather jacket…and Sylvester Stallone somehow running, climbing, even clawing his way to the top of a snowy mountain. He alone at the summit.

I’m no heavyweight fighter nor do I physically train like one, but as a mother I do carry my children’s heavy emotional pain akin to Rocky lifting timber in the Russian tundra. I think most moms do. When it comes to my kids’ disappointments I take a different high road than if something happened to just me. Maybe it’s because I hurt more deeply. I care more. I wonder what’s swirling in their minds. I worry about the effects that could manifest in the future. I think about their self-esteem, confidence, and their reactions. I know kids should learn from losing, getting bad grades, and being disappointed—I get those lessons. I’m talking about HUGE crushing blows.

All I can say is that taking the high road allows us to reach the cleaner air and gain a clearer perspective. The strenuous emotional workout to the mountain top is worth it—because even at our age, we have a lot to learn, to still grow stronger, and to inspire ourselves to embody royal grace. And if we can’t emit that cool, loving, serenity we strive for—I suggest taking a grace period—sometimes distancing yourself with space and time does wonders. And then you’ll be ready for the bell of the next round…