Vivid Living

I’ve learned something these past two decades.  Give..It comes back tenfold.

Let me tell you a story to illustrate what I mean.

Back in the mid-90’s I got involved with Dress for Success while living in New York City.   At the time, I had about nine years of business suits and career accessories I wanted to donate (I had just ventured out on my own as a communications and public relations consultant and wanted to freshen my look).  While my initial interest was only to pair down my closet, I soon became enamored by the organization’s mission of helping low-income, vulnerable women transition from welfare to work. I realized that my skills could help this nascent group get off the ground.  So I volunteered my professional services.  I agreed to serve on the Board of Directors and to orchestrate a kick-off event at Manhattan’s Motown Cafe.  The goal was to generate national visibility and create a global platform.  As is common with events, this one took on a life of its own, dominating my time and energy to hustle paying clients.  More than a couple of intelligent people questioned my focus. “Why are you doing this for free?” they asked. But I honored my commitment, focusing on making the event a home-run.  It never occurred to me that this “good deed”  would give me so much more than I had actually given. How? I was approached by — and landed – a few big corporate clients; I gained a new rolodex of editorial contacts; and I found real clarity and purpose in the vital role that service would play in my life.  All of which was gravy to Dress for Success; soon after, they exploded with growth…

I’ve always remembered this important lesson about giving.  Looking back, the maxim “Give..it comes back tenfold” has held up consistently across so many areas of my life.  When I volunteer time or money to a worthy organization, I am rewarded by a deep feeling of satisfaction.  When I act as a good friend, I feel connected to others.  When I  lend counsel or inspiration to someone in need, I am reminded of my potential.  When I put myself out in the world, I learn that life is full of rewards.

Most of us don’t give to get.  We aren’t motivated to serve because we want a thank-you letter or a plaque.   And this is where the adventures begin – because you never know what gifts will come your way when you give of yourself — openly and with a whole heart.  Stronger faith, new perspective, new relationships, jobs, articles, books, trips?  The world awaits.

Read more about how you can live a life of service.  My friend, Malaak Compton Rock, has just published If it Takes A Village, Build One: How I Found Meaning Through a Life of Service and 100+ Ways You Can Too.  Malaak is founder of The Angel Rock Project and has inspired legions of everyday folks – me included – to commit and commit again to service as a guiding vision.  For each copy of the book purchased until July 6th, 2010, Malaak will donate $1 to The Global Fund, which supports the very worthy RED campaign. I urge you to read her book, but mostly, I urge you to think about how giving (in small and large ways) transforms your life.  It’s contagious, I think…

“The fragrance always stays in the hand that gives the rose.”  - Hada Bejar

(From “In My View”, for Colorado View Magazine)

“Mom that tuna fish you gave me for lunch yesterday smelled like a pig’s butt,” my eight-year-old son, Casey, told me, his small hands on his hips and tootsie-roll brown eyes large with delight. It was 7:40 am and I was picking my way around a mushy cucumber and Colby jack cheese in our overstocked refrigerator, looking for lunch inspiration for him and his twin sister, Rebecca.

“Thanks A LOT,” I replied, pretending to be insulted.  “How about you make your own lunch today Mister.”

“Oh Mom,” he rushed toward me throwing his skinny arms around my waist. “Just kidding.”

I squeezed him back, lingering there, letting the refrigerator doors remain open, a halo of fluorescence engulfing us.

“Mmmm, you smell like heaven,” Casey said, milking this delicious moment for everything it was worth.

Which was priceless.

And fleeting.

I am aware that with each inch grown and milestone met my children are growing up.  We’re all huggers but there will come a time when they will pull back. It’s already happening in small bursts. “Mom, don’t do that,” Casey whispers urgently when I try to kiss him goodbye at the door to his class. He practically knocks me down trying to escape this public humiliation.

Yep.

My daughter, too, a real Mama’s girl, wrestles with her growing sense of self. She’s adapting to a new school, new friends, and a new blended family, and she depends upon me, her “constant,” to anchor her. From her earliest days at two-and-a-half pounds – the size of small roasting chicken – Rebecca’s love was fierce.  “That girl’s got a set of lungs on her,” remarked one of the neonatal nurses. “She’s a survivor, don’t you worry.” So, so true. My loving and fiery daughter, who inhales life (have you seen her laugh?), uses those lungs a lot, for me, because I am still her world even as she takes steps toward independence, which I encourage her to do.

“I’m never leaving you,” she tells me after I suggest she spend a week at the JCC Ranch Camp this summer.

I confess, even bribery failed.

“Mom, I’m not even going away to college,” Casey chimes in, “I’m going to Johnson and Wales so I can live at home.”

Hmmmm.  If all goes well, college is a decade away; I decided to forgo the bribes and “expand your options” lecture.

Are you sensing a pattern here? The tic-toc pendulum of motherhood.

One moment we are castigated, the next we come close to godliness. One moment our children devour us, wanting to re-enter the womb, the next hour they slam the door in our faces.

On better days, when the morning routine is calm and the three of us sit together at my grandparents’ white breakfast table, the Eastern sun warming our shoulders, eggs, toast and orange juice in front of us, the warm smell of my coffee, I think, “Yes, you are a fine mother.  All is well. I’m happy; my children are happy.”

Minutes later someone will have an outburst, maybe me. My daughter forgot to complete her reading log, my son forgot to study for his spelling test, I forgot about the school auction meeting, I forgot to buy toothpaste and soap to donate to the children of Bolivia for the class project.

We all mean well, we just get bogged down by life.

Maybe if I read some of those parenting books I’d feel more on top of my game.  Love and Logic makes perfect sense when I read it in print, but in real life I tend to scratch and sniff, mothering by instinct, which I suppose is what most of us do pretty much most of the time.

I wonder when a mother wholly embraces motherhood. When does blind, scared intuition become trust, trust become knowledge, knowledge become confidence, and confidence beget certainty and love of mothering?

Just when I thought I was starting to nail it (sort of), I became a stepmother to two teenagers.  They’re good boys, and with three years of togetherness under our belts (but less than two living together as a family), we aren’t quite so foreign to one another. Dylan, a muscular 17, walks around in boxer shorts and invades my private stash of chocolate chip cookies in the freezer.  Ryan, 18, calls to ask if his college friend, Emily, a vegetarian, can come for dinner.  Yes, yes!

In spite of our burgeoning closeness, I still tread lightly with my stepsons since probing questions about friends, drinking, grades, summer jobs and the mess of soda cans and dirty socks in the basement (“the underworld”) can quickly provoke their ire.  They’re typical teenagers who show their disgruntledness with eye rolling to the tune of “God, you JUST don’t get it.”  Most of this innocent rant is gifted to their father, my husband of 22 months, Steve, but I’m next in line, just as he is when my twins holler and cry “you are the WORST mother.”

Let’s take a poll: have you been there before?

It’s complicated, motherhood.  I’m still trying to make sense of it all – my responsibilities and rights, opinions and expectations, boundaries and freedom. Whether your children are young, pre-adolescent, or (gulp!) teenagers, whether they are yours biologically or not, motherhood, I believe, is a little like appointing yourself to the U.S. Supreme Court.  You represent the highest form of the law while trying to maintain civil order.  Then one day your service ends, and while you are not held in quite the same esteem, your vote still counts for something.

This is the common thread that binds us mothers together.

Naturally, every family has its history.  For me, the path to motherhood was foreshadowed by loss because, as readers know, life and death collided after the birth of my twins.  They were born; their father died. Today, they have no real memories of him, only pictures and dreams.

Its no wonder with all this background drama I’ve been slow to embrace motherhood.

In spite of my many missteps – the way I rush the kids, yell or nag them about leaving the skateboard in front of the refrigerator – I’m coming to realize that the whole of motherhood is indeed made up of many small parts. The essence of what it means to be a mother, I think, lies less in those milestone moments and more in the tender, infinitesimal times in-between.  Like the other day, when Dylan nudged extra close, not quite asking for a hug but willing to receive one.  Words aren’t necessary; feelings are.

As I humbly scratch and sniff my way along this uneven precipice of motherhood, I think I’ve stumbled upon a little wisdom:  Challenges come with the territory. There is but one today.  Make it count.

Spring’s here, and I’m feeling a burst of creative energy.  Who better to turn to for advice on how to unleash that spirit than my friend Robin Glickstein, who holds an Ed.M. from Harvard.  For 11 years, she’s taken a creative approach to market research by helping people and businesses hone their stories and ideas. Finally, Robin shares her experience and thoughts with readers in her new blog, The MindFULL Creative.

Here, for Vivid Living, Robin shares three ways she jumpstarts her own creative process.  Try them out.

1. Take yourself to the movies and pay attention to what the actors are wearing. Robin gets ideas on how to mix and match clothes as well as ideas for arranging bookshelves and flowers, and the use of color for her home.  She’s also discovered new music this way by tuning into film soundtracks.

1. Start a journal to observe your “daily” travels.   Go to a craft store and purchase a blank journal, some watercolor pencils, a jar of Gel Medium (it acts like glue, only stronger for heavier objects) and a glue stick (for pictures and lighter finds). Look for and collect photos, napkins, business cards, coins, stones, and anything that speaks to you.   Glue them on the page and then write what comes to mind.

3. Clean out your closet.  You know the rule: if you haven’t worn it in two years, let it go.  Have a purge and swap party with a girlfriend: discard the old and tired, and trade clothes, shoes, and jewelry.  Commit to adding one colorful accessory each time you get together.

Sometimes, creativity takes courage.  Let yourself take the journey however you see fit.

“Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will.”  -George Barnard Shaw