Life Goes On

When you least expect it, life goes on. Somehow, the human spirit refuses to be quelled. Or at least this human spirit.



“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.” --Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

This is how I felt during the past 4 years! My pendulum kept swinging from one extreme to the other. Some days, it was utter despair because I wasn’t the stay at home mom I wanted to be. Other days, it was bliss because I had this great and challenging career that afforded week long snowboarding trips to Whistler, BC. I loved being a Mom but felt despondent over my lack of patience and presence with L.

I have to admit, it was mostly good times. What makes us focus so much on the negative when there is so much positive? I was home to see L roll over for the first time (and roll right off the bed, too!!). D and I sat with outstretched arms as she took her first tentative steps towards us. On a grocery shopping trip to Vons, L uttered her first word, “dog” when she saw a Scooby Doo lunch box. Spontaneous “I love you, Mommy” still chokes me up.

The trips to Whistler, Mexico, Tulsa and Scottsdale were so much fun. Then there were also the short trips to Palm Desert and Disneyland. But even more precious to me than the trips were the times spent with great friends. All the Friday Fun nights at the B’s with the kids. From breastfeeding to self-feeding. Our monthly Family Dinners with our Bible Study Group. All the burdens shared over a cup of coffee with the ladies. The sense of community that is created from opening your home and heart that leads to lasting memories.

I think it’s a gift to be able to be content, especially in the culture we live in. How often do we choose to be satisfied? Most often, I’m trying to see how “it” can be better. If only I could lose 15 more pounds I’d feel great about my body, stretch marks and all. If only I had those $158 pair of Joe’s Jeans that I’ve been drooling over then the “denim” department of my wardrobe would be complete. If only it were the summer of 2007 and my friends were back from China then life would be so much more fun. If only we had more money then I wouldn't worry so much. If only our house would sell, then I would feel settled. If only I could finish my landscaping plan then I could rest. If only……(fill in the blank). The list is endless.

I have to choose to remember the good stuff. I have lost 12 pounds in the past 3 months already. I live in a wonderful city that I love and have built some incredible friendships. New friendships, from women I least expected, have opened up to me. My house will never be finished, but on Saturday, it was clean…really clean. I mean, walls washed, doors wiped down clean.

There is a secret to being content. I realize (again) that it’s only through viewing life from God’s perspective that I can be satisfied with what I have. He knows what’s to come and it’s really really great.

Someone once told me, “if you’re not happy with what you have, what makes you think you’ll be happy with more?”

How does one “live in the moment?” None of us wants to look back on our life and realize that we were just rushing from one thing to the next. Trying to check off as many “to-do” items as possible.

Most often, when L and I go for a walk, it ends up being more stop and go every 2 feet than an actual walk.

We have Cassia trees lining the streets of our neighborhood. In the spring, long green pods grow alongside the beautiful yellow blossoms. Then, as we head towards summer, the lovely green pods turn dark brown and look like long poops. Well, these pods fall all over the grass, sidewalk and street.

L would collect these pods on our daily bike rides. She would try to put them in her basket or carry them in one hand while trying to steer her bike with the other. When the pods dry out, the seeds inside rattle like rain sticks. Anyway, I had the bright idea of smashing the pods on the sidewalk so that the seeds would spill out. So now, L’s mission on all walks is to collect the seeds. She picks up as many as possible on our journey around the block. Halfway around the street, we walk pass “the muddy.” It is a mystic place that is separated from the rest of the world. Mystery and lore hangs over “the muddy” like a thick blanket of fog. There are magical powers at work in the land of “the muddy.” Ok, the reality of “the muddy” is that it’s a sliver of dirt between the grass and the flower bed. It’s only 6 inches wide and maybe 10 inches long. Over watering of the grass has caused the water to collect in this area and now it’s a mud puddle. L, however, has invented stories about dragons that live in “the muddy” and we must pass by quietly and offer our gift of the Cassia seeds.

She likes to toss her collection of seeds, one at a time, into “the muddy.” We visit “the muddy” every day to see if the fairies have made the seeds sprout. And yesterday, they did!! I think it was just a weed, but to L, it was evidence of God’s power at work making things grow.

So, each evening, we set out on our trek to “the muddy” to see what new surprises await us. I try not to rush L. I try to be patient when she stops every 2 feet to pick up new seeds. I try to remember that her memories of these walks will be pleasant ones if I can “live in the moment” and realize that my walks with her are not a task to be checked off my list.

L's Race and Mine

This picture of L was taken on April 8, 2006. She was running for the first time in the Junior Carlsbad. She competed in the 25 yard dash with other 3 yr. olds from all over the county. I say "competed" because she really was. As she stood in classic runner's pose at the starting line, she turned to D and said in a very serious tone, almost on the verge of tears, "Daddy I want to win! I don't want to lose."

She had already envisioned bursting through the tape at the finish line. In her imagination, the crowd cheered her on and she proudly showed off her winning medal. Even at the tender age of 3, she was already trying to decide what the finish was going to look like and feel like.

I think that is where I'm at right now. It's been 3 months since I retired from my Corporate career. 3 months of feeling displaced and trying to figure out what my "new" life is supposed to look like and feel like. Don't get me wrong, it's not been all bad. I love being home with L. I'm excited that I was finally brave enough to take the plunge and become an entrepreneur. I think the uncertainty comes from this image in my mind of what life was going to be like. I don't even know if I had a clear picture. Maybe that's why I'm at times, confused.

Maybe I thought it would be like vacation. I would now have time to have hobbies. I could knit all day or do yoga every day. Finally finish my album of my post college trip, backpacking through Europe (1996) or my wedding album!

Maybe I thought it would be like a tv sitcom. Like "Friends" or something. Always hanging out with friends. Experiencing life's daily challenges together. Solving whatever issue was at hand. Never being alone. Never having "wasted" a moment. Nonstop fun. No serious worries like a mortgage, bills to pay or $12,000 in taxes that you owe the IRS. That mundane stuff doesn't happen on Grey's Anatomy.

The reality of life at home was quite different than the picture in my mind's eye. I no longer had a clock to punch. I actually had to make a schedule. And if I didn't keep to it, there was no reprimand from the boss. The only consequence was a lump in my stomach, which was probably guilt that I "should" be doing something productive. Gosh, if I wasn't showered and ready to by 7am, somehow I'd already wasted my day before it even began. If I wanted to make sure that I had time for a walk, my quiet time, showering and getting dressed so that I had breakfast ready for my family by 8am, that meant I needed to wake up by 5am!!

Even now, if I do anything for myself (nap, yoga, read, knit, watch tv, etc.) between 8am and 5pm, I feel guilty. Like somehow I'm "cheating." It may very well be over a decade of the routine of going to work and being on someone else's clock. My clock didn't start until I punched out. Perhaps I just need to remember that it takes time to adjust.

Perhaps, this is how life really does look and feel. It's not always so scheduled with all the days happenings compacted into a neat 60 minute episode. Not all problems will be solved.

My race is more the cross country variety than the 25 yard dash. There are still experiences and landscapes to see. I don't even know the complete path yet. And that is ok. Or at least I tell myself it's ok because the reality is that I like my life planned out. I like knowing what comes next. If it's fun or not. If I'm supposed to do it or not. I'm the type of person that before heading out on my first camping trip, would buy a book on how to go camping the right way. That way, I'd ensure that I participated in all the right activities, had the appropriate gear, and could say with satisfaction and all certainty at the end of the trip that it was successful. What about fun? If there is a chapter on having fun, I'm sure I would have completed all the items, and yes, it was fun.

No, I'm really not that anal and obsessive. Left to my own devices, I could definitely be that insane. However, those are just the impulses of my primitive self. The random thoughts that go through my head. Thoughts like, "is this my life?" "Is this how it's supposed to feel?" The answer is always a kind, "yes." But why, oh, why do I keep asking? Why do I feel compelled to define it? Why can't I just enjoy the moment?

L finished the race ahead of all the other girls. She was only a foot behind the other runner - who was a boy, and really fast. Victory for L did look and feel exactly as she had imagined. The crowds cheered for her. It didn't matter to her that they cheered for the last kid to cross the finish line and everyone in between. They cheered for her. Her medal was hard won. She carried it proudly on her chest and declared to anyone within earshot that she won the race.

We celebrated over a victory lunch. She wore her medal like a true champion through the entire meal.

And then we drove home and she took a nap. Her medal is now buried somewhere deep in her toy box. I can't recall seeing it for weeks. This is how life feels.