An Exercise in Penmanship

The quick fox jumps over the lazy brown dog. Everyone has written this sentence over and over while practicing cursive, keyed it onto the screen in front of them while learning to type. I am thinking about this sentence today, though I'm not sure if I am learning or practicing anything...
There are two kinds of people in this world. My mother, for example, is most certainly a fox. She is nearly never still. I am endlessly amazed by her endless supply of get-shit-done-ery. She operates on a frequency I cannot even fathom. It's hard to measure oneself up against a fox, and my mother was diligent in assuring that I knew which half of the sentence she felt I belonged in.
Maybe I am a dog. But to be fair, maybe "lazy" is a subjective view point. Maybe it's just the fox's opinion. Maybe the fox can't fathom the dog's need to chill out now and then. After all, the fox is far too busy worrying about survival needs to contemplate what life as a dog might be all about.
Still, even a dog has to think about survival sometimes. Sometimes a dog might wish for more foxy traits.
I know I have the ability to behave in a lazy manner (and at times I certainly do). But I don't believe that I am inherently lazy. I think, to a large degree, perceived laziness is just a difference in priorities.  This type of  "laziness" is just fine with me. The dog is in possession of a bit of zen in it's knowing the bliss of an afternoon nap. Anyway, he is probably re-charging so that he can go dig up bones later with gusto. If a dog is going to put effort into something, it's gotta be enjoyable. How can you happily dig up bones if your energy is flagging? Dogs are just built differently.
But then there is a darker perceived "laziness" which really isn't laziness at all. It is a debilitating lack of balance. It is an overactive mind stuck in high gear. It is a creative energy with no outlet. It is guilt over all of these things. It is a crippling disease for which I have found no cure.
The cycle goes something like this: I crave constant mental stimulation. I have to have something interesting to turn over in my mind. Creative urges well up that need some form of release. Except I have laundry to fold. Dishes to wash. A child to feed. A floor to mop. Meals to be made. A shower to scrub out. I probably wont be able to get to it all today, so I have to decide which things will get put off (and build up, becoming ever more daunting). Oh yeah, then I am also supposed to be studying all day so that I can work from home to be with the child. I'm going a little stir crazy from not having the leisure to read a scientific paper, watch a historical documentary, do research for a book I hope to write, paint a picture. Now I'm also feeling guilty about dull, endless, thankless chores piling up around me. (What would people think if they saw my home?) I'm also feeling as though I am letting my potential to be my authentic creative self be put off to wilt, tarnish, decay, the ultimate self-betrayal. Guilt. Inadequacy. Now my ever-active mind has only this to feed upon, though as this topic is fairly limited, it's only a matter of time before I've moved on to all my other self-doubts and insecurities. Now whatever stores of energy I might have had are being hemorrhaged at an alarming rate. Now I look around and see the insurmountable mountain range of tasks, chores, duties, and I just can't do it. I have nothing in me. I am vacant, empty, and now less worthy than ever before. Maybe this dog needs a pet psychiatrist. 
I often think if only I could get to the place where I felt caught up, then maybe I could maintain my position. Oh, to be more fox like. I dream of a time where I will feel it is permissible to follow my creative urges, to pursue my more authentic self. And yet a voice somewhere within says even if I did have time at my disposal, I would squander it, wallowing in my own inertia, so maybe I really am lazy. I don't know where this voice comes from, (is it the fox?) but I don't like it.
Unlike the clear objective of the fox/dog writing lesson, the purpose of this mental exercise evades me. A quick fox that has jumped over me and dashed off into the woods before I can even pick up my head to look at it. Maybe I just need to embrace my inherent dog-ness and be ok with not being a fox. Maybe with enough practice my child-like scrawl will one day be the fluid and elegant script that I can see so clearly in my mind. A cool and confident brown dog, even if I am lying in the dirt.

To Cry or Not to Cry

Today my daughter Leona is one month old. It seems utterly preposterous to me, as I surely have had her for much longer. It feels like an eternity has passed since we brought her home from the hospital. I smile now as I look down at her in sleep, her little mouth sucking away at a dream boob.
Everyone asks me if I'm loving being a new mother. The polite answer of course is to beam and gush forth a sappy yes. The true answer though is a weary half smile and a tired "most of the time." Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of beamy gushing moments, but I have plenty of  "Seriously, can't you let me get anything done?" moments as well.
Everyone is full of advice too. Sleep when she sleeps, get shit done when she sleeps, let her cry it's good for her.
The first two pieces of advice, while clearly at odds with one another, are pretty straight forward and have obvious merit. The third piece, however, I have a bit of trouble accepting.
During my "I'm pregnant and must read every book ever written about pregnancy and parenting" phase, I came to discover that this is apparently a controversial issue for parents. (Oh do I love getting a my hands dirty in controversy.) And so I've done what I do when controversy rears it's head, listened to what both sides have to say (letting them cry is neglecting them on the one side, not letting them cry is spoiling them on the other), considered the facts and weighed it all against my own heart.
This is the way it seems to me: The very first love that we develop in life is one of complete dependence. Babies are utterly helpless and rely on their caretakers for everything. They form an attachment that transforms into love and surely must set the stage for all loves they will have later in life. So what lesson do I want for Leona to learn about love? If I am able, I will be there for her when she needs me. 
I really don't see how it's possible to spoil a baby. Babies cry when they need something. Maybe they are hungry or wet. Maybe it's less obvious, maybe it's really uncomfortable gas. Maybe they're just feeling lonely or scared. It's not always clear what they need, but just letting them cry sure isn't going to meet that need. Imagine for a moment what the quality of your life would be like if you spent up to a third of your waking hours crying because you couldn't help yourself, couldn't articulate what was wrong, and worse, it was pretty clear that no one was even listening to try to find out?
In her refreshingly honest book Let the Baby Drive Lu Hannessian finalized the issue for me by saying "...after just six months of motherhood, I can already see that a baby's wants and needs are pretty much one and the same. Twenty-four weeks out of the womb, my baby needs more than food, sleep, and a clean diaper. He wants-and needs-to be held, to bond for his healthy growth. By this time next year, I imagine he will want to eat an ice cream sandwich for breakfast. Play in the snow without shoes. Stand naked in the rain under the eaves trough with his mouth open. As his wants and needs begin to diverge, I will have to discern which ones are which, and respond to him accordingly..."
I could put Leona down after changing and feeding her and let her cry in the background while I do my dishes. She could learn that clean dishes are more important to me than her feelings. Or I can hold her in my lap and listen to the cute little noise she only makes when she's content by pursing her little lips and making a bubble blowing sound. She wont be making that noise anymore when she is older and I will miss it. Why would I not take every chance I get to have her blow bubble noises at me now? Though I may not always know why she is crying or may not always have the solution to her problem, at least she can cry against my warm chest and feel my arms wrapped around her. Maybe she will at least feel that she's loved. Maybe when she is older and the world breaks her heart she will know that she can come and cry on me if she needs to and my arms will be there for her. After all, at it's most fundamental level, love is simply being there.

Open Up My Head, an Introduction

Why am I adding my own singular voice to the throng of millions of voices blogging away day in and out, hoping to be heard? Surely it is like crying into the wind, and what makes me think anyone is particularly interested in anything I have to say anyway? Well, the answer is that perhaps no one is necessarily dying to hear my scattered thoughts about life, but this blogging experience is really for me. 

I wouldn't say that while growing up I was directly discouraged from voicing my true thoughts, but in subtle and not so subtle ways I came to understand that opening my mouth so often brought on strife. Being naturally prone to avoid conflict at all costs, it was just easier for me to nod my head and keep my thoughts inside of it. This strategy has not served me well as an adult. Unfortunately it is so deeply ingrained into my pattern of behavior. I've been working hard these last few years to change this pattern, and though I've come a long way from my timid childhood, I feel I've come up against a major obstacle. I'm maybe too cautious about not wanting to hurt people's feelings. This is not really out of deep concern for others, but to shield myself from feeling bad. From my earliest memories other people's "negative" emotions have made me extremely uncomfortable, especially if something I've said or done provoked the emotion. I've allowed this fear of feeling responsible for other's feelings to cause me to spend most of my life editing myself, basing my actions and reactions on what I calculate will keep others content. From now on it is my intention to speak candidly yet to do so in a compassionate way. Not everyone will be pleased by what I have to say, but I will say it in the most respectful way I can.

Yesterday I was reading In These Times (which is an excellent publication for anyone seeking to be better informed than the mainstream media will allow) and came across the term "well informed futility syndrome" and realized this is the precise malaise I've been suffering from as of late. I have always looked below the surface of things to figure out the truth (or at least closer to it) of what is going on around me. The more I learn, the more I feel compelled to learn and yet the more I learn the more discouraged I become as I realize how dire and sick and reprehensible the world is. This is the world I have to live in, the one I have to bring my daughter up in. I feel utterly overwhelmed when I think about any number of society destroying disasters that we are quite literally on the brink of, from global warming to financial meltdown, peak oil and a number of more radical theories I'm willing to entertain. We didn't have to allow things to get to this point. These are all preventable, and yet it feels like we've gained too much speed in the wrong direction and it's too late to put the brake on, and even if it wasn't how the hell could we ever convince everyone that we all need to put on our collective break together? I'm disgusted by the charades that we call "politics" and disgusted that we all convince ourselves that we in some way participate in this "democracy" and that in this way we can somehow influence the outcome of the political process. There are only two possible scenarios: Our political system is a joke and totally ineffectual and someone else is running the show, or it really does work the way it should but no one is paying any attention to what is happening and no one is running the show. Either way, there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it, and I feel like my soul is rotting away.

Everyone has their own take on this, I've been told not to worry too much about these things. It's all lies and conspiracy, the Zombie Apocalypse is nigh and we'll all be dead soon anyway, things will take a turn for the better in 2012 as the Mayans have foretold (is that really what they said???), Jesus will return and put an end to the suffering. Well, maybe. But in the meantime I still have to live here and I'm not about to get my hopes up for a bailout any time soon. As long as we are all still here I have a responsibility to take a stand against the atrocities that surround us, we all do. But how can I keep courage and fight the good fight when all seems so hopeless? I'm not sure, but for the sake of our children, there has to be a way.

I feel certain that I have something of value to contribute to society. What I'm not quite certain about though is what it is or the precise way in which it is to be manifested. I suspect though that before I reach these answers I need to gain better command of my voice. That is what my blog is about. It is my training ground.

I strongly believe that raising a child to be truly good person, a wise, compassionate and responsible individual who is confident of their place in the world, is one of the most noble contributions one could ever make to society. This is what I am striving to do for my daughter, but this is also the example I must set before her. Maybe that is the key to it all. Our race will carry on the example that has gone on before. The only way for the world be get better is for the people living in it to be better. We owe our children that much. 

It is therefore my purpose to strive always to be better. I will strive to be more confident, compassionate and wise. I will strive for a strong voice and the courage to fight for what is good. I will strive to be the best example for my daughter that I can be. I will strive for a better world, for my children and yours.