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Heal It

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hurling, crashing, charging, raging

blood and horror and death and sadness and tears and injustice

hilting and roaring

tumbling, twisting

one upon the other, one upon the other

close your eyes, close your eyes

hold your breath

turn away

hold on to yourself

Here it comes. Here it comes. Here it comes.

look closely, look away

run , run away

run, run head -long

Enraged

Indifferent

searching and searching

hopeless

helpless

lost

hiding and hiding

lift your head

lift your eyes

lift your heart

open up wide

open up

let it in

let it in

feel it, feel it, feel it

love is love is love is love

Heal It

Am I Living In a Dream?

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Recently I received an email from a friend I haven’t seen in close to 5 years. Throughout our physical separation we have stayed in touch loosely via email and by following each other on Facebook. His email read something like this- – “I get the impression from your Facebook that you are living in a dream, it is quite appealing to me ” I smiled at his awkward English (he’s French), but his words stuck in my head and I began to think about the world we have created for ourselves. Through the eyes of social media we seem to think that we know each other. Through our strings of short texts and emojis, we seem to think that we are conveying who we are, what we are, what we are feeling. We think that that through these communications we are building and sustaining meaningful relationships.  I’m certain we are not. We are not.

We can’t possibly be able to understand what is going on in each other’s lives by relying so heavily on the interpretation of an emoji with hearts for eyes or a tear rolling down its face. Short spurts of words and hash tags. I feel the unraveling, the slow disconnect, the deterioration. A million flat, lifeless communications being strung together and being called a relationship.  It’s not a relationship.  It’s just not.

I think about the last few good conversations I have had with people. The look across the table into each other’s eyes conversations. There is nothing that can be texted that will convey the feeling of hot tears prickling at the back of my eyes as my heart hurt for a friend’s pain. No hashtag will ever come close to the experience of bumpy chills on my skin as I was told a story so inspiring I wanted to crawl inside and live it. No emoji will ever depict the giddy joy that comes when you unwrap the package that is  a newly developing friendship. The fullness of those experiences are wrapped so tightly inside me that even now I can draw upon those feelings with perfect clarity and feel them with a certain beautiful depth.

Am I living in a dream?  Look into my eyes and ask me and I will do the same for you. We will share an experience.  It will be lovely and  it will go on and on.

Just Play

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When asked if she would be ok if her team lost the championship game, my daughter’s response was “Mommy, we got to the finals and I’m getting a trophy no matter what!” Her happiness and enthusiasm was like a light on fire and I soaked in it.

The girls were excited, ready to play, their faces full of anticipation. They just wanted to play. Just play. They had a worthy opponent, they had lost to them twice this season, a fact that none of them likely even recalled or cared about. Just play. They were in the championship game and that was all that really mattered. There would be a trophy and ice cream and that was enough.

Filled with the light of their enthusiasm, I was eager too. Eager to watch these girls that had worked hard to form a team. Girls from different schools, different playing experience, different ages. They didn’t care about any of this, probably they didn’t even notice. They wanted to just play.  They had become something together and that was enough. I was eager to hear them shout their silly cheers.   Eager to see how much their hard work had paid off.   This wasn’t a team that you thought from the beginning was going places. This was a team that had worked hard to learn the game that got a little better each time that figured out how to make plays and hit the ball and to slide. Ahhh… the glorious slide. Win or lose didn’t matter to me because I loved to watch them just play. Just play. And that was enough.

My little bubble of enthusiasm was quickly pierced as I saw this game take on a persona that was completely unfitting. I witnessed behavior that indicated that I had clearly missed something. I searched around looking for college scouts. Nope, not here. I checked to see if perhaps the Olympic rings were hanging somewhere. Also missing. I searched each child’s face. Yep, they were still all single digit ages, wide eyed, full cheeked and grinning their baby teethed smiles. I scanned the field – all the coaches in their places…..yes, that’s right this is an instructional league.  And yet the scene that unfolded in front of me indicated something different. Parents screaming, coaches arguing, ref calls (by the way, the ref was about 15 years old….) being questioned. Where am I?

I tried to concentrate on the game, to keep the voices of these parents out of my space, to not let them take up my air.  I watched each girl to see if they were picking up what was going on around them. I willed them to stay inside their little selves and just play. They seemed oblivious. I was envious. Just play. They tried hard. They did their best. They made good plays and bad plays. They struck out and got great hits. They did it all. And they were happy. It was enough.

One team won and one lost. You see, that is how this works. Your kids going to lose and you should get used to that right now. And instead of losing your damn minds about fairness and rules and other nameless nonexistent injustices, you should have concentrated on the happiness that was unleashed in all of them. You should have harnessed it and rode the high right there with them. Instead you got so wound up in your own anger and self-righteousness that you missed the beauty and power of these little girls. You missed it. My only hope is that you left your garbage at that field and went home and celebrated your child. That you didn’t spend your time raking the other team over the coals, speaking of the incompetence of the ref, and degrading the “cheating coaches”.   I hope you put your indignant self to rest, and returned to your role of parent and number one fan and reveled in your child’s accomplishment. I hope you let her relive every moment of her game. Allowing her to parade around  with her trophy. If you didn’t, you should be ashamed of yourself. This wasn’t about you. Not for one damn minute. This was about your little girl and nothing more. A little girl that still doesn’t understand the rules, a little girl that is cultivating her love of a game, a little girl that just wants a trophy and a snack at the end of the game. A little girl who is perfectly happy to just play. That was enough for her. It should have been enough for you too.

the journey

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The stranger approached.  Familiar to her, yet completely unknown.

Without hesitation she handed over her keys.

The journey was  long, the terrain changing over and over.

It sped by quickly and no matter what she did she found she couldn’t slow them down.

At times they laughed and smiled so much that she couldn’t help but wonder if this was all real.  How could anything be this good?  How had she been so lucky to get to this place full of dreaming and wonder?

It filled her up. spilling over and over.

They were entwined.

Their connection so strong that nothing, nothing in the world would ever break them.

At times, the road was rough.  They  lost their way, got separated, took wrong turns, headed in the wrong direction.

In these times she held on tight, her anxiety a vice,  her fear taking up all the space.  She pulled all her strength, gripped tightly, and somehow endured.

And then, just like that they were righted again and on their way. She found her breath.

 She took it all in. Each stop along the way different from the one before. Each stop special and unique and worth  holding onto.   Her arms  so full she feared something important would slip away.

 Time passed, the journey became more sure. They knew their way.

She moved to the back seat. Her view still clear.  Her vantage point different.

The path was theirs now.  Sure footed confident.

She breathed a little easier.  She would always be there.

They knew this.

They owned the journey now.

becoming mommy

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it happens

in that first moment

when you are still you

when who you are is all your own

it happens

slowly

without really noticing

you give yourself away

 it happens

bit by bit

and you find that you don’t mind

it happens

each thing relinquished seems frivolous

 a wisp  of something floating in the wind

it happens

  it consumes you, swallows you whole, takes up your space, your air, your everything

your circle widens

your compass changes

it happens

 your senses expand

alive, tingling

so full of everything

it happens

the memory

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with the first few strings she was swept up

she pushed against it

 willing herself not to go

just a few words –  a melody

she was losing herself

  carried away

heart reverberating

head thrumming

  eyes squeezed against a  wet heat

it took up all the space

crowded around her

stole her breath

 looping and looping

over and over

 she sank down

giving way to its presence

she waited it out

pivotal moment

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Softball practice.   12 little girls – the definition of juxtaposition- dirty and dusty with their pink helmets and bats. Well, except for mine of course, hers were blue….I watched them throw the ball, some of them with near perfect accuracy, and others, well, they threw like girls.  (I can say that, because they are girls….) I watched the coaches work with them to refine how they held the ball, how to position their arm, where to place their feet.   They looked at their coaches intently and I could see that in their minds they were really trying to work this out.  Try after try they got a little better and then better still. Their faces lighting up with surprise each time the ball landed in their mitt, eventually that surprise turning to knowing confidence.   They swung their bats tirelessly. Over and over waiting for the tinny clink of the bat connecting with the ball.  Didn’t matter if they missed or hit the ball, they wanted to do it again and again.  For an hour I watched this, full of wonder and pride for these little girls all of which had never played this game before. I loved their energy, their intentness, their willingness to learn, to try again. Their sense of satisfaction at their little accomplishments.   But most of all,  I loved their comfort.  There was nothing to prove.  There was no question in their minds. They just knew they belonged here.

I was so taken in by this scene that  I hardly noticed the little girl that wandered up next to me.   She had her hands wrapped in the fence, her face pressed against it.  She was watching as intently as I was.  We stood side by side for what seemed like a long time and finally she turned up and looked at me.  “Do they let boys play this game?”

My eyes prickled and I fought the urge to pick her up and squeeze her and swing her round and round.  I looked down at her and quietly said “Sometimes.”

Purpose

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It had been there – nudging, quietly suggesting, patiently waiting.  But today it stared me in the eye and refused to look away.  I stared back -fixing my gaze. I hadn’t even gotten to where I was going and I  knew this was right.  Its time. Its time. The words bubbled up inside me – I could feel them pressing at the surface – and I relished in their presence, crowded around me, clinging to me. Of course they would be here.    The world around me  hummed with  certain harmony.  And there it was. Exactly what was needed.  The jolt to my existence, the re-setting of expectations, the clarity of my purpose.

Benefit of the Doubt

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When something strikes you it doesn’t always arrive with a thunderous clash.   Sometimes  it arrives quietly and gently lays its head in your lap in a way that  you find you can’t move without disturbing it.  In a way that makes you give it notice even when you try hard not to.

Benefit of the doubt has rested in my lap for months.  Forcing its way into my conscious, relentlessly requiring me to pay it some attention.  It was brought to me by way of a simple conversation.  Four small words said with earnest and  raw sincerity;  A small-voiced request to be understood.

Four small words. So ordinary in so many other occasions, but this time, this time they were different. They’ve  made me pause and pause again –  to think about the moment, to reconsider the possibilities. They’ve caused me to slow down my assumptions, to rethink my diagnosis of intent, to cease the incessant question of motivation,  to purify my thinking to rid it of its doubt and skepticism. And from that clear and uncluttered space, I find myself in a position to understand.  From that space comes a level of empathy, my head full of an awareness that had gone missing.  From that space there has been a path to openness and acceptance. From that space you find your way to forgiveness.

 

Beat by a Girl

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Recently, I have been  introduced to the world of middle school wrestling.  My early observations are 1) this is a no joke hard sport requiring an amazing amount of strength, flexibility and concentrated endurance  2) this is not a sport for the faint of heart. (That would be me)  and 3) wrestling is both horrifying and fascinating with its raw, almost  barbaric nature.

Pins, reversals, take-downs….all of it makes me wince and periodically squeeze my eyes shut.  What I do love though, is the element of sportsmanship that is built into each match;  Circle up around each kid and cheer their name before they go to the mat, shake your opponents hand, shake hands again at the end of the match, cross the mat, shake the hand of the opposing coach, go back to your team for one armed hugs and back pats. This is good and right and kind of makes up for all the cringing I do in between.  Ohhhhh….and there are girls wrestling!  Also good and right.

Watching my first match between a girl and boy, I couldn’t help but wonder about what was going through these kids heads.  I imagined the girl pushing herself to prove that she could win in the male dominated world of wrestling. I admit, I lived a little bit in her skin cheering for her to fight and push and drive. Urging her on to win her place in this new world she had wandered into.  And then I turned my attention to the boy, wondering if he was worried about losing to a girl, wondering if his teammates, his family, his friends would ridicule him if she beat him.   And there I was, caught in my own trap.  Distinguishing these two kids and putting them each neatly in their gender box. After a little internal admonishment,  I pushed those thoughts away and watched the match for what it was – two athletes fighting hard for the win. I don’t remember who won. It doesn’t matter.  I watched a lot of wresting that day and what I found with each match regardless of who was on the mat, the better athlete won. Girl or boy, it was always the better athlete.

So, why are we still talking about gender?  The thing is, we can’t seem to help ourselves.  Every time I have mentioned that girls are wrestling with the boys to anyone, I get met with shock and sputtering, stammered questions.  “You mean the boys are wrestling against the girls?”  “Umm yes, I believe I just said that.”   What is surprising to me is what comes out of their mouths next. “I don’t know what I would do if my son was beat by a girl.”  “If my son came home and told his sister  he was beat by a girl, he would never hear the end of it……”, “I don’t know what I would say if my kid if got beat by a girl”, “I would never let my daughter wrestle”  On and on it goes  until the inevitable happens; My mouth opens and I just can’t stop the words from tumbling out. Words that have piled up  over the years.  Words that are rooted in every  inequality that I’ve ever experienced or witnessed.   They start  and it goes something like this….”You do know that women have the right to vote, right?  Maybe you’ve heard about Title IX?  And what the hell are you teaching your children anyway?  And where is your wife, because she and I need to talk…..”

I see their eyes widen as they look for an escape.  I give them the “there is no way you’re getting out of this alive” stare and then more calmly, because I need them to hear me now, really hear me – –   “When your boy gets beat by a girl, you tell him to get up and try again, to  work a little harder, to prepare a little more.  You hug that child and tell him you are proud of him.  You tell him the exact same thing that you tell him when he gets beat by a boy.  The. Exact. Same. Thing.  And then you tell your daughter to support her brother and to be his biggest fan.  He will have enough critics in his life, he doesn’t need her to be one too. Teach your children that the people that win in this life are the ones that work hard, that show up every day and do what it takes regardless of who they are or where they come from. Teach them to lose with grace with their head held high.   Teach them that they are capable of great things and to celebrate their own success with fervor and to celebrate a little more for the people around them that are succeeding.   Once  you’ve done all of this,  take a minute to get over yourself and your misguided ego because you are your child’s compass and they will follow you anywhere. The will follow you anywhere.  Teach your children well.