No thanks, autopilot, I'll take it from here

I’m sick again. I probably don’t need to tell you how tired I am of being sick, what with the pneumonias and asthmas and whatchamacallits I’ve been talking about for the past year.

I told a couple people recently, there really does come a point where you have to make a choice: give up, or choose to live your life anyway. Given those two options, that’s a pretty easy choice for me, especially with two amazing kids to watch as they learn and create and grow.

But I’m realizing there’s a third option too. It’s the option of no-choice. It’s not expressly giving up and being immobilized by depression, but it’s not really living my life either. I think I’m going to call it the autopilot choice.

This autopilot choice, it’s tricky – it sneaks in whenever I’m just going through the motions, just picking up my son from school and getting the food on the table and not overtiring myself. Yes, there are days when it feels like all I can do is attend to these basics. But more and more, I’m realizing that if I’m just barely getting through the routine, I’m not really here. I’m just the housekeeper or maid or whatever.

Well, I’d like to state clearly for the record, I WANT TO BE HERE. As me, Sarah. Bringing forth who I am, no matter how sick, no matter how little energy I have. I want to connect to life in some creative way, which sends a spark of life to someone else who might be stuck in autopilot. I want us all to wake up and really be here -- can you imagine what this would be like?

Yeah, life is tough sometimes. Or a lot of the time. But I refuse to numb out and just get by on autopilot from now on. I choose to engage my life as profoundly as I can from wherever I find myself that day. Maybe that means giving myself permission to have a really good pout for 10 minutes first. But then, finding some way to connect in between taking care of tasks: making up a silly story with my son, sketching designs for a handbag, submitting ideas for talks & classes.

Because when I do these things, I feel awake, alive, connected to others, regardless of how I’m feeling. And that’s the real me I want to share with the world.

The Very Picky Caterpillar: a story by Isaac and Sarah

One morning a tiny caterpillar woke up inside an egg. He could only think of one thing. He was HUNGRY!

He looked around and couldn't see any way out. He thought to himself, "I guess I'll EAT my way out!" And so he did.

"Hmmm," he said. "That egg was not so tasty. I want to find something REALLY tasty to eat."

So he began to crawl around the garden where he hatched. He tasted turnips and munched on melons. He chewed on chives and sampled sorrel. "Tangy, but not quite what I was looking for." On he went.

He licked limes and ate asparagus. He was eating an eggplant when all of the sudden, out of the sky, KERPLOP!

The caterpillar was startled and curious about the big brown ball in front of him. He circled around and wondered to himself, "Could this be a giant egg? I will have to crack the shell to find out."

So he began to chew through the rough brown shell. It was tough and thick. He chewed and chewed and chewed.

Finally he took a bite and tasted something different. It was white and flaky. And it wasn't at all like turnips or melons, chives or sorrel. It wasn't like limes or asparagus or eggplant either. No, this taste was something entirely different. And it was entirely DELICIOUS!

"I love this!" exclaimed the caterpillar. "I wonder what it is?" Just then a butterfly flew by and landed on top of the big brown ball. "Maybe I'll ask him."

"Excuse me, please, but do you know, what is this delicious... thing?"

The butterfly smiled and chuckled. "Oh yes, I remember when I was a wee caterpillar your size, and I tasted my first coconut."

"Coconut?" repeated the caterpillar. "And what do you mean, when you were a caterpillar my size? You're a butterfly!"

"Oh sonny, life has many more beautiful discoveries in store for you. Take some advice from an old-timer like me. Enjoy every minute!"

"Well, I'm certainly enjoying this coconut," said the caterpillar. "I wonder what's next?"

And he couldn't wait to find out.

THE END

An Embarrassment of Happiness

Yesterday a creative mood came over me -- I moved around all the potted plants on the front porch, imagined what our front yard would look like with a pebble "streambed" rain garden meandering through it, and then came inside to make a snack.

Something about the feng shui of the bamboo cutting board inspired me, and I took some time to arrange the apple slices in a pleasing way, found a pretty bowl for my hummus, and laid one sprig of parsley for some diagonal interest. The camera was nearby so I snapped this shot of the scene. Then Andy walked in the kitchen, and I quickly put away the camera and stood with my back to the cutting board, embarrassed to be caught having fun in such a simple way.

This is far from the first time I've found myself embarrassed to be happy -- there is something unguarded about joyfully participating in my life that I am afraid to let other people see. It goes back to when I was a teen, at least, and continues even today. If I'm caught in the act of moving to a good beat, or saying hello to a bright yellow daffodil beaming up at me, I quickly dissemble and try to look "ordinary" -- busy, fretting or fussing, doing something productive.

Only around my kids can I sing and boogie and talk to plants with abandon, and it feels like this is a clue as to where the embarrassment originates.

I delight in watching my kids continuously creating and participating in their lives, with a minimum of self-judgment. I can already see the inhibitions creeping in with Isaac (now 9 years old), but Josie (age 5) is still pretty freeform with her constant movement, wonder, and delight. It feels like somewhere around Isaac's age we start picking up the judgments, the critiques, carefully deciding what's cool or not cool, what is socially acceptable and what isn't. We begin painstakingly constructing a suit of armor around the truest, most unique and therefore vulnerable parts of ourselves, each chink comprised of some behavior or attitude or identity that we deem will best help us fit in.

And it feels like when I'm happy, really just happy for no reason and having fun with what's around me, that suit of armor is off; I'm like a child exploring, not afraid to be silly or make mistakes. But being seen by another in this state is like being seen naked, for who I am, with nothing to cover up my perceived weaknesses or oddities.

It seems to come down to self-judgment, a core feeling that there's something inherently wrong with me, and that it is better to fit in than to risk showing my true self to the world. Which is why I created that suit of armor to begin with.

But why should I fear being who I am? For what reason could it possibly be better to hide and just try to fit in? If I really pause and consider it, I can feel how happily being myself will bring infinitely more joy and healing to the world than hiding inside my defenses. After all, anybody can fit in, but only I can be me.

Besides, I'm getting tired of dragging around this armor. And letting myself be who I am -- however vulnerably -- makes me happier than hiding ever did anyway. So please watch your step if you should come by, there may be random bits of chainmail strewn about and me dancing under the trees, singing a catchy tune.

Dispatches of creativity past

I'm writing from my comfy faux hospital suite at home here, pampering my lungs to the max to avoid a real hospital stay. It's working out pretty well so far. So well, in fact, that I decided to dabble with a blog entry or two. You may have noticed the previous little ditty I just posted. This time I'd love to show you a purse I made over Christmas break.

I've never made a purse before. I was digging through my bin of fabric for inspiration when I came upon an old pair of Isaac's corduroys, frayed beyond repair. Somehow in looking at these pants, I envisioned a purse. I cannot explain why this idea was so appealing to me. I even came up with an idea for my marvelous new imaginary line of clutches and totes: On the Fly Handbags. I think it's catchy.



Over Christmas I actually finished one of these. I was fortunate to be at my parents' house when I began, because I was inspired to do some beading and mom had a nice sampling of beads to try out. I've never beaded before, and I can't tell you how satisfying it was to string the beads on the thread and slowly pull them taut on the fabric. Instant eye candy. It made me happy just experimenting with colors and designs.

But enough talk already, here's the bag.

Unidentifiable Josie Art

O daughter dear, what have we here?
Mohawked fish? Planet Ear?
Fringed sailor hat? Buttoned hula gear?
How freely your ideas flow from imagination to here.

Seeing everyday miracles

Yesterday I received the gift of a small miracle. It didn't seem like a gift at first. Our front door handle broke, as in totally non-functional, can't-open-the-door broke.

I went to Home Depot with the broken handle in hand, and stood in the doorknob aisle looking at my choices. The only front-door handles like ours I could find included the deadbolt, etc, for $130. I was frustrated and wanted to ask for help but didn't see any employees nearby. I walked to the end of the aisle, and still not seeing anyone, quietly said, "Help" in a way that felt like a prayer, a request sent out.

A moment later, an employee walked by as I was holding the expensive set and I asked her if there was any way I could just buy the new handle. She said no.

Disappointed, I carried the expensive set, as well as a different style handle that was cheaper but was going to leave a hole in the door, toward the cash register. About four aisles away, a different employee asked me if I needed help. "I don't think so," I said. He asked if I realized I had two different brands of handle sets, and I explained the whole story.

He took a look at the handle, which had no brand markings on it, asked to see my house key, and said, "This is a Kwikset handle. They'll almost always replace them for free, even if you didn't buy it" (it came with the house we bought last spring).

Turns out this guy was a locksmith for 10 years. He looked up the model online, called Kwikset for me and handed me the phone. The company agreed to send me a free replacement and even waived the shipping charges. Then the Home Depot fellow, Matthew, took me back to the doorknob aisle and helped me find an $8 doorknob I could install just to have a working front door for the next few days.

Wow. Talk about an answered prayer! As my teacher Brenda says, miracles are normal!

Guilt: Failing vs. Mistakes as a Tool for Learning

Last Saturday I enjoyed some time with two friends, also mothers. Our conversation quickly took a familiar turn, to feeling bad about ourselves as parents -- for the times we've lost our tempers, or ignored plaintive requests for attention in a desperate attempt to get something done, even berating ourselves for the frustration we feel in our roles as mothers.

Oh, the guilt we so willingly heap upon our shoulders as parents! I've been studying this for quite a while now -- why do we spend so much time feeling bad about ourselves as mothers, as people? In a more primitive emotional state, I can understand how guilt might function as a deterrent to future behavior that would make us feel more guilty. That is, I feel bad about myself when I yell at my kids, so next time I should remember this and stop myself from taking out my anger at them.

But in all honesty, in the well-intentioned people I know, the modern human psyche doesn't seem to process guilt this way. In fact, I think guilt only serves to keep us in a rut of feeling bad about ourselves, of feeling we have failed somehow. And when we feel bad about ourselves, lots of other moods can creep in that start to run our emotional fields: depression, victim energy ("no fair!" or "why me?"), resentment and blaming, lethargy and resignation ("why bother?"), chronic rage -- often suppressed but sometimes erupting full force and catapulting us right back into that guilty seat.

Where does this guilt come from anyway? It feels deeply ingrained in the human race, this sense that somehow we've done something wrong, we haven't lived up to some theoretical ideal, we've failed to meet an imagined level of perfection – more on this in the next blog entry.

For today, I’d like to propose that guilt has outlived its usefulness as a learning tool. At this point, I sense guilt just as confirmation that our hearts are in the right place, our intentions are good, we are trying to grow and do better. And stemming from that, I’d like to explore what I feel as the difference between this sense of something being “wrong” with us, versus the concept of making mistakes.

What if we could remove the judgment from the idea of making mistakes, remove this sense of wrongness or failure? What if we could truly accept mistakes as essential for learning? What if we replace the guilt and negativity that follow mistakes with a sense of compassion for ourselves, and a commitment to deeper study of the situation?

Self-compassion seems to be the key to shifting from the guilt-based processing to that of feeling our lives as on-the-job training grounds. And this willingness to dig deeper into understanding the situation seems to me a much more advanced way of learning from mistakes, than the simple guilt-as-deterrent idea.

Here’s a practical example – suppose I lose my temper with my kids. In the guilt-based system, I have failed to be a good parent, and somehow I feel I need to honor this mistake by punishing myself through guilt, which over time leads to the downward spiral of feeling bad about myself and a stressful, negative view of myself and probably my life in general.

In the training ground model, when I lose my temper, I register that it didn’t feel good. I take a few minutes to cool down and apologize to my kids, and then I do the deeper exploration: I reflect on why I’m feeling frustrated with the situation – do I need some alone time? Some creative time? Some time out of the house? I experiment with ideas to get these needs met. And if guilt comes up, I use it as a reminder to feel compassion for myself, for this advanced training I’m doing, for my willingness to be here and try. I am confident that this deeper reflection and self-study, learning to ask for what I need as a human being and modeling having compassion for my mistakes, will benefit my kids much more than that huge load of guilt and failure I was dragging around.

Perhaps in the big picture, guilt can function as a signal to consider a radical paradigm shift in the way we approach our lives, not just as parents but as evolving human beings: from guilt to compassion for ourselves, from the concept of failure to those of growth and exploration, from stress and negativity to excitement for living and learning.