tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87353522024-03-19T02:47:44.442-06:00mjaeOne M's Musings and Occasional Insightsmjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.comBlogger688125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-73589244685633611752024-03-01T22:05:00.001-07:002024-03-01T22:05:50.369-07:00Middle Management in America<p>What a tough day. I manage a Division of about 30 people in 4 teams. One of our younger team members -- a really good and smart person -- let me know he's taken another job. Another of our newer team members let me know he'd like to change teams because he feels the relationship with his manager has suffered irreparable harm. Another senior team member called to share his frustration with another dynamic that's been troubling in the past year and has flared up again. A person from a different department met with me to say that the way we've set up a certain requirement that obligates his team to work with outside groups has led to them being abused and seen as the "hand of injustice" (take that, Adam Smith!). </p><p>I took lunch to one of our team leaders, who was losing her young team member, to check in and make sure she wasn't taking it too hard. She was. We talked about it and around it and scratched our heads, shook our fists, said lots of things that boiled down to "these pesky kids! what do they want these days? all these unreasonable expectations for expertise within months, promotions in a couple years, and absolutely no boredom or discomfort or challenge, all while knowing exactly what they're supposed to be doing and getting thanked and petted all the f#^$&%*ng time."</p><p>And then I had coffee with my college mentor, who gave me the tough love and broke the hard news that none of this is new, none of it is solvable, and yeah, middle management is the worst. </p><p>And as I was driving home, another colleague let me know she just gave her 2 week notice, leaving me with one more broken link to a department that I desperately need in order to succeed at my job. </p><p>What a day. </p><p>I tried medicating with songs of loss and angst but had no patience with wallowing. Instead, I pulled up my meditation app and leaped at the title "Letting go of unwanted feelings." Listened to it twice. Tried to release my fear and heaviness to the powers of renewal and healing that we call by many names. After all, much of this is not mine to fix. My little control freak self would love to take it all on, even as it seems insurmountable and intractable. </p><p>What I want for the world is for people to get better at 2 things:</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Setting boundaries, keeping them, telling others when they cross one, and requesting that someone do better to respect them going forward.</li><li>Hear feedback, take it in, apologize, repair, and do better going forward. </li></ol><div>As a young person, the world seemed very black and white, and it seemed possible and even necessary in order to be a good person to never hurt anyone, that you could do better and better until you never made any mistakes, or at least none that affected other people. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I think growth is almost entirely related to learning curves associated with failures big and small. I've heard this called your "growing edge." That resonates with me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Brene Brown says, "Clear is kind." And others say nice is often not kind. I say, "Feedback is kind." And taking in feedback is both kind and wise and all-too-rare these days. After all, we are very aware that people are not perfect, but we seemed outraged when anyone bothers us in any way. Why didn't they know better not to do that? And why do we have to tell them? Shouldn't they already know? How could they not know?</div><div><br /></div><div>My son, 11, and on the autism spectrum, has learned that it is an unreasonable expectation to think that other people know what's in his mind if he doesn't say it out loud. </div><div><br /></div><div>My daughter, 14, and one of the most emotional intelligent people I've encountered, is learning that she cannot expect anyone to stand up for her, that she must stand up for herself like she does for her friends without blinking an eye. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am hopeful that I am raising people who will be able to manage conflict at work, and at home. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, I am looking around at the ashes from multiple fires today and wondering - what is my role in all of this? How does this get better? What can I do, and if there's nothing, what will I do?</div><div><br /></div><div>The leverage from the middle feels laughable. </div><p></p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-16603605078184274672024-02-18T11:58:00.000-07:002024-02-18T11:58:02.548-07:00Jet (poem) by Tony Hoaglandand it is good, a way of letting life<br />out of the box, uncapping the bottle<br />to let the effervescence gush<br />through the narrow, usually constricted neck.mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-20452671027528990752024-02-18T11:55:00.008-07:002024-02-18T11:55:52.531-07:00Everything is Going to be All Right (Poem) by Derek MahonDerek Mahon, from <b><i>Selected Poems</i></b><div><b><i><br /></i></b>How should I not be glad to contemplate<br />the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window<br />and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?<br />There will be dying, there will be dying,<br />but there is no need to go into that.<br />The poems flow from the hand unbidden<br />and the hidden source is the watchful heart.<br />The sun rises in spite of everything<br />and the far cities are beautiful and bright.<br />I lie here in a riot of sunlight<br />watching the day break and the clouds flying.<br />Everything is going to be all right.<p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #555555; font-family: "Open Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;"><br /></p></div>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-2664136202391944212024-02-18T11:54:00.001-07:002024-02-18T11:54:32.397-07:00Day Off<p> Presidents' Day weekend. House is clean. Tennis lesson done. Travel planned for this summer's half-marathon in the Grand Tetons. A run, then yoga today. </p><p>So tomorrow can be an honest to goodness day off. Yoga in the morning, pickle ball, drop-in tennis in the evening. And maybe some puzzle. Maybe some shopping. Maybe a church task or two. </p><p>The feeling of well-being is overwhelming. So few shoulds that it's a miracle. I am so grateful. So full of gratitude!</p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-19180550435944693072024-02-04T11:25:00.002-07:002024-02-04T11:25:25.546-07:00"In the Moment" (poem) by Lynn Ungar<br />You've probably heard <br />the central rule of improv:<br />Say yes... and.<br />Yes, we are on a desert island...<br />and I am a shark.<br />Yes, we are playing in the World Series...<br />and I will use this hot dog as a bat.<br />It's an excellent way to talk with those<br />who have wandered into dementia:<br />Yes, OK, I'm your mother.<br />Can I sing you a lullaby?<br /><br />Improv is the core of jazz.<br />Bach may have set music's <br />rules of the road, but he<br />was one crazy improvisational driver.<br />Look, I get this isn't <br />the plot you chose, and everything<br />has gone off script.<br />Isn't that just the way of it?<br />Play the scene you're in.<br />Shift the plot. Tell me<br />where we can go together. mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-77564007230010905532024-02-04T11:13:00.001-07:002024-02-04T11:13:45.721-07:00What you can control...<p> I'm feeling buoyed by the positive changes that I've been able to imagine, set intentions to accomplish, set steps to put in place, and keep choosing and following through again and again.</p><p>And if that can happen in some areas of my life, suddenly I assume that's true of all aspects. </p><p>So it is somewhat startling and deeply frustrating the ways that I cannot gain traction in changes that are important and potentially life-improving. </p><p>I am happily going to yoga almost every day, yet I cannot seem to manage to go running once a week. </p><p>I have given up cream and sugar in my morning coffee, but I cannot not eat 3-5 desserts per night. </p><p>I use my meditation app every morning, but I still find myself a stress case in most other circumstances throughout the day. </p><p>I sing to my kiddo every night before bed, but I keep choosing Youtube videos before bed instead of my library books on kindle (tick tock...). </p><p>Probably dwelling more on the wins and less on the disappointments would bring more happiness and more successful change. </p><p>As a human, I'm primed to focus on the negative and the "problems" to be solved. As a spiritual being, I practice gratitude and celebration. Begin again, begin again... </p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-20232965955107252182024-01-28T19:50:00.006-07:002024-02-08T21:32:05.640-07:00"The Next Noel" (poem) by Lynn Ungar<p>I don’t know what a noel is,<br />Except that it’s something<br />That angels say, and the first time<br />They said it, was to shepherds <br />Who were out laying in fields.<br />But the next noel, couldn’t it<br />Have been to anyone – <br />The barkeep handing drinks<br />Or the woman easing off her shoes<br />As she comes in the door?<br />Behold! The angel says, as in<br /><i>Pay attention! Look what is happening!</i><br />And then, <i>I bring you tidings</i><br /><i>Of great joy. </i>I don’t know<br />Who got the second noel.<br />Maybe the wise men. Maybe not.<br />But if there was a first noel,<br />They might have just kept coming – <br />Angels popping up where you least<br />Expect them, demanding that you take notice,<br />Insisting, through every battered age,<br />That you listen to tidings of great joy.</p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-16862854069021659412024-01-28T11:55:00.003-07:002024-01-28T11:55:23.403-07:00Quote - Larry Levis - "My Story in a Late Style of Fire"<blockquote>"It is so American, fire. So like us.<div>Its desolation. And its eventual, brief triumph."</div></blockquote><div></div>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-39617332112221002892024-01-28T11:51:00.002-07:002024-01-28T11:51:09.677-07:00Quote - Gaston Bachelard - The Psychoanalysis of Fire<blockquote>"Fire is the ultra-living element. It is intimate and it is universal. It lives in our heart. It lives in the sky. It rises from the depths of the substance and offers itself with the warmth of love. Or it can go back down into the substance and hide there, latent and pent-up, like hate and vengeance. Among all phenomena, it is really the only one to which there can be so definitely attributed the opposing values of good and evil. It shines in Paradise. It burns in Hell. It is gentleness and torture. It is cookery and it is apocalypse."</blockquote>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-5690137236913221452024-01-28T11:46:00.004-07:002024-01-28T11:46:49.942-07:00"An Avowal" (poem) by Denise LevertovAs swimmers dare<br />to lie face to the sky<br />and water bears them,<br />as hawks rest upon air<br />and air sustains them,<br />so would I learn to attain<br />freefall, and float<br />into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,<br />knowing no effort earns<br />that all-surrounding grace.<div><br /><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #404040; font-family: "Libre Baskerville", Libre, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1.75em; margin-top: 0px;"><em style="box-sizing: inherit;">This poem is from </em>Oblique Prayers<em style="box-sizing: inherit;">, copyright ©1984 by Denise Levertov, and also appears in Levertov’s </em><a href="https://amzn.to/3enNtV8" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom: 1px solid; box-sizing: inherit; color: #404040; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-decoration-line: none; transition: all 0.2s ease 0s;" target="_blank">The Stream and the Sapphire: Selected Poems on Religious Themes</a><em style="box-sizing: inherit;">. </em></p></div>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-37867652877537754742024-01-14T11:37:00.006-07:002024-03-01T22:08:58.352-07:00Circle of Life<p>I did a good job in the past couple years reaching back, reaching out, to key people in my past. I didn't realize how much that also meant re-opening closed chapters in my life, and finding there, not cringing regret and harsh recriminations for all the ways I failed to be my best self, but memories of the ways I tried to stretch in different directions. </p><p>Being a parent, I've learned, provides many magical moments to confront past selves. Music is a doorway to the past; Umea has discovered Simon & Garfunkle, Kenny Rogers. She does not seem to mind my reminiscences of the past selves who loved the songs she's falling in love with. (And I realize I may be especially blessed with a kid who is not (yet?) focused on pushing away to differentiate herself.)</p><p>And clothes, too. When she steals a sweatshirt that's 20+ years old, I am remembering who bought it for me, or who I dated when I wore it first. How can she want to wear the same item? A rhyming across time. </p><p>We went shoe shopping, and as she tried on Birkenstocks, I texted my best friend in high school, since in my memory, we walked everywhere in Birkenstocks. She said yes, her son, too, asked for his first pair of Birkenstocks the summer before, and yes, how strange and right and resonant. </p><p>This also, of course, is true of books. Certainly when she was little, I crammed her little brain with my favorite childhood books -- Anne of Green Gables, first and foremost. And now she shares a few of my favorites in adulthood -- Miracle Life of Edgar Mint, most miraculously. </p><p>I think you could have these same moments of resonance if you were really good about sharing your inner life with a close friend. (I'm thinking of a podcast [<a href="https://www.thisamericanlife.org/205/transcript">This American Life, Plan B, Act Two</a>], where a young woman described trying to "download" her past into a new friend's brain - making her mixed-tapes of important songs, narrating past relationship stories onto tapes, providing a list of favorite books...)</p><p>But having kids, who are exploring themselves, partly through exploring what they have in common -- or not -- with their parents, is an especially organic unfolding of moments and moments and moments where the past opens up and offers a chance to see and feel how much I have in common with past selves -- or not.</p><p>And pairing that with friends who loved me when I was those past selves takes things deeper. It's partly triangulation -- do their memories, or their continued love, confirm my experience? My existence? Do I, can I, still love who they loved? Who they love? Are those the same? (Oh god, what is time? What is life? What is perspective across time?)</p><p>And I remember, I try to remember, there is nothing to be done. There is everything to feel, and accept, and learn. And celebrate. And feel gratitude. So much gratitude for this miracle of life unfolding -- out and in.</p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-88547093449900518722024-01-14T11:12:00.004-07:002024-01-14T11:12:58.922-07:00When all seems dark, what can you do to let the light in?<p>Breathe.</p><p>Feel grateful for blessings.</p><p>Move. Stretch. Feel grounded and stretch to the sky.</p><p>Meditate on the miracle of a spark of my perspective and life in the vastness of the universe.</p><p>Reach out to wisdom from others.</p><p>Slow down. Notice that you can only live moment by moment. (Nothing to be done, nothing else, nothing other. One moment only.)</p><p>Go deeper.</p><p>Shine. </p><p><br /></p><p> </p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-6268264247475948502024-01-07T11:22:00.000-07:002024-01-07T11:22:16.530-07:00What's your burden?<p>The question today at church. And an offer: Can you lay it down for a minute? 10 minutes? An hour? For days or weeks or months at a time?</p><p>Today, I'm thinking about cholesterol and eating - all the ways I feel out of control when confronted by cookies, chocolate, hawaiian rolls...</p><p>What does it really mean to be addicted to sugar, to gluten?</p><p>A Kenny Loggins self-help book from the late 1990s said (oh lord, wisdom from Kenny Loggins? Sure. Why not? Take it where you can get it!): "Where there is no hole, there's nothing to fill."</p><p>What hole am I filling with sweets? With butter?</p><p>I'm picturing a gingerbread house, pre-construction, and me sealing up the seams with frosting. </p><p>I suspect more play will help. More yoga. More tennis. Maybe learning pickle ball? Snowshoeing? And puzzles. (So grateful for a puzzle exchange at church! I brought back about 10, leaving with 5...)</p><p>And if that doesn't help, I'll have to go deeper. Pretty sure I'm doing everything I can, eating all I can, not to do that. </p><p><br /></p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-80277992816287234062023-12-06T19:04:00.005-07:002023-12-06T19:28:33.280-07:00Blue Christmas<p> Now it's December, and I'm still struggling with dark spirits.</p><p><br /></p><p>Atheist Christmas Carol</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/L4wVRcE5gIs" width="320" youtube-src-id="L4wVRcE5gIs"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Me to the season: Don't forget, I love, I love you.</p><p>I am sadness and joy and stress and resilience. All are part of the tapestry of my experience. So be it. So may it be. </p><p>Prayer to myself: May I be brave. May I welcome the connection and light that waits for me if I open the door to them. </p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-81187658475070801052023-11-22T08:14:00.000-07:002023-11-22T08:14:00.560-07:00Thanksgiving Eve<p>Today, everything feels like too much. Too many things to do. Too hard. Too much energy needed to overcome the inertia of despondent now. </p><p>Tomorrow, there will be music and singing and cooking and cleaning and laughing and friends and games. All will be well. All manner of things will be well.</p><p>Today, there are meetings to get through. Plates to spin. Tasks to knock out. Discussions to contribute to (show up! be present! bring value!). </p><p>I've had an Insight mediation app on my phone for a few months now. Most mornings I listen to affirmations as I make my way toward my desk. Most mornings, I feel grounded afterward. Rooted in my body, confident and at ease in myself. </p><p>Today, the woman's voice was talking to someone else, and I was just eavesdropping. Nothing she said was for me. </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>"I am enough?" Not even close. </li><li>"I trust the process of life?" Not today, I don't. </li><li>"I am grateful for every experience that shaped who I am?" For all the good it's done. </li><li>"I am grateful for all my blessings?" What are they, again?</li></ul><p></p><p>Work has been full and stressful lately. Lots of brain power, emotional intelligence, organizational skills, task switching, energy expended. I'm depleted. </p><p>I skipped out on a church meeting to watch Dark Skies with the fam. I've done puzzles. So. Many. Puzzles. I've escaped into Stacey Abrams mysteries. I've done yoga. Tennis. Walks with the dogs.</p><p>I'm doing all the right things. Trying for good habits. </p><p>Today, it all feels for naught. Darkness is heavy in my chest. My shoulders curl over my quaking heart.</p><p>These feelings too will pass. Tomorrow will be a better day. </p><p>"Look up" has been on repeat in my head - as I went to sleep - as I woke up several times in the night - this morning. Yes, Joy. Thank you. I can be grateful even for this. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vLK8sSHDbYs" width="320" youtube-src-id="vLK8sSHDbYs"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-79403314538618547212023-11-05T10:43:00.005-07:002023-11-05T10:43:44.156-07:00Fall shining<p>It's been a whirlwind fall. I've been co-teaching a class at UNM, which is so fun but soaks up all my "free time." Teaching requires a presence and an awareness of the moment that leads to richer experience. This practice carries over into the rest of my life, primed to find deeper meaning. </p><p>Rich but exhausting. </p><p>It's been a sweet few months with the kiddos. There's been tennis and running. Puzzles. Coffee. More delights from Ross Gay. </p><p>Lunches with friends, tea with a new friend, coffee with an old friend. </p><p>Life is sweet sweet sweet, and I am trying not to hang on or expect anything to continue. Just notice. Feel grateful. Shine shine shine on all I see.</p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-68447967989597156182023-09-13T19:38:00.000-06:002023-09-13T19:38:56.433-06:00What I Can Do (poem) by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer<br /><br /> <br /><br />So I can’t save the world – can’t save even myself, <br />can’t wrap my arms around every frightened child, <br />can’t foster peace among nations, can’t bring love to all who feel unlovable.<br /><br />So I practice opening my heart<br />right here in this room and being gentle with my insufficiency. <br />I practice walking down the street heart first.<br />And if it is insufficient to share love, I will practice loving anyway.<br />I want to converse about truth, about trust. I want to invite compassion<br />into every interaction.<br /><br />One willing heart can’t stop a war.<br />One willing heart can’t feed all the hungry.<br />And sometimes, daunted by a task too big, I tell myself what’s the use of trying?<br />But today, the invitation is clear: to be ridiculously courageous in love.<br />To open the heart like a lilac in May, knowing freeze is possible<br />and opening anyway.<br /><br />To take love seriously. To give love wildly.<br />To race up to the world as if I were a puppy, adoring and unjaded,<br />stumbling on my own exuberance.<br />To feel the shock of indifference, of anger, of cruelty, of fear,<br />and stay open. To love as if it matters,<br /><br />as if the world depends on it.<br />mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-65137797867217405482023-08-27T22:14:00.000-06:002023-08-27T22:14:08.604-06:00Balance, Longing, and GratitudeI am working on a small service for Wednesday evening. This is a 30-minute online Vespers, a time for poetry, song, and reflection. My theme is balance. I'm blending <a href="http://mjae.blogspot.com/2018/05/balance-dorianne-laux.html">Dorianne Laux's Balance</a>, the excerpt below from Kurt Vonnegut's Sirens of Titan, in which he writes of lovely and fanciful creatures called harmoniums that have found their own balance in the deep caves of Mercury, and David Whyte's essay on Longing in his (gorgeous, strange, brilliant) book <a href="https://davidwhyte.com/pages/consolations">Consolations</a>.<div><br /></div><div>And for the song, of course, Life Is Better with You by Michael Franti. I'm rocking this one!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1XEOVl875d0" width="320" youtube-src-id="1XEOVl875d0"></iframe></div><br /><div><br />Excerpt from Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut<br /><blockquote>The planet Mercury sings like a crystal goblet.<br />It sings all the time.<br />One side of Mercury faces the Sun. <br />That side has always faced the Sun. That side is a sea of white-hot dust.<br />The other side faces the nothingness of space eternal. <br />That side has always faced the nothingness of space eternal. That side is a forest of giant blue-white crystals, aching cold.<br />It is the tension between the hot hemisphere of day-without-end and the cold hemisphere of night-without-end that makes Mercury sing.<br />…<br />There are creatures in the deep caves of Mercury.<br />The song their planet sings is important to them, for the creatures are nourished by vibrations. ...<br />The creatures cling to the singing walls of their caves.<br />In that way, they eat the song of Mercury.<br />…<br />The creatures in the caves are translucent. When they cling to the walls, light from the phosphorescent walls comes right through them. The yellow light from the walls, however, is turned, when passed through the bodies of the creatures, to a vivid aquamarine.<br />Nature is a wonderful thing.<br />...<br />Each creature has four feeble suction cups – one at each of its corners. These cups enable it to creep, something like a measuring worm, and to cling, and to feel out the places where the song of Mercury is best.<br />Having found a place that promises a good meal, the creatures lay themselves against the wall like wet wallpaper.<br />…<br />They do not reach maturity, then deteriorate and die. They reach maturity and stay in full bloom, so to speak, for as long as Mercury cares to sing.<br />There is no way in which one creature can harm another, and no motive for one’s harming another.<br />Hunger, envy, ambition, fear, indignation, religion, and sexual lust are irrelevant and unknown.<br />The creatures have only one sense: touch.<br />They have weak powers of telepathy. ... They have only two possible messages. <br />The first is an automatic response to the second, and the second is an automatic response to the first.<br />The first is, ”Here I am, here I am, here I am.” <br />The second is, ”So glad you are, so glad you are, so glad you are.”</blockquote></div>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-87394557397593425662023-08-06T11:29:00.001-06:002023-08-06T11:29:48.793-06:00Prioritizing Me<p>I'm keeping an intention to fold in physical activities high in my consciousness. It still hasn't turned into action much, but the realization that fun = moving my body is still motivating me to figure it out.</p><p>The latest scheme is to try for some family bike rides when it cools down a little. I think we're going to "borrow" my 80-year-old mother's Schwinn for Beckett (a much more appropriate age for biking!) so that we will all have decent-ish bikes. Umea's is a second-hand store find. Actually, I think Eric's is, too. And mine is the bike I bought in grad school, which I still adore. </p><p>The other goal is to play tennis Monday evenings. </p><p>And soon I'll be able to get back to yoga at lunch 2 times a week. </p><p>I've done fairly well going for one long-ish run on the weekends. </p><p>One of the fun things at camp was playing "ga ga ball," which I hear is taking the nation by storm, following the pickle ball revolution. My son was surprised but pleased that his mom did pretty well - for a beginner! It was a reminder that I'm kinda athletic. Felt like being little and playing baseball and kickball and all kinds of other things - and being pretty good at most of them just by being fairly coordinated. </p><p>Although ABQ does not have gaga ball pits, it is embracing pickleball. Many of my older friends are enamored. Once the City opens the registration for pickle ball lessons, I'll sign up to learn that. Then I need to find a partner to play with!</p><p>All of this requires carving out time in the week for something that I actually find fun, even though my kids don't. The past 14 years have been trying to find things to do as a family. Now... it's probably ok to strike out on my own again and leave them to their screens and their friends. </p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-61173424364872737532023-07-30T11:25:00.002-06:002023-07-30T11:35:45.230-06:00Church Camp<p>We just got back from a week-long UU kids camp. I've been wanting to go for years; we hear a lot during the year about "camp magic" -- a place where generally reluctant UU kids actually want to go every year. </p><p>There are no "families" at camp, even though most (but not all!) adult "counselors" are parents. Some were, but their kiddos are now adults. </p><p>Like most camps, there are campers 3rd grade through 8th grade. Then there are Counselors-in-Training (CITs). Because people continue to want to come back, there are also "Young Adult Mentors" (YAMs). </p><p>My 14-year-old leaned into the no families rule -- generally not making eye contact but not actively avoiding me. </p><p>My 10-year-old declared the rule stupid and refused to follow it, but even so, he did not seek me out much, although bedtime was still important. Lots of singing! Which worked out well for his roommate, who was more homesick than most. </p><p>So I was left as just myself - an adult among kids - parental but not a parent. At camp but not a camper. I found myself SO SELF-CONSCIOUS! Walking the delicate tightrope of asking questions but not be prying, being silent but not withdrawn, being present but not centering myself. I was the only adult who had not been to camp before, so I found myself empathizing with the new kids, who were also the quiet kids, on the edge of every game, sitting alone during meals. What is more tortuous than being a new kid? Turns out... being a new adult. The responsibility to do something about both my own discomfort and theirs made the discomfort urgent. So I went about gathering the loners into community. And by day 3, the CITs had been admonished enough that there were many helpers in this quest. </p><p>And by day 5, there were no outliers. There were certainly still moments of discomfort and shyness and awkwardness that all kids - and all people - have. But camp magic worked. Many became one. And had fun. And accepted our infinite, unique quirkiness. </p><p>I think all camps do this, some better than others. Some more intentionally than others. Our UU camp was very intentional, teaching the skill of inclusion and practicing the courage to show up. So vulnerable and so beautiful. </p><p>The call to worship today at church:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>Let's not go building new walls around our hearts</p><p>We have already enough that keeps us from each other</p><p>Enough that keeps us from ourselves.</p><p>For this hour we practice showing up with a willingness to see, to be seen</p><p>To remember ourselves, whole, and still becoming better</p><p>To believe it is ok to not be ok</p><p>That we are loved, even when we feel unlovable</p><p>That we belong, even when the ground comes out from under us</p><p>To be for each other a surprising generosity, a sudden</p><p>sweetness, a sign of hope the start of a new day.</p><p>Together, we can be this brave.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>The welcoming song:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>I pray for you; you pray for me. I love you; I need you to survive. </p><p>I won't harm you with words from my mouth. I love you; I need you to survive. </p></blockquote><p><br /></p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-38144741772144543722023-07-22T18:35:00.000-06:002023-07-22T18:35:17.301-06:00Groundedness<p>Umea asked me if I was ever fun. An old friend asked me what I did for fun. A new friend told me how he fills his days with joy now that he is retired. </p><p>I have a new answer: tennis. To be more specific, tennis lessons. Turns out, I do not like playing matches, but boy do I love drilling! I've been doing it for several summers now, and this year, I seemed to come into my own. </p><p>And the other things I fantasized about when picturing my retirement were similarly active - riding my bike, going for hikes, running. Turns out that what's fun is moving my body. </p><p>How ironic when what I prioritize is being in my head. </p><p> It's so easy to get lost in there. </p><p>When we talk about grounding ourselves, we so often mean in our bodies. Moving our breath from shallow to deep. Settling our weight into our hips. </p><p>The metaphor for grounding to me has always been the rootedness of a tree - slow growth outward to grasp the earth and hold on, hold onto more and more as you grow. But today, listening to a meditation about courage, the metaphor the woman used was lighting, and I realized lighting grounds, too. A flash of electricity that connects sky to earth with violence and awesome beauty. There and then gone. A strike. </p><p>I had asked some people at a party on 4th of July when they felt grounded in who they were. My friend's mother said - "Oh, very early. I was lucky to have people who mentored me toward leadership." This matches what I knew of her but was not the answer I was hoping to hear. But today, after telling that story, my friend said, "Sure, she felt grounded early, but she never felt free." She could never jump into a new situation, travel to Europe by herself. She was rooted to her spot in the world but didn't see much of it as a result. </p><p>And so I now have 2 metaphors for groundedness that give me more freedom, more hope that whatever I am feeling is what I am supposed to be feeling - connecting to the here and now, digging deep and wide - and branching out (oops, still tree metaphor!) because I feel safe in who I am and so can leap into something new, strike out in a new direction and see what there is to see. </p><p>For today, this feels revelatory. And enough. </p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-81978899901115039392023-07-09T11:21:00.002-06:002023-07-09T11:21:39.637-06:00Meditation for Anxiety<p>As you breathe, feel how your anxiety is the high strung vibration of too much too fast, and how as you breathe out, you can deepen that tone, bring the high whine from your head and your face and your throat into a low vibrato in your core, like a tiger's roar, pushing you forward into movement from the icy block of your stuckness and fear. </p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-75858921604762778582023-07-09T11:12:00.003-06:002023-07-09T11:47:30.201-06:00Dissatisfactions<p>I'm struggling this week with feeling out of balance on multiple tightropes. (Warning: much whining ensues.) </p><p>Work feels so overwhelming that I don't have time to get organized enough to delegate work to others and free up time to work on what needs to be done. I am canceling meetings so that I can meet with others. I am working on the weekend so that I can actually put in time on tasks that take concentration. It's ... exhausting. And feels like there's no end and no solution and no way to continue. </p><p>Exercise feels like there's never enough and no motivation to do more. I had been running with some ladies training for a marathon, but a few weekend trips away left me behind the wagon. Now I'm dragging myself 3 miles before it gets too hot by 8 am. Thankfully, yoga at work twice a week seems to be holding (and holding me steady), but while that is a GREAT deal and good value, it's still too much money. But I know investing in myself and my balance is worth a whole lot more. </p><p>My relationship feels distant. My partner's been not feeling well for a couple weeks, which has left our schedules out of sync and our energies missing each other. And I have been hiding. Turning inward and then wondering why I feel so alone. </p><p>My daughter continues to struggle with cutting. She seems joyful and yet emerges from multiple nights with visible scars of her anxiety. I do not know how to help her, and she seems wrapped in teen solipsism that leaves any solutions years beyond her reach or consideration. </p><p>My son is addicted to a video game with shooting and death at its center. He rolls his eyes at us when we express worry and actively resists any attempt at redirecting his time and attention to other things. We have some leads about how to keep making other activities more viable, easier to choose, and yet the effort to keep them in front of him is relentless. </p><p>My mother is far away in Michigan, and the physical distance is only one symptom of how far away she feels. My oldest sister went to my niece's wedding shower and wedding and did not give her a gift. I'm struggling with how to feel about that and whether there's anything I should do with my feelings. I'm angry and disappointed and feel protective of my niece and righteous about what my sister should have done. </p><p>But there are blessings, too. This Friday I'm meeting up with one of my favorite work people who is in town. Next weekend, my neighborhood friend growing up is visiting from California. The next night is my 30th high school reunion. Then I spend a week at church camp. Then go to Navajo Lake with my old boss who has become the summer grandpappy for our family. </p><p>And today I'm headed to a friend's house for wine. Tonight I'm meeting up with high school friends who were all thespians together.</p><p>There are many blessings. And maybe a little of this is an introvert feeling overwhelmed at living out loud in front of so many people. </p><p>But maybe it's also that I am hiding from myself and what I should be doing to make my life what I want it to be. And it's hard to hide with so many people asking questions and loving me into showing up. </p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-49402326940358710862023-06-24T12:13:00.001-06:002023-07-30T11:46:31.469-06:00Remembering the Future (prayer) by Theresa I. SotoCan we develop the skill of remembering the future?<br />Can we commit to build the community that will extend <br />into a time that we only know by memory because it <br />will outlast us? <br />Memorize the compass points of the day <br />yet to come: the truth, the love, the fire, the endless yes <br />of the horizon. <br />Shake the scales from your imagination: <br />Reach. Stretch. Rise. <br />There is no more time for pretending <br />that everything can be all right without your care, without <br />your attention. You can mourn, grief being more real at times <br />than the promise of the sunrise. More real than the piece <br />of the moon, that by inconstant silver turns, disappears. <br />And yet. While we may mourn changes, losses, deceptions, <br />and betrayals, beneath the ash we find the ember. We <br />weep and then, as we have learned from labor movements, <br />we organize. Remember the day toward which we gather, <br />the tomorrow toward which we advance. It is with <br />your actions today that you engage that muscle memory, <br />that sense of smell, the ragged velvet feel of a day that <br />you have never lived. It is also your day. Remember it well.mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735352.post-41163587851442368262023-05-21T11:26:00.002-06:002023-05-21T11:26:39.647-06:00Continuity of Experience<p>47 seems to be a year of reconnecting with my past. This summer will be my 30th high school reunion. 30 years. I dove into the rabbit hole of my high school year books and cybersleuthing to find those whom I remembered and cared about. Some have died. I'm reaching out to set up a Zoom reunion with my fellow Thespian officers from my junior year. </p><p>And a poet I loved once passed away this summer. I re-entered a closed chapter of my life at his memorial. So strange to be remembered. And cared about by people who have kept me in amber as a twenty-something fun person in their memories. </p><p>Umea had just asked me about my past - how often had I done drugs, was I ever cool, was I fun? I tried to explain to her that if you live long enough, you have eras in your life. Your own experience of yourself is continuous, but you are constantly changing, growing, pruning, shedding parts of yourself and what you used to care more about, what you used to do more of. And it's not just life and time that spurs these changes. Every person brings out more of this or that in you, the alchemy of connection or repulsion. You learn from it all. Learn about life but also yourself. What you like. Who you like. Why.</p><p>I drank a bottle of wine this week with a friend made during that poetry era. I liked who she loves. She sees the steamroller in me and knows it can make paths for those I value - like poets, like community-makers and storytellers. </p><p>I dine tonight with my oldest friend, who came to every birthday since my 2nd ever through high school. We drifted apart in college but reconnected when we both ended up in Seattle after the turn to the new millennium. And stayed in touch through her saying goodbye to her father in a prison hospital. We grew life at the same time, gave life within a month of each other. We had girls, then, later, boys. We have lived our lives in parallel. Not the same. Not even together. But coming together every so often to witness, to share, to commiserate, to wonder and take turns feeling lost and confused.</p><p>And after finding pictures of our parents enjoying games and drinks, I sent them to my childhood neighbor friends. In some ways, those are my strongest memories. Because they were my first memories? Because they were so full of love and fun and joy? All of that. </p><p>And this blog is filled with me realizing again and again that I don't remember if I don't write it down. And weeks and months and years pass, and the continuity of my experience means I don't learn, don't note the passing of time and lessons and love and joy. So, here is one. I am so grateful. I am so full right now of the bigness and strangeness of life. </p>mjaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06150508559549092452noreply@blogger.com0