Vivid Living

Lately I’ve been thinking about what it means to tell one’s story. By which I mean, what moments shape you?

If you’re lucky, maybe small, seemingly insignificant matters are most striking: your brother’s daydreaming; how you couldn’t sit still as a child; your son’s strange aversion to gummy textures and sauces. For many others, it’s the life-defining moments that mold character and strength, fusing past, present and future.

On February 24, I’ll be addressing a group of writers from the Colorado Author’s League about creating personal essays. The opportunity came about courtesy of my writing teacher at the Lighthouse Writer’s Workshop.  “You have a story to tell,” he told me. “I recommended you because of the way you are driven to tell that story in your blog, your articles, your magazine column and memoir.” I hadn’t really thought about my story serving as a platform, but that’s precisely what is has become, and I no longer buck it.

It’s true that I feel both happy and driven to share my story.  Writing about loss and love and renewal feels like the giveback of my own personal tragedy (you can read about it under the About Vivid Living tab or on my website). It’s what motivates me to write: my voice is a way to lend meaning and courage to others who must also learn to summon the faith and blind hope to rise again.

In what ways do you tell your story?

Like everyone, I have been deeply moved by the catastrophic earthquake in Haiti.  The images are searing, especially of the children, torn from their parents, many in physical pain, hungry, homeless, without their toys and possessions of comfort, too traumatized now to even think about a future.

The tragedy has hit me hard.

Back in 1994, I traveled to Haiti while working at UNICEF U.S.A. as Director of Public Relations. I spent ample time visiting the slums of Port-au-Prince and even met with Former Haitian President Jean-Bertrand Aristide at the National Palace, now lying in rubble. The squalid conditions were horrific to me then, now it’s unimaginable.

Part of me wants to adopt a Haitian baby, to which my daughter, Rebecca, says, “Mom, I think we have enough kids in our house now.”  She’s right, of course, and, in spite of my incredible longing to help, we are not equipped to parent more children. Part of me wants to go volunteer in Haiti for two months, to which my conscience asks, “but how can you leave your family?” The answer is I can’t.  I simply can’t.

What is it then that I can offer in the wake of this giant tragedy? What is it that anyone can offer?

Money? Time? Hands? Faith? There are no easy answers.

I’m thinking hard these days about not being a slave to time.

The new year is still fresh, and above all other resolutions, creating more time and sacred space in my life is occupying my thoughts.  Because I seldom feel that I have enough – time.

Do you?

Every working mom my age (or thereabouts) feels similarly – we’re all doing a mad- dash juggling act.

There are no easy solutions and to suggest otherwise is insipid.   We have real responsibilities and interests that tug at us – jobs, kids, husbands, extended families, friends, activities, bills, side projects.

And yet ignoring our need to step away from the daily drumbeat only increases our stress and exhaustion.

How do we give ourselves permission to make time for time?

While writing about this very subject for Colorado View Magazine, a psychologist friend and I developed a series of strategies. You’ll have to wait until February to read the full article, but in the interest of helping you, too, beat more to your own heart and less to the ticking of the clock:

Create sanctuaries.  That is, designate a quiet place in your home or in your mind where you can be still.  For me, it’s the bath and the serenity of my bedroom.  What feels best to you? Indoors? Outdoors? No clocks or watches, and please, please set the blackberry aside.

Safeguard your time.  Certainly, leave the Olympic multitasking to the 2012 Games. Think carefully about “the extras” and recognize that you may not be able to give all your time to something.  Further, start only those projects that you can finish and do finish what your start.

Finally, as the Buddhists say, when you wash the dishes, wash the dishes. In other words, be aware of where you are in time and space.

Today I made time to sit down and have breakfast with my children before school. Typically, we run down to the wire with lunches that need to be packed, homework that needs to be finished, and last night’s dishes still in the dishwasher.  We had but five minutes but how lovely it was to sit together with the morning sun warming us.

Friends,

As we move into a new decade, I’ll let you ruminate over this favorite passage of mine from Emily Dickinson.

We never know how high we are

Till we are called to rise.

And then, if we are true to plan

Our statures touch the skies.

May you soar into 2010 with wings of grace –  gliding effortlessly whenever you can, rising up as needed, and always, always living fully and well.

Thanks for reading Vivid Living.