Transitions

Seriously, who the crap am I?

Transitions are tough.  Even when the new state of being is positive.  Even when the other side is wonderful.  The change can be difficult.

I remember reading that transitions are especially dangerous mental health territory.  Well, I already have mental health issues.  And now I'm in the middle of several transitions.  What a surprise I'm having a tough time.

My youngest child just graduated.  I was so focused on all the pain-in-the-butt things that were going away that I didn't look much further ahead.  And now I find myself on unsolid ground.  Not sure of my footing.  Staring at a bunch of building materials with no idea what I want to create.

My oldest will be twenty-six in a few months.  For over twenty-six years (I'm including my pregnancy), my whole life has been focused on my kids.  Their safety.  Their happiness.  How to help them be good people.  That's a long time in one job.

My youngest will be eighteen in a little over a month.  And as my kids have become adults over the last few years, my role has changed somewhat.  They're in charge of, and in control of, more of their lives.  They're responsible for their choices, whether they act responsibly or not.  In a little over a month, I will not be legally responsible for anyone but myself.

And I'm having some trouble processing that.

The transition has happened slowly, in theory.  One child at a time.  A couple years in between each one.  So why does this moment feel so shocking?

Because she's the last one.

I've been a stay-at-home mom for most of their lives.  Significantly longer than I was single and childless.  When I no longer have minor children at home, but still choose not to work, what am I?

And what do I want to be?

See, here's the thing.  I have all the choices in the world.  My husband has no desire for me to work, for both physical health and mental health reasons.  Although he would support me if I chose to work.  Because he supports me in pretty much anything I want to do.

And that's the key phrase.  What I want to do.  And I have no idea.  What do I want to do?

My health is better than it's been in years, but it's still a day to day thing.  There are still days I can't get out of bed.  Still lots of fatigue and pain.

But there are other days.  Days when I feel pretty good.  Days when I feel powerful.  Days when I believe I can conquer the world.

I'd love to be able to plan out my life.  I'd love to live by schedule.  I'd love to know how I want to spend my days.  To write it all down and live by it.  But with the freedom to set it aside if a friend needs me.  And I'm just not sure how to balance that.

I yearn for structure.  I've always been a planner.  But when my health fell apart eleven years ago, I had to stop committing to things.  I had to stop planning.  Because it just felt so bad when I let others down, when I had to cancel at the last minute.  When I couldn't do that one thing I'd so looked forward to and worked to make happen.

I'm scared to plan again.  I'm not sure why.  And I guess I've planned all along, just on a different level.  I'm not sure why this feels so different.

Yes, I am.  I don't want to waste.  I don't want to use my time badly.  I don't want to just pass through day after day.  I don't want to look in my rearview mirror and see emptiness.  Days of nothing.

Before now, even if I did nothing else all day, I still parented.  I still did something productive, just by keeping people alive and on task in their lives.  When that's not my job anymore, what value do I have?  Especially if my days are spent just doing whatever I want.

I know I'll find my footing.  I always do.  And it will be great.  And I will be happy.  But right now I feel like I'm dancing on quicksand.  In an earthquake.  With a tornado approaching.

And I have to decide whether to hunker down or face the storm.

The Best Thing I've Ever Written

Not this post.  A different post.  In fact, several different posts.  Because every now and then I write one of those posts.  And someone comments or sends me a message or tells me in person that what I've just published on my blog is the best thing I've ever written.

Those are good days, I'm not gonna lie.  I enjoy hearing that from people.  But how can multiple posts be the best thing I've ever written?

When I first got that comment I tried to analyze my post.  What had I done differently?  What made this post better than other posts?  How could I replicate that?

And I've learned that it's not all about me and what I put out there.  That's part of it.  But another part, maybe a more important part, is what's going on in the reader's life when they read what I've written.

Sometimes I write funny, although mine is generally a dry wit.  Sometimes I write tragedy.  Sometimes I write philosophical.  Sometimes I write spiritual.  I even occasionally write slap stick.  And any of these could be the best post I've ever written -- for you, at that time.

My writing is most powerful when it touches something within the reader.  Maybe I made you laugh about something you were taking too seriously in your own life.  Maybe I answered a question you had.  Maybe I helped you find the path you were looking for.  Maybe I inspired you to make a change.  Maybe I offered you hope or strength when you needed it most.  Maybe I pointed out something so obvious that you've always known but have never told yourself.  Maybe only one sentence from an entire post pierces your heart but was exactly what you needed that day.  Or maybe so many other things.

The more I've blogged, the more I've learned that the best writing is a collaborative effort between the writer and the reader even if we never talk to each other about it.  And I am so lucky when I get to know that magic happened because someone who read what I wrote told me it touched their heart.

I hope I have many more best posts in me.  I hope you are moved by what I write.  I am honored to experience the magic with you.

A Moment in Church

As I've begun this year trying to see more divinely, I've found that it has very little to do with my eyes and a lot to do with my heart.  In fact, with my whole soul.  I don't know why there isn't a name to describe what it means to feel something with your whole soul.  I know I'm not the only one who's felt it.  There should be a name for it.

Yesterday, as I sat in the chapel and the meeting began, I remembered to see.  I paused a moment and had an inward conversation with God and asked Him to help me see these people around me the way He sees them.  I opened my heart.  And He began to open my soul.  Just a tiny bit.  And I was flooded.  Intense and overwhelming love doesn't begin to describe what I felt in that tiny peek.  It was so intense that I shut my heart.  I had instantly started to cry and knew this was just a taste.  I wasn't ready for the display I might cause if I kept my heart open and allowed Him to continue pouring.

God, being who He is, respected that.  He found another way to teach me.  To give me a bit of what I was yearning for but I was ready to handle.  As the meeting progressed I was filled with the love the people in the room have for each other.

I am Mormon.  We don't search until we find a congregation that fits us.  Our church is divided into wards (congregations) based on boundaries.  Areas are divided up and we are assigned to a ward.  This means we go to church with our neighbors.  As I've written before, my neighborhood is amazing!  I wish I could explain it in a way that you could understand.  Someone who has moved away read that post and remarked that she missed our neighborhood because it was as close to Mayberry as she'd known.  That's a pretty good comparison.

The thing is, we are a family.  Like any family there are some people who don't always get along.  There are a few black sheep.  But mostly, we love and take care of each other.

And yesterday I felt that love in a way I never have before.  Instead of just feeling love for them, I felt everyone's love for each other.  All of them.  All at the same time.

In the Mormon church, the first Sunday of the month is Fast Sunday.  We are encouraged to prayerfully skip two meals in an effort to draw closer to God and donate what those meals would have cost to the ward.  This money is then used to help our neighbors as deemed appropriate by our bishop (pastor).  And on Fast Sunday we have testimony meeting.  Instead of our regular worship service where two or three members of our ward or stake (a group of wards) delivers a talk they have studied and prepared for, the pulpit is open to everyone.  It is a time when anyone from the congregation can get up and share their testimony with us.  Share what's in their hearts.

There were some beautiful testimonies shared.  But more than that, there was so much love.  It was the brave woman who talked about her recently broken home and asked for help.  She asked that we bear testimony to her children to strengthen them.  It was the woman who followed after her saying that if we'd been asked to give food to her family we wouldn't have hesitated; she asked that we not hesitate on this.  Several who testified pledged to support her and testify to her children.  It was the parents who bore testimony directly to their children so they would know their parents believe.  It was the awe mentioned by many as a young man we've all watch grow up passed the sacrament for the first time.  The love and pride we felt for him and his parents.  It was my dear friend who talked about living far from her family and her husband's family and reminded us that we are her family.  It was the dear sweet little six-year old girl who stood and testified that prayer is good and it will help us and make us happy.  And so much more.

I cried and cried.  The love my neighbors feel for each other is almost always evident.  We are a tight group.  But this day.  This day it was more.  It was palpable.  It filled the room.  My soul was swimming in it.  And God said, "It's kind of like that only better."

One day I hope to be able to let Him teach me the whole lesson.  For now, I'm grateful for the glimpse.

In the Moment

My goal for 2013 is to fully experience life more.  To see the things I've been missing.  To not just pass through life but to suck the marrow from each experience.

I'm new at this, but I've begun trying.

For my birthday my two adult daughters sent my husband and me away for the weekend.  Just a couple towns over at a motel, but it was wonderful.  As part of our weekend away they'd also provided us with tickets to The Life of Pi, a movie I'd been wanting to watch.  And this is where my experience began.

It started out as a normal night at the movies.  We got snacks.  We found our seats.  We watched the previews.  I was there to watch a movie.  That's all.

But it became more.  The movie was so beautiful visually.  It was eye candy.  Many scenes like something out of a fairy tale.  As I was marvelling at the colors and effects that made it so magical, I remembered to see.

At first I was seeing the movie.  The details.  The texture.  The flavor of the film.  The movie was delicious.

But then I was seeing the moment.  With more senses than just my eyes.  I was seeing it with my heart.  My arm was laced through my husband's arm.  I noticed the feeling of his skin on mine as I rested my hand on his forearm, the tingle I still get when we touch.  I felt the shape of the muscle as he turned his hand.  And the outside of my arm was resting against his stomach.  I noticed each slow breath.  In and out in such a mundane way.  Something that happens over and over.  But in this moment I noticed the power of what that meant.  That meant my husband was healthy.  He was filled with the breath of life.  He was at peace, as shown by the slow tempo of his relaxed breathing.  I felt the heat of his body warming mine through the simple touch of our arms.  I knew he was happy to be there with me.  We were together in a very real way.  We were sharing a moment and I was seeing that moment.

You might think noticing these things distracted me from the movie, but it didn't.  It enhanced it.  It was like turning up the brightness.  The colors were stronger.  The glory was more intense.  The fairy tale nature of the moment with my husband slipped into the fairy tale of the movie.  The peace and joy of the moment brought contentment.  Which fit with the nature of the main character as he told his story.  He radiated peace.  He was happy in his life.  He was content.  And so was I.

Pi and I were together in that moment.  Both in the moment we were meant to occupy.  And filling up every bit of the space within it.  I can't wait to learn more.