Living life to the fullest...without the hoopla.

Whatever you are, be a good one. ~Abraham Lincoln


There has been a great deal of media attention, in recent years, about "living up to one's potential". Self-help books abound that explore the practical side of personal development, by investigating topics such as time management, home organization and home decorating to 'inspire' you through Feng Shui. Other books and movies, such as "What the Bleep?" and "The Secret", explore the spiritual, esoteric side of maximizing your life's possibilities through prayer, requesting from the universe and meditation. Women's magazines encourage us to unlock our 'inner power'. People are attending motivational speaker conferences in record numbers. They are meeting with Life Coaches and counselors to help better themselves. Western culture, in particular, has a passion for wanting its citizens to *be* passionate. Goal oriented means goal oriented at all costs to many. And yet, are we better directed, and more evolved, than we were twenty, fifty or even one hundred years ago?


While I believe that there are some incredible tools to help us improve our outlook, our skill set and our ease of life, I am afraid that just as many tools exist that make us feel worse about ourselves. I am often in the camp that finds far too many of these programs to be overwhelming. As I listen to the many ways in which my life could be vastly more meaningful, I am left with a feeling of dissatisfaction with the way my life is at this very moment. I am left wondering if I'm missing a critically urgent element in my development. Because I haven't joined a pyramid plan to create my own wealth, invested in international corporations, left my family to go on a pilgrimage to Israel or India or gone to France to study cooking, I feel as if I've missed the boat to emotional, spiritual and financial success. As much as I did enjoy reading Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love", I kept comparing myself to the author, and for lack of a better term, found myself sorely 'wanting'. Elizabeth Gilbert accomplished her own 'bucket list'. The author left her home for a year, and divided her time between Italy (learning Italian), India (immersing herself in yoga) and Indonesia (to find inner peace). I was enriched by this thoroughly entertaining read, but ending up feeling quite depressed by the end. I realized that I divide my own time between the supermarket (to shop for fast and easy meals), the studio (to work) and the house (to clean and supervise the mayhem). Was I leading a life of meaningless busywork, and therefore, wasting my time on Earth?


I realize that I'm not alone in these feelings. Most of us have them from time to time. Many of us, in fact, still have no idea what we want to "be when we grow up", even if we're actively working and raising families. In our 6th grade essays we wrote that we'd like to cure cancer, become an astronaut or be President of the United States. Yet, those are not attainable goals for the vast majority of the population. While books, coaches and motivational speakers can open our eyes to the potential that lays within us, I believe with all my heart, that it's okay to just be yourself. We all have positive traits and negative ones. We all have skills that come easier to us than others. For example, my cousin, Lori, is extraordinary with numbers. She can see them and feel them as a part of her being. I, on the other hand, am hopeless. Should I try to become a financial officer, as she is? Absolutely not. It goes against my nature and my innate abilities. Some self-improvement philosophies would tell me that I'm poorly equipped to handle finances because I don't "really believe" I can; that if I just 'sent it out to the universe' that I would like to become a mathematician, I will be one. Frankly, I believe that it's okay for me to let that one slide. Why? Because I've been blessed in other areas. If we can look inside and honestly assess ourselves, our strengths (no matter how subtle) and our weaknesses (no matter how enormous), we can begin on our own journey of self-improvement.


Our personal journey doesn't have to come from "A Program". It doesn't need to cost thousands of dollars and a course guide to follow. It doesn't require anything from you but some time and space in which to be quiet and thoughtful. Turning off the television, putting aside your 'have to' lists and simply taking a few moments just to ask yourself "Am I happy?", "What can I do to become happy?", "What can I do to enjoy life more?". For some of us, the break from a busy routine, in and of itself, is enough. For others, we may be inspired to make a career change. Even more us may realize that our work doesn't define who we are; that we can explore our own sense of happiness outside of work. In my own case, this means volunteering at the local library. Although I'm not a librarian by career, I am passionate about books. I have learned valuable skills from helping the librarians in all areas of the facility. I enjoy sharing my love of reading with library patrons. I have found something to help boost my self-esteem, as well as my sense of community, by exploring this area of my life.


Not long ago, I was reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln, one of my personal heroes. Obviously, he was an exceptional man and one of our most dedicated presidents during an unthinkable time in history. But, one area I admired most about Mr. Lincoln was his ability to see himself for what he was...to know his gifts, and to know his shortcomings, but not to allow either of these to keep him from fulfilling his destiny. The fact is, the man lived a tough life. He was looked down upon, when first elected to Congress, for being too "country" and for his lack of refined ways. He was married to a highly dysfunctional woman. He lost his beloved son. He was President during the worst war in our nation's history. He was attacked by critics from all sides. And yet, he called himself "content" most of the time because he knew who he was. He lived an authentic life.

As you go on your own journey of self-discovery, be kind to yourself. "Don't judge yourself by other people's yardsticks" (A. Lincoln) and remember that just being you is the greatest gift possible.

Shanghai Girls

"We send missionaries to China so that the Chinese people can go to heaven, but we won't let them in our country." ---Pearl S. Buck


There are very few things in life that make me as giddy as the arrival of a new book by an author whose work I adore. Having enjoyed all of Lisa See's novels, and having felt as if I better understood Chinese culture and life through them, I was over the moon when I was called to pick up my copy of "Shanghai Girls" from the library. Lisa See's work is never apologetic about both America's and China's historical shortcomings, nor is she inaccurate in her portrayal of her characters, from both a personal, and a cultural standpoint. In her most recent novel, two 'beautiful girl' sisters, May and Pearl, live a comfortable and multi-cultural life in the international city of Shanghai. The sisters have friends of all nationalities represented in an exceptionally cosmopolitan region. Prized for their beauty and charm, the girls are artists' models for advertising commercials.


Of course, nothing lasts forever. In May and Pearl's case, their dreamy, exotic and open minded life comes crashing to an end, first by their father's bankruptcy, and then by the Japanese invasion of China. May and Pearl learn to depend upon one another, and learn to discover that courage exists even when we don't see it. As the sisters make their way to America, following an arduous, nearly impossible journey, their new life to be as big of a shock as their old one was. Despite having had close American friends in China, the girls discover a country that doesn't want them. They find that, as much as their own home city was welcoming to others, 1930's America's doors are firmly closed to Chinese. What comes as even more of a shock to the sisters is that other Asian nations are not treated with the same disdain and prejudice. Lives of privilege and elegance turn into lives of honor bound hard work. And yet, through all their hardships and unrelenting trials, May and Pearl find success is vastly different areas. Their sisterly bond remains strong and unbroken in front of a backdrop of Los Angeles' Chinatown.



I learned a great deal of history in reading this novel. As a California native, I had not realized the extent of prejudice and bigotry that existed in my home state for decades. Did you know that it was illegal for Chinese to immigrate to America? This dramatic law was put into effect in the 1800's to prevent Chinese works from becoming citizens. Despite the fact that China was America's ally against the Japanese during World War II, there were many lawmakers who felt that Chinese were not to be trusted, either, and to further cement their hostilities, considered all Chinese Americans to be Communist spies. In an extraordinary and unreasonable twist of fate, those brave souls who made it as far as America, and were actually allowed in (rather than deported), were always under suspicion and threat. Most landlords would not rent to Chinese and few could find jobs anywhere other than in Chinatown. Therefore, the Chinese population of California was confined to its Chinatown communities, thousands of people crammed into a 1 square block region. Much like a European Ghetto, these enforced communities gave outsiders the idea that Chinese wanted to be a separate country, adding further fuel to an already hot burning fire of mistrust. That mistrust quickly became a two-way street, leaving the Chinese population to feel as if they were a people without country.




"Shanghai Girls" is a wonderful novel. It tells the moving and beautiful story of two sisters, and their admirable closeness. Author Lisa See also paints an accurate picture of early to mid-20th century California....a picture rarely seen by anyone outside the Chinese community. In raising awareness, she is helping to keep alive the memory of those who lived this piece of American history. Hopefully, all of America will learn from its past mistakes of intolerance and discrimination. And yet, "Shanghai Girls" is simply a very beautiful read.

The Sound of Silence

"Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself and know that everything in life has a purpose." Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

I have held a number of nicknames over the years that are a testament to my unending desire to fill silences. From Gabby to Chatty Cathy to Big Mouth, most people who know me well have simply learned how to tune me out after a while. The fact is, I love to talk. I love to have conversations, I love to discuss issues and I love sharing anecdotes. I enjoy catching up with old friends or chatting up new ones everywhere I go. I adore laughing, telling jokes (badly), singing (off key) and simply using my voice as an outward expression of my own joie de vivre. I do realize that talking isn't necessarily a good thing. I hope that I appear to be friendly and approachable, rather than insane. And yet, I have to admit that my talkative ways aren't always helpful. Do I talk over people too much, and not listen to what they have to say? Does my own speaking interfere with others' ability to find their own comfort zone? Is my chattiness a gift of communication or is it a nervous habit?

When I first met my (then future) husband's family, I realized how loud I was comparatively. This was a quiet family, and unlike in my own home, conversation didn't power through meal times. If one person had something to say, he said it succinctly, and then there were times of silence. No one was berated for speaking or not speaking. However, my own upbringing of everyone speaking at the very same time seemed raucous in comparison. Instead of sinking into a companionable silence with my future in-law's, I found myself making nervous, endless streams of dialogue throughout meals. I couldn't get a toe-hold into the concept of 'sitting together, eating, quietly.' It simply did not exist in my realm of understanding. Thankfully, I was accepted as a member of the family, even if it meant that everyone prepared themselves for the Hurricane force winds of my conversational ability at any gathering. When I explained my dilemma to my father, he reminded me that not everyone has to say every thought that pops into her head, every moment...and he asked me to try to sit through meals at our own table, quietly listening to those around me. I failed within the first 2 minutes.

As a student in a Quaker founded prep school, we had Quaker meeting, rather than many other boarding school's Chapel time, each week. Quaker meeting, as I described the service to my mother long distance, "was very big on silence". I had been to church services in many denominations, my cousin Jon's Bar Mitvah in a Reformed Synagogue and to many friends' First Holy Communions and Confirmations. All of these services involved singing, messages from the pulpit, responsive prayers and a sense of participation between congregation and leader. Never in my life had I attended a religious ceremony that involved not talking. The deep meaning, in the Quaker belief of my prep school, was that we were to encounter God in the silence, and could stand up and share our feelings, if the Holy Spirit moved us. I struggled with this concept not only during my high school years, but beyond. How could I possibly discover the Divine in silence, when I couldn't sit for five minutes without wanting to whisper to the person sitting next to me?

While I believe I will always have the gifts of the Blarney Stone in my heart, I am slowly gaining in the ability to gain in comfort in silence. This has been one of the most challenging disciplines I have had to learn. Exercising regularly, eating healthfully and maintaining a proper life balance have been relatively easy for me. During a portion of my Yoga Teacher training, I had to spend time in silence. That action almost killed me. I was comfortable in Power Yoga classes and could hold asanas for long periods of time. I conquered my fears of back bends to explore poses like Camel and Wheel. I overcame my nervousness to practice headstands, confident in my ability to maintain my composure in holding my balance. Yet, during the prolonged times of meditation, I found my thoughts drifting back to my high school days of Quaker meeting. I had an overwhelming urge to ask the woman next to me if she had finished her history project or the man across the aisle for a piece of gum. I struggled to retain my composure. I strove to remain outwardly calm while my brain was running an inner monologue at the speed of sound. When I confided my deep ambivalence and inability to my yoga mentor, she just smiled and said, "Ellen, it's not always your job to entertain an audience. Sometimes, it's your job to be the audience."

I took my mentor's words very much to heart. I began to listen more and speak less. I began to schedule times of silence within my day, in which I didn't answer the phone or email (I used to cheat my silence by believing email wasn't talking), didn't listen to television or radio and didn't go out of my way to fill the void. I began slowly....with just five minute blocks of time. This was actually more difficult than it sounds. Five minutes felt like an eternity to me. I was accustomed to filling every waking moment with noise! But, as time increased, and my stamina became stronger, I began to crave my times of quiet. I learned that answers I'd been seeking would simply come to me, if I could just take the time to to shut up and listen for them. I realized, with great shame, that in not allowing others that pause in conversation, I was disrespecting them, and their comfort zone. Most of all, I was missing out on a great many beautiful experiences in life because I was so busy filling those experiences with meaningless chatter.


While I freely admit that I am still far more comfortable in talking than in silence, I hope I have gained some insights along the way. I pray that I honor others with the dignity of allowing them to express their views, without being trampled by mine. I sincerely hope that I have learned to listen with an open heart and a quiet mouth. Most of all, I hope that, if we should meet, you will remember me as the person with whom you could share your thoughts, and not the Tasmanian Devil of Gab.

Hope Springs Eternal

Hope springs eternal in the human breast; Man never Is, but always To be blest: The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come. ~ Alexander Pope

There are few public monuments that attract visitors the way a fountain does. In parks, in town squares, in front of public buildings and hospitals, these beautiful statues with running water seem to immediately calm us and fill us with a sense of serenity. City workers congregate at fountains to eat their lunch, more than at any other public venue. An increasing number of people are creating fountains and water features in their own yards. These people want to bring that multi-sensory experience into their every day lives. Fountains speak to our inner well being using most of our five senses: we can hear the trickling, burbling water, we can feel its cool refreshment, we can smell the fresh air that the moving water creates and we can become mesmerized, gazing at the rainbows, and patterns, formed by the water's path. As many mothers will say, shaking their heads, there have been more than a few toddlers who have tasted fountain water, as well.

Fountains simply relax us. We find the sound to be rhythmic and peaceful in a noisy world. The most popular sound, for people who use 'white noise' machines, is that of a light rain...which creates a similar effect in establishing a restorative mood. Considering that fountains date back to, at the very latest, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, we can understand that human beings have an innate need and response to fountains' beauty and healthful qualities. As long as human beings have been able to control water's path and direction, we have used water for calming purposes, in addition to watering crops and fields. Because of our attraction to the sound and magnificence of running water, we have used metaphors to describe our feelings of joy, of peace and of tranquility, all using fountains as their basis. We use running water as the way to best describe how we are feeling or what we hope to accomplish.

King David wrote, in the Book of Psalms, "For with Thee is the fountain of Life. In Thy light, we shall see Light." long before the new millennium. "Look within. Within us is the fountain of good, ever bubbling up when you choose to dig." wrote Marcus Arelius in the first century A.D. More recently, the beautiful Sophia Loren said, "There is a fountain of youth. It is in your minds, in your talents, in the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of those you love." Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Pope, Cummings, Twain and Wollstonecraft, among countless other of the greatest writers, use fountains as a metaphor for the way in which we live our lives. We speak of welling up, of springing forth, of bubbling over and of overflowing from joy, from sorrow, from hope and from delight. The emotions we feel can be thought of as 'polluted' fountains, if we are in despair, as polluted water can't be cleaned. However, if we are intensely and powerful joy-filled, we cannot contain our glee, just as if we ourselves are fountains bubbling powerfully.

As with many disciplines, Yoga has a number of variations. There is my own discipline of Ashtanga based yoga, as well as Kundilini, Restorative, Power, Bihkram (hot room) and Kripalu. There are as many styles of yoga practice as there are teachers. However, one element that is often consistent between instructors and styles is the Flow. In my own classes, as well as those I have attended, there is generally an actively moving time of asana work. Entire classes can be taught in the flow technique, allowing students to move in and out of poses as their own pace dictates. The flow sequence that feels nearly water-like to me, in its power and grace, and moving throughout the Triangle series. As the yogini moves from her right side to an upright position and then flows over to her left side, before moving back again, I am always struck by how much this sequence resembles a fountain: both in appearance and allegorically. We flow gracefully, traveling up and then spilling over our legs. It's one of the most elegant, and "watery" sequences in my classes. There is a strength and a rhythm to practicing Triangle in flow mode, rather than still.

Fountains are not only a part of literature, hymns, art work and gardens, they are a part of who we are. Whether we're standing under a steamy shower, or eating a picnic with a friend at a water containing monument, we are refreshed, restored and renewed by these fountains. Not only does the water inside us move, much like a fountain, but our spirits, our emotions and our thoughts can take on those same characteristics. Let's take care to allow all the hope, all the generosity and all the love possible flow from us...to those we love, and to those we meet every day. But, most of all, let's take the time to allow ourselves those moments of refreshment, inside and out, and sitting by flowing fountain can bring.

Pennies from Heaven

"Don't pass that penny by, when you're feeling blue. It may be a penny sent from Heaven that an angel tossed to you...." from the song, "Pennies from Heaven".

There are dozens of fabulous stories associated with finding pennies on the ground. The quotation above is from a terrific old musical. There are poems, there have been plays, short stories and children's fables. I can't hope to add anything different to any of these seemingly enchanted tales. But, I hope to be able to share some insights into how extraordinary finding a simple penny on the ground can be. Since I was a child, I have loved picking up pennies I'd find. There was an instant sense of magical connection to finding one. Better than an Easter Egg hunt or a Scavenger Hunt, discovering pennies is an ongoing 'game'. One isn't sent into a field, in competition with others, jockeying for position to capture the prize. Each penny one finds is unique...and each penny one finds is a surprise. I've found pennies at the beach, in hotel lobbies, in parking lots, on the floor of a New York department store and even walking along a woodsy trail. I have picked pennies up in my own yard, and have found European coins in Paris and Venice. I love to imagine that anywhere I go, and whatever is on my mind, there is always the possibility of a penny to be found.


To be fair, finding a penny isn't what it used to be. When the rhyme "See a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck" was coined (pun fully intended), a penny actually meant something. For a child, it could buy you quite a nice amount of candy, or even a penny soda, in an old fashioned soda parlor. Pennies were useful currency...so useful, in fact, long before inflation relegated these coins to near obscurity, a half-pence was money in circulation, as well. Although some people like to say that a penny is only good luck if you find it 'heads up', I believe that tails up brings no misfortune, and certainly carried the same value as it would have in its righted position. It's difficult for us to fathom, but a penny used to purchase a loaf of bread, and many farm laborers toiled in the heat all summer long for a penny an hour. Inflation has so devalued the penny that lawmakers have rallied, for years, to eliminate them altogether. Many banks won't even accept them anymore, rolled in coin sleeves, and direct you to the nearest Coinstar machine (that deducts a percentage of your value in 'fees' for converting those pennies into 'real money'). The Treasury idea would be to round up all prices to the nearest nickel. I suppose that this would have shops, gas stations and sale merchandise lose that coveted $.99 spot in prices.


The irony is that I happen to believe that finding a penny, however, isn't about finding money. It's about the thrill of finding something that everyone else has missed. It's about happening upon a moment of serendipity. When I found a penny at Penn Station, the last time I was in New York, I thought about all the people who had just passed this coin by...perhaps not even glancing down. In my own heart, I find that discovering a penny gives me a moment of pause...encouraging me to slow down, think about something other than my stressful day, and to bring a sense of wonder into my every day existence. There's a little bit of enchantment when you find a penny. I adore the idea that pennies are sent down from Heaven, from those who love us, to remind us of them. I also believe that, in finding a penny, we can remind ourselves of the joys in our lives. It's very easy to get caught up in daily routines to the point of monotony. When we find a penny, we have an excuse to stop, pick it up, count our blessings, slow our frantic breathing down and live, just for an instant, in a moment of purely authentic existence.


A wonderfully heartbreaking film, that I happen to love, is "Pay it Forward". In this movie, a young boy believes in the concept that, as something kind is done for you, you have the responsibility to 'pay it forward' and create a blessing for another person. We are encouraged to imagine the world as a more extraordinary place, if all we do is share kindness on ahead...and then step back and allow that kindness to grow exponentially. Why couldn't the same idea work for pennies? If we find a penny, and it reminds us of our beloved father who has died, or reminds us to count our blessings, not our sorrows, doesn't it stand to reason that we can make that experience happen for someone else? Please do not misunderstand: I'm not advocating dumping out coin jars on every street corner. What I am suggesting is more along the lines of paying it forward: if you found a penny, and felt blessed in some special way, why not leave one in another spot, secretly? The finder will have no idea who has placed it there, but she may feel especially fortunate to have just come upon the joy of finding it. That person may, in turn, leave a penny in her doctor's office parking lot, to be found by another patient, who is terminally ill...but whose day is brightened. And, that patient may just hide a penny in a place where she knows her grandson will find it, and then teach him that pennies can remind us of those we love. It's a concept that it extremely simple, and yet, has the potential to brighten thousands of days for thousands of people. Not only are we blessed when we feel the excitement of finding a penny, but it's even more delightful to leave one, on a park bench, for someone else.



The world is filled with tragedy. The news informs us of terrorist attacks, children being abused, drug wars and genocide. There is very little we can do to transform every one of society's ills into beauty. But, if we can use something a 'meaningless' as a penny to brighten another person's day, then my feeling is to "go forth" and do all the good we can. If we bring a smile to one person's face, then it's worth the effort. If we, ourselves, are reminded of those who love us, of those we love and of those who need our love, then it's even more of a grace filled moment.

How Do I love Thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and height. My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight. For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use. In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose. With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.

~ Elizabeth Barret Browning

One silly, mind numbing, but all consuming recent hobby of mine has been Facebook. It's been a lovely way to reconnect with old friends, and get to know new ones better. It's given a medium for friends and family, separated by thousands of miles, to stay in touch each day. Most of all, it is simply entertaining. Facebook has many features....from being able to upload photos to sending virtual gifts. It also has an innumerable number of quizzes. These inaccurate, but amusing tests, remind me of the ones my preteen self used to take in "Seventeen" magazine. At that time, I did enjoy the fashions and the hairstyle tips, but what I waited for, month after month, was the quiz of the month. It was my favorite feature of each issue. I vividly recall my friends and I writing our answers, not in the magazine, but on scraps of paper, so that we could compare our answers to "Is He The Guy for You?" and "What is Your Dream Date?". On Facebook, not only do we have hundreds of quizzes available to take immediately and compare outcomes with our friends, but we don't have a wait for the next magazine to receive the next quiz. It's a goofy habit that takes me back to the 'old days' of middle school....with the thought that choosing answers A, B, C or D will shed light on our innermost thoughts and unconscious desires.

I have taken dozens of Facebook quizzes since joining the online service. I've learned which book of the Bible most describes my life (The Book of Ruth), my Hippie Name (Gypsy Willow Dusk), What Type of Shoe I am (Ballerina Flat), Which Breed of Dog I am (a Fox Terrier) and that my predominant color is Blue. I have discovered that, as far as Disney Princesses are concerned, I'm Sleeping Beauty. According to the quizzes, I have learned that I should be most compatible with a Pisces (my cousin is the only Pisces I know), that I will give birth to 3 girls (not even close to the the mark) and that I should be living, for some reason I can't discern, in South Dakota. Therefore, it came as a great surprise to me when I took the "What Quote Represents your Life?" quiz this morning, to have Facebook bring up one of my truly favorite poems.

Written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning in her book of verses, "Songs from the Portuguese", this poem describes loving another (in her case, her beloved husband, Robert Browning) person to the deepest depths in one's bones, to the most soaring heights of one's soul. Published in 1850, this poem's vitality and emotion has not dimmed over time. My husband gently teases me that I wear my heart on my sleeve. I find myself in good company on this front: clearly Elizabeth Barrett Browning did the same. "How Do I love Thee?" not only describes how much I love my husband of more than 2o years, but how much I adore my children, my family, my precious animals and my closest friends. The emotion expressed conveys the sentiments I feel when I watch a film that moves me deeply or read a book that touches my heart. Each time I reread this poem, I find deeper meaning into its spiritual profundity of the sacredness of love. While some critics like to dismiss this work as trite, sentimental or banal, I believe these same critics most certainly have not felt the power of extraordinary love before. In a sense, I feel sorry for those very same critics. I believe I have been uncommonly blessed not only to love as deeply as Ms. Barrett Browning did, but to have been loved in return with the same fierceness and regard.

Certainly all quizzes on Facebook are not as profound as this one has been for me. I don't think it crucial that knowing that the "Cocktail that best suits me" is a Samoan Fogcutter, nor do I believe that "My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding" is the story of my life. While I find that "The Type of Storm I am" (a snowstorm) is interesting, it doesn't bear much on deeper insights to my ideal self. But, I do believe that, in this one random instance, Facebook was frighteningly correct, on target, exact and precise. This poem is my favorite, I do believe it does represent me, and I am incredibly proud of that fact.

Now, if only my "Soul Animal" wasn't set to be a badger, I'd be all set.

Momentary Mindfulness

Don't be fooled by the calendar. There are only as many days in the year as you make use of. ~Charles Richards

If there is one lesson from living in Maine that I've learned the most strongly, it is to appreciate the magical days of summer. Before I have time to settle into a pattern, the summer has passed and the cold is inching its way into our lives. The warmth, the longer hours of daylight, the influx of new people visiting and the beautiful rhythm of tree frogs, bellowing at night, all make up a tapestry of moments. When viewed together, each one of these individual experiences can create a collage of summer memories. I can remember feelings that accompagnied entire summers. Some years were happier than others. Some seemed full of activity. Others seemed downright decadet in their languidness. But, each summer tends to incorporate feelings as a whole, just as if I can take a jam jar, bottle that particular year, and write "Hectic" or "Boating" or "Travel" on its label. Summers take on personalities. I have heard friends and family members all say "Don't you remember that incredibly hot year?" or "Do you remember the summer we all got sick?". The days and weeks and months become an amalgam of feelings regarding those months between Memorial Day and Labor Day.

Because our brains tend to process memories with labels, too often we lose the individual memories of specific events. We can recollect ideas, moods and overtones, but too many times we fail to capture snaphots of exact moments of perfection. It is my own belief that by allowing these times to be filed along with everything else in our brains, we tend to lose them as "too much paperwork". Yet, without those specific instances of reflection, we are left of vague images that all blur together. This happens to people with the very best of memories. We can only 'store' so much before our minds move into overload. And yet, without creating a way to remember special events, how can be certain that they won't be lost entirely? Pictures do help, of course. But, far too often, photos become posed, and then posed again ("Sit NEXT to your sister...") and the spirit of the image you take will not be the spontaneous twinkling you were hoping to capture.


So, what can we do? We can begin by practicing mindfulness. Mindfuless is defined as a "mental state, characterized by calm awareness of one's body functions, feelings, content of consciousness, or consciousness itself." This doesn't mean we move away from the experience or the action itself. It simply requires us to look at each experience with appreciation. The gratitude might be about being with your friends or your children. It could emcompass the way the sunshine feels on your face early the morning. It bring an increased attention to the sand between your toes at the beach. Or, it could be simply a feeling of thankfulness...for being alive at this very moment in time. Mindfulness doesn't mean we have to move away from the world to sit in meditation for hours at a time. Mindfulness can be the gift of perception that all is truly well...regardless of the circumstances. We can teach our minds and our hearts to appraise and assess our current surroundings, to cultivate a memory by saying "I want to remember sitting on the porch like this..." and to cultivate moments of grace in our appreciation.


Much of the time, our singleness of thought can lead to mindfulness. Have you ever said to yourself,"This has been such a wonderful day...I want it to last forever!" That is a powerful emotion, and with that powerful emotion comes long lasting memory. I can remember, when I was very young, a parade I was in with my cousins. I was terribly nervous, because I had never been in a parade before, and I could barely recollect seeing one. However, my cousins' hometown of Belvedere, California was hosting a small parade one summer. I didn't know how to ride a 'two wheeler' yet, so my aunt Nancy pulled out the kids' tricycle for me. I can vividly recall decorating that little bike with ribbons and bows, and festooning it to try to resemble a float. I can remember wriggling with excitement as my cousin, Lori, did my hair, and as I anticipated the start of the festivities. I can still feel my 4 year old feet on the pedals, reminding myself to keep pedaling, no matter what, and not to stop before the big kids. I was so afraid of making a mistake, falling over or just embarrassing myself, that I kept whispering to myself "Pedal...you can do it...a little bit more...pedal...you can do it...this is a special day..." Because I talked myself through this event with such reasoning and intention, I can remember the parade with exceptional clarity. I have more vivid images of this one day than I do of the rest of the years surrounding this parade, despite our having photographs to commemorate them. Why? It's because, without knowing it, I was practicing mindfulness. I was creating a memory pattern that I would never forget.

We can use mindfulness to create memories of simple, every day pleasures. I can remember breathing in my new babies' scent from the tops of their little heads, and just taking in that exact moment of experience, knowing that they would never be one day old again. I can resurrect my feelings from my wedding day by thinking about how it felt to let go of my father's arm, and pick up Jeff's,at the front of the church. I can recreate what it felt like to be skipping by mother's side, holding her hand, as we walked down 5th Avenue in New York City, just by catching the whiff of hot pretzels. Often, we don't even realize we're practicing mindfulness to create a memory. It just happens. We see a particular shade of green, and we're reminded of our grandmother's house. We taste a piece of pie, and in an instant, we're transported to our best friend's kitchen. Mindfulness doesn't just capture our thoughts, it can recall all five of our senses at the moment of that something special occurred.

If you could pick, what would choose to remember? What feelings, what sights, what smells and what sounds would you take in? If you could pick 'a best day to last forever' memory, what would it be? Perhaps your moment is one you take out of our heart and cherish. Perhaps it's an experience yet to come. For many of us, it's a bit of both. We can appreciate the joy we felt in the past, while still feeling an exceptional sense of excitement about the moments that lie ahead of us...just waiting for us to experience them. But, when you do...tell yourself "Keep pedaling..." and treasure that moment in your heart.


Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. ~From the television show The Wonder Years