A Report Card for Life

There are times that I wish there was a report card on adulting so we could know if we are doing this thing called life alright or maybe even that we may find out we are crushing it.  There are so many things I would want to know like, how are my actions being received, are my intentions having a palpable impact,  and how am  I doing with my boundaries? Am I staying open the right amount that people know I still care but making sure I am not agreeing to things that make me uncomfortable or deplete my energy?  My good girl status-seeking as a kid that led to years of people-pleasing in adulthood, would leave me wondering if indeed I was reaching that next level of being a good human, whatever that looked like, and that most of my " humaning"  was fueled by good energy and not the ego-driven kind.  I would want to make sure my motives were showing up as pure. I think I  would need a rating system too for how  I am doing with caring for people and the planet. 

Thinking about this right now as I have been writing report cards and doing assessments for my kindergartners. Checking off boxes that ask you to choose from consistently, usually, and sometimes for things you can observe and track like interactions, initiative, independence, and responsibility.   The report is mostly anecdotal comments for this age other than evidence of early academic skills, which again are only reported as they can do it or almost can or not evidenced yet and may be experiencing some difficulty.   Regardless of how you feel about there being standards and expectations of growth, the report card is really there to let parents know what their child can do or can't do yet.  "Yet", being the operative word.  It is also a place to recognize a child's strengths and highlight their growth and unique ways of being.  It is a far cry from the checkmarks and percentages from my days as a student.  I always struggle, as do most teachers, with there only being space for so many words and it is impossible to highlight all of a child's growth and show the full potential of each student in a certain number of words. To be fair, there is an understanding or realization that even given unlimited space, we could not sum up or showcase any human being with our words, assessments, and observations.  I think of it like looking up at the full moon, as I did this week, and being so in awe at what I saw that I wanted to record it and then looking through the camera of my phone and seeing this tiny spec of light in an otherwise darkened lens.  You can never record or describe the full spectrum or essence of the moon in the way that you bear witness and it would seem true for humans as well. 

I am not writing about the effectiveness, value, or purpose of actual report cards here but I am using them to think about evaluating another human being.  I often wonder in real life if the concept of belief-creating reality would work for most people.  What if you told me I was crushing it even if I really wasn't and what if I maybe half-believed you or maybe I didn't believe you at all but was motivated enough to try to show up how you saw me.  Perhaps your faith in me was the only evaluation or critique I needed to keep taking that next step.   I do think it would matter who was doing my life report card and how invested I was in what they had to say.  We often turn to people that have passed like mothers, fathers, grandparents, and siblings when we are looking for guidance.  It makes me think that somehow we know that we can trust what they have to say because they no longer have a vested interest in any outcomes of our lives.  We see them as true guides and this may be why they are the very best choices for the ones to write our reports.    

What if we extended the report card writing for not just individual life reports but for all the systems we have in place.  If big corporations knew that the people they cared most about were going to write their evaluation. Their deceased moms, dads, siblings,  grandparents, and friends were going to weigh in on how they were contributing to the oppression of people and the planet.  What if they were going to call them out on putting the onus on others for what they could change in such a large way for everyone by rethinking their current strategies, policies and impactful practices and using their hearts not their heads to make good choices and decisions. 

The reality of anyone writing me or anyone else a report card on how they are doing life is nothing more than another of my contemplative ideas and I am mostly being playful with the idea, I know most of the time, that I am the only one capable of evaluating myself and my life dance or performance but I do think that whether it is me doing the evaluating or not, there would have to be some understanding of the time that the evaluating was being done.  Right now, if I looked at my independent skills,  I think I  would say that I am bordering on co-dependent.   I  have been so invested in the people I love that I have not been able to discern at times, how much I should be helping in these difficult times.   My interactions would get a rating of somewhere between sometimes and rarely if there was a box for that. It may just be me but I am thinking that my interactions were minimized with little contact for so long that it is difficult to reignite relationships. Communication is challenging and I am confused by a lot of it and my role in creating the confusion.  Showing initiative would get "usually," regardless of the fact that my motivation right now is seeing my way through to that part where I get to complete the day and land in my pajamas, preluded by sleepy time tea, the woodstove,  book reading or binge-watching, hot baths, being with my people and pets, yoga nidra and sleep.  It is funny how these things become the fantasies of my days as I limit media consumption and still work at staying in the moment.  My rating for responsibility would have to be consistent. This means that I am taking responsibility for my actions. sometimes other people's actions and probably taking myself too seriously at times.     The rest of the report I think should be the anecdotal notes of the people who really understand me, who are kind and thoughtful, those who are supportive of my unique ways of being, and who love me unconditionally.  I am thinking of the understanding friend who remembered recently to include Maya in her invitation to my husband and I to come for a visit because she knows that most of the time it is a challenge to do otherwise.  The kind friend who  I hadn't seen in a couple of years who made an effort to be complementary this past week because she knows the power of words. My sister who is always my biggest cheerleader regardless of my next idea or endeavor and then there is my daughter who sent me a text this morning after our roller coaster of a start, with accidental scalding water, a  flat tire, heightened emotions, and a little more rushing then we would have liked,  to tell me that I was one of the greatest humans she knew and whether you believe that belief becomes reality or not,  I have to say  I  spent the rest of the day trying to be the human she sees me as.  

 

Quiet Revolution

 Mine has been a quiet revolution. I think if there was a theme to my revolution it would be humility.  Each experience that requires evolving suddenly or gradually as in overthrowing a previous thought process, belief, or value, is often more humbling than the last.  They come with an awareness that I know nothing and everything I need to at the time if I choose to stay aware.  If I remain open to the truth, it becomes more clear there is no absolute.   

Perusing the aisles of a local thrift shop is a regular vice of mine.  I can spend hours sifting through used clothes for that one treasure.    This day I was drawn first to the used book bin and my eyes landed on a familiar face and head of amazing curls.   It was a signed copy of Revolution of the Soul by author and yogi, Sean Corn.   I had heard about this book but had yet to read it so I was excited about this find. I hadn't actually read the book yet but the title kept drawing me in so I flipped open to a random page and read where my eyes landed. " All moments and all people hold a mirror up to us and reflect back those places within ourselves that are separate from our own light". "The teacher is in me and in you, in the easy times and the hard ones".   Both of these passages popped off of the one page I flipped to and I sat with both of them that day.   They were part of Sean Corn's revolution and now part of my own.  These small nudgings forward in our revolution and ultimate evolution are everywhere for each of us asking us to evolve and challenge our own beliefs and ways of being in the world.  Perhaps just the title of the book served as a way for me to examine further this aspect of revolution. Regardless, it led me here. 

No matter what age or stage in life we find ourselves, the revolution doesn't extinguish. In my experience,   it doesn't become an occasional situation that challenges our way of thinking.   I am and continue to be amazed by how often I am jolted awake by another uncomfortable realization or understanding. Only uncomfortable in the sense that it forces me to lie down or release a tired narrative or stand up for something or someone I may not have felt compelled to in the past. The revolution or overthrowing of past resolve doesn't always challenge in a way that condemns or removes something. Often it can be a nourishing, reassuring and supportive realization that offers something I didn't know I needed.   

I can remember after my dog passed a few years ago, vowing I would not get another one. The idea I was hanging onto at the time was that I didn't need another dog and they involved commitment and work that I didn't have space for.  A year and a bit passed and a black poodle puppy was making its way into my heart.   I remembered what great dogs poodles were for therapy dogs and thought of how he would make a perfect pup for my daughter with complex needs.   Still hesitant and wavering, I was given more information about him which included his birthdate. It happened to be the day my dog, Zoe had passed.   Coincidence perhaps but I took it as the sign I needed to get what I thought would be a support animal for my daughter. We called him Shanti, meaning peace, and although he didn't become an official therapy dog, he has become my peace and therapy daily.  I was so relieved that I didn't hold onto this tired narrative of not needing a dog and that I allowed myself to receive what ended up bringing more peace and unconditional love into my life. 

Personal revolution can be scary when it brings sudden awareness that may put us on defense because of our attachments and who and what we identify with. I think of the tiny minuscule things that I have attached to and then reevaluated.  I love the example in the early years of my relationship with my now-husband when he wanted to make me supper. I chided in about how you were supposed to cook this particular item and he had another way. I was certain that this was not the best choice because wasn't this the identified way I had learned and known?   It turned out supper was delicious and indeed there was another way.  So much over-identification with the people, habits, and ideas of our past and upbringing inhibits our revolution.  We often feel like we are being disloyal or just have mixed feelings about stepping away from the familiar but I remind myself that our ancestors were always searching for new ways and opportunities and they continue to live through us and I am sure they are moved by how we are finding another way for ourselves.  Finding another way for me can often be a feeling of being guided, led through, or to the thing that will bring a sometimes sudden, complete change in my view, opinion, or experience when I allow it.  When I call it a quiet revolution, I don't for a minute mean to diminish the power of the transformational events that can bring me to my knees with humility, challenge me to a place of complete denial or self-righteousness before I succumb to what is too obvious now to ignore.

The quiet revolution has moved me away from screaming into the abyss of the online world. Although I have compassion for the me that will circle back to this at times. Herein lies the humility and the knowing that this is my revolution alone and it will never take me away, for long, from being humbled by my humanness.  Whether it is the story of turkey in captivity that brought me to my final experience of eating meat and integrating that I did eat meat and enjoy it for forty-plus years. Or the experiences I had before the birth of my second daughter that led me to a belief that having an autistic child was not something I could do and a few months later I gave birth to my Maya.  Never diminishing the challenges of having a child with complex needs, it is in truth that having any child is challenging and that all children have complex needs, some just more obvious in the beginning than others. My revolution also led me to a realization, from this experience that  I not only could have this reality but that my daughter would be one of the most beautiful gifts and messenger of the potential for a much more fulfilling life away from stereotypes, norms, and societal expectations. Where I would be invited to be a much better version of myself. I could overthrow my narrow view of what my life should be or what others thought would be a worthy one.   I am challenged to transform through the knowledge offered again and again, by the right book, podcast, protest, conversation with someone close or a stranger. Now, like aging makes way for any remaining guards to be let down and armor dropped, my revolution continues. Making peace with myself a practice, allows me to stand up for the rights of others to fully be who they are regardless of my past perceptions and the revolution continues.   

There are a lot of messages that say our revolution must be muscled through, that we must strive, work hard, persevere in order to develop new consciousness.   But what if again, our revolution involves realizing that we can evolve and revolutionize by remaining open, soft, nurturing to ourselves and others. What if the feminine energy is really the energy of our revolution and that of the world? That we can drop another worn-out narrative of gender and embrace the feminine and masculine energy balance that is unique to each person.  Maybe by dropping pretense, empathizing, and setting healthy boundaries instead of engaging in our struggles,  armed with a metaphorical sword, we can stop over-identifying with ideologies and groups of people that keep us from fully challenging our own ways of being and maybe keep us separate from others that we don't identify with. 

Every day the revolution inside of me is not standing up armed ready to attack and reform but engages most of the time, with a soft whisper, a nudge, a lifting of a veil, a compass with a new direction, a thought that turns on a new light. Maybe you too have acknowledged the whispers or even screams to see something differently, to stand with humility, to acknowledge that there will always be a new truth revealed and a new understanding to come to. Staying open to the idea that you can't be who you are meant to be in all its forms if you attach to, grieve or regret who you once were.  Maybe you will remain committed and fluid with your inner revolution so you can be part of the revolution happening all around us. 

Moments

 

This time last year I encouraged my mom and dad to join us for a night away at their cottage on the lake. This would only be their second time going in the winter months and I told them we would build a fire and do some snowshoeing.  My dad had recently turned eighty years old and my mom's birthday was to follow in a few months where she would join him in their 80th season.  This is a good memory for me but it was the moment of going out across the frozen lake that stood out.  There was that brief time when standing in presence, I looked at my parents and realized that they were having a new experience. There was laughter, confidence, and their sense of accomplishment that created this for me. Later that day, my daughters and I were taking turns sliding down the driveway on a bucket-scooped children's sled that was clearly not meant for adults and my mom told me very matter of factly that she was ready to join in.  My husband accompanied her to steer the sled and I watched as they laughed and screamed their way to the bottom.  We didn't know at the time that my parent's cottage would be sold a few months later and this was our last time there collecting moments. 

I see moments different than memories.  Memories are often created and made like there is some work or plan, maybe even control over them. But moments just happen if you stay present. Moments often involve more than one of our senses at a time.  There are moments of realization, moments of gratitude, moments of understanding, moments of epiphany, fun, laughter, connection, pain, and grief.  Moments bring a whole awareness of presence in a particular time, and space.

I think I fell in love with moments when I realized that moments were really all we had   The moment when you wake up before any thoughts of the future begin to accumulate.  That moment when you are awake in your house while everyone else is asleep.  When your dog snuggles into your side and sighs or you take that first sip of your coffee or tea and the sensation lingers. When you release into the warm embrace of someone you know loves you. All the moments in nature when you feel the sun, notice the moon, the breeze touching your face, or the first summer raindrop. The moments of a shared laugh that is contagious, when someone reaches for your hand, or they whisper, "me too".  I fell in love with moments when I realized they were the whole of the human experience, they were everything.

These moments come before, after, and simultaneously with other moments. The hard ones, the anxious fear-based ones, moments of judgment, mistakes, divisiveness, and confusion.  The ones that come and find their way into changing how we see a situation, a person, or a belief with a whole new awakening. 

I am a collector of moments that I inscribe into my hardcover book at the side of my bed. Gathering and sifting until five moments get scratched down with my pen and numbered one through five. There are nights when I could fill the page but diplomatically set aside all the rest for safekeeping inside my over-stuffed mind.  Still, there are nights when my pen hesitates and hovers just above the page until it lands on that moment that may have been overlooked or undervalued, or that I may not have been truly present for.  Before my head hits the pillow I land on one and the next four come easier.  Here I flip the page to begin a new collection,. They are unedited and unfiltered. I see all of my life strung together by these moments that become the days, weeks, months, and years of my life. I am banking these moments like collateral for the grace of more just like them so that I can make sense of the hard and be fueled for the difficult.  Recent moments have weaved together to keep me grounded when I reflect on them. 

This week's lists are different than my moments at the cottage that I looked back on in my book.  There was the moment of having a place to pour my emotion in a painting of sunflowers as I held space for the people of Ukraine, the moment soaking in the tub, the taste of the new chocolate chip peanut butter cookies my daughter made, the moments at school seeing my students with crazy hair and superhero shirts,  the foot rub by my husband after a long day, the moment of silence I shared with my dad as we waited together for him to see the doctor and the moment of anticipation of a week off from work to collect moments with my family.

I am a collector of moments because I don't want to miss a thing. I want to show up for the joy, the laughter, the people, the hard, the lessons, the new, and the full experience of presence.