Deliberate Living

May 17, 2012 Awareness / Chasing Dreams / This House
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I harp a lot on the idea that time is short, so I should live my dreams now. The implicit thought here is that I should hurry up and get everything done now, while I still have the chance.

This is sort of an accurate summary of the advice I’ve been giving myself and others for the past six months.

But it’s not good advice.

Yes, we should follow our dreams and check those items from our bucket list. But not at the expense of living a centered, peaceful life.

I would argue that it’s all about balance. I am an energetic person. I thrive on activity. But sometimes I have to rein that part of me in to allow time to digest what this life means. I need to remind myself to set time aside for quiet, to slow down, to focus more on quality than on quantity. More is not better. Intellectually, I know this. But in my day-to-day life, I forget and forge ahead on constant activity that doesn’t nurture me. Sometimes I feel that incessant productivity will fulfill me. But at the end of a day of running in circles, I feel empty and dissatisfied.

I need a plan.

I need to slow down, slow way down. I need to stop the frenetic pace of my life, at least occasionally, in order to give myself time to see what is truly important. What are my goals? What are my priorities? What am I passionate about? Then, only then, should I fill my hours. But instead of rushing off into activity like a blithering fool, I’ll move through my days with a sense of purpose, knowing that everything I do is truly what I want to be doing.

Why waste time doing anything else?

In the time I’ve given myself for reflection, I’m seeing that these things are my priorities: my children and husband, friends and family, faith, writing, reading, travel, exercise, and gardening.

I dislike walking around in circles doing housework, so I stopped. Oh, I still get everything done that needs done, but now I batch it. I set aside specific times where I do “the dirty work,” so to speak, and then it’s out of the way and I can move on to the things I love. Otherwise, this house would suck me into its grip and I’d never escape.

I dislike shopping, so I minimize that as much as possible. So often, many of the things we think we need are things we could live without, if we think even twice about them.

The best way to happiness is through deliberate living. This takes thoughtfulness, intention, control, and dedication. But it’s the only way to avoid emptiness.

Celebrating My First-Born Son

May 8, 2012 Motherhood
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Almost to the minute, eleven years ago, my first son was born. The first of my four children, Andy has grown to be an intelligent, sensitive, funny, and loyal person and I couldn’t be more proud of him.

I’ve always said, find two or three things you LOVE doing, and do the hell out of them. Being a mother is the thing I absolutely love doing the most. And I thank the universe every day for allowing me to live this dream of raising a big, boisterous, chaotic, and sometimes very noisy family. Without these children, I would not have learned selflessness. I would not have learned how to let go. I would definitely know nothing about putting fun first.

I always thought I would be the one to teach the kids how to live and behave. But I’m finding that my biggest heroes are my children. They teach me how to be a better person.

Andy was the start of our family. He was my first glimmer of true, authentic love. When he was born, I suddenly found my heart beating outside myself, in the tiny form of this other human being. Somehow, miraculously, my husband and I had created him out of love, out of passion. Here he was, a representation of each of us, yet a person separate to himself.

It seems like yesterday he was born. I remember long hours of snuggling with him, nursing him, giggling with him as he grew from helpless newborn to robust toddler. Throughout his life, he has held a positive outlook on all things. I rarely see him in a sour mood. He has long played the part of peacemaker in our family and is often the one to point out the good in what he sees.

Always thinking of someone other than himself, Andy is a good friend to all he meets. His perspective of the world is amazingly adult, although he still has all the joy of a child. He reads voraciously and has a natural curiosity about people, places, and things. He is a well-balanced person who is willing to try new things, whether that’s wrestling, soccer, sailing, or building a clubhouse in the backyard. He supports his brother and sisters; he takes care of them. And he supports me and his dad, too, in all that we love to do.

The thought recently occurred to me that he is more than half-grown. He’ll only be a child, officially, for another seven years. Then, his wings will be fully developed and he’ll be able to fly off to his own adventures. I’ll miss him. I already miss the various phases of him. But I’m also enjoying him every day: his silly jokes, his zest for life, his unfailing dedication to his family.

I thank God for the gift of Andy. And I hope he has a wonderful birthday today.

Letting Go

April 26, 2012 Awareness / This House
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We live in an appropriate house in an appropriate neighborhood. We have an appropriate list of expenses – things like vacations, home repairs, utility bills, schooling for our kids, memberships – and an appropriate amount of income to pay for these expenses. We follow the calendar dutifully, attending functions for school and church, getting school forms in by the date due, presenting ourselves at our kids’ soccer games when the coach says.

These things alone are not bad in themselves. Propriety is fine. Propriety or “doing the right thing” is virtuous. But what if we’re being led to believe that the wrong things are the right things by a culture on the wrong track?

Some people take this ‘appropriateness’ to an extreme level. Everything is a competition, a race to have the newest minivan in the garage or the newest clothing on their backs. For some, the game gets sick as they push their kids to excel in sports, academics, and popularity, pushing them so hard that these kids have the schedule and the perspective of stressed-out adults.

We imprison ourselves with this mentality. We drown ourselves with excessive amounts of stuff. We rob our lives of quality by working incessantly to pay for that stuff. We diminish ourselves by believing we are only as valuable as the job we do or as important as the schedule we keep. We steal our own awareness in everything that we do and then congratulate ourselves for our profound productivity and for our homes full of items that will only need taken care of.

So many of us are swept along in this cultural tidal wave. We’re fed a gluttonous diet of information, activity, and things. And yet we never feel full.

We suffer health problems, physical and mental. We feel anger and rage when something doesn’t go our way. Divorce rates are at an all-time high. We don’t know how to communicate with each other. Drug and alcohol abuse are prevalent. We don’t know how to talk to ourselves. Education is better than ever before, along with personal dissatisfaction. We don’t know our neighbors. We barely know our kids.

I miss Panama. I miss seeing the old men sitting alongside the young people in the town square. As if they had nothing better to do than sit there and greet passersby. My American brain initially thinks, “Wait, what? Don’t these people have jobs? Or at least chores to get done, errands to run, or things to buy? How can they rationalize wasting this kind of time?”

The average Panamanian worker makes $15/day. And professionals, more along the lines of $25 or $30/day, I’m told. Yes, the cost of living is a little less than we’re used to in the States. Most notably different, though, is the fact that their lifestyle is simpler. Simpler lifestyles cost less. They live in simple houses, not huge McMansions ten times bigger than their family needs. They may not even have a car since most errands can be accomplished on foot and, if not, nobody is shy to use the public bus. The country is refreshingly free of Wal-Marts. No Wal-Mart means less availability of piles of made-in-China crap that we Americans line our homes with.

If you’re reading this and you have a big house, don’t feel like I’m picking on you. My house is too big, also. If you shop at Wal-Mart, don’t get insulted, because I do, too. I’m not picking on any one person, but rather pointing out that our American culture is feeding us a steady diet of empty promises and false rewards.

Here’s an example. We live in a fixer-upper house. Our roof is leaking and will eventually need replaced, a project that won’t be cheap. A couple of years ago, we took on a project that transformed a space into a game room, utility room, and half bath. We thought, “When that project is done, we’ll feel soooo good.” The project is done. But 200 more projects are waiting in line, so we feel no better.

I’ve learned that neither my happiness nor my self-worth can depend on how perfect our home is. We’ll always have something that needs fixed, weeds that need pulled, or rooms that need cleaned.

I’ve learned to put experiences and people over anything I can hold in my hand. I can’t rely on things that fade and tarnish.

I’ve learned that time is of the essence – as I write this, in fact, I sit near the diocesan soccer field while my son plays his game. In my line of vision is the cemetery where my mom is buried. From here, I can see the tree under which she sleeps.

I have learned not to trust a materialistic culture. And to let go of everything I have in order to find myself.

 

Sabbatical Plans Unfolding

April 18, 2012 Awareness / Chasing Dreams / Motherhood
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Okay. El Valle de Anton could be the place we choose to take a break from our regularly scheduled lives, too. After being in Pedasi for three peaceful, soulful days, I never would have thought that there would be another place on earth, let alone another pace in the same country a mere three hours away, about which we would feel the same. But el Valle, Panama, also speaks to us.

The people here are so friendly. Someone told us it was akin to 1950s America and I couldn’t deny that. People seem happy and have a sense of humor. I’m sure strife exists, both the kind born of normal human circumstance and that sort caused by modern evils. But, mostly, people seem happy to work, do good, and enjoy life. the vibe is simple and pure.

Kids seem taken care of. Really well taken care of. The area is clean of debris and garbage, even though I haven’t yet seen a trash pick-up system comparable to that in the U.S. Everyone you pass offers a smile and a cheerful “Buenas” even though you don’t know them and, in our case, very clearly don’t look like we belong here. Prices are inexpensive. You might not get American-style service, but when you get to know someone, I feel like you will have made a friend for life.

The absolute worst part of this trip is that the kids are not here with us. I am so ready to be back with my children. But we will bring them back as soon as we can to this magical place. Here, along with us, they will get the education of a lifetime.

Freedom

April 16, 2012 Awareness / Travel Lust
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I’ve been seeking awareness and clarity lately in my life. Pedasi, Panama, seems like an excellent place to do that. This could be a result of me being away, without the clutter and chaos of regular life, or it could be this place that is working on me. I’m not sure.

I will say there’s something magical about this place, with the sea crashing faithfully nearby and the palm trees rustling like drops of water and the birds chattering noisily in the trees. Not a car has gone by as I sit here on the back verandah of my hostel. The only souls I’ve seen have been my husband, the couple who cheerily fed me a breakfast of farm-raised eggs, fresh fruit, and local, robust coffee. The heat settles on me like a comfortable blanket but the sea breeze is both exciting and cooling. God’s creatures float by me – birds, bugs, butterflies – and I’m leaning to live in harmony with them instead of fear them.

The wind blows with such an intensity that I’m sure it is the holy spirit, reminding me of God and power and peace. I could sit here for ten years and not get enough.

All I have right now in front of me are the four, plain walls of my hostel, a cold-water shower, a firm bed with one pillow and a sheet for covering, a couple of simple wooden tables and chairs, a hammock, my water bottle, and this device used to capture my thoughts.

This could be seen as time that stifles. Or this could be seen as pure and simple freedom.

Retreat

April 13, 2012 Awareness / Motherhood
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As I sat on the first plane of our journey to Panama yesterday, my mind wandered haphazardly all over the place. Did I bring all of our meds? (To include malaria pills, ay yi yi!) Did we pack the sunscreen and the bug spray with 25% DEET? Passports. Drivers licenses. Credit cards. Check. But I was still feeling like I was forgetting something.

Oh, yeah. The kids.

I haven’t been away from the kids for this long since around 2008, and I’ve never left little Addy before. I packed my things into two small bags but still felt oddly light, not having to pack diapers and kids’ clothes and activities to keep everyone busy.

I am reminded at times like these that I am an individual. It is my own will that leads me on my path, my capabilities and and drive that get me where I want/need to go. In my everyday life, I’m constantly surrounded by the needs and concerns of other people, as well as constant chatter and activity. But for this trip, I am solitary, face-to-face with my own thoughts and direction.

No circle walk around the house robbing me of awareness. No redirecting my day around the baby’s nap. No setting my thoughts aside to break up a fight or to get dinner started. And none of the brain mush that comes with managing four other people’s lives.

I plan to use this time as a retreat – to focus my thoughts, and make plans for my own personal growth and well-being. And to reconnect with my husband, who often gets the stingy leftovers after everyone else has taken a piece of me.

I think I needed this retreat for a long time. I didn’t even realize how much I needed it. To remind me that I exist as a person and not just as a mom. And to rediscover myself, especially the parts that have been hiding since I joined the ranks of Motherhood.

But isn’t it wonderful news that, after this time away, I’ll go back to those four I left behind, rejuvenated, relaxed, and with a renewed sense of who I am and where I’m going in this life.

So little guys, if you’re reading this, know that I waited until your bus pulled away before I cried myself back up the street yesterday morning. The week will pass quickly, make us all stronger people, and give us a new-found appreciation for each other when we are all together again.

Those malaria-carrying mosquitoes will need to leave me alone. I have so much to do when I get home, and so many people to love after this epic journey.

Why Isn’t It Possible??

April 4, 2012 Chasing Dreams
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I spent all day yesterday planning the itinerary for our upcoming trip to Panama. My husband and I are spending seven full days together, without the kids, in the Central American country. I have mixed feelings about leaving the kids for that long. Although I know they’ll be fine with my brother and his wife, I will cry many tears over missing them. But I’m hoping to come back refreshed, reminded that I am a full human being, even when I’m not with my children.

It’s been so long since I could freely move about the cabin that I don’t even know what to do with myself.

While in Panama, I want to accomplish several goals: 1) to determine the best location to take our kids on our family sabbatical next winter; 2) to meet and interview a couple of people for articles I want to write and for my book; 3) to look into future investment potential; and 4) to spend some romantic and quality time with my best friend, who unfortunately gets neglected in the hustle of regular life.

I’m finding that it’s extremely difficult to plan an itinerary that packs so many objectives into one week. But I’m going to try.

When I think about this trip, and all the trips I want to take, my weaker self sometimes offers excuses why I shouldn’t travel right now. I have small children. We should spend the money on fixing up our house. People might think it’s weird.

But then I imagine what I would do if I heard I only had six months to live. And all the excuses fall away.

I’m reminded of my mother and her love for all things Italian. She and my dad travelled to Italy twice and wanted to go back again to visit the place from which her people hailed, a small mountain town called Lettopalena. They put the third trip off, though, as well as other travel they figured they had plenty of time for.

Then she got sick. And never got better.

And the lesson I learned was: go where I want to go now, while I’m healthy and young. See what I want to see while I still have the desire to look. I have kids? Yes. Take them along. They’ll be stronger people for it. The roof leaks? Ha, I’m famous for moving a plant under the leak in an eco-friendly and cost-saving move. Other people’s opinions? Well, if they have any negative feelings about my life, then it’s on them. If they’re not happy for my happiness, then do they really love me anyway?

This is my walk and I’ll decide which path to take.

And next week my path will take me and my husband to the tropics to relax and bond, to work, and to plan for our future.

Why isn’t following my own path possible?

Oh yeah. It IS.

And it’s not only possible, it’s also necessary to living a full, authentic life.

What’s your path? Are you walking it? 

The Balancing Act

April 2, 2012 Motherhood
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Balance is difficult to find for a stay at home mom with professional ambitions. As the one who manages our home, our children, our schedule, our lives, I find that I go to bed many nights wishing I’d gotten more done on my writing projects.

But, with four kids and a life brimming with activity, time is scarce.

Like most moms, whether they work or not, I get up every morning and move. I take care of children, school matters, dishes, laundry, cleaning, organizing, shopping, planning, friends coming over, scheduling, fun excursions, sports practice carpools, baby care (BABY CARE should really be first for how important and time-consuming it is), and meals.

Day after day, I realize I’m not moving forward as much as I want to be in my professional pursuits. No new words are written. And I’m sad.

The solution that works for me is simply to have a little more help with childcare. I try to stuff eight hours of work into an iffy two-hour nap for my toddler. I just don’t have enough time to do everything I want to do. With this thought, I just texted our regular sitter, a local college girl, and lined her up for one day a week.

Part of me feels guilty for giving up my control, even for one day a week, of my home and family. But the rational, enlightened part of me knows that guilt is a wasted emotion. The kids don’t care if they don’t see me for a few hours. And, you know what they say, when Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy!

It’s okay to get help when I need it. This doesn’t make me a bad mom or a selfish one. If I don’t take care of myself, no one else will. If I don’t take the time I need to work on my dreams, they won’t happen.

So, freedom from my regular Mommy role is coming soon, albeit only one day a week. I have a feeling that the critical distance I’ll have from that role will make me appreciate it so much more. I’ll have time to write, time to stop for a quick errand, time to grab a coffee or lunch with a friend.

And when I see those kids at the end of my “break,” I’ll hug them tight and know that I’m coming back to them as a full person.

Embracing My Dad

March 29, 2012 Positivity
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My mother, who is physically separated from me, is never far from my mind. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of her. It doesn’t help that I named our baby after her. I think of my mom every time I yell ADELENA SARA!!!

Loss is not a small life event. It is a pivotal experience that changed me irrevocably. Now that the dust is settling and the thought of her death no longer steals my breath or blinds me with tears, I realize I’m not the same person. I will never be the same person. I’ve reset. I’ve let go of the things that don’t matter and embraced the things that do. And I’m filled with a joy I wouldn’t have thought possible in a world without my mom.

I’m now able to focus on the other people I still have.

My dad, for instance.

I have always had a great relationship with my dad. My mom called me a “daddy’s girl,” a bit wistfully I sometimes thought. Even as a little girl, I would follow Dad around the yard, “helping” him. He called me his shadow. He called me Motor Mouth. He called me his Domi. I was proud of helping him. I could pull a beer from a tap from a tender young age to rush it down to the field where he was mowing on a thirsty summer day. I knew the difference between a Phillips and a flathead screwdriver. And when the guys stood in front of an open hood, scratching their heads over mysterious and beautiful words like “carburetor,” I stood and scratched my head, too.

Then I grew up. Moved away. Went to college. Got married and had babies. And when I called home, it was my mom I talked to for an hour or more a day, sharing my stories and pouring out my heart. She was the best listener. She nagged, oh yes! She nagged. But she was supportive of most of my endeavors, and if she wasn’t, she knew when to keep quiet. She loved me and my siblings and all of her grandchildren gracefully and faithfully. She poured herself out and let us fill her up with our heartaches and our joys. She created us, she molded us, and she sacrificed herself for us. Every shred of confidence comes from having a mother who loved me so solidly.

And my dad. I never stopped being close to him, but it was my mom who I called about the baby’s fever or the fight I had with Kevin. She was the woman, the one who understood, my mommy who soothed all my boo-boos even into adulthood.

On the day of my mom’s funeral, I couldn’t control myself. I couldn’t handle seeing her lying in her casket, so perfectly sterile, so familiar yet so strange with her milk-white skin beneath absurdly rouged cheeks. I expected her to sit straight up and tell us she wasn’t dead, that it was all a joke. I longed for that to happen. I feared it would happen. The whole dead body thing really creeped me out.

My dad sat in the corner, alternately weeping and being comforted by the few relatives we invited to our party of pain. I sat next to him sometimes, hardly understanding where my body was in the room. He said to his sister, “And Domi here. She called her mother every day…” His voice broke on the last word. He tried to joke, tried to lift the corner of his lips in his trademark grin. “I told her, don’t think you’re going to call me every day, now.”

And later, when we were saying goodbye to her, when we were leaving the perfectly still form so the funeral director could shut the lid on her forever, my dad grabbed my hands and cried to me, “You can call me, Baby. You can call me as much as you want.”

I took him up on that, partly to comfort him who was alone in his big, drafty farmhouse for the first time ever, but mostly to comfort myself. For the first week or so, I called him at night, as the summer sun was sinking and after my 2-month-old was nursed and put to bed. The conversations were awkward at first. I was used to leading the conversations with my mom, but I sensed dad needed to talk to someone other than the shadows darkening his house. So I let him empty his mind of his pain and his loneliness. When he was done, our goodbyes were abrupt.

As time went on, our grief softened. The loss of my mother still affected us but blessed time and distance from the tragedy anesthetized us from the sharpness. We learned to live without her. Our world would be a much better place if she was still walking around in it, but we got used to the world without her.

My dad and I have forged a new and strong friendship bonded by our common struggle and our common interest in living our lives as fully and richly as we can. We do this by enjoying each other’s time, humor, and strength. We do this by reflecting on important life issues with each other. And we do this by living our bucket lists together.

It’s not an uncommon week if you see the four of us (me, Addy, Kevin, and Dad) out in the middle of the day, enjoying lunch and a beer together. Other days we get in the car and drive down to our cottage to check on things and talk about life. Having lost three parents already, we’ve realized how precious our time with him is. We enjoy his wisdom, his quirky sense of fun. And we admire the warm and positive man he is. He is someone who will always keep looking up, even after the unthinkable happened to him.

Now that the weather is getting warmer, we’re planning a sky diving trip. Kevin and some other family members will probably jump, too. This is something my dad has always wanted to do. I’m scared out of my wits about this, but I’m going to do it. Dad and I, we already leapt from the complacent and comfortable life we knew into the vast ambiguity of the future.

What’s a little hop from an airplane after that?

Leave your comments on the blog or email me at domini@renaissancehousewife.com

Make Every Day Count

March 26, 2012 Awareness / Chasing Dreams
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I love the song, “100 Years,” by Five for Fighting. They sing about the brevity of life, even if you’re lucky enough to have 100 years to live. The song is a simple and stunning reminder to enjoy every bit of life, since even a long 100 years could be too short.

Let’s say you get 100 years. What percentage have you already lived? I’m at 36%. When I think of it like that, I feel a sense of urgency to live my own personal truth each and every moment and to hone this spirit of mine into the best version of ME possible.

Unfortunately, most people don’t even get a nice round 100. My mom died at 65. My husband’s mom died at 45. If I only live as long as my mom, I’ve already completed 55% of life. If I live as long as Kevin’s mom, I’m at 82%.

I write this not to worry myself, nor do I intend to scare any of you that your day is coming. (Cue somber violin music.) From what I understand about the afterlife, it’s a pretty warm and welcoming place, anyway, so incessant worrying is not necessary or helpful.

I do write this to gently remind you to enjoy and be aware of every day you have left on this earth. I talk to so many people who operate in survival mode. They work, they take care of their families, they sleep, they eat. But they seem to be going through the motions. Their heart’s not in any of their tasks. They might even live some parts of their lives only for other people’s approval and validation. Something about their daily walk through this world grinds them down.

In our culture especially, we enjoy unprecedented prosperity, longer life spans and better health care, and technological advances that make our lives easier and more fun. But, even with all of these advances in the last century, why are so many of us are swamped with negativity, uncertainty, and unhappiness?

We don’t have the peace of awareness or control of our minds. We allow our self-worth to be counted by external measures, like our material possessions or the straightness of our teeth or what other people think of us. And, consequently, we let these things rule how we spend our days. This is a modern struggle, and one that we need to understand in order to live the life we’re supposed to live.

Most of us enjoy our lives, for the most part. But then you have a moment, or a day, or a phase, where you think, “Is this all there is?” Many of us have huge dreams brimming inside of us that we just keeping putting off until tomorrow… until “the kids are older,” or “we pay off the mortgage.” Living the life that would make us truly happy must wait until retirement or until we’ve saved XX number of dollars.

Let me ask you this: how would you do things differently if you knew tomorrow wasn’t going to come? What if you knew your life would end at 65, or 45? Would you spring into action? Would you quit the job you hate? Or find the job you love? Would you spend more time with your kids, or seek forgiveness from a friend for something you did wrong? Would you take that trip you’ve always wanted to take, or volunteer for the good cause you’ve always intended to give to? Would you plant that garden this year, or try to find the peace and energy of better health? Would you get together more with friends? Would you love more vehemently? Would you spend a minute grumbling? Would you waste time missing the past or worrying about the future? Would you laugh more? Would you smile with your eyes?

Tomorrow might not come. That’s what I’m banking on. But… that said, I’m not worrying about it. I’m only focusing on this day and enjoying every bit of it as I can.

I don’t want to merely exist. I want to LIVE. That means taking time to do things I enjoy, spending time with the people I love, and carving out moments of awareness in this busy life for all the good things and people I would be sorry to leave if I was suddenly called onward.

As the song “100 Years” says, you are only your current age “for a moment.”

Time flies. Make it count.  

So, yes, ideally I’d like to lose 15 pounds. But… I’m still totally planning to slap on that bikini and go snorkeling with my hubby when he and I go to Panama together next month. No time like the present! Panamanians, get ready for some gringo pudge!

What dreams do you have that you might be putting off? What small or big changes can you make that will help you live a fuller, richer life?

Leave your comment on the blog or email me at domini@renaissancehousewife.com. Happy dreaming!

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