This is a great magazine/resource for parents and kids, and I am so happy to be doing some blogging for them. I'll be submitting a new recipe every week as Cedar and I journey into the land of food together... Cravings at Bunchland!
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
Friday, 15 July 2011
Showing Up
"Each day, we're given many opportunities to open up or shut down. The most precious opportunity presents itself when we come to the place where we think we can't handle whatever is happening. It's too much. It's gone too far. We feel bad about ourselves. There's no way we can manipulate the situation to make ourselves come out looking good. No matter how hard we try, it just won't work. Basically, life has just nailed us.Most of us do not take these situations as teachings. We automatically hate them. We run like crazy. We use all kinds of ways to escape - all addictions stem from this moment when we meet our edge and we just can't stand it." - Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart
While at work the other day, I opened up an old book in which I kept all my daily lists and brainstorming ideas and things to do etc... It was quite interesting to remember, and see proof of, how I was living my life before baby came.
From the outside looking in, things seemed a bit scattered and definitely overly busy. It was just the night before that I had read the above passage by Pema Chodron. It is only since having Cedar that I can fairly say that I intimately know that moment where I meet my edge and can't stand it, that moment that makes my skin crawl and makes me want to jump out of my seat: it is the moment of not knowing.
Funnily enough, I experience it when Cedar catches me off-guard and I don't have a plan in place. Maybe he wakes up early from a nap, or doesn't like the activity we're doing - I stop dead in my tracks with the thought of "What now?!" Maybe that sounds ridiculous, but it so happens to be my edge, and it's the moment I have avoided at all costs by being a very, very busy person. But now I can't avoid that moment, it's in my face, and it's great. Yes, I said great. Since I have time to swim around in this moment of not knowing, I am getting to know it. I am asking questions of it, like: what the heck am I so afraid of? What is it about not knowing what to do that makes me frantic?
The answer I got today is that not knowing what to do produces incredible fear for me; both fear of failure and fear of success.
So here's what I'm doing in the state of not knowing: I'm showing up. I go to work not knowing what to do and I just start doing stuff. Maybe I'll clean out my desk, maybe I'll answer emails, maybe I'll brainstorm. The point is that I'm showing up. I've also been writing for half an hour every day in my journal, and yes, there is a lot of boring stuff coming out, but so what? I'm showing up.
And then there are the moments with Cedar... I sit with him, he stands up on the garbage pail, or blows zrrrbrrts (Cosby Show term) on my arm, or looks at a leaf, and what can I do but surrender to his absolute Zen-ness?
Point I am making here is that showing up seems to be the most important thing I can do, no matter what comes out of it. The next big thing will come, it always does, and right now I am simply being humble in the practice of asking for it.
By the way, that's a picture of me and Cedar in a 29' foot RV that we took to the desert. Yep, I'm still on the adventure...
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
The Business of Baby
I remember, one fine summer day, sitting on a patio or something, and saying something really naive along the lines of, "I think I'm pretty well prepared for a baby considering that I own a business. I mean, owning a business is kind of like having a baby..." Then I probably took a sip of Pinot Grigio and felt really good about myself.
Ha! Okay, reality check: having a baby is NOT JUST LIKE owning your own business. But, to be fair to the comparison, I'm going to tell you some of the ways that owning a business does prepare you for the almighty job of motherhood.
1) Sleep Deprivation
When Shoshanna and I started up New Moon together in 1998 we worked 16 hour days pretty regularly, and would often get home by 3 or 4 in the morning, and maybe catch a few hours of sleep after playing a nice round of Mario Kart (it relaxed us).
I don't need to elaborate much on the sleep thing with a baby. We've all heard the horror stories. And they're true.
2) You're Not in Control
Okay, well, you're kind of in control because you started your own business, but when some jerk breaks into your truck and steals your freshly-iced cakes, or when a random smoldering fire starts in a basket of hot laundry (yeah, that was a weird one), or when your distributor rips you off and you can't pay the rent - well, then you're just really not in control.
The only thing I feel I have any control over with the baby are my reactions. And when I haven't slept, or forgot to eat, or feel kinda bummed that I wear the same clothes all the time and my hair looks like a Robin's nest, then my reactions aren't exactly as graceful as intended.
3) Change is the Only Constant
I'm learning that to succeed in business, you have to build an infrastructure that can hold the constant change. Back-up plans, and extra pairs of hands, and being incredibly resourceful when the s**t hits the fan - these are keys. Because just when things are lollying all lovely along, someone quits, or you lose an account, or the water is shut off for the day. Or - something wonderful and surprising answers your prayers (like big, unexpected cookie orders).
Same goes with baby. Our little guy is changing every day. Teeth, and crawling, and pincer grasping like mad, and making new sounds of approval or disdain, and giving me these huge open-mouthed kisses. I never know who I'll wake up to. At 4am. And 5am.
4) It's a Ton of Work
I think this is why I thought I could hack the baby thing; because I know how to work my butt off. Owning a business is like working three jobs all the time, and always having your attention linked to the wellbeing of your business - often in the middle of the night when ideas and/or stress start racing.
The work of a baby is altogether different. Yes, there is manual labour involved: wiping bums, making food, doing laundry, picking up, carrying, soothing, cleaning up after, lugging carseats and strollers etc... etc... But it's the emotional work that makes it all different. I want to say that it's easy to bust butt because you just love that little thing oh-so-much (which does make a huge difference), but you're still pooped, and while you're changing that diaper or making that food, you're also showering a little being with love and attention. Multi-tasking at its finest.
5) You do it Because You Love it
Now this is true: Over the 13 years that I have owned New Moon, I have done every job that the business required of me. I've been the janitor, the baker, the dishwasher, bookkeeper, packer, driver - all of it. And to be totally honest, even when I was dog-tired, I did those jobs with joy because I knew they were feeding my dream. Honestly.
And now, with rugrat in tow, I am sure I will do even more jobs: mommy, friend, entertainer, chauffeur, personal chef, guidance counsellor, soccer coach (yikes), janitor, dishwasher, all of it. But here's the difference: that will feed his dream, and if his dream can be fed, then I have truly done my work in this world.
xo
BB
Ha! Okay, reality check: having a baby is NOT JUST LIKE owning your own business. But, to be fair to the comparison, I'm going to tell you some of the ways that owning a business does prepare you for the almighty job of motherhood.
1) Sleep Deprivation
When Shoshanna and I started up New Moon together in 1998 we worked 16 hour days pretty regularly, and would often get home by 3 or 4 in the morning, and maybe catch a few hours of sleep after playing a nice round of Mario Kart (it relaxed us).
I don't need to elaborate much on the sleep thing with a baby. We've all heard the horror stories. And they're true.
2) You're Not in Control
Okay, well, you're kind of in control because you started your own business, but when some jerk breaks into your truck and steals your freshly-iced cakes, or when a random smoldering fire starts in a basket of hot laundry (yeah, that was a weird one), or when your distributor rips you off and you can't pay the rent - well, then you're just really not in control.
The only thing I feel I have any control over with the baby are my reactions. And when I haven't slept, or forgot to eat, or feel kinda bummed that I wear the same clothes all the time and my hair looks like a Robin's nest, then my reactions aren't exactly as graceful as intended.
3) Change is the Only Constant
I'm learning that to succeed in business, you have to build an infrastructure that can hold the constant change. Back-up plans, and extra pairs of hands, and being incredibly resourceful when the s**t hits the fan - these are keys. Because just when things are lollying all lovely along, someone quits, or you lose an account, or the water is shut off for the day. Or - something wonderful and surprising answers your prayers (like big, unexpected cookie orders).
Same goes with baby. Our little guy is changing every day. Teeth, and crawling, and pincer grasping like mad, and making new sounds of approval or disdain, and giving me these huge open-mouthed kisses. I never know who I'll wake up to. At 4am. And 5am.
4) It's a Ton of Work
I think this is why I thought I could hack the baby thing; because I know how to work my butt off. Owning a business is like working three jobs all the time, and always having your attention linked to the wellbeing of your business - often in the middle of the night when ideas and/or stress start racing.
The work of a baby is altogether different. Yes, there is manual labour involved: wiping bums, making food, doing laundry, picking up, carrying, soothing, cleaning up after, lugging carseats and strollers etc... etc... But it's the emotional work that makes it all different. I want to say that it's easy to bust butt because you just love that little thing oh-so-much (which does make a huge difference), but you're still pooped, and while you're changing that diaper or making that food, you're also showering a little being with love and attention. Multi-tasking at its finest.
5) You do it Because You Love it
Now this is true: Over the 13 years that I have owned New Moon, I have done every job that the business required of me. I've been the janitor, the baker, the dishwasher, bookkeeper, packer, driver - all of it. And to be totally honest, even when I was dog-tired, I did those jobs with joy because I knew they were feeding my dream. Honestly.
And now, with rugrat in tow, I am sure I will do even more jobs: mommy, friend, entertainer, chauffeur, personal chef, guidance counsellor, soccer coach (yikes), janitor, dishwasher, all of it. But here's the difference: that will feed his dream, and if his dream can be fed, then I have truly done my work in this world.
xo
BB
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Wherever You Go, There You Are
I've been pretty open and honest about my postpartum experience. I was at Cherry Bomb the other morning, and a mum asked me how I was doing, and I straight up told her I was having a pretty hard time. Her eyes softened and she went on to tell me about her experience, which had been very similar with her first baby. This is why talking about things, and being open about pain, is important; you never know where and from whom you will find some relief. Some days, a five-minute conversation with a stranger can be enough to change my attitude or give me hope.
It's been a long haul so far, and as the feelings of depression and anxiety continue to wax and wane, I simply have to go along for the ride. Some days that ride takes me straight under into the belly of the undertow, and other days I am on top of the wave, coasting along...
I was speaking with a dear friend/mentor the other night who suffered from a major depression when his wife left him and he raised their two kids on his own. He said, "You never really know your humanness until you go through something like that." That hit the right chord in me; suffering really sucks if there's no meaning to it...
I have been trying for months and months to "fix" this problem of depression/anxiety. I cannot tell you how many vitamin bottles and herbal mixtures have graced our counter, or how many massages, reiki appointments, acupuncture treatments, and DEEP conversations I have had - not to mention the regular presence of shamanic healing techniques. Everything can be helpful, sure, and it's so crucial to talk to people and get help, and keep the healing ball rolling, but when one (I guess that's me) is faced with huge personal upheaval, or simply put - pain - it needs to breathe and be alive so it can heal. And the only remedy or balm for this is time, and presence. Yes, being with it, even when it's too much to bear. I wish I could tell you different, I wish I could say that doing lots of running around and keeping busy, and looking for something, ANYTHING, to be a fix - works, but it doesn't. Not in the face of your humanness.
I am reading a beautiful book called, When Things Fall Apart, by Pema Chodron. If anything is a fix, it is what she is talking about; being with your pain. Just being with it, listening to your mind think, and being kind to yourself. That's it. So easy, right? Painful thoughts and emotions are one thing, but the reaction to them is really where we get screwed.
Many years ago, one of my best friends lost her partner in a tragic bicycle accident. I wanted to help her, fix her pain - do anything to take it away. I ended up going down to this store on McCaul St called Native Stone Art (now gone...) to speak with the owner, who was learned in native medicines, about buying her some kind of healing animal skin she could use to help soothe her. I told him about what had happened, and how deeply she was grieving. He responded simply with, "sometimes you just have to grieve. There is nothing that is going to take away the pain."
This, I believe, may make things easier. Pain is only a nightmare when we lock it in the closet and hide from it under the bed. I don't think enlightenment is a fancy, supernatural experience - I think it's coming to grips - peacefully - with everything life has to offer, and still hanging on for the ride.
xo BB
It's been a long haul so far, and as the feelings of depression and anxiety continue to wax and wane, I simply have to go along for the ride. Some days that ride takes me straight under into the belly of the undertow, and other days I am on top of the wave, coasting along...
I was speaking with a dear friend/mentor the other night who suffered from a major depression when his wife left him and he raised their two kids on his own. He said, "You never really know your humanness until you go through something like that." That hit the right chord in me; suffering really sucks if there's no meaning to it...
I have been trying for months and months to "fix" this problem of depression/anxiety. I cannot tell you how many vitamin bottles and herbal mixtures have graced our counter, or how many massages, reiki appointments, acupuncture treatments, and DEEP conversations I have had - not to mention the regular presence of shamanic healing techniques. Everything can be helpful, sure, and it's so crucial to talk to people and get help, and keep the healing ball rolling, but when one (I guess that's me) is faced with huge personal upheaval, or simply put - pain - it needs to breathe and be alive so it can heal. And the only remedy or balm for this is time, and presence. Yes, being with it, even when it's too much to bear. I wish I could tell you different, I wish I could say that doing lots of running around and keeping busy, and looking for something, ANYTHING, to be a fix - works, but it doesn't. Not in the face of your humanness.
I am reading a beautiful book called, When Things Fall Apart, by Pema Chodron. If anything is a fix, it is what she is talking about; being with your pain. Just being with it, listening to your mind think, and being kind to yourself. That's it. So easy, right? Painful thoughts and emotions are one thing, but the reaction to them is really where we get screwed.
Many years ago, one of my best friends lost her partner in a tragic bicycle accident. I wanted to help her, fix her pain - do anything to take it away. I ended up going down to this store on McCaul St called Native Stone Art (now gone...) to speak with the owner, who was learned in native medicines, about buying her some kind of healing animal skin she could use to help soothe her. I told him about what had happened, and how deeply she was grieving. He responded simply with, "sometimes you just have to grieve. There is nothing that is going to take away the pain."
This, I believe, may make things easier. Pain is only a nightmare when we lock it in the closet and hide from it under the bed. I don't think enlightenment is a fancy, supernatural experience - I think it's coming to grips - peacefully - with everything life has to offer, and still hanging on for the ride.
xo BB
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
Anxiety is an Overpaid Middleman
You're probably wondering what I mean by that title up there. I tell ya, Folks, the soul-searching just keeps reaping more and tastier fruit.
I had never fully come to grips with my anxiety until after giving birth to Cedar. Sure, I knew I would get anxious and stressed, but it was relatively harmless because it was self-contained and my life still trucked along in a comfortable fashion. When I was anxious/stressed, I would get wound up, frustrated, nit-picky - but for whatever reason, it didn't bother me too much. Then baby came and the anxiety hit a peak that rattled my brain and nerves, and took away my oh-so-beloved sleep. Yes. The baby didn't take away my sleep - the anxiety did. With this critical need in limbo, I was forced to take a good look at the source.
So why do I say that anxiety is a middleman? Because I've come up with this: We have the outer world (let's call it day-to-day reality), and we have the inner world (how we think, feel, process and CREATE our reality). A healthy dynamic between these two worlds would be to exist in uncomplicated actions. Like - hey, it's garbage day tomorrow - and off you go taking out the garbage. But if the middleman steps in, it's more like - shit! it's garbage day tomorrow, I'll put it out in the morning, what if I can't fit all the recycling in? Do I even have those clear bags?
(Sorry - quick analogy. Seemed easy.) What I notice is that I often get anxious instead of taking action, or for things that don't require action, have faith that things will turn out well.
So when does anxiety come knocking the loudest? When I am in the unknown. And for the record, I think we're always in the unknown. Life is completely unpredictable in its finer moments. Here is what I have been asking myself - "Why when I am in the unknown do I imagine a negative outcome?" Anxiety. Things not working out. Catastrophe. Stress. If it's bound to be unknown anyway, then why don't I imagine and intend good things happening? Well that, my friends, is because I've been paying this middleman to help me decide upon how I feel in the world.
I was reading a passage from a book called, Everyday Parenting, and in it the author was talking about developing a meditation practice. He said that meditation practice can happen during any moment of the day (taking out the garbage even!) and it's simply being mindful of our thoughts and not identifying with them. The most genius thing he said was that "we practice anxiety" every day, so why not practice something else?
We go to what we know; I had always known anxiety (passed down through the family brain tree) and hadn't questioned it too much.
I am going to fire the middleman. He's still working for me, but I'm paying him less, and slowly reducing his hours. He doesn't even do a good job - all the things he says aren't going to work out, work out really well! So he's wrong most of the time too.
You know, people often say that when you have kids you lose your freedom. I am going to challenge that by saying this: Cedar is inspiring me to find true freedom - which is found in the mind. Once the middleman has cleaned out his desk and taken his ROE form, I believe I will have found a whole new level of freedom.
I had never fully come to grips with my anxiety until after giving birth to Cedar. Sure, I knew I would get anxious and stressed, but it was relatively harmless because it was self-contained and my life still trucked along in a comfortable fashion. When I was anxious/stressed, I would get wound up, frustrated, nit-picky - but for whatever reason, it didn't bother me too much. Then baby came and the anxiety hit a peak that rattled my brain and nerves, and took away my oh-so-beloved sleep. Yes. The baby didn't take away my sleep - the anxiety did. With this critical need in limbo, I was forced to take a good look at the source.
So why do I say that anxiety is a middleman? Because I've come up with this: We have the outer world (let's call it day-to-day reality), and we have the inner world (how we think, feel, process and CREATE our reality). A healthy dynamic between these two worlds would be to exist in uncomplicated actions. Like - hey, it's garbage day tomorrow - and off you go taking out the garbage. But if the middleman steps in, it's more like - shit! it's garbage day tomorrow, I'll put it out in the morning, what if I can't fit all the recycling in? Do I even have those clear bags?
(Sorry - quick analogy. Seemed easy.) What I notice is that I often get anxious instead of taking action, or for things that don't require action, have faith that things will turn out well.
So when does anxiety come knocking the loudest? When I am in the unknown. And for the record, I think we're always in the unknown. Life is completely unpredictable in its finer moments. Here is what I have been asking myself - "Why when I am in the unknown do I imagine a negative outcome?" Anxiety. Things not working out. Catastrophe. Stress. If it's bound to be unknown anyway, then why don't I imagine and intend good things happening? Well that, my friends, is because I've been paying this middleman to help me decide upon how I feel in the world.
I was reading a passage from a book called, Everyday Parenting, and in it the author was talking about developing a meditation practice. He said that meditation practice can happen during any moment of the day (taking out the garbage even!) and it's simply being mindful of our thoughts and not identifying with them. The most genius thing he said was that "we practice anxiety" every day, so why not practice something else?
We go to what we know; I had always known anxiety (passed down through the family brain tree) and hadn't questioned it too much.
I am going to fire the middleman. He's still working for me, but I'm paying him less, and slowly reducing his hours. He doesn't even do a good job - all the things he says aren't going to work out, work out really well! So he's wrong most of the time too.
You know, people often say that when you have kids you lose your freedom. I am going to challenge that by saying this: Cedar is inspiring me to find true freedom - which is found in the mind. Once the middleman has cleaned out his desk and taken his ROE form, I believe I will have found a whole new level of freedom.
Sunday, 8 May 2011
Happy Mother's Day
Today is Mother's Day. It's my first year being a mom on this day, and I didn't want to let it slide by without marking it somehow. So here I am - it's 9:44pm. I can hear the "waterfall" of white noise coming from Cedar's room (aka still sort of Bri's music room) where he is fast asleep in his crib, and I am sitting up in bed with the window open.
The thing about Mother's Day is that it applies to all mothers, no matter what "kind" of mother you are. It's not like, "Good Mother's Day", thankfully, because then we'd all be guilt-tripping ourselves. In all seriousness, this issue of being a "good mother" has been on my mind lately (yes, I like to think - so what?!). As liberated and independent as I have felt myself to be, when I became a mom I wanted to be the perfect mom. And strangely enough, the perfect mom is this woman I constructed in my psyche who:
1) Is selfless
2) Can sit for hours at a time with a baby, not feeling even a pinch of boredom because she's so blissed out
3) Bakes a lot (wearing an apron)
4) Can do it all
5) Doesn't get angry or impatient
6) Found her life's calling when she became a mom
Tall order, huh? Who is even like that? And why would I want to be that when that's not who I am? The only answer I have is that becoming a mom is no small feat. I think some women fall into it really naturally, and some of us have to find our way in a world that really wants that perfect mom. So on Mother's Day, I want to say this to Cedar:
Kid. I'm not perfect. And so you know, perfection is entirely overrated. I only learned this when I had you. What really counts in life is being real, and stepping up to the moment with the truth of who you are, right there, right then, and staying present.
I'm not a perfect mom. But I am your mom. I'm independent to the point of severe stubbornness. I like to have my way. I like to get out of the house A LOT, and I promise that you and I will be up to all kinds of great adventures once you're ready (hey, we DID go to Ikea last week...). I will bake for you, cook for you, do your laundry, and when you're old enough, teach you how to do all those things for yourself.
More importantly though, I will protect my self-ness so that I can teach you how important it is to be authentic in this world; to have your voice, your way, your truth. And with that, may you never fall into the trap of trying to be something you're not.
Most importantly, I will always do my best. Whatever that looks like. And I will always be carving deeper paths to an open heart so that I can love you more each day. Kid - this is all good stuff. You'll see. Life is not for the weak at heart.
Happy Mother's Day to all you women out there. And Happy Mother's Day to my mom, who is one of the most authentic, no excuses women I know. She was brave and creative in the face of change and taught me a heck of a lot. Thanks Mom.
And about that baking with an apron on. I never like wearing an apron. I prefer a little teatowel on my shoulder. It's sort of more hardcore than an apron.
xo
The thing about Mother's Day is that it applies to all mothers, no matter what "kind" of mother you are. It's not like, "Good Mother's Day", thankfully, because then we'd all be guilt-tripping ourselves. In all seriousness, this issue of being a "good mother" has been on my mind lately (yes, I like to think - so what?!). As liberated and independent as I have felt myself to be, when I became a mom I wanted to be the perfect mom. And strangely enough, the perfect mom is this woman I constructed in my psyche who:
1) Is selfless
2) Can sit for hours at a time with a baby, not feeling even a pinch of boredom because she's so blissed out
3) Bakes a lot (wearing an apron)
4) Can do it all
5) Doesn't get angry or impatient
6) Found her life's calling when she became a mom
Tall order, huh? Who is even like that? And why would I want to be that when that's not who I am? The only answer I have is that becoming a mom is no small feat. I think some women fall into it really naturally, and some of us have to find our way in a world that really wants that perfect mom. So on Mother's Day, I want to say this to Cedar:
Kid. I'm not perfect. And so you know, perfection is entirely overrated. I only learned this when I had you. What really counts in life is being real, and stepping up to the moment with the truth of who you are, right there, right then, and staying present.
I'm not a perfect mom. But I am your mom. I'm independent to the point of severe stubbornness. I like to have my way. I like to get out of the house A LOT, and I promise that you and I will be up to all kinds of great adventures once you're ready (hey, we DID go to Ikea last week...). I will bake for you, cook for you, do your laundry, and when you're old enough, teach you how to do all those things for yourself.
More importantly though, I will protect my self-ness so that I can teach you how important it is to be authentic in this world; to have your voice, your way, your truth. And with that, may you never fall into the trap of trying to be something you're not.
Most importantly, I will always do my best. Whatever that looks like. And I will always be carving deeper paths to an open heart so that I can love you more each day. Kid - this is all good stuff. You'll see. Life is not for the weak at heart.
Happy Mother's Day to all you women out there. And Happy Mother's Day to my mom, who is one of the most authentic, no excuses women I know. She was brave and creative in the face of change and taught me a heck of a lot. Thanks Mom.
And about that baking with an apron on. I never like wearing an apron. I prefer a little teatowel on my shoulder. It's sort of more hardcore than an apron.
xo
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
I Don't Know
I don't like not knowing. But whether I like it or not, this is a time of not knowing. I've had (and continue to have) a fair bit of time to think. When all the busy-ness of life stops and one finds themselves sitting for long stretches of time guided by a tiny being who is perfectly happy to chew on a speckled squeaky giraffe, well - let's just say that I've finally come head-to-head with my mind. What a beast, I tell ya... A dear friend of mine put it very well the other day when she said that the journey from maiden to mother is about going within. So what have I found? A restless mind. Oh so restless. Likes to lurch into the future and have a clear picture of what is going to happen, likes to dwell on the past to make sense and meaning of things. Likes to fixate, fix, think, do, keep busy. After operating in this manner for many years, it is a bit of a shock to be in a very new pace with self and life.
Today I went to work and found that beastly mind getting up on its haunches and starting to demand things: "what am I doing with my life? What is the next step for my career? I feel creatively blocked. I want to make great impact, what can I do? What is my true calling?" and on and on it went. Then I went to the good ol' YMCA and sweated just enough to break the hold of the busy mind. After that - an afternoon with my little guy, doing things like looking out the window and rolling around on the floor. It puts things into perspective.
This is not the time to know what's next. It's not the time to be lurching forward or looking back. I could find some solace in this. I think people call this "relaxing". Some people may also call it "having faith". I've pretty much cornered myself into this.
So what do you do when you don't know? What do you do when you're searching for that next piece of inspiration, or piece of the dream, or answer to life's endless search?
I don't know. I honestly have no idea. So here's what I am going to do:
Hang out with my little family.
Hang out with myself.
Chop wood and carry water.
Make prayers.
Unwind this mind.
Relax.
Maybe take a few breaths.
And oh yeah, have faith. And when I say faith, I mean find the deepest place of trust within myself and just let go.
I have a sense that if I can get Miss Busy Mind to relax, the clean-up crew of intuition will finally have some room to kick its legs out.
xo
ps - that's me and Cedar. I know it's not exactly the photo that goes with this theme, or maybe it is. I don't know :)
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Rise Up Rise Up
While sitting in the small waiting area to see my acupuncturist/TCM Doctor, a little girl of about 7 years came out from behind a screen. She was slithering around on the floor, and looking up at me without an ounce of shyness. "What am I?" she asked me.
"A lizard?"
She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "I have paws, but I also have wings to fly."
I felt kind of stumped.
"I look like a lion..." she offered me.
"I really have no idea."
"I'm a griffin!" she finally exclaimed, "a mythical creature!"
She then sat beside me and we went through as many of the mythical creatures we knew of. She knew a lot more than I did. I realized I need to start brushing up on my skills in all departments related to fun learning - I do believe Cedar will want to know about Griffins and such.
The doctor finally called me in, and I said goodbye to the precocious little girl who had reminded me of unicorns and sea serpents, the pegasus, and minotaur. We were, however, by the end of the conversation, stumped over one - one we couldn't remember the name of, but knew it was a bird.
I sat across from the Doctor, and he checked my pulse, and looked in my eyes, and also checked my tongue. "Are you feeling better? Your mood - is it better?"
"Yeah, it is."
"So it's time. Time is what you need. I could have increased your medicines, but really - it's time."
Just then the little girl popped her head in to the office, "The phoenix! That's the one we forgot!"
When she said it, I remembered bumping into a dear friend (and mom) on the street on a day when I was in my shell-shocked state. "Don't worry," she said, "you'll be like a phoenix rising from the ashes."
After the little girl left, my doctor said, "The phoenix is a very sacred mythical animal in China. Represents the Yin, and the dragon represents Yang. The phoenix comes from below and rises above, and the dragon comes down from above."
In that moment, I wanted him to tell me that my pulse was perfect, that I was healed, that I wasn't sitting in the ashes anymore, waiting for resurrection. But instead he stuck the needles in me and I lay in a cubicle for twenty minutes. I tuned in and realized that he was playing Kenny G really loudly. Life seemed kind of absurd in that moment, so I thought about the phoenix. I thought about how I wish I wasn't going through all this postpartum stuff, and could just feel like myself again. Suffering about my suffering. Learning to be patient. Letting the heart heal itself, allowing life to show me the way instead of blasting my path with determination.
Things go up and down. Control is no longer something I salivate over. Instead, I look for truth and humility in the everyday. Maybe when the phoenix rose from the ashes it wasn't a dramatic affair, maybe it was just normal for that kind of magic to occur. And maybe all it took was time.
"A lizard?"
She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "I have paws, but I also have wings to fly."
I felt kind of stumped.
"I look like a lion..." she offered me.
"I really have no idea."
"I'm a griffin!" she finally exclaimed, "a mythical creature!"
She then sat beside me and we went through as many of the mythical creatures we knew of. She knew a lot more than I did. I realized I need to start brushing up on my skills in all departments related to fun learning - I do believe Cedar will want to know about Griffins and such.
The doctor finally called me in, and I said goodbye to the precocious little girl who had reminded me of unicorns and sea serpents, the pegasus, and minotaur. We were, however, by the end of the conversation, stumped over one - one we couldn't remember the name of, but knew it was a bird.
I sat across from the Doctor, and he checked my pulse, and looked in my eyes, and also checked my tongue. "Are you feeling better? Your mood - is it better?"
"Yeah, it is."
"So it's time. Time is what you need. I could have increased your medicines, but really - it's time."
Just then the little girl popped her head in to the office, "The phoenix! That's the one we forgot!"
When she said it, I remembered bumping into a dear friend (and mom) on the street on a day when I was in my shell-shocked state. "Don't worry," she said, "you'll be like a phoenix rising from the ashes."
After the little girl left, my doctor said, "The phoenix is a very sacred mythical animal in China. Represents the Yin, and the dragon represents Yang. The phoenix comes from below and rises above, and the dragon comes down from above."
In that moment, I wanted him to tell me that my pulse was perfect, that I was healed, that I wasn't sitting in the ashes anymore, waiting for resurrection. But instead he stuck the needles in me and I lay in a cubicle for twenty minutes. I tuned in and realized that he was playing Kenny G really loudly. Life seemed kind of absurd in that moment, so I thought about the phoenix. I thought about how I wish I wasn't going through all this postpartum stuff, and could just feel like myself again. Suffering about my suffering. Learning to be patient. Letting the heart heal itself, allowing life to show me the way instead of blasting my path with determination.
Things go up and down. Control is no longer something I salivate over. Instead, I look for truth and humility in the everyday. Maybe when the phoenix rose from the ashes it wasn't a dramatic affair, maybe it was just normal for that kind of magic to occur. And maybe all it took was time.
Friday, 18 March 2011
Welcome Home
Spring is here. Really, actually here. Sure, we'll have some colder, wetter days until things really start rolling, but I am just thrilled that the sun is shining. Have stroller, will travel.
As the weather settles, and life starts to fizz down into a nice, welcomed normalcy, I figure it's time to share one of many gold nuggets I have found during the deep sea dive into my postpartum psyche.
See folks, I've always been a dreamer. I really thought I could be Olivia Newton-John. I thought I could be Annie. I'm a master fantasizer (sounds like an 80's instrument), and always have been.
And although my husband wouldn't necessarily want to admit it, he's a dreamer just the same.
So there I was, big dreams big dreams - dreams so delicious they were worth thinking about all the time. The operative word there is think.
So then this thing happens - baby comes. And baby, with his earthly needs, brings everything into a whole new place: reality.
At first I was under the impression that I'd have to let everything go - all those golden, sparky dreams I'd acquired - but now I feel that what is actually happening is bigger, better, and more real. I could have sat forever thinking about making a dream become, but now there is no other choice but to refine the meaning of those desires and choose them from a new place, with new energy.
I want to teach my boy how to dream and actualize, and to go for his true heart's desires with the confidence that he has the tools to achieve them - whatever they may be.
But first, it's time for me to take a good look at what my dream really is - in reality. And please don't get me wrong here - although reality can seem like a bummer when you're a consummate dreamer, it's actually the place where things happen.
As Little Orphan Annie would sing, "I think I'm gonna like it heeeere!"
xo bb
Sunday, 13 March 2011
The Way To Go
When I was twenty-seven years old (wow - so weird to look back...) I took a trip to Oaxaca, Mexico by myself. This was my third or fourth trip to Mexico alone, but my first time in Oaxaca. On prior trips, I had always booked things in advance. Although I was bold by traveling alone, I was also fearful of just getting to a place and winging it - it seemed too risky for a woman to do.
However, I decided that for my trip to Oaxaca, I would wing it except for the hotel bookings for my first and last nights. I knew I would head down to the coast, and that was about it.
I arrived in the city of Oaxaca and it was sheer chaos; there was a protest march, and people literally cramming all the avenues. I decided to head to the coast right away and get to the calm of the ocean. After a five-hour insanely windy (as in turning a lot) bus ride down through the mountains (I feel nauseous just remembering it) I arrived in the very hot and wonderful town of Mazunte. I trudged through the sand looking for a place to stay with my way-too-heavy knapsack. It was sweltering and I was trying to make a decision about staying in a hostel or getting my own cabina. I went over to the road and sat on my bag. A beautiful, sparkly young woman approached me and we started talking. She was German, and had been living in Mazunte for over a year. We took to each other instantly... "You come stay with us, yes?" She said with a smile.
She lived in an incredible house up a small hill, overlooking the ocean. It was called Casa De Geni because a mother and daughter (the daughter was Geni) built it together as their dream home. It was one of the most amazing and special places I had ever seen.
I ended up staying at Casa De Geni for the duration of my time in Mexico. It was, and still is, the best adventure I've had, with the most easy, honest, and fast heart connections with strangers. It was probably one of the first times in my life that I hadn't planned something, but just trusted in the magic of what life dishes up when you let go.
So now. Oh dear. Now, more than ever, with a new human being in my care, with the future seemingly mysterious, with the ups and downs of my emotions, and the clutch of anxiety on a daily basis, and the incredible change of life I am in the midst of, now - more than ever - I think is a good time to trust.
However, I decided that for my trip to Oaxaca, I would wing it except for the hotel bookings for my first and last nights. I knew I would head down to the coast, and that was about it.
I arrived in the city of Oaxaca and it was sheer chaos; there was a protest march, and people literally cramming all the avenues. I decided to head to the coast right away and get to the calm of the ocean. After a five-hour insanely windy (as in turning a lot) bus ride down through the mountains (I feel nauseous just remembering it) I arrived in the very hot and wonderful town of Mazunte. I trudged through the sand looking for a place to stay with my way-too-heavy knapsack. It was sweltering and I was trying to make a decision about staying in a hostel or getting my own cabina. I went over to the road and sat on my bag. A beautiful, sparkly young woman approached me and we started talking. She was German, and had been living in Mazunte for over a year. We took to each other instantly... "You come stay with us, yes?" She said with a smile.
She lived in an incredible house up a small hill, overlooking the ocean. It was called Casa De Geni because a mother and daughter (the daughter was Geni) built it together as their dream home. It was one of the most amazing and special places I had ever seen.
I ended up staying at Casa De Geni for the duration of my time in Mexico. It was, and still is, the best adventure I've had, with the most easy, honest, and fast heart connections with strangers. It was probably one of the first times in my life that I hadn't planned something, but just trusted in the magic of what life dishes up when you let go.
So now. Oh dear. Now, more than ever, with a new human being in my care, with the future seemingly mysterious, with the ups and downs of my emotions, and the clutch of anxiety on a daily basis, and the incredible change of life I am in the midst of, now - more than ever - I think is a good time to trust.
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