the day, the hour, and the minute

“I want to thank you, Lord, for life and all that’s in it.
Thank you for the day and for the hour, and the minute. ”

– Maya Angelou

Adding my voice to the choir celebrating Maya Angelou, who crossed the bar this week.  Hers was an extraordinary voice and life, and in reading tributes to her I’ve learned how very many peoples’ voices she enabled, inspired, and made room for.  Thank you to my friend Amanda Magee who shared these beautiful lines, which I’d never heard before.

Eight ways to be (more) here and (more) happy

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I absolutely love Aidan’s post from last week, 13 ways to be (more) here and (more) happy.  We are moving into the third month of The Here Year, and the truth is we’re still figuring out exactly how best to convey what it is we are exploring and learning.  Aidan and I are both people who struggle with presence and who juggle a lot of balls, but we also have in common our fierce, genuine desire to be here now.  We talk in the macro about this endeavor a lot, both to each other and on our blogs.  What we are also trying to do is make our efforts more concrete and more granular, and Aidan’s wonderful post does that.

I found her list of 13 things thought-provoking and wanted to respond with my own thoughts about specific things that make me both more present and more happy (inextricably correlated as those things are for me).  I think it’s notable that Aidan’s list is 13 and mine is 8 and both of those are ragged and imperfect numbers.  Not the well-rounded 10 that you might want for a polished article or piece.  But I feel like that detail is emblematic of The Here Year in general: we’re figuring it out as we go, and it’s certainly not shiny or perfect, but it’s genuine.

1. Forgive yourselfAidan touches on this and I too believe it’s at the core of being happier and more present.  We can’t all be present and engaged in our lives every minute of every day.  At least, I can’t.  But I can be there more, and I already recognize big strides on my part in that direction.  The goal, in my opinion, isn’t perfect, constant, unwavering presence.  It is more moments when I feel the wave of this is my life and I am really living it sweep over me.  More of those.  Aidan describes the way that golden moments can “sustain us” in less-golden times, too, and I thought of Wordsworth and one of the lines I most often hear inside my head: in this moment there is life and food for future years.  Yes.

2. Pay attention and record.  This is intextricably linked to the above, for me.  What I want, what I’m after, is more of those moments swollen with awareness, when I know that I’m as deep into my actual, real, ordinary life as I can possibly be.  When I’m noticing the smell of laundry outside my front door because the dryer is on or recognizing the faint budding of the bare branches on my tree outside my window.  When I’m in one of those moments, I just want to be in it: feeling, smelling, seeing, hearing, tasting, all senses engaged.  Sometimes I’ll lift my phone and take a picture, and after I often want to write down the details of what I experienced.  I’m always grateful that I captured these moments because they are, after all, our lives.  Instagram has become a place that I chronicle these moments, these pearls strung together on a string that make up my life.

3. Go outside.  I go for a walk almost every day.  Some of these are very short, often alone, for example to the drycleaner or to the library.  Some of them are more ambling, notice-things walks with my children.  What I know is I always come back from a walk calmed, centered, and reminded of what matters.  When I’m walking I look up and I look down, I admire the blue or gray of the sky, or the rain spitting from it, and I am aware of what’s under my feet, and I think: ah.  This is the world that I live in.  And there’s huge, huge value to that.  Always.  I have recently been trying to weed through old photos, and in going through my iPhoto archives it is clear I take a lot of photographs of the sky.  Witness, above: last week at the end of a baseball game.

4. Say no.  I really believe that there is only one zero-sum resource in this life: time.  We need to be careful and deliberate about where we spend our time.  I’ve written a lot about how I’ve consciously chosen to reduce outside commitments in order to focus on the things that I know mean the most to me.  I think everyone should do the work of figuring out what those priorities are.  You can use then use that understanding to make choices about how to spend your time.  The map of a week or a month of your time shows what you value.  Do you like what you see?

5. Get enough sleep.  For me, this is 8 hours a night.  I get up early, so I have to go to bed early.  It all comes back to that zero sum thing.  We each get 24 hours a day.  How do you want to spend them?  It’s not an exaggeration to say that sleep is the bedrock of health for me, and I need to make it a priority.  Period.

6. What do you love?  Do that.  We have to be in touch with what it is we truly love in order to pursue more of it.  And it may not be what we really think.  I wish I loved sparkly, glamorous things.  But what I really, honestly love is reading to my kids and tucking them in and getting into bed with a book myself.  So I do more of that.  This seems connected to Gretchen Rubin‘s commandments: be Gretchen.  What do YOU want?  Then do that.

7. Calm down.  I’ve learned that the primary thief of presence, for me, is a swirl of anxiety and fear that gets me going into a reactive cycle.  I get emotional, I get triggered, I get going, and suddenly I am entirely out of my own body.  I need to remember that those reactions and emotions are the clouds.  I’m the sky.  I can watch them go by without letting them be me.  We all need ways to help ourselves return to our bodies, to our breath, to what’s right here.  I use calm.com an awful lot and love it.  I also use walks for this, and, sometimes, yoga. Let the thrill of situs slot gambling help you destress as you indulge in some leisurely entertainment.  Find what works for you.  Feel your own physical body in the world.  Remember that is what matters. If cannabis products help you relax and calm down, you may search for weed shops near me.

8. Get outside of yourself.  Aidan talks about supporting others.  I often think about the line from my favorite prayer, St. Francis of Assissi’s, where he says that it is in giving that we receive.  Remember: there is room for all of us.  I could not believe this more fiercely.  So give of yourself, in whatever way you can.  It may seem paradoxical, but by giving of ourselves – time, money, energy, things – we are reminded of the abundance in our own lives.

How do you help yourself be more here and more happy?  I’d love suggestions, tips, advice, wisdom, reactions!

 

Things I Love Lately

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All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr is one of the most beautiful novels I have ever read.  The writing and imagery evokes Ondaatje, who is my favorite writer of fiction of all.  I finished it on Saturday morning and moved through the weekend in a bit of a trance, images from the book cartwheeling through my mind, loathe to leave the world that Doerr created.  Somehow he drew a landscape both scarred and devastated by war and also breathtakingly beautiful.  I adored this book

Unprepared. I made the mistake of reading Rob Lowe’s essay about sending his son to college, in Salon, before meeting a friend for a walk.  I showed up with red swollen eyes and had to explain that I’d been bawling – not just wiping tears, but actively weeping, gasping for air, drenching my own shirt, minutes before.  This piece is powerful and beautiful, and because of it I read and loved Rob’s new memoir, Love Life.

Chill. I don’t often read Garance Dore’s blog, and this piece makes me realize I should.  I really love what she has to say about how there’s room for all kinds of success, and about the risks of imposing our own dreams on others.  It’s a fine line, because I do think some people back away from dreams they maybe should go for, but I do believe there’s tremendous joy to be had in embracing the life you have.  As the title of Rob’s memoir above makes me think, and as the point below reminds me … (hat tip to Raluca, on whose wonderful blog What Would Gwyneth Do I found the link to this piece.)

This season of my life. We weren’t able to go away for Memorial Day this year, which was a bummer, because traditionally we’ve spent it with some of those we love best in a place we adore.  But we had a soccer tournament, so instead we stayed home and embraced what is right now.  And I realized that this, this particular moment, is unspeakably rich.  I love the families of the kids’ on our childrens’ sports teams, I love family dinner, I love reading in bed with my children, I love now.  And so, gladly, we continue to sink further into this particular season. (photo above: Whit at Grace’s Friday night soccer game; photo below: Grace carrying in Matt’s birthday cake on Sunday night)

What are you reading, thinking about, and loving lately?

I write these Things I Love posts approximately monthly.  The previous ones can all be found here.

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Happy Birthday, Matt

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Right now I feel swamped by gratitude.  For many years, I’ve thought at least daily of Meister Eckhart’s assertion that “if the only prayer you ever say in your life is thank you, that would suffice.”  I could not agree with that more, and I’m equally certain that the world would be a better place if we expressed those thanks more often.

So, on the occasion of your birthday, Matt, the 17th we’ve celebrated together, thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you for…

All the ways in which you are an extraordinary father to Grace and Whit.  For your contribution to 50% of their genes (well more than 50% if you consider how they both look).  As you can see below, based on the cover of Whit’s journal, I think you’re doing okay, though you need to watch out for Legoland.

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For your loving, prodding, affectionate-yet-inspiring shepherding of Grace and Whit’s athletics.  I didn’t ever play team sports so I didn’t know how very much there was to learn from them.  I’m so glad you did (both play and know).

For the way you’re learning, as I am, to parent the children we have.

For always letting me go running first in the morning, because you know I have a touchy stomach and need to go as soon as I get up.

For making me the perfect cup of coffee (coconut milk, 2 minutes in the microwave, coconut sugar) and bringing it to me in bed.

For the blue hydrangea bushes in the front yard that you sometimes tend (though that left one is looking pretty sad this year).

For letting me talk you into going on family adventures – Jerusalem and the Galapagos in particular – and for so thoroughly loving the experiences the four of us had.  I view these as a continuation of our first great adventure, to Africa, in 1998, only a few months after we met.  The picture below, from that trip, is one of my all-time favorites.

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For reading this blog, and for telling me what you think about it.

For that one time you surprised me at the airport with yellow roses and blue hydrangeas, out of the blue.  You can do that again any time you want.

For dancing with me to Maybe I’m Amazed for our first dance and to Into the Mystic for our last at our wedding reception, and for all the times you’ve danced with me since.  Even though you say dancing with me is like driving a truck.

 

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For tolerating my unwavering idiocy in all professional sports-related matters, and for not starting a Twitter account, as you’ve threatened, with the sole purpose of tweeting the stupid things I say.  (“Who’s throwing out the first pitch?” for the Bruins game, or “which inning is it?” during a Patriots game, for example)

For that one time, years ago, when we were driving somewhere and I was in a blackly cranky mood.  “You’re in a bad mood,” you observed off-handedly, looking through the windshield.  “And that’s okay.”  Thanks for that.  I hope it’s still okay (and not too often).

Happy birthday, Matt.  I love you. 

I don’t write about Matt a lot, as you’ve surely noticed, but for the last several years I’ve written to him on his birthday: 2013, 2012, 2011, 2010.

 

Family dinner

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We have family dinner a few nights a week.  Sunday, always, without variation.  And usually one or two other nights a week.  Understanding as I do how crucial family dinner is to happy, well-adjusted children, I feel guilt about this.  I wish we sat down more often.  But we do it when we can, and what continues to surprise and delight me is how much both Grace and Whit love it when we have family dinner.  “Are we having family dinner?” one of them will ask, breathlessly, if they see me setting the dining room table.  We always have family dinner in the dining room.  We always have candles, and usually flowers.  And I love family dinner.  There are lots of reasons why, but here are some:

Compliments.  Grace started a tradition years ago which has stuck, and which I love.  At dinner each of us says “compliments” which really are specific thanks to each family members. We take turns thanking each member of the family for specific things they did that we noticed and appreciated over the past day or two.  We do this without fail when we all sit down together, and I absolutely love it.

Using the silver.  I learned this from my mother, who always believed in using the silver (and still does).  I do too (we have the same silver pattern, incidentally).  Part of what makes this doable is that I put my silver in the dishwasher without hesitation.  And Kathryn introduced me to silver polish wipes recently, which changed my life.

Cheers. We always cheers at the start of dinner, and the sight of the four glasses, three water and one milk, always makes me smile.
There’s usually some yelling, “Grace!  We’re waiting for you!” or “Whit!  Anytime now!” but once we’re all seated, before we begin, we cheers as a family.

A sense of celebration. There’s something about setting the table, lighting candles, and sitting down together, without books or electronics, that I fiercely love.  It’s a way of celebrating this ordinary life, of pausing in the slipstream of life to note how rich it is, if head-spinningly fast-moving.  It’s the practice of being grateful for the poem.

Traditions are important to me, and this is one that has become a backbone of our family life.  I dearly hope that Grace and Whit will grow up remembering family dinner, and seeing each others’ faces in the glow of candles, and taking the time to think of and articulate specific things we are grateful for about each other.

Do you have family dinner?  Or other family traditions that mark everyday life and that matter a lot to you?  I’d love to hear about them.