Today, in particular, I saw two first-grade girls riding tricycles slowly around the playground, chatting like senior citizens on a Sunday drive. Then, a group of boys dribbled a soccer ball past them, heading toward the goal and yelling at each other to pass and shoot. Finally, I glanced over to a corner of the playground and saw a few girls digging in the dirt, laughing. To all of these kids, it was just another recess, but to me, it was extraordinary to watch the simplicity of how they manifested their happiness.
With my stellar computing skills, I broke it down to a basic equation:
FRIENDSHIP + PLAY = JOY
What I learned…AND Quotes on joy–
So, if we stick to the simple things in life like connections, kindness, time, and play, we will be that much closer to the joy we all seek. Better head out to the playground.
“We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.” -The Buddha (Dhammapada)
“Sadly, many of the things that undermine our joy and happiness we create ourselves. Often it comes from the negative tendencies of the mind, emotional reactivity, or from our inability to appreciate and utilize the resources that exist within us. The suffering from a natural disaster we cannot control, but the suffering from our daily disasters we can. We create most of our suffering, so it should be logical that we also have the ability to create more joy. It simply depends on the attitudes, the perspectives, and the reactions we bring to situations and to our relationships with other people.” –Dalai Lama
For me, openly sharing my thoughts in a public forum is weighty. Perhaps it is because I hear my mom’s voice telling me and my sisters, “Be careful what you write down…followed by “and always pay your debts.” The former is what I hear when blogging, and the latter rings in my ears the rest of the day. Respecting Mom’s words, I take heed and trudge forward.
When I began sharing my writing with whomever would read it, I was conscious of the vulnerability clinging to every word. I knew it was a powerful way to connect with others, so I kept writing.
Then, while at my son’s baseball game a few years ago, I thought about this vulnerability and how it plays a sneaky James Bond role in all of our lives.
That sunny day, I sat next to a mom whose son was called up to pitch. As he stepped onto the mound, she turned to the parents in the stands and affirmed in her outside voice, “My son has only pitched ONCE IN HIS LIFE, so I don’t know what’s going to happen!” I assured her we would not judge her or her son. Plus, now we knew he was hers, so we were bound to keep it positive. She continued as most parents would, by hollering, “Just have fun out there, son, and smile!!!” Roughly translated: don’t get hurt, and please, for the love of all that is holy, throw strikes. (Thankfully, there’s an unheralded empathy for parents who watch their child stand in any goal or dig their cleats into the rubber on a pitcher’s mound. Every parent inherently knows to cheer them on (the kids and the parents).
To be honest, when I started blogging, I kind of wanted my mom to also stand up and yell to the world,
“My daughter has only blogged ONCE IN HER LIFE, so I don’t know what is going to happen!”
She didn’t yell it, but she did encourage me to continue writing stories…and to pay off any debts “even if it is only a nickel!”
What I learned:
“Write straight into the emotional center of things.Write toward vulnerability.Risk being unliked.” – Anne Lamott
Today, a student ran over to me and said, “It’s my half-birthday!” “Wow! Happy half-birthday!” I said.
Then I thought, half-birthdays sound exhausting? I can barely keep up with our kids’ regular birthdays, and I was clearly a major player in the birthing process.
SO…When did the half-birthday celebrations begin?
Was it the same manic moment when every child had to get a trophy?
Or maybe when competitive games in school were replaced with cooperative games?
I’ve got it! Half-birthdays must have begun when a tear-filled six-year-old had a tremendous tantrum, yelling, “Everyone else had a birthday party at school, but I have a stupid summer birthday!”
Now, which parent among us wouldn’t cave to that reasoning?
My mom.
In the 1960s and 70s, our 10th birthday was the magic year when my sisters and I could have one birthday party with our friends. Of course other birthdays were memorable as well – family birthdays, we called them. Both of our grandmothers would come to celebrate with us, and Mom would make any birthday cake we wanted out of a little cake book with different designs. My favorite was the pink elephant. Mom sure did a lot of fancy cutting to put that floppy-eared guy together.
But half-birthdays? Nope, not a thing. I have a summer birthday in May, so in today’s world, I should be celebrating my age again sometime around Thanksgiving every year. Once is enough for me…
When I was younger, May would roll around, and we would drive to a small town in Arizona where my mom grew up. This was usually Memorial Day weekend, right around my birthday. My big treat was walking to Herbella’s Mercantile Store, where I would get silly putty and new Jacks to play with. I imagine if I had a half-birthday celebration, it would be Jacks in May and Silly Putty in November.
What I Learned:
To understand the perception of time and the half-birthday syndrome, I read that depending on our age, we view the same amount of time differently. Think about a one-year-old’s life: those 12 months make up their entire experience of life and only 1% of a 100-year-old’s life. Essentially, time goes by slowly like a vintage Volkswagen bus (like waiting for your 6th birthday) and then accelerates like a Porsche (think 50th birthday).
Hitting the midpoint in anything, whether it’s the 12-hour drive home to see family, finishing the first half of a Twix bar, or the moment you realize the bookmark is sitting smack in the middle of life’s novel, there are always emotions attached.
Today, as my Lenten Blogging hits the midpoint, I am so grateful to all of my readers…all 14 of you! I appreciate you sharing this space with me.
Here’s to Another Good Day and a blessed Lent (20 days in…)
40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season
#19 (Throwback Thursday – updated)
I grew up with the newspaper on the table every morning, and another local paper would hit the steps in the afternoon. We ate fresh tomatoes from our garden and apricots from our trees and ensured we ate clean, healthy food. In our home, what we consumed was paramount to who we were. Healthy food and quality news mattered.
One of the most well-read people I know, Polina Pompliano, founder of The Profile, takes a deep dive into content diets and how we can improve what we consume. She believes, “What you eat is who you are, and what you read is who you become…While most of us are willing to invest in our health, we often neglect our ‘content diet,’ which refers to the type of information we choose to feed our brains on a daily basis.”
WHAT DO YOU CONSUME?
The key is to first take a good look at what content we consume. TikTok? Youtube? Podcasts? The Atlantic? National Geographic? CNN? Fox News? NPR? PBS? The options are endless and we are all at the mercy of whatever lands in our inbox each morning. Will it deplete our energy and precious time? Will it invigorate us? Agree with us? Anger us? Widen our scope of the world?
IS IT TIME FOR A CONTENT CLEANSE?
Perhaps it’s time for a cleanse or a change of channel or…is it time to turn off the noise, end the mindless scrolling, and focus on what will increase your knowledge and help you contribute to and elevate conversations. Be intentional about your input.
NPR’s Clay Johnson said, “The question is, can we make enough people go: ‘Hey, you know what? I’m done. I’m done with the sensationalism of media. I’m done being taken advantage of by media companies so that I can have ads sold to me.’ If we want to make media better, then we’ve got to start consuming better media.” Personally, I love NPR and PBS.
What I learned:
Only we can control our content intake and decide how much we will consume. We have the power to fill our bodies with essential nutrients and our minds with nourishing content. Let’s spend our time wisely.
It was a beautiful evening yesterday and my husband asked if I wanted to do something. Hmmm…we had already gone to the gym and eaten dinner, and there were no practices or games like our pre-empty-nest days, and well, Costco was closed. So I pulled a page out of our son, Dexter’s book and suggested we go watch the sunset.
We drove to a neighborhood a few miles away with a little elevation. A nice perch. Not surprisingly, we weren’t the only ones with the sunset idea. As we looped around to get a clear view to the west, we passed a sweet couple sitting in the back of their pick-up truck, watching the sky turn amber. Then, we passed a dad with his young daughter, who spun around and around, getting a full 360-degree view of the setting sun. All of us were out to see a bit of beauty and share in the sun’s good night kiss.
Finally, we parked, stared at the vast expanse before us, and exhaled.
What I learned:
We all need to find time in the day to stop, look out into the sky, and get a fresh view of the world. Our true wealth is in this moment, right now.
While walking in Marshalls Store today, I passed by an elderly woman and saw she had a bright pink cherry blossom wreath in her basket.
“What a beautiful wreath!” I told her.
“It is, isn’t it?” She agreed.
I went on to say the wreath would brighten up any space.
“It’s for my daughter’s grave,” she said, wilting a little. “She died one year ago, and since her tombstone hasn’t been placed yet, I thought I would find a way to use this to dress it up.”
“It’s absolutely perfect,” I said. She went on to tell me her husband also died just three weeks shy of their 75th anniversary, at age 100 and 6 months.
“That’s the way life is,” she continued. I leaned in a little, thinking she was about to give me the secret to what life “is,” but instead, she stared at the flowers on the wreath.
I remembered my years in DC, where the cherry blossom trees define spring and renewal. After a few weeks, the delicate petals on the trees float off, symbolizing the impermanence of our fleeting lives.
As our conversation slowed, she said, ” I’m 95 years old.”
“What a blessing!” I said.
“Sometimes I’m not sure if it is or not.” She said, her voice tired.
“So nice talking to you,” I said…and God bless you…The wreath really is — absolutely perfect.”
She smiled, touched my arm, gave it a mom squeeze, and continued pushing her basket toward the clothing section where her caretaker waited.
What I learned:
My five-minute conversation with one kind, elderly woman was priceless to me, as were the connections we made. I pray she will find peace.
I also pray that maybe someone stop in and chat with my parents when they are out and about. They won’t be at Marshalls, but maybe Goodwill, Trader Joe’s, a yard sale, or the Commissary. Sharing a moment with someone and listening to their stories is lubrication for the soul.
CBS News had a story about a girls’ high school basketball coach in Northville, NY this evening. During their last game, the coach who appeared angry at the time, reached out and yanked the ponytail of one of his best players who was visibly sad about their loss. Following this he appeared “to berate her following an emotional loss” at which point another teammate stood up to the coach, in support of the girl.
The school district fired the coach. The regretful coach said he apologized and wished he had those moments to do over again.
I thought about this horrible situation and wondered why we have knee-jerk reactions like the NY coach did, and how we can control our responses. Here are five tips on how to react without a ponytail tug:
Know your triggers – listen to your emotions and know what makes you nuts
Don’t be too judgy – once we make judgments, these become permanent triggers – uh oh
Understand your emotions – know yourself, will you fight, flee, or freeze?
Avoid emotion suppression – this is super unhealthy…embrace your feelings
Make plans NOT TO REACT – be positive and respond with good intentions and respect
What I learned:
As I read further about this NY coach, I discovered his son was also a girls’ basketball coach, the player who defended her teammate was the coach’s great-niece, his wife had died from cancer the previous season, and the reason he started coaching again after his retirement was that his wife thought it would be good to keep him occupied during her illness.
Was he wrong? Yes. Did his emotions dictate his reactions? Yes. Did he regret it? Yes. Have we all been in similar situations? Yes.
Does he get a do-over? Nope.
Did the girl deserve it? ABSOLUTELY NOT.
Emotions are drivers to our reactions. My initial reaction to reading this story was anger which turned to saddness and then compassion. I’ll pray for all of them.
Here’s to Another Good Day, especially since the Pope was released from the hospital.
Lenten Reflections #15 – Motherhood — the moments, the madness, the profound joy, the heart-breaking sorrows
A few years ago, on a Friday night, we went to a local pizza place, sat in our regular booth, chatted, and stared up at the outdated TVs, watching any team play basketball. It was March Madness, and with so many teams playing, the stakes and drama were high—it was truly a basketball binge-watching dream for fans.
That night, I watched the teenage workers pace back and forth delivering pizzas to booths, clearing tables, and refilling their clear cups with colorful flavors at the soda fountain machine. I saw a new employee stop and stare at one of the screens, riveted. I looked up. Wrestling? What? I hadn’t seen wrestling since high school…and on a March Madness night? It turned out it wasn’t just any match, it was the Division 1 Wrestling championships, and Iowa’s three-time national champion, Spencer Lee, was in the depths of competing for a chance at a possible fourth straight title. In the end, however, Lee lost the semi-finals to Matt Ramos from Purdue, cementing one of the most historical upsets in D1 wrestling.
Why did it matter to me? Spencer’s mom…
As notable as the loss, Spencer Lee’s mom was shown reacting to her son’s defeat. As soon as the referee lifted the winner’s arm (which was NOT attached to her son), Lee’s mom tore her glasses off her face and smashed them in her hands, not one, not two, but three times, hurling them to the floor.
Now that’s mad! Mad at the ref? The opponent? Her son?
Or is it passion? Or sadness? Or frustration?
My mind reeled. Sometimes as parents, we are overly invested emotionally and financially in our children’s activities, sports, and school progress. That is to say, wemay fail to recall who is swinging the bat, writing the essay, swimming the mile, and solving the equation. Hint: It’s not us…something I forget quite often. Our (sometimes unreasonable) expectations of what our kids can and should do are crystal clear in our minds: run faster, pitch harder, and study smarter. Easy for us to say.
Is it the “happiness” we want for our kids?
The joy of winning the race or getting into their number one college? I suppose the accomplishment is kinda like a Prime package at our doorstep where underneath the bubble wrap sits all the justification you need for your investment of time, money, and heartache. Of course until the next thing and the next.
Perhaps, as parents, we conflate passion and perfectionism.
Let’s face it, seeking perfection is a fool’s errand. We are all messy and cluttered and muddling through the days. Maybe the lesson here is that sometimes other kids are going to do a lot better than our own kids on the field or in the classroom. Sounds like real life doesn’t it?
I recently read about Esther Wojcicki, author of “How to Raise Successful People”. She is best known as the “Silicon Valley’s godmother” and mom to three very successful daughters: Susan, the former CEO of YouTube, Anne, co-founder and CEO of 23andMe, and Janet, a professor at UC San Francisco. By implementing her parenting philosophy, which Esther refers to as TRICK: trust, respect, independence, collaboration, and kindness, she feels she was able to raise capable, successful children. As far as being a parent, Wojcicki suggests focusing on your behavior. She says, “Parenting gives us perhaps the most profound opportunity to grow as human beings.”
What I learned this week:
Real life is all I know. Real joy, real feelings, real pain. Sundays I sit at church and gaze at the Stations of the Cross on the walls, and I see our own journeys to Calvary. Falling some days, getting up the next. Being carried and lifted, scorned and loved. Some days we need to carry each other on the path. Mr. Rogers’ mother used to tell him in times of tragedy, Grace will always show up in the helpers. Be the helper. Be there for the mom who hurls her glasses, the kid who misses the fly ball, and your own child who needs your presence, not your commentary. Not today anyway.
While at Publix Grocery Store, I struggled to read the back of an oat milk bottle (holding it as far away as my arm would reach), and a neighbor stopped to say hi. “I have to do the same thing,” she said laughing at my squinting. Mrs. Ross lives right around the corner from us but I honestly think the last time I saw her was in the same dairy aisle months ago. Her home overlooks the playground down the street and when we began sending our kids off to play on their own, I imagined Mrs. Ross would watch over them like a guardian angel the same way our neighbor across the street would when our kids walked to the bus stop alone. It truly takes a village and ours is stellar.
We chatted for a bit about the kids and how time flies. “It really does fly,” we agreed. We spoke about time flying as if we were the first to coin the catchy cliche. As the conversation ended, she said, “Before you go, my mom is turning 99 in August. Please pray she makes it to that day so we can have a party for her 100th!” Of course!
So I added her mom to my mental prayer list which also includes our dear friend who is aching for some relief from his cancer, and the seven-year-old at school whose hair is growing in so beautifully after her recurring cancer. I also prayed for peace in Ukraine and Gaza, the Pope, our dogs’ arthritic legs, and a successful college year-end for our three kids. Then for the good of the order, I used the script from my childhood God bless list: “And everyone in the whole wide world”. Never hurts.
What I learned:
Pray for them all.
Also, oat milk is just water, oats, and sea salt. And it tastes like water.
40 Reflections – #13: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season
I began sewing when I was nine. Mom guided my sisters and me as we stitched everything from duffle bags and terry cloth shorts to Gunne Sax dresses. She was a champion of whatever we wanted to tackle. One year I had my heart set on making a very fashionable ribbon dress. As I pinned and matched every notch, I was sure everything would look just like the picture on the McCall’s pattern. I was wrong, and I quickly learned the importance of a “ripper” the handy tool used to take out stitches and start again, and again and again. My ruffled sleeves puckered in the wrong places, and I even sewed one on completely upside down. Another do-over. Then I sewed on the gazillion pastel ribbons unevenly, so Mom helped me try again. She reassured me and encouraged me through every misstep, letting me trip a little and then helping me up. She built my confidence one stitch at a time.
I thought of this story the other day when Mom and I were making tortillas. The dough was a little sticky and Mom had the most gentle way of telling me the water I used to make them was too warm. She said, “Let’s see, did my recipe say warm water?” I reached into the cabinet for the weathered tortilla recipe she started using again to remind her about the 2 teaspoons of salt and baking powder.
“Yes, Mom, it says warm, not hot”, I replied.
“Okay, well, maybe you discovered something new,” she said.
“And look at all the different sizes of the tortillas! You know if you get the feel for how big each one will be, they’ll turn out the same size…but these are very colorful and creative.”
It was like I was 12 years old again and mom was reassuring me that I could rip out the stitches and start again. Everything would be okay.
runonmom.com 