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.

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

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.

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

A year

Every year the sun tucks in behind a cloud; every year the wet winter draws curtains closed and night time closer; every year I am surprised: Is it really already August... Septe-- October? This time last year I was parading Erin around the streets of Seattle, carving pumpkins and making pie. I lived on the crowded, rowdy streets of the U-district, said hello to the folks selling Real Change at the Safeway, made my way to banks and coffee shops and the Post Office, all mercifully within walking distance, all tucked in the space between Greenlake and Lake Union, north of the bridge, south of the suburbs, right off campus where the parties never end and the stores don't bother to open their doors until 10 AM. Last year I worried about walking the Ave passed 10pm and ran the four blocks to work at 5AM half because I was late, and half to avoid trouble. I tip toed by the door way where a homeless man snored. I pounded my way through the neighborhood, around the university and ran in their community races. And this year.

I can't get over all the changes taking place. My neighborhood is quiet and woody, sweet with neighbors who know my name and stop by with offers of produce. The closest grocery store is a twenty minute walk away, and though they care about local produce and ethical companies, charge five bucks for a box of cereal. Patrick makes an... altogether different roommate. I work a day job. I spend long Saturdays doing chores, and planning for Sunday school. At night I write grocery lists and if its a good one, we walk to 7-11 to buy beer before we watch Lost on Pat's computer. Or read John Irving under the lamp Christy left us when she moved to England.

Christy moved to England one week ago yesterday. This is perhaps the biggest change of all. The little pieces of her that are missing surface all the time. Sometimes I want to send her a text. I see a movie, a book, or smell the coffee in the U-district, as I did last night, there again for the first time in a while-- I touched the lamp post on 11th, one I used to run by every day, that I have clung to at the end of a 20-mile run just to feel something solid and cool. Oh, Christy. This is our Seattle. The skyline at night from Capitol Hill. The morning kayak-ers under University bridge. It all meant that we were together and on our own. Now just on our own-- but I am excited for her too- I picture her drinking wine and reading a novel in a cozy, crowded pub, or walking in the rain.

So, it is October again- this is the month where the preschool looks normal to me. Where the days consist of rainy boots and 30 pairs of rain pants and hot tea and buns baking shaped by children with miniature rolling pins and aprons. Where the outdoors require long johns and wild imaginations. And this time last year I was beginning to form the plans that would end in a freezing cold night on Fremont bridge (over while I commute daily this year) and a ring on my finger.

Speaking of that.

from this day forward

Ever since that day- the last day of July- my head has been full of vows. And it never really hit me, though I had typed them out line by line on this same computer just how serious they are. 'Sure,' I had thought while scanning them for offensive misrepresentations of our relationship or our faith, 'these seem appropriate.' Fitting. The same old words I've heard a million times before. Yet the shock I felt upon hearing Dr. Hartley request those words of me on that day- It's worth saying that I never thought I'd really be standing in that place.

Getting engaged in the first place is an exercise in drawing attention to yourself. And no, you really DON'T have to do it, and that's what takes so much practice if you decide marriage is something you want. Many unwed couples have respectable, beautifully interwoven lives together. Furthermore, many wed couples spend less time and hooplah that we did. Yes, we actually want you to spend money on a plane ticket. Yes, we actually want you to buy an outfit, drive for hours, do your make-up, watch us say some ridiculous vows that are- let's face it- mere words, words we could say to each other in our living room and then email you about later. To admit you want to go through with it can actually be somewhat embarrassing, and you walk around in an apologetic posture for weeks before you learn to take yourself seriously. But the bottom line is: we believe in community, and in public vows and it is something we wanted. Marriage, the wedding (you know, within reason), the whole enchilada.

And so I was beginning to get used to the fact that when the photographer barked, "And everyone now move in around the bride," he was actually talking about me. I didn't really do the whole hide-from-the-guests thing and as I've mentioned, Patrick and I had already seen each other, so one of my favorite parts of the day was easily greeting friends who came in while we were taking pictures or while I was rushing around the sanctuary, clutching my massive train in my left hand and talking a mile a minute. I had seen their names on paper, but it was wonderful to see my dear friends file in and the family I had only seen for a minute or two the night before.

Moments before the ceremony I think it hit me for one of the first times what was actually going on- not just the festivity, but he MARRIAGE and when Erin said- here we go, you and Pat are going to get married now, all I could do was whisper loudly, 'Holy Fuck!' which at least won the favor of Pat's best friend Josh.

In the end, it is a beautiful thing to say vows while people are watching. It creates witness for the words you do exchange in your living room. Sure you're nice when you're wearing white, but later, a month later when the money is scant and the lights are left on all night? But we said those vows, those things and everyone knows it, and it would be to dishonor their presence for us to give in so quickly to impatience, bitterness, despair.

So thank god for the vows, for the witness, for the hooplah. It is now not only sweet, but prudent (financially if nothing else) to make some attempt to remember them.

Oh, the places

My brain:

1. pasta and sauce to make for the preschoolers today, and Jennifer, Julia and I are determined to make lunch a calm affair. The fragrance of new wood chips in the backyard, an afternoon with little p.

2. Laura and Jeremy's lovely wedding last weekend, and the spectacular reception.

3. Jonathan Safran Foer coming to town hall on the 20th!

4. the half-marathon in Euguene, visits to portland.

5. Kyrianne's baptism- November

6. visiting an old friend tonight- cleaning my house and finally getting everything organized

7. letters from a VERY old, very young friend in distress-- and yet the day-today is overwhelmingly beautiful...

and all of this last week has reminded me how much I want to write and remember the wedding which means something new to me every day- especially this tricky puzzle called actually being married, how it feels like trying to see the world through a kaleidoscope- all those constantly changing and bleeding colors of authority, rightness, fairness, intimacy, determination, and destiny...

Meanwhile, reading Peter Singer and John Irving and running on a hip that's ruined from miles and dancing the night away...