friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

Are We There Yet?

mimijk

“I was born very far from where I’m supposed to be, and so I’m on my way home.” – Bob Dylan

‘Home’ – the definition in and of itself is intriguing.  It implies something stationary, yet I think it moves and morphs frequently.  When I was little (until the sixth grade), home was an apartment with a hallway that I thought was a mile long, the dotted linoleum in the bedroom I shared with my sister and the kitchen.  It was the night table I scratched my name into while I was talking on the phone with my dad during one of his trips to California.  It was the elevator button that I couldn’t reach when I was five and decided to run away.   When we moved to a larger apartment,  home became both safe haven and hell – as only home can be when you are an angst-ridden adolescent.

When the boys and I went out on our own, we moved a lot.  So much so that I would assure these two toddlers that home was anywhere we were together – whether we were in the car, at the supermarket, in our beds, taking a walk.  As long as we were together, we were home.  I remember feeling that I was saying this for myself as much as for them;  our various rentals somehow didn’t offer an accurate definition or image of what I wanted our home to be.  I had migrated so far from who I was, I’m not sure any four walls would have felt like a comfortable representation of home.  In a very pure way, the only home was truly where the boys were, for they were really all I was sure of, my touchstone, my heart.

So it should follow that if ‘home is where the heart is’, our address should also change (figuratively) with some frequency as we find our comfort with who we and where we are.  Where our love lies, where our being is at peace, where we can cocoon and soar, happy dance and hold on for dear life.

We’ve lived in our house for twenty-one years.  And I’m not the same person I was when we first moved in.  The walls don’t show the dirty fingerprints from little people who in principle would not use a banister.  There are echoes in some places where voices used to be.  We talk about moving and can’t move ourselves to do so.  For over time, the house was able to adapt itself to whoever I was at any given time, holding me tightly and with safety when at my most vulnerable and unsure,  and willing to open its arms when I needed room to explore and roam.  It has given me different rooms to settle into depending on my mood and greets me with comforting noises that are reflective of our ongoing conversation.  This house knows me well.  I’ve always been a little reluctant about long-term relationships, and our house let me fall in love in my own time.  It kept my children safe-ish (they did some pretty crazy things when they were younger), it held us all together until we could define ourselves as a family.

I get Dylan’s point – and I also realize that I have traveled far to arrive here.  My family is my heart.  My house after all this time, is my home.

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anxiety, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

When There Are No Answers

mimijk

“Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all” — Emily Dickinson

Some days need to be subdued.  In the silence you can hear your thoughts – jumbled though they may be, scatological and spontaneous, making sense maybe, perhaps not.  Maybe it’s the mind’s way of trying to integrate contradictory stimuli.

Is it the phases of the moon or just the stages of life that bring four of my cherished friends to the ragged edge of loss this weekend?  Remarkable people who have never met, marking anniversaries of loss, experiencing the passing of a beloved family member, and/or finding themselves staring straight into the sea of frightening inevitability which we deny for as long as we can?  And why does life’s corollary have to be so untenable?  I have no idea.

I don’t know if there’s a heaven; I have a hard time conceiving of hell.  I think I’m very faithful, for I believe in many things that I can’t see – and for me, it is the simplest way to embrace something as indescribably huge as faith.  And love.  And hope.  I know that when we have to let go, we never really do.  One of my friends was relating the conversation she and her brother had with their dad, telling him that they were okay, that they would be okay…My sister and I had similar discussions with our parents when they were arguably between two worlds.  And yesterday I thought to myself that sometimes the idea of leaving is untenable because we don’t want to leave our children with no barrier against mortality.  The thought that they have to assume a different and arguably scarier position when we are no longer physically here.  The mere thought is anathema to me.  Life – that is all that we want our loved ones to embrace.  How dissonant to suggest that our abdication requires their assumption of a new place in line?  Perhaps one of the greatest acts of love is hanging in there if one can, with the invisible, powerful hope that we are still protecting those we love beyond measure.

I believe that some souls come into our life for a brief time, and leave indelible imprints on our hearts, our approach to each day, etc.  Some remind us that we are loved, when we doubt it; others nurture us when we have forgotten how to do this for ourselves; defiantly protect us when we are emotionally over-exposed.  Are they angels?  Their miraculous arrival and elusive departure suggest they could be.  Is there a better way to define a lifeline when it is provided and holds you together with unshakeable confidence and purpose?

I know the canned answer is that the experience of sorrow somehow makes the moments of joy all the lovelier.  Loss underscores our appreciation of that which we have.  It sounds good enough to become a cliché, though like most trite comments, it doesn’t necessarily resonate in the heart.  Hope however, has wings.  Hope that forever is a place, that love remembered is a blessing and love extended is a gift.  I wish it didn’t have to hurt so damn much.  I wish that tears weren’t necessary.  The daffodil shoots are stubbornly insisting on breaking through the frozen ground – indifferent to the reality that greets them when they appear.  They persist – with faith.  They will flourish in the spring – with hope.

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friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness, motivation, music

The Second Best Part Of A Vacation

mimijk

We had a fantastic week away..the weather couldn’t have been more accommodating (with sincere apologies to my friends up north who had apparently located Nemo while we were hanging out in the sun),  the only required nod to time had to do with Andy’s scheduled tee times (and he shot an 80 the second time he went out!  The first round would have been equally as impressive were it not for the beer after the front nine).  I only listened to the music provided by the environment all around me – the leaves from palm trees as they tickled and teased each other in the wind, the ocean playing tag with the shore.  Occasionally the riff of laughter extending from one end of the beach to the other.  Oh yeah, there also was the occasional, “the drink you requested madam?”  That’s fine – call me Madam (sorry I couldn’t resist).

Tuesday morning we spent with the dolphins.  The pictures I took were awful (note to self, put on glasses before trying to focus), the pictures the conservation folks took were better (the ones below).  Ironically, we hung out with a dolphin named Andy, who apparently took issue with someone else having his name who would not kiss him with a full pucker (he gave a full on Bronx cheer to my conquering hero).  I was mesmerized by his eyes (the dolphin Andy, that is) – believe me, these brilliant mammals size us up in much the same way we assess those around us.  They pick up vibes, tease, play coy and make their share of mischief.  And don’t make the mistake of ticking them off.  I also met three new baby dolphins who are first beginning to explore life away from their moms (dolphins nurse until they are almost three years old).  Did I fall in love?  You betcha.

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I suppose this wouldn’t be a Mimi-post without a musing or two (what can I say?  I muse a lot).  There was one day when the beach was closed.  The ocean, with presence of mind and purpose, felt the need to remind the shore that just as it brought it onto the land, it could take it away.  And it did.  The ferocity of the waves was so intense that the beach chairs, tables and umbrellas were washed out to sea, some returned in pieces and left as the detritus of the ocean’s pique.  It was loud and magnificent, boastful and confident.  I watched for hours, realizing that no two waves were the same, no two sounds exact replicas, no sea foam frothing in circles and eddies that were similar.  If you looked with little sight, you might think it was just a relentless pounding and abatement.  If you looked with your eyes wide open and your ears tuned to the right station, no two notes were alike.

And so it is with our days, our minutes, our seconds.  Regardless of how many we have, no matter how they may seem at times to fold into each other with nothing easily identifiable to distinguish one from another – no two moments in time are the same.  From this perspective, it’s almost impossible to imagine how rich life is – with possibilities, choices, magic.  No two moments that are the same.  What we choose to do – how we look upon our time – that is what it’s all about.  I decided to accept a challenge posted while I was gone by davidkanigan.com at Lead.Learn.Live – to begin with three days of finding the goodness in others, and censoring the less kind thoughts I may have in a moment of impatience…ultimately extending this practice to a year (if I can do it).  I’ll screw it up of course, though I have promised myself  that when I do, I’ll get back on the board.  The truth of the matter is, I don’t really think a lot of nasty stuff about people and there are very few for whom I reserve really unkind thoughts.  I realize that I give them too much of my sacred time by according them much attention.  With that as a backdrop, I think I can do this – and enjoy the waves as I ride them.  It’s probably the closest I’ll ever come to surfing anyway.

And so the second best thing about vacation is absolutely coming home.  Anticipating the delight of seeing my kids, having Sir Teddy share my chair as I write this and Archie asleep on my Ugg slipper, the laundry spinning in the dryer, and the glorious knowledge that on this day, I got to write to you.  It’s good to be home.  I could choose nothing better than this one moment.

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love

Why Is It Better In The Bahamas?

mimijk

Given that my friends farther up the East Coast are being tantalized and simultaneously harassed by a blizzard, certainly I can say that it’s better in the Bahamas because the weather is pretty close to perfect.  That isn’t to say that I don’t adore the seasons and their idiosyncratic personalities, for I do.  But there’s something to be said for pulling out shorts in the middle of the winter.  There’s a lot to be said for spending your days challenged by such weighty decisions as whether to go to the beach or the pool.  I would imagine that if this was the routine of life, my brain would get a little squishy.  For a week though – bring it on.

I’m reading a lot, alternating chapters with naps induced by the ocean’s music – which trumps anything on my iPhone.  I have somewhat lost all sense of time and I don’t miss it.  Andy and I spend a lot of time behaving with embarrassing immaturity.  It’s ok, there’s no one here who knows us.  Even the seagulls seem to be happy to be here – despite the intrusion of parasailers interrupting their orbits of the sea.  Andy is golfing this afternoon; I am sitting here listening to laughter echoing off the beach and feeling beyond peaceful.

Perhaps it’s better in the Bahamas because it is a moment in time.  There is no doubt that I will be ready to go home when next Wednesday rolls around because I’ll be missing my kids, the Sirs, my home – the life I have made.  It makes today all the sweeter, all the more delicious because it is a treat.  A moment to step outside myself and be inside myself.  And just feel abundantly free.

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friendship, humor, inspiration, leadership, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting, Uncategorized, work life

I’m Listening – What Do I Hear?

mimijk

Russ Towne (russtowne.com) who pens the glorious “A Grateful Man” was prompted by a friend to respond to a question that grabbed my attention.  “What do you know for sure?”  His responses were pure Russ, written with candor and beauty, simplicity and reflection.  And I began asking myself the same question – and would submit that it’s a reasonable query to pose to ourselves from time to time.  I will admit that my answers didn’t arrive with the same eloquence or confidence; nor do I know if this represents an all-inclusive list.  Nonetheless here goes..

– I know for sure that I still love loving my husband.  I also know for sure that he drives me crazy sometimes, while I on the other hand, I never affect him in that way.  I know for sure that he is the anchor to my kite and were it not for him I’d probably be getting stuck in the trees like a wayward balloon.

– I know for sure that my adoration of my children knows no bounds and I know for sure that they know it and probably don’t fully get it.  I know for sure that parents screw up all the time, and children grow up in spite of us and not because of us.  To reflect tremendous self-congratulatory aggrandizement for their successes as fantastic people is folly and a little narcissistic.  This is their time.  And I am grateful to be along for the ride.  Let’s remember that I’m the sap who cries when we say good-bye to each other despite living ten minutes apart.

– I know for sure that at different times in my life I have let disappointment and anger have more power over me than I realized at the time.  And the only person who suffered from its toxicity was me.

– I know for sure that my life continues to be enhanced by the people who enter my world  – and also those who exit.  Some people need to stay for a little while, and that’s ok.  Some people will be here forever and that’s a gift.  Last I looked, one can’t suffer from having too much love in their life – for however long.

– I know for sure that I’m at a point in my life where I’m wondering what my next contribution will be.  I need to listen harder to my heart, for it’s definitely speaking.  We don’t spend enough time paying attention to its messages.

– I know for sure that if there hadn’t been a black-out at the Super Bowl last night I wouldn’t have fallen asleep and missed the best part of the game.

– I know for sure that the silence that announces the arrival of snow always makes my eyes fill.  It is one of the most peaceful calming sounds in the world.

– I know for sure that I want another puppy (honey are you reading this?).

– I know each day offers me the chance to say ‘Thank You’ – for the ridiculous number of gifts that are in my life.  And I also know I don’t say ‘thank you’ enough.

– I know for sure that for all the articles about leadership, for all the seminars I’ve led on management, motivation, employee engagement, etc – none of it means a damn thing if a person loses his/her character.  Save the HBR studies for another day – as you shimmy up the food chain, hold tight to your sense of integrity and honor.  You will be remembered for little else.

– I know for sure that I can out-happy dance anyone I know.  Not because I’m such a good dancer, but because I have lost enough, found enough and love enough to know how to celebrate all of it.

And finally, I know for sure that there is nothing I can be sure of – except this moment in time.  And this moment in time – in the quiet soft rhythmic beating of its longing – is perfect.

 

discretion, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Never Forget

mimijk

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This is one of the few pictures we have of my mom and her family before the war.  She was an adorable little girl who grew into a beautiful and haunted woman.  I think some of the relentless, unforgiving thoughts that defined so much of her persona were driven by memories such images evoked, further fueled by the unanswerable question, “what if?”.  “What if” there had been no Holocaust?  “What if” they could have remained in Vienna along with their sizeable extended family?  “What if” she had been able to grow up with frivolity?  “What if” her back story was so benign, so unremarkable that it didn’t inform her entire life?

Holocaust Remembrance Day – I wrote of it last year.  I honor it again.  Elie Wiesel once said, “To forget the Holocaust is to kill twice”.  With a bowed back, I realize that he is right – for this is a lesson the world has yet to embrace.  The irony of unanimous agreement that humanity is precious and the disparity that clearly exists in its definition.  And we bear witness over and over again – the self-righteous rationalization about the expendability of some people over others.  We’re not talking about Darwin.  After Kristalnacht, my grandfather went to schul with the conviction that the answer to this horror would be found in more devout prayer.  This is not about evolutionary theory.  This is a human tale.

My mother’s story lives now in my sister and I.  It has been with us since we were born, whispered to us as we were carried by our grandfather,  packed in our lunch boxes, tucked into our clothes.  We honored it because it was so big and inconceivable and intangible, yet as real and palpable as mom herself.  It was every nightmare that would wake us when she screamed.  It weighted every argument in mom’s favor when I fought my way through adolescence.  It remains as a part of every prayer I mouth to the sky in the morning – sending love to my parents, appreciation for  this life, my family and friends, and imploring that we all continue to be blessed with health and love.  It lives in me.  Perhaps it will remain in her grandchildren, and so on.  Time has a way of diluting even the starkest memories.  The ones you swear you’ll always remember.  Maybe the details will get lost, and what will survive within them is a more sophisticated palate – able to taste  the exquisite, indescribable sweetness to life.  The passionate advocacy for the value of humankind.

When mom passed away in 2005, her obituary ran in the New York Times.  It read in part, “Dee was born and spent her early childhood in Vienna, making her one of that shrinking cohort who experienced and survived the monstrous storm of Nazi violence.  Her father and mother…took the family out of Austria shortly after the Anschluss, making their way first to Belgium and then through occupied France.  The family made its way to Portugal, where on August 16, 1941, they found passage among 765 other refugees on the Spanish freighter Navemar – one of the last voyages of escapees from Europe.  Dee’s children and grandchildren bear in their hearts eternal, existential gratitude for her family’s valor and persistence.  Her intelligence, humor and immense energy were a gift to us all.  Our family’s particularly gladdened that Dee lived long enough to know of the safe return..of her eldest grandson, Matthew, from Iraq, where for the past year he has served in harm’s way the country that gave his grandmother safe haven.”

In acknowledging this day of Remembrance, I honor my family.  I honor the memories that once glared in every corner, and now have softened to shadows.  I will do my part to make sure that though they may dim and blur, they should never be forgotten.

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mimijk

Once again Bill (drbillwooten.com) offers up the most perfect thoughts from Mary Oliver for this morning..

drbillwooten's avatarDr Bill Wooten

“Have I lived enough?
Have I loved enough?
Have I considered Right Action enough, have I
come to any conclusion?
Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?
Have I endured loneliness with grace?

I say this, or perhaps I’m just thinking it.
Actually, I probably think too much.

Then I step out into the garden,
where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,
is tending his children, the roses.”

~ Mary Oliver

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friendship, humor, life lessons, love, Uncategorized

The Returning Conqueror

mimijk

Today the Prince returns – victorious from his infamous weeklong battle against the baseball diamond.  But for a mild muscle pull here and an inexplicable ache there, he emerges unscathed with the loving attention of the locker room trainers still warming his skin.  His feats will soon become the stuff of legend – his remarkable batting and fielding stats, his control of the lands around second base.  There is no need for a moat when the Prince is there to protect the kingdom of baseball.

With a visit to see his parents before camp started, it’s been ten days since I’ve seen the Prince – and it’s time for him to come home.  I need no proof that I enjoy my own company, no test to see whether or not I can manage.  Been there, done that – and it was fine thank you very much.  But in order for this house to feel at peace, it needs the Prince.  This is where he belongs – whether he’s zoning out playing some game on his iPad or napping on the couch.  He needs to be here so I can make him laugh so hard he snorts.  So he can dance with me in the kitchen.  So he can reach the top of the garage door, because it’s stuck.  Because I miss hearing, “Hi doll girl” in the way that only the Prince can say it.  I will not go so far to say that I miss hearing his a cappella “King Of The Road” (but thinking about it makes me smile).

And I want him to go back next year if that’s what he wants to do.  This annual flight of fantasy gives him feelings of delighted anticipation, and the reality has yet to be less than all he imagined.  So go ahead Andy, sign up for 2014 – you are well on your way to being a legend in your own time.

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mimijk

I love Renee’s blog “Life In The Boomer Lane” (lifeintheboomerlane.wordpress.com) and was flattered when she asked me to write a guest post. Here it is for your enjoyment..

Life in the Boomer Lane's avatarLife in the Boomer Lane

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Mimi, the author of Waiting for the Karma Truck, has asked me not to include her words about the karma truck in her bio, here. But, because I am a ten-year-old boy at heart, I am doing exactly that:

“What do I want to tell you? I guess the same thing I say to everyone – the karma truck rolls up everyone’s driveway. Believe me. You may not be there to see it, you may never know it arrived definitively – but it’s on the road and it has the correct address. At the risk of sounding terribly hokey, you have to trust in the universe, God, Lou – whoever. That truck is on a mission and it hasn’t missed a delivery yet.”

I’m not an expert on karma, but I must have been doing something right to have discovered Mimi’s blog. She is unfailingly wise and literate and…

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