Full Catastrophe Parenting

Tell me if this sounds familiar. 

It's 8:00pm on a weeknight. The sink is full of dishes, the lunchbox hasn't been unpacked from daycare and there's a tiny sock off to the side of the playmat. The only sounds in the house are the hum of the baby monitor and the drip-drying of the washcloth in the bathtub that just wiped away a day's worth of germs from tiny hands and feet.

You sit alone on the couch, tired eyes barely watching the screen in front of you and you are so damn ready to check-out for the day. Except you're not done yet because before each day closes, you must prepare for the next. The bottles will be repacked, the lunches made and everything set by the door so that tomorrow you won't forget a thing during the chaotic morning rush.

When I was in my twenties, carefree and alone, my mother used to say that she couldn't wait for me to find my partner so that we could "get messy" together. I never fully understood what this meant until I finally met that person and as we started experiencing life together. We made moves, lost jobs, fought, made up and wandered on our way together. But for the most part, we managed a pretty nice balance in our routine together until we had a baby.  And that's when the full catastrophe began.

“Of course I’ve been married. Wife, house, kids, the full catastrophe. Trouble? Life is trouble. Only death is no trouble.”

— Zorba the Greek

When I was pregnant, I read the beautiful book "Everyday Blessings: The Inner Work of Mindful Parenting" by Myla and Jon Kabat-Zinn, and it was in this book that I learned about "the full catastrophe of life" as explained in the movie version of Zorba the Greek. I immediately fell in love with the concept because it speaks to what is so true about being a parent - the challenges, the pain and the can't-deal-with-you-right-now-but-love-you-so-much reality that comes with raising a child and trying to stay sane throughout the process. 

Motherhood, in many ways, is a calculation made up of physical resources. We spend all of our time and energy during the day giving ourselves: to our partners, our children, our colleagues and to anyone else that will take. And what is leftover? That's for us - the one who quite often needs it the most but prioritizes it last. 

But perhaps it is in these moments of full catastrophe living - when the bottles are dirty, the child refuses to go to sleep and we just need a minute to breathe - that we can gain wisdom and learn to grow ourselves. Of course there will be moments where we ask ourselves "how did I get here?" But to quote another line from Jon Kabat-Zinn, "wherever you go, there you are."

When we acknowledge that this is, in fact, our life - the one that we are living at this very moment - then we open ourselves up to possibility of learning from the trying and tiring moments. We come into the present and time stands still.

We can realize that our children can be wonderful teachers if we let them. We can begin to see where our value is most felt, and when we can give ourselves permission to phone it in. And mostly, we can better tap into ourselves and begin to understand what it is that we need to refresh and restore and make the most of that slice of the pie that we call our own.

Learning to Downshift

Even though it's the first of September, I'm still in favor of the late summer vibes that remind me to slow down and relax. But the reality is that at the beginning of every fall, I find that time seems to fly by faster and faster. Many are now back to school and college, getting ready for fall sports, studies and busy weeks. Summer Fridays are on their way out, and vacation time is quickly fading in the face of "productivity" and schedules. 

In one month, we're getting married and heading off on an exciting journey around Peru and Mexico. Tracking these final wedding tasks feel like a second career, in addition to my actual job which is buzzing with projects, strategy and planning. We have family travel and weddings every weekend over the next three weeks, and all I can think is "who has the time?"

Well, quite frankly, we all do. And I'm realizing that it's simply about finding it, and making it a priority. 

In 2010, Dan Buettner wrote an interesting book on what he deemed "The Blue Zones", five regions of the world with the highest longevity and population of centenarians. Buettner was tapped by National Geographic to travel to these locations, in areas such as the highlands of Sardinia, Okinawa, Japan, and an island off of Greece, and learn more about what contributes to their citizens' long lives.  

Buettner was recently featured in the New York Times discussing a longevity diet, which, true to American fashion was the most publicized output of what he discovered among the populations. But it was another key commonality that he wrote about that I appreciated even more: that people in the Blue Zones all shared in the ability to downshift - taking time every day to pause, de-stress and rejuvenate.   

“Even people in the Blue Zones experience stress. Stress leads to chronic inflammation, associated with every major age-related disease. What the world’s longest-lived people have that we don’t are routines to shed that stress. Okinawans take a few moments each day to remember their ancestors, Adventists pray, Ikarians take a nap and Sardinians do happy hour.”

— Dan Buettner

While many of us can only wish to live to 100, it's hard to ignore the relationship between stress and aging - which we all do, regardless of fighting it, every single day. And so, these last weeks of summer are a great reminder to incorporate a bit of slow living into every day in order to give our bodies and minds a break. As expressed in Lynn Ungar's poem that I posted Friday, even when you're not busy doing, you are still  being, and that is perfectly enough.  Below are a few ways that I will be reintroducing breaks, particularly over these next few weeks, to incorporate a bit more rest into each day. 

Tips for Downshifting

• Bathe in silence. In an average week, I'm always coming or going, and my immediate inclination is to plug in - to music, podcasts or another stream of digital information. But lately I've found that silence truly is golden, and I've been unplugging from headphones, and the news, and giving my ears and mind a rest. The result? I feel calmer, a greater sense of spaciousness, and more connected to my surroundings versus my thoughts. 
•  Get up and out. Since starting a new job in May, I've found just how powerful it is to take a break from the office, and computer, during the day to clear the mind and refresh the spirit. We've also started incorporating night walks to help disconnect from media and chores in the evenings and stay connected to each other and the outdoors. On those nights, I find myself floating to sleep easier, and waking up more recharged and ready for the next day. 
• Find your place of peace. Growing up, there was a particular jetty on the Long Island Sound that was my shrine of relaxation - a place where I could go and be away from worry and completely present. When I lived in Manhattan, it was the Jacquelyn Onassis Reservoir in Central Park. On most days now, I climb a hill in our neighborhood to take pause and breathe. Whether it's a room in your home, a place in your garden or a neighborhood park, find your sanctuary - a place where you immediately feel peace simply upon arrival.   

Weekly Words: "Cultivating mindfulness"

"Most of life is imaginary.

Human beings have a habit of compulsive thinking that is so pervasive that we lose sight of the fact that we are nearly always thinking. Most of what we interact with is not the world itself, but our beliefs about it, our expectations of it, and our personal interests in it.

We have a very difficult time observing something without confusing it with the thoughts we have about it, and so the bulk of what we experience in life is imaginary things. As Mark Twain said: “I’ve been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.”

The best treatment I’ve found? Cultivating mindfulness."

- David Cain

Weekly Words: "Capable of Becoming"

"I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element.  It is my personal approach that creates the climate.  It is my daily mood that makes the weather.  I possess tremendous power to make life miserable or joyous.  I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration.  I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal.  In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis is escalated or de-escalated, and a person humanized or de-humanized.  If we treat people as they are, we make them worse.  If we treat people as they ought to be, we help them become what they are capable of becoming."

-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Finding Time for Peace

Our days, by nature, are busy. Many of us spend our weeks, months, and years moving and grooving at work, with our families, at events, or in transit. The joys of juggling can be a blessing, akin to the adage that too much business is better than having no business at all. But amidst such movement, it becomes very easy to forget the most basic of tasks on our to-do lists, let alone remember to just breathe.

Recently, something that I've continued to work on in my own life is making the time and space for these moments of peace - a stretch of time where I can hit the pause button and bring myself to the present - clearing my mind, and relishing in a few good mindful breaths before pressing play again on the day. Through experience, I've learned about the power in having a little pause in thinking (aka planning, pondering, worrying, or listening to my own inner critic tell me her opinion) and how it has really helped me use my brain more effectively when I need to again. I'm more mindful about how I create plans and work towards goals. I also sleep better, worry less, and breath a bit easier. 

While in theory, making this space to move into the "now" is technically a meditation, the time and place might not resemble what many might view as the stereotypical act. And within that lies the beauty of it all. 

Building a routine meditation is a personal and individual act. For some, meditation may appear to take place in the classic Zen sitting style - seated lotus position, rear lifted and eyes at a soft gaze for a length of time. But for many people, incorporating that type of practice into their lives is neither practical nor desirable, and may not even be the best way to connect with the present at all. If this is something that has deterred you from exploring meditation, I'd invite you to consider that the many ways to incorporate these spaces of peace and mindfulness into your life, and even begin to schedule it into your day. 

Over the past year, through a joyful, challenging, and at times, really freaking frustrating, play with meditation, mantras, and mudras, I've learned about the many methods of making space within my mind. I've shared this with friends, praising the wonders of deep belly breathing and quiet serenity I've discovered during some seriously stressful times. With practice, I've learned what works best for me (a series of deep belly breaths, a simple body scan, and a mantra or two) and how to expand or shorten my practice given the availability of time. I've learned to be gentle on myself as I work to explore meditation, and to remind myself that time and space is a gift that can be found anywhere and anytime. 

The good news is, however you choose to incorporate meditative moments, the benefits remain. Read more about the different types of meditation via The Chopra Center, the Institute for Noetic Sciences, and Gaiam. For more on the benefits of meditation, check out Emma Seppälä's "20 Scientific Reasons to Start Meditating Today."

Weekly Words: "Keeping Quiet"

"Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth,
let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fisherman in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go."

-  Pablo Neruda

Happy Weekend...

Happy summer Friday! It has been a wonderful, soul-nourishing week kicking off the next chapter of my career, and I'm thrilled. Here's to a sunny weekend of time spent outdoors, picnics, bare feet grounded to the earth, and fresh air vibrating through our bodies. Here are a few things that piqued my interest this week:

• Letting a little classic Afrobeat and Rock groove me into the weekend. 
• Reading up on Esther Gokhale and the Gokhale Method of posture, and getting some tips on how to properly stand, as my new organization uses standing desks (!!!). Did you know just how much your posture affects your overall health? Learn more about standing tall with her book "8 Steps to a Pain-Free Back."
• After we spent one solid and restorative night of doing completely nothing this week (no television, no music, no lights, even! Just being together, as the soft breeze came through the windows and the sun set) I totally support this concept of "Slow Parenting" discussed in the Globe a few weeks ago. Even without children, there is strength in truly disconnecting, slowing down, and practicing the art of noticing with our partners and friends.
• And finally, a favorite romantic poem from Stanley Kunitz, "Route Six," that has me jonesing for a trip to the Cape this weekend. I can almost see the Orleans rotary now...

"The city squats on my back.
I am heart-sore, stiff-necked,
exasperated. That's why
I slammed the door,
that's why I tell you now,
in every house of marriage
there's room for an interpreter.
Let's jump into the car, honey,
and head straight for the Cape,
where the cock on our housetop crows
that the weather's fair,
and my garden waits for me
to coax it into bloom.
As for those passions left
that flare past understanding,
like bundles of dead letters
out of our previous lives
that amaze us with their fevers,
we can stow them in the rear
along with ziggurats of luggage
and Celia, our transcendental cat,
past-mistress of all languages,
including Hottentot and silence.
We'll drive non-stop till dawn,
and if I grow sleepy at the wheel,
you'll keep me awake by singing 
in your bravura Chicago style
Ruth Etting's smoky song,
'Love Me or Leave Me,'
belting out the choices.

Light glazes the eastern sky.
Celia gyrates upward
like a performing seal,
her glistening nostrils aquiver
to sniff the brine-spiked air.
The last stretch toward home!
Twenty summers roll by."

Weekly Words: "Stand Still"

"Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. you must let it find you."

- David Wagoner