So, I've been working on this being a writer thing more or less steadily since I quit my teaching job in 2003. And, not for the first time, I feel like I'm on the verge of it actually panning out. All I've got to do is finish my YogaMamaMe book proposal, get the website up and running, and finally use the spa gift certificate Mike gave me for Christmas because only then will I deserve a full, indulgent day off.
It is, I should explain, not possible for me to do any of this with Jake in the house. Jake loves him a computer. He feels it is just plain rude of me to sit down at my laptop without including him in the fun of hitting keys and brushing his fingers along the touch pad. Given my laughable knowledge about designing a website, I obviously need to spend every last second he is in school hunched over my computer screen.
I figured that's what I would be doing this week. I've got a friend coming to visit for the weekend, but in my reasonably confident of my abilities mind, I felt this would merely serve as a nice break to celebrate the launch of a spiffy, impressive, soon-to-be-crawling-with-visitors website. In other words, my writing "career" was gaining momentum, and I was feeling a cautious optimism.
It was, therefore, inevitable that my life would suddenly get very, very busy. Too busy to accommodate finishing a book proposal and figuring out how to start a website this week.
This is not unfamiliar territory for mothers. If there's one thing young children teach us, it's that control is a big, fat illusion just waiting for a sweet child to pop it like a soap bubble with a cute, fat baby finger.
In this case, all Jake needed was a trip to the pediatrician for his 15-month check up. A more organized mother than I would probably have suggested we combine his 15-month check up with last Thursday's impromptu trip to the pediatrician for a note allowing him back in school with the cherry red, rash-y cheeks caused by the school's laundry detergent. The school apparently harbored some concern about contagion, but this concern seemed to me to be largely misplaced, since the contagious rash that had them worried is viral and no longer contagious by the time the actual rash part happens. But anyone who sends their child to daycare or preschool or school quickly learns that she serves at the whims of the administrators and will save herself a great deal of frustration if she plays along without question.
So not only did I waste my and the doctor's time getting Jake his note on Thursday, but I managed to waste my time today by going back for more or less the same exam. As I said, a more organized mother could have prevented this time fart. If such a mother truly existed. I am fairly convinced she is a combination of fairy dust and old wives tales designed to make us human mothers feel even more frazzled and incompetent than we really are.
Okay, I told myself as I watched my website-creating time fritter away, I'll be home in plenty of time to hit that computer. Except. Why do we notice that we are out of milk only once we are out of it?
Once I got Jake back to school, I was on my way to EarthFare, figuring I'd get in and out as quickly as possible. Which isn't all that quick for me and grocery stores. Worse, halfway through my aisle-by-aisle "efficient" survey of the store it occurred to me that I could have done my shopping this evening with Jake adorning the cart like a cheerful hood ornament. Instead, I was wasting more valuable computer time.
Right, I muttered to myself on the way home. Post a quick YogaMamaMe piece (is there such a thing?). And might as well post this week's story on Hillish Life as well, just because I don't want it hanging over me. Then, finally . . .
Oh, wait. Huge legal project waiting in my email in box. And, oh yeah, I've got to order those contact lenses. And change the secondary beneficiary on my life insurance. And do a couple of loads of laundry. And. And. And.
Waiting Is a Gift
I like to believe there is a reason all these tasks are conspiring to slow me down just as I reach the cusp of finally, finally, maybe making some money for writing something. (Okay, I got that one check for humiliating myself in Newsweek a year and a half ago, but it was a bitter triumph, especially when they refused to print a follow-up piece about how I did in fact get pregnant at 39 and their letter-writing readers who made fun of me were just plain mean and wrong.)
I am being slowed down, I believe, because getting published is becoming a goal, rather than part of my journey as a writer.
What's the difference?
Setting goals is nothing more than a way of fooling ourselves into thinking we are in control. "If I can just achieve that goal, my life will be much better," we tell ourselves. "If I can lose 15 pounds. If I can make six figures a year. If I can be published already."
What happens if we meet these goals? Life is pretty much the same, or modified but still really hard. And we create more goals and spend so much time looking forward to the day we achieve them that we forget to notice all the things happening in our lives while we get there. Chances are, the things we're missing are even more fulfilling than achieving some goal that is probably pretty meaningless in the end.
Even worse, what if you don't achieve that goal? You feel pretty crappy, right? So, let me ask you, why would you set yourself a goal you might not achieve and thus end up feeling crappy with no one to blame but yourself?
This is not to say we should lack ambition. Rather, we need to put our ambitions in perspective. As a yoga teacher, I talk about intentions rather than goals.
For example, if my intention is to touch my toes in uttanasana -- forward fold -- my body will move in that direction, find the proper alignment, and open up in the beneficial ways uttanasana is intended to promote.
If, on the other hand, I set out with touching my toes as my goal, I will likely bend my knees or hunch up my shoulders, noticing nothing but the shortening distance between my fingers and my toes. I will not notice that my hamstrings are untouched, my shoulders are getting bunched up and tense, and my spine is being denied a lovely chance to align itself. I'm missing the yoga journey -- the purpose -- because I have eyes only for the goal.
Living with Intentions
Now, I'm not saying I'm pleased to be giving up my goal of getting published already. Who wants to spend her life plodding along hoping to have someone who isn't a family member or very kind friend read her work? "This is my journey," I am supposed to hum sunnily, like a placid, lobotomized Randle Patrick McMurphy at the end of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
Sorry, can't do it.
The thing is, I don't know that this is my fate. I have no idea what work of mine will be published. I can't predict whether something even more meaningful is going to come my way. And I surely shouldn't discount the joy that is being Jake's mother, published author or not.
Intentions (as opposed to goals) are lovely ways of giving our lives some personal meaning. They are, I feel certain, absolutely crucial for mothers, especially ones like me just emerging from the haze of infant care. You just have to be something more than your child's mother. You don't have to define yourself by a career, just by something that sits in your heart next to your beautiful child.
It's sort of like taking a vacation in Paris. Some of us can wander aimlessly without a destination in mind and be perfectly content to return home a week later without catching sight of the Eiffel Tower, the Arch de Triomphe, a single painting by Matisse, a single water lily by Monet, or the Mona Lisa. (Actually, it's not too tragic to skip the last, hidden behind plastic as I recall her being.)
Most of us, however, would like to see some of the great things we can see nowhere but Paris. So we sit down every morning and map out the places we'd like to go.
Even here we face a choice -- and this is the part of the analogy you should pay attention to if you already feel your mind wandering fuzzily toward a picture of you seated at a sidewalk cafe along the Champs Elysees eating a croissant as a handsome, courtly man inquires whether this seat is taken.
One choice is to make certain we see every point we have mapped out and pay attention to nothing in between so as to not be distracted as you just were by your fantasy of an affair with a French man. How much of Paris will you really have seen if you make this choice?
Or you can set out with the intention of seeing the places marked on your map but remain open the joy of discovering what comes along the way. Pick your head up from your map, and Paris surrounds you, full of treasures you couldn't have planned if you tried.
So I guess that leaves me with Asheville as my Paris. It may or may not be the place I am living when I am published. I may live here the rest of my life without ever selling another piece.
But one thing I do know. Every time I stand up from the computer after finishing a blog entry I feel calm, peaceful, centered. Because I am doing what I love. And if life occasionally has to intervene to distract me from my goals, I should be very, very grateful that it bothers to do so.
Practicing Intention in Uttanasana (Standing Forward Fold)
You knew I'd suggest uttanasana, the forward fold I used as an analogy. And you're probably pretty bored at the idea, since nearly all of us have done a forward fold at some point in our lives and don't exactly need to read a blog to be introduced to this less than novel idea.
But it's not the pose that matters in yoga. It's how you approach it. I've performed uttanasana a million and one times. I've done it when my hamstrings were still massed with scar tissue from years of distance running. (Talk about goal oriented.) I've done it in heated rooms where I was noodly and lean and could place my palms flat on the floor. I've even done it with a belly full of Jack and my legs straddled wide to accommodate him. And it's been different every single time.
So try it mindfully, with an intention to let go of goals.
1) Stand in tadasana, mountain pose, either with your feet hip distance apart or your big toes together, whichever is more comfortable for you. As you engage your quadriceps and draw your navel into toward your spine and up toward your heart, you should feel rooted and steady. Inhale and feel your heart lift. Let your shoulders slide down your back and your tail bone release.
2) Note whether you are tense or relaxed. Are you trying to be a mountain? Or are you letting the idea of a steady, strong mountain inform your intention while you honor where your body is at the moment?
3) When you're ready, place your hands on your hips and, leading with your heart, fold halfway so that your torso is parallel to the floor. Slide your hands down to your thighs or shins for support. Take a moment here to notice if you have already begun to bend your knees, if your shoulders have begun to creep up tensely toward your ears. Relax.
4) Inhale again and let your heart reach forward, lengthening your spine. As you exhale, keep this length and let your head move toward the floor as you fold forward. Place your hands wherever they can rest comfortably -- shin, ankle, the floor, you know it makes no difference.
5) On your next inhale, feel as if you are drawing energy up from your heels to your buttocks. As you exhale, release your navel in and let your upper body drape forward.
6) Be here and be present with your intention.
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