Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
Jumping the Log
Disinclined as I am to leave intellectual offerings of belief at the feet of any God, I am spangled with irrational superstitions that patch together the hastily-sewn fabric of my inner intuitive mind, a tie-dye of overlapping, nonsensical faith. If it rains today, then it won't tomorrow. If I roll the dice again I'll see what I would have gotten. If I concentrate enough, the traffic light will change when I come to it; or one better: If I let my intuition pick the route, the traffic will be all in my favor. Yeah, okay, I never speak them aloud, (and thank goodness I now realize) but they are real to me. They function; they are a tint in the glasses I wear.
So it seemed right and fair this week that it rained, that inconsistent, shifty sort of smattering that chills you, making you feel that you are being punished. My co-teacher must have felt the same way I do because on Wednesday at lunch she told the children:
"My dear friends (the first three words are sung, a little tune that I hum to myself all day long), not today, not tomorrow, but the next day we won't come to school, instead we'll go to the park. And our owls, the 5-year-olds will be jumping the log for kindergarten. Now I've been talking to the rain fairies, and the sun fairies and telling them: 'you may rain today, you may rain tomorrow, but please, please, please sun fairies, we want to be with you all day on Friday so that our children may play in the dry green grass with their mommies and daddies or two mommies or two daddies and feel the warm sun on their faces all day long.'"
So of course this morning I woke up to cloudless skies (an almost impossibility in this city!) and trees green with the wash of sun. Did you know that everything, everything looks different in the sun? Sensitive as I have become to light, I've learned to start, actually gasp at the sight of a shadow or a dappled leaf. And then I turn and search for the source, wary of trickery and like my life depended on it, like a strange-but-not-total inverse of the poor soul who sees that little red dot of light that means a sniper is trained to its target. Ah, the sun. An altogether more benevolent source.
And jumping the log. It seems to me a brilliant stroke of ingenuity that in a school where the basic course goals are putting on your own shoes and rain pants, climbing up nets and trees, stacking wood and tying ropes tight enough to swing from, the mark of world-readiness is not reciting the alphabet, not even singing in Spanish (the latter of which we will do today), but jumping over a hunk of felled tree. This is Waldorf; this is what I've learned. It's all about learning to be in your body, finally after all this time of holding onto heaven.
Being in your body means you've done just what we've tried to teach you. You have two strong feet on the ground, you can greet the dear earth, you can greet the sun; the stones which rest, the plants which grow, the beasts which run, you can greet your neighbor in all I say and do and you and I on earth are one. And if you can do all those things, you can jump high if you want to.
And oh, you do, because when you do, just today, you will receive a golden key from one of your teachers, and you won't know what it opens until you grow up, and then you'll see. It opens everything.
So today I greet the light myself with a buoyant heart, shaking my head at the myself all the same, but happy to be here at the end of the school year, with dear friends and the sun, no matter what the fairies had to do with it.
So it seemed right and fair this week that it rained, that inconsistent, shifty sort of smattering that chills you, making you feel that you are being punished. My co-teacher must have felt the same way I do because on Wednesday at lunch she told the children:
"My dear friends (the first three words are sung, a little tune that I hum to myself all day long), not today, not tomorrow, but the next day we won't come to school, instead we'll go to the park. And our owls, the 5-year-olds will be jumping the log for kindergarten. Now I've been talking to the rain fairies, and the sun fairies and telling them: 'you may rain today, you may rain tomorrow, but please, please, please sun fairies, we want to be with you all day on Friday so that our children may play in the dry green grass with their mommies and daddies or two mommies or two daddies and feel the warm sun on their faces all day long.'"
So of course this morning I woke up to cloudless skies (an almost impossibility in this city!) and trees green with the wash of sun. Did you know that everything, everything looks different in the sun? Sensitive as I have become to light, I've learned to start, actually gasp at the sight of a shadow or a dappled leaf. And then I turn and search for the source, wary of trickery and like my life depended on it, like a strange-but-not-total inverse of the poor soul who sees that little red dot of light that means a sniper is trained to its target. Ah, the sun. An altogether more benevolent source.
And jumping the log. It seems to me a brilliant stroke of ingenuity that in a school where the basic course goals are putting on your own shoes and rain pants, climbing up nets and trees, stacking wood and tying ropes tight enough to swing from, the mark of world-readiness is not reciting the alphabet, not even singing in Spanish (the latter of which we will do today), but jumping over a hunk of felled tree. This is Waldorf; this is what I've learned. It's all about learning to be in your body, finally after all this time of holding onto heaven.
Being in your body means you've done just what we've tried to teach you. You have two strong feet on the ground, you can greet the dear earth, you can greet the sun; the stones which rest, the plants which grow, the beasts which run, you can greet your neighbor in all I say and do and you and I on earth are one. And if you can do all those things, you can jump high if you want to.
And oh, you do, because when you do, just today, you will receive a golden key from one of your teachers, and you won't know what it opens until you grow up, and then you'll see. It opens everything.
So today I greet the light myself with a buoyant heart, shaking my head at the myself all the same, but happy to be here at the end of the school year, with dear friends and the sun, no matter what the fairies had to do with it.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Grand Ridge 10 Mile
Well, here's the latest in relentless participation. I ran the Grand Ridge 10 mile last night, the easiest of the trail races to come and I definitely learned some lessons.
1. while I can possibly not train for a 10 mile road race, the same is not true on a mountain.
2. trail running is really, really, really, really hard.
3. find out which leaves are poisonous.
4. or pee ahead of time.
wooooooooo, here we go. Already signed up for the 20miler in July. Perhaps the family reunion will power me through. I leave a week from yesterday!
1. while I can possibly not train for a 10 mile road race, the same is not true on a mountain.
2. trail running is really, really, really, really hard.
3. find out which leaves are poisonous.
4. or pee ahead of time.
wooooooooo, here we go. Already signed up for the 20miler in July. Perhaps the family reunion will power me through. I leave a week from yesterday!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Relentless Participation- responding to blessings
'... people universally tend to think that happiness is a stroke of luck, something that will maybe descend upon you like fine weather if you're fortunate enough. But that's not how happiness works. Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it, you must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it.
...
The search for contentment is, therefore, not merely a self-preserving and self-benefiting act, but also a generous gift to the world. Clearing out all your misery gets you out of the way. You cease being an obstacle, not only to yourself but to anyone else. Only then are you free to serve and enjoy other people."
I found this passage in a novel that shall remain nameless since there's a good chance you would judge my reading choice... it wasn't a book I planned on reading, but as I did (by a set of circumstances that eventually led me this over-hyped tale)I found several gems that were- though not overly poetic- well worth considering, and here's the one that's been on my mind over the last few days. 'You must participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your blessings.' Its been clunking around in my head since I read it and something tells me I needed to hear it.
What is it about post-collegiate life? I was just so used to succeeding- not succeeding; for sure, my grades were just a notch above the average. I passed most classes with As, not A+'s, and I don't even remember my GPA anymore. But there was a success all the same. I was- how do I say it?- liked. I didn't have to dole out any special effort to communicate to the world that I cared. My professors wanted to hear what I said, looked forward to reading my papers, let me stay after class to pepper them with questions and scooted me out hours later with grins on their faces. It's not that I was the smartest, but everywhere I went they said generally the same thing: It's clear to us how much you care. And there you had it. I was not the best, but I cared a lot, perhaps more than most. And it sailed me through most difficulties. Most things that were weaknesses (preparations, unbiased research, mile splits in XC) were forgiven because I cared.
Then I moved to Seattle. Now let me be clear, this is the west coast and all; everything you've heard about passive-aggression, cynicism, and snobbery are, in many respects, true. But it wasn't just that. I will never forget arriving at my first review in the grocery store. I walked into the back room with a bounce in my step because- well- I associate feedback with affirmation. I've never before known what it was like to be so hugely misunderstood. It was a small strike in my ego, then, to hear that I had a bit to work on, that I came off as negative at times (me?! how?!?!), that they wished I was quicker. But I care so much! I thought desperately. (In my defense, when I was hired I was told it would not matter how quickly I could get through my routine; what counted was my attitude and customer service. This never, never was repeated to me again-- but that's another story, and an old, dead one at that...)
And perhaps because I associated much of my negative experience at the grocery store with being misunderstood and (in my opinion) mistreated, the lesson I should have learned slipped through the cracks of my frustration, entitlement, etc: that being 'likeable' and caring a lot will not always allow me to avoid my short-comings. But then I started work at the preschool. It is, in almost every way, a different job than the store, but only a year into it (sooner, actually, though I didn't realize it at the time), I was told the same thing. Sometimes they wished I was, well, you know, a bit quicker in the kitchen. I was shattered. No way, man, this is my job, this is _my_ job, the one that found me, the one where I- just as I am- fit perfectly. How could this horrible accusation follow me? A bit of turmoil followed in which I applied for a morning position, was told I didn't have what it would take and spent the subsequent days in a puddle of self-pity and despair. How, why, and what next? But after a little soul-searching I realized my problem- I noticed that I was raised to love myself (a huge blessing!), that I have friends and family who thing I'm great (an equally wonderful realization), and that I was lucky or blessed enough again to be appreciated academically, especially within my soul-searching major. But.
These luxuries in some way have left me unprepared (or rather my own interaction in these luxuries) for the fact that life is work. I don't pretend that I have a difficult life and that the blessings that make up my daily/weekly/monthly/yearly routine require my constant diligence (as they might for so many, I am sad and embarrassed to say). Rather, it is the very richness of these blessings that make it so important and so difficult for me to remember that blessings without careful, creative, and industrious response are just good luck. Life will just happen to me if I let it, and unremarkable time may pass. 24 hour days don't need my excellent participation, my astounding creativity, my humble greatness of soul, my exotic kindness to all beings in order to come and go. I am ashamed and humbled to realize that when this job happened to me (and despite all my hard work and countless resumes, it truly did just _happen_), I thought it was fate, and that, well, karma or God or the Great Benevolence of the Universe had brought it to my feet, that somehow I deserved this break without much effort on my part. I thought if I just showed up every day, it would come together beautifully. It is worth saying that I may have had a similar idea about marriage. I mean, maybe not, but probably.
Anyway, after that long puddle-of-self-pity week I got up (because I had to) and went to work on Monday morning. I went to the library and found books on the job I wanted to do, I went to the hardware store and bought tools, and because I enjoy what I do immensely, I was blessed enough to work from joyfulness every day. About six days later, they called and said I had turned a page and could have the job, if I wanted it.
When I came across this passage in my book, I was shamed and in love at once. Yes. You must participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your blessings. You may notice that I used that word a lot in these paragraphs: blessing. And its one I don't toss around. But its high time that I look at the stuff that makes up my life and acknowledge how lovely it is. Surely there is a lot I would love to change, many things I dislike, so much I struggle with, can't wait to see improve-- but next to the friends, family, coworkers (not to mention small things like an apartment and money to buy food)the complaints grow small and feeble, paled by the glow of blessings. But acknowledging them, throwing out my hasty gratefulness doesn't seem enough. Showing up doesn't cut it anymore. I must 'fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it...' So I'm going to roll up my sleeves.
In other news, Kyrianne started to crawl last weekend. Oh, the things we can learn from the tenacity of infants. The insistence on growing stronger every day, their mighty participation.
...
The search for contentment is, therefore, not merely a self-preserving and self-benefiting act, but also a generous gift to the world. Clearing out all your misery gets you out of the way. You cease being an obstacle, not only to yourself but to anyone else. Only then are you free to serve and enjoy other people."
I found this passage in a novel that shall remain nameless since there's a good chance you would judge my reading choice... it wasn't a book I planned on reading, but as I did (by a set of circumstances that eventually led me this over-hyped tale)I found several gems that were- though not overly poetic- well worth considering, and here's the one that's been on my mind over the last few days. 'You must participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your blessings.' Its been clunking around in my head since I read it and something tells me I needed to hear it.
What is it about post-collegiate life? I was just so used to succeeding- not succeeding; for sure, my grades were just a notch above the average. I passed most classes with As, not A+'s, and I don't even remember my GPA anymore. But there was a success all the same. I was- how do I say it?- liked. I didn't have to dole out any special effort to communicate to the world that I cared. My professors wanted to hear what I said, looked forward to reading my papers, let me stay after class to pepper them with questions and scooted me out hours later with grins on their faces. It's not that I was the smartest, but everywhere I went they said generally the same thing: It's clear to us how much you care. And there you had it. I was not the best, but I cared a lot, perhaps more than most. And it sailed me through most difficulties. Most things that were weaknesses (preparations, unbiased research, mile splits in XC) were forgiven because I cared.
Then I moved to Seattle. Now let me be clear, this is the west coast and all; everything you've heard about passive-aggression, cynicism, and snobbery are, in many respects, true. But it wasn't just that. I will never forget arriving at my first review in the grocery store. I walked into the back room with a bounce in my step because- well- I associate feedback with affirmation. I've never before known what it was like to be so hugely misunderstood. It was a small strike in my ego, then, to hear that I had a bit to work on, that I came off as negative at times (me?! how?!?!), that they wished I was quicker. But I care so much! I thought desperately. (In my defense, when I was hired I was told it would not matter how quickly I could get through my routine; what counted was my attitude and customer service. This never, never was repeated to me again-- but that's another story, and an old, dead one at that...)
And perhaps because I associated much of my negative experience at the grocery store with being misunderstood and (in my opinion) mistreated, the lesson I should have learned slipped through the cracks of my frustration, entitlement, etc: that being 'likeable' and caring a lot will not always allow me to avoid my short-comings. But then I started work at the preschool. It is, in almost every way, a different job than the store, but only a year into it (sooner, actually, though I didn't realize it at the time), I was told the same thing. Sometimes they wished I was, well, you know, a bit quicker in the kitchen. I was shattered. No way, man, this is my job, this is _my_ job, the one that found me, the one where I- just as I am- fit perfectly. How could this horrible accusation follow me? A bit of turmoil followed in which I applied for a morning position, was told I didn't have what it would take and spent the subsequent days in a puddle of self-pity and despair. How, why, and what next? But after a little soul-searching I realized my problem- I noticed that I was raised to love myself (a huge blessing!), that I have friends and family who thing I'm great (an equally wonderful realization), and that I was lucky or blessed enough again to be appreciated academically, especially within my soul-searching major. But.
These luxuries in some way have left me unprepared (or rather my own interaction in these luxuries) for the fact that life is work. I don't pretend that I have a difficult life and that the blessings that make up my daily/weekly/monthly/yearly routine require my constant diligence (as they might for so many, I am sad and embarrassed to say). Rather, it is the very richness of these blessings that make it so important and so difficult for me to remember that blessings without careful, creative, and industrious response are just good luck. Life will just happen to me if I let it, and unremarkable time may pass. 24 hour days don't need my excellent participation, my astounding creativity, my humble greatness of soul, my exotic kindness to all beings in order to come and go. I am ashamed and humbled to realize that when this job happened to me (and despite all my hard work and countless resumes, it truly did just _happen_), I thought it was fate, and that, well, karma or God or the Great Benevolence of the Universe had brought it to my feet, that somehow I deserved this break without much effort on my part. I thought if I just showed up every day, it would come together beautifully. It is worth saying that I may have had a similar idea about marriage. I mean, maybe not, but probably.
Anyway, after that long puddle-of-self-pity week I got up (because I had to) and went to work on Monday morning. I went to the library and found books on the job I wanted to do, I went to the hardware store and bought tools, and because I enjoy what I do immensely, I was blessed enough to work from joyfulness every day. About six days later, they called and said I had turned a page and could have the job, if I wanted it.
When I came across this passage in my book, I was shamed and in love at once. Yes. You must participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your blessings. You may notice that I used that word a lot in these paragraphs: blessing. And its one I don't toss around. But its high time that I look at the stuff that makes up my life and acknowledge how lovely it is. Surely there is a lot I would love to change, many things I dislike, so much I struggle with, can't wait to see improve-- but next to the friends, family, coworkers (not to mention small things like an apartment and money to buy food)the complaints grow small and feeble, paled by the glow of blessings. But acknowledging them, throwing out my hasty gratefulness doesn't seem enough. Showing up doesn't cut it anymore. I must 'fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it...' So I'm going to roll up my sleeves.
In other news, Kyrianne started to crawl last weekend. Oh, the things we can learn from the tenacity of infants. The insistence on growing stronger every day, their mighty participation.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
For Mother's Day :)
Race schedule spring to winter 2011:
April 23rd: Squak Mountain half marathon
June 1: Grand Solstice 10 mile trail run
July 2: Lord Hill 20 mile trail run
Aug 6: Grand Ridge 50k
Sept 10: Dash Point 10k
Oct 23: Ft. Steilacoom half marathon
November 27: Seattle Marathon
January 8: Bridle Trails 10 mile trail festival
March 6: ???
Why I love trail running: this whole thing costs ~$260! (Including the 70 dollar road marathon)
And of course not counting the last one. Much remains to be seen, the wheels are turning.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you!
-P
April 23rd: Squak Mountain half marathon
June 1: Grand Solstice 10 mile trail run
July 2: Lord Hill 20 mile trail run
Aug 6: Grand Ridge 50k
Sept 10: Dash Point 10k
Oct 23: Ft. Steilacoom half marathon
November 27: Seattle Marathon
January 8: Bridle Trails 10 mile trail festival
March 6: ???
Why I love trail running: this whole thing costs ~$260! (Including the 70 dollar road marathon)
And of course not counting the last one. Much remains to be seen, the wheels are turning.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you!
-P
Saturday, January 22, 2011
January
feeling so bleak since its January, and though, yes, almost over, I'm glad to write one small thing from within the tall, damp walls of this uncomfortably chilly month.
It's impossible to catch your breath, to feel warm, to get enough hot liquid down your throat. Sure, I'm no longer an inhabitant of sub-zero Chicagoland, but the clinging wet of coastal winters clings and sops inside and out leaving everything saturated, without the possibility of consolation. To run is one's only hope.
I took a second shift at another school (same director, but for babies) over Christmas break and I knew the extra work meant running was going to shift in my life. It would be in or out. I have been slowly backing off, letting it get pushed to the last place- like vacuuming or reading books on philosophy. When I get time. You know, so I basically quit except for 3/4 times a week, a three mile guilt run. So I chose to make it work, to turn over a new leaf, and on T/Th I attept to run to Greenlake (now a 3.5 mile jaunt as opposed to the twelve minutes from my old neighborhood)with my gear slung over my shoulders, change, work four hours, the change back and run to Fremont for the last five hour stint. I think I've only made it work one day a week so far. And this morning after running one of my worst two-milers yet (no. 4 in a 6 race series) I decided something had to change. First stop was to joy run 6 and a half this evening, and now I'm going to try and look for a coach. I'm 25; I have the best years ahead of me apparently. And a half this march, a full in april and a 50k in August. That is, if it doesn't conflict with my big sister's wedding which obviously, beats the hell out of anything else. There's going to be a feast and dancing (cross your fingers) and so much joy. We're already all full to the brim with it. As they say, Tic Tac Toe.
Work is... triumphant. I sometimes look up and see that two hours has gone by, and reflecting on my old life, know that two hours might have passed much quicker at a register, numbly scooping groceries across a scanner and into bags, pleasantly chatting on the good days, exchanging the niceties every time else. And yet, all that I've been preoccupied with: the passing of time as a gift instead of a countdown is possible here. At school time doesn't pass quickly; it passes _well_. We are taught to move slowly, to excude satisfaction in our work, to savor our sewing projects and hum while we roll yarn into balls. In the yards we take donated Christmas trees and tie them with ropes to wet, gnarled branches to make forts. We scrub the porches, haul logs and feed the animals. I walk in thinking, 'hope this goes quickly today' and then step into a world of rhythms in which I am invited to take part. It is the liturgy of the home and of the classroom and I don't need to leave- what is there to run to?
This is not to say that I am never dying to rush around the corner and get a coffee or that I haven't (from time to time) wanted to lock a child out of the house. But generally I couldn't be happier. My co-workers are dear and there's always something to learn.
Kyrianne is almost seven months old- which means that we are only days away from being out of the six month woods. Have to say, I'm quite relieved to have made it this far.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Love this
I am a Hindu because of sculptured cones of red kumkum powder and baskets of yellow turmeric nuggets, because of garlands of flowers and pieces of broken coconut, because of the clanging of bells to announce one's arrival to God, because of the whine of the reedy nadaswaram and the beating of drums, because of the patter of bare feet against the stone floors down dark corridors pierced by shafts of sunlight, because of the fragrance of incense, because of the flames of arati lamps circling in the darkness, because of bhajans being sweetly sung, because of elephants standing around to bless, because of colourful murals telling colourful stories, because of foreheads carying, variously signified, the same word-- faith.
I became loyal to these sense impressions before I knew what they meant or what they were for. It is my heart that commands me so. I feel at home in a Hindu temple. ... Truly I am in a sacred cosmic womb, a place where everything is born, and it is my sweet luck to behold its living core.
-Life of Pi, p47-8
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