The Art of Friendship

05 Sunday Oct 2014

Tags

2014, Birth, Children, Comfort, Courage, Death, Elementary, Friends, Friendship, Genuine, Grandmother, Grey, Heart, Meaningful, Mother, Past, Peacocks, Pre-School, Purpose, School, Security, Superficial, Transparent, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, Wrinkles

On Monday, I took Evie out of bed, got her dressed, brushed her teeth and we went out for breakfast. The week officially marked her transition to pre-school. For the past three years, she’s had the luxury of staying at home with Veronica, our very helpful live-in nanny. Last week, however, Veronica transitioned to a new family, and our baby set off into the real world. Aside from being busy and emotional, the week was a great success. She didn’t cry at Friday’s drop off and, at pick-up, she always came running with a smile. The teachers reassure me that she’s having a great time.

During the week, we spent time exploring the magical grounds of the school. You see, this isn’t your run-of-the-mill place. On the contrary, this private elementary school (up to 6^th grade) is situated on a huge property in Laguna Beach. You step into a fairy-tale; the land is complete with multiple gardens, a huge teepee, a small tea house and European style one-room homes; each home accommodating a different classroom. A large portion of the property is dedicated to animals. There is an aviary with multiple peacocks, swans, chickens, doves, even rabbits, and a separate residence for horses, llamas and pigs. With language immersion options in German, Japanese, French and Spanish, we are happy Evie can continue learning Spanish, as she has the past three years.

Just like me, Evie loves peacocks. On Friday, we watched intently while one of them strutted around the aviary; acting like he owned the place. So many mornings I remember dropping off my big kids, who attended there years ago, and the peacock would stand there in full feathery display, shaking his vibrant, colorful body, and begging for attention. I would stand and watch, in awe of his majestic beauty, and enjoy his lively performance. I reflect on every beautiful creature, are how perfectly suited they are for this children’s community; teaching life lessons of individuality and diversity.

The teachers tell me that Evie has made new friends, but at three years-old, she doesn’t share much about her day. I’m sure they all play together, side-by-side, and get along just fine. It’s hard to watch as your children navigate the open sea that is the art of making friends. This year, my heart broke a little when Tilley received her 2^nd grade classroom assignment and found out that her two closest friends were in another class. Of course, after many tears, she found other girls to play with, and now, a month later, is enjoying those new friendships. As parents, I think the experiences are harder on us, as we share in their pain, and remember similar situations from our past. Forced to re-live our own painful memories all over again, in a real life scenario, like a gift, ready for us to dig up and rekindle. We carry it with us and it shadows over our reality like a dark grey haze.

This month, I traveled back to my hometown of Jamestown, New York and surprised my grandmother on her 90^th birthday. I had the opportunity to see my family and many old friends from high school. I was amazed to find that, from a friendship perspective, time had stood still. Twenty years later and our relationships are the same. The connection we shared as children continues on and allows us to easily share our greatest joys and deepest fears. Like nothing changed, we laughed simply, effortlessly. There is something special about old friends, a deep bond and connection that takes away any aspect of “trying”, a shared history and common values, an understanding that transcends normal relationships.

I have been blessed in my life with great friends; deep meaningful relationships that will last lifetimes. As I approach my 36^th birthday, I can’t help but think about how my closest friends, the most important in my life, were made before I turned 25. When I reflect on my adult life and the relationships I have (or haven’t) made, I find it ironic. It’s harder to find friends now, even though I am more in touch with myself than ever before. From that perspective, knowing what I want makes it harder to find genuine friendships.

Connecting with my friends from home, no matter how many years it has been, is so simple. My husband doesn’t understand and it’s hard to explain, but there is an understanding between us; like they know the real me, no judgment, no fear of rejection. There is a comfort and security from our past, and because of that connection, I’m free to be myself. I can open up and wear my heart on my sleeve. I dig into the treasure chest of my past and extend a long rope of trust. I reconnect to that powerful place and it refreshes me and it gives me a renewed sense of purpose and community.

One similarity all of my friends share is transparency and honesty. You always know where you stand and there is no bullshit between us. It might sting at times when they bluntly tell you what they think, but I’ll take that any day over them concealing their truth. We are honest with each other and that’s what true friends should do. We can pick up right where we left off, with no insecurity about not having seen or spoken to each other for weeks, months, or years!

I really suck at making new friends. Lacking substance and common experiences, I try to find connections through superficial things, like where they live, where they work, or where their kids go to school. My favorite thing to do is play “six degrees of separation” to find out if we share friends in common; as if that’s going to improve our odds of becoming good friends?! Furthermore, finding new friends, after marriage, or “couple friends”, is difficult, at best. But now, as a mother, making new friends is nearly impossible. Simply put, due to our schedules, we have very little time in our life to spend with our current friends, much less to cultivate new ones.

While I was home, I visited with my grandmother at her assisted living facility. I walked into the building and greeted the dozens of women in rocking chairs, chatting away with their similar hairstyles and smiling faces. I thought about how their husbands, probably long gone now, were nowhere to be found, and how I’ll be so fortunate if I reach that time of grey hair and wrinkled, sagging skin. All of us are just trying to find happiness amidst the suffering and change that comes with being human.

Maybe my expectations are high, but I want meaningful relationships, not superficial ones. I want to spend my precious time with friends who stand by in good times and bad, and who won’t go blabbing my darkest fears to everyone they know. I want to have fun going out at night, but I also want to wake up in the morning, so I can take care of myself and my family. I am comfortable in my own skin; those wrinkles are there because I’m expressive and I like to laugh. I don’t need fancy clothes, vacations or things. I lead a healthy lifestyle, eat well and exercise often, but I just walk out my front door. I don’t need fancy gym memberships or care for extreme sports. I want friends who accept me for who I am and I just want to be myself.

Unfortunately, the relationships I’m seeking are few and far between. So when you’re fortunate enough to find even one true friend, who shares your values and priorities, invest in them heavily. Some of Derek’s and my closest friends live 20+ miles away and, in the past, we just haven’t made the time to get together. Instead, we’ve prioritized geographical convenience and ease of scheduling over true friendships. I have wasted time trying to cultivate new (convenient) relationships that simply aren’t there. I’ve cared too much about what other people think of me, not being true to myself in the process.

We come into the world as little children, playing side by side, and, hopefully, we go out like those little old ladies sitting in their rocking chairs. In between birth and death we get so caught up with defining and labeling ourselves and the image that we want to portray. We hide behind our labels, our titles, our branding. We are so afraid of what others will think of the “real” person, we put up a façade. I’m the first to admit fault here, as I parade my life in pictures on the internet. But we’re just your typical, every day family with ordinary problems, trying to make it through another day. Through my blog, I’ve tried to be as transparent and honest about my everyday struggles. I probably share too much, making myself vulnerable, as my husband often tells me. But that’s just my way of being “real” and taking off those layers and labels in the world.

On a bike for the first time in 10 years!

It’s okay though. That’s just me. I’m at peace and I have no fear of putting myself on display. I’m not afraid to bare my insecurities and imperfections. Just like the peacock who stands in full bloom, I want to be uninhibited and show the world who I am with all my expressive colors. I want to be me, with all my strangeness, eccentricities and quirks. I wish everyone could feel that way and stop tip toeing through life, worrying about what others will think of them. Instead, I will live out loud, with my heart on my sleeve, and go boldly and courageously into the world. I don’t care if my words fall flat or my ideas are rejected. Not afraid of failure or making mistakes, I will be remembered as someone who lived fully, who tried really hard to be better for others, and who tried to stay in the present moment. Here I am. This is me, with all of my colorful feathers on display.

Back in the World Again

10 Sunday Aug 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

2014, Addiction, Anxiety, Fear, Gratitude, Joy, Mind, Mountains, Nature, Paranoia, Peace, Retreat, Sorrow, Suffering

I walked into the cabin and dropped my luggage like I’d been carrying it for miles. The anxiety of daily life wrapped around me like a cloak; so used to it, I barely even noticed. The hectic nature of everyday life, coupled with some thick layers of stress, had become my norm. Like a busy squirrel, I hurried around the house, going from room to room, unpacking my belongings for a 10-day stay. Even at the beginning of a silent, solitary retreat in the middle of the woods, I acted like I had somewhere to go, something to do.

I put away my groceries, unpacked everything from my suitcases, and only until every last object was put away did I allow myself a moment of rest. Like a brick, I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted from the morning. The unsettled energy still surging through my veins, I felt a throbbing sensation in my arms and legs. That initial shock of silence followed by a moment of stillness were ripe with emotion of a long, lost friend; simultaneous joy and sadness.

I lit some incense and watched as it quietly seeped into the room and subsumed me with her sweet aroma. So too did thoughts slowly begin to pervade my mind; a roller coaster of emotion and I rode them up and down the track. A feeling of exhilaration followed shortly by the despair of an unsettled heart.

My dis-eased mind tossed and turned, begging and tormenting me with her plea. Compulsively, obsessively wanting to fill that wide open space with words, ideas and concepts, making that space feel smaller and smaller as she went on. I followed them as they paraded along. On a regular basis, most of my thoughts go largely unnoticed, but not here. Not in the midst of this silence.

The night closed in on the day and my anxiety levels sharply rose with fear. Here I am, in the middle of a mountain, completely defenseless. Not even a phone within my reach, as I’m outside the range of a single cell phone tower. I shut the windows, closed the blinds, and locked every door I could find. I flashed the outdoor flood lights on and off to see what, if anything, lurked in the shadows. I went to my bedroom, locked the door behind me and hid under the covers until I fell asleep.

2:00am. The house settled and cracked loudly, waking me from a very deep sleep. Startled, and then terrified, I thought someone was trying to open my locked bedroom door. My heart began to race, beating so hard I thought it would jump from my chest. Paralyzed by fear, I gasped for my breath, but the wind was completely knocked out of me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even think. I laid there, motionless. After a few minutes it became obvious. Out there, in the middle of that mountain, the scariest thing was right there in bed with me, in the middle of my head.

I woke up the next morning and was ready for a productive day. I grabbed a broom and began to sweep my thoughts out from every corner of their dark and scary rooms. Out from their hiding places, I brushed them into the light, in the middle of the room. Illuminating what was previously invisible, no stone would go unturned. Hours into the day and there they were; compulsively, obsessively demanding my attention. One after the other, they would sprout up. Out of nowhere. Unexpectedly. FORCEFULLY. Calling me to action. Powerful and spontaneous with their persuasive messages. They scared me with their intensity and volume. It felt like someone was yelling at me.

Like a water skier with no skis, pulled by a boat, each and every thought dragged me along for a ride. Outside, it started to rain. Exhausted by all of the chatter, I just sat down and watched it come down. Slowly at first, then picking up intensity; the rain, along with my thoughts, turned into a downpour. A terrible storm.

Many days passed, the rain finally started to clear. The dark clouds dissipated and the sun peaked onto the lawn. I sat on the patio and watched as the animals came back out to play. The birds sailed from their trees, and the snails stretched out from their hiding places. Bees and hummingbirds gently poked at the flowers and garden that surrounded me. I grabbed my camera and tried to take it all in. Like the snail, I too began to stretch out and expand into the silence of the retreat. Five days in and the stillness of the place was glistening in the sunlight. The leaves shimmered in the wind. I could finally relax in this serene and soothing space.

Like the white billowing clouds overhead, my thoughts are slower now. Fewer and further between. They are bigger and have more detail. I can see them clearly.

…this is anxiety.

…this is sorrow.

…this is paranoia.

Like the coyote’s cry in the middle of the night, those fears pierce my heart, but they just want to be heard. Like a mother cradling her child after he falls, I carefully brush each one off and hold them in my arms before they fade away. They arise out of fear, but they heal through my awareness. A simple acknowledgment puts them at ease, allowing them to float away, back into the expanse of the sky.

I found joy and happiness in the sunset and the dusk that followed. The animal’s nightly routines and songs soothe me with their predictability. The darkness of night no longer holds me in her clutches. I leave the windows open and my bedroom door unlocked. I use ear plugs when I sleep so I won’t wake up unnecessarily. For if a boogie man is coming to get me, then I’ll be dead anyway, so what’s the sense in worrying? I sleep peacefully now and I wake up laughing from my dreams.

The sun is warmer, so I sunbathe in the grass and do salutations under her gaze. The birds sail up in the sky and the woodpecker gently taps on the tree reminding me to stay present with my thoughts. There’s little grasping at them now, so instead I draw silly pictures of nature and color them in with my kid’s crayons and water paints. It’s so easy to find joy in the simple things.

I’ve found peace within myself that wasn’t there before. A completeness from deep within; the space that fear used to fill. A freedom in my heart and a spaciousness in my mind. Those rains swept through every pore of my body, cleansing me from head to toe. I can now go back to my family, friends and co-workers with a renewed sense of life and purpose. I have such appreciation for life and every single person in it. Truly, life is a gift, meant to be savored and cherished. Even the tough stuff can bring growth, a blessing in disguise. I want to be more available for others and live more fully and completely in the moment. I’m no longer weighed down by thick layers of unnecessary suffering. I’m back in the world again. It’s the only way to be. I’m naked like a tree. The only way to be.

Personal Note:
This year marked my 2nd retreat, and as long as my life allows, I will continue stepping out of the world for the rest of my life. These breaks have proved to be the most valuable tool to really reflect and bring more gratitude and meaning to my life. Although painful at times, I am so grateful for what I have learned in going through the process.

My intention in writing this post is to encourage everyone to take just a little time to step “out of the world” to make you happier and more productive for when you’re back in. Even as little as three days would offer an enormous benefit. It’s nothing special really, you’re just getting to know yourself a little better and discovering what is really going on in your mind, day in, day out, that isn’t so obvious. There are too many distractions and so many things competing for our attention, who has the time to observe what is really going on in there? I promise that it’s time well spent and it will benefit you when you go “back in the world again”.

Benefits, from my experience only. There are many, many more:

1. More freedom and space in your mind, less yucky stuff
2. More joy found in the simple things of life
3. More gratitude and appreciation for the world around you
5. More present & available for your loved ones

Go on, give it a try, it certainly can’t hurt… well, unless that boogie man comes to visit. That will probably hurt. 😉

Home Sweet Home

22 Sunday Jun 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

2014, Adoption, Children, China, Faith, Family, Fear, Home, hometown, Jamestown, Memories, Past, Security, Surrender

Home, the sanctuary of the heart and physical location of our comfort zone, where stress just melts away, and we can bare all, both literally and figuratively. Over the past 18 years, I have lived in 10 cities located in 4 different states; from the snowy back roads of Western New York, to the city streets of Philadelphia, the frozen lakes of Minnesota, and the sandy beaches of California. Each location, vastly different from the next, yet they share one similarity; I’ve called them all home.

I grew up in a small town on the east coast. Jamestown, New York is like none other, standing out in my heart among the rest. With the city’s roots in the arts and theater, I benefited greatly, being pushed out on stage at a very young age. Our home was located on the outskirts of town, and for 17 years, I shared that home with my sister and 2 loving parents. My childhood was nothing short of idyllic and, looking back, I wouldn’t change a single thing about my upbringing. We were, and still are, blessed beyond belief. From our annual traditions, to amazing family and friends, Jamestown will always be the ideal version of what I think of when I say “home”.

Outside of Jamestown, the longest stretch of time I’ve spent in one location is right here in my current home. And although we’ve lived here for 5 years, no matter how much I have tried, or would like to, I have yet to recreate that feeling of “home” I once had in Jamestown, New York. Maybe it’s because my immediate family lives hundreds of miles away or because that “small town” feel is difficult to find amidst the sixth-most populous county in the country. Whatever the reason, it just isn’t the same. I’ve thought about this for the past few weeks, even chatting with my sister, who agrees there is something “cozy” about Jamestown that we have yet to find here in California.

The first few weeks after Mason’s adoption, I remember how painfully unsettled he was. So scared and uncomfortable, he would scream at the site of our cat and dogs. Too young to articulate what was going on, everything and everyone was unfamiliar to him. From sites, to sounds and scents, at 12-months old, he had to completely re-acclimate himself to his new environment. I’m sure it was terrifying. The only experience I’ve had that would remotely compare was a trip to China, where I struggled to find normalcy and community. And although I tried really hard to feel comfortable, when the language barrier is so extreme, you don’t have the luxury of simply getting by as I had in other countries. Simple things, like buying a cup of coffee and getting directions were a challenge. I was in the financial district of Shanghai, and naïve to how few people spoke English. I resorted to showing the taxi driver a few Chinese characters on a map to get from place to place.

During Mason’s transition and (to a lesser extent) my experience in China, we were missing that essence of “home”; our familiar surroundings, a warm embrace of comfort, and pure confidence that our basic needs would be met. The truth is the sweet spot of “home” is found in that security. I think of Jamestown and the one big difference between that home and all others to follow. I didn’t need to lift a finger, as my every need was met. From my laundry to my mother’s love-note napkin packed lunches (yes, I was that kid), to every necessity and luxury, my parents carved out a space of lavish security that I never fully appreciated until I left home.

Now, as Derek and I work to create that same space for our children, I finally understand the secret burden my parents faced with bills/expenses, the balance between work and home, and the uneasiness of trying to get everything done. We are all just trying to raise happy and healthy kids, and sometimes it feels like a sprint to the finish line just to get through the week.

It has been 18-years since I left Jamestown and, since then, I have lived hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away from my sister and parents. But in less than a week, my sister and her family will be relocating to Irvine, only 15 minutes away. You can imagine my joy and anticipation, knowing that any occasion, including breakfast, lunch and dinner will be reason enough to get together on a moment’s notice. I will never again have to miss a birthday party, dance recital or special event.

That blissful ignorance of childhood has a special, and powerful, place in my mind. And while there is nothing wrong with feeling great about your past, unfortunately, I have created an unhealthy attachment to it, where I perceive those memories to be “better than” my present moment, no matter where I roam. It has been almost 20-years since those days in Western New York, only to return a handful of times, the most recent being over five years ago. I realize that when I finally go home again, so much will have changed. I’m sure it will feel very different to me, and I’ll probably get lost driving from one end of town to the next. No, the city isn’t the same, as old homes have now been sold, and so many close friends and family have since died or moved away. No, I am not the same, as my definition of comfort and security is different than it was back then. So where do I find this “home” that I love?

Jamestown represents my ideal, a version that is nowhere to be found, but living on if only in my mind. That version of “home” is like pieces of fabric, woven together by single moments, and when I look back, it resembles a quilt. Even still, I continue to compare it to my present. 18 years later, I have finally realized that my fear of loss and this very attachment I have to recreating my past makes it impossible for me to live fully in the present. Trying to re-create that version of home is the problem and it’s just giving me a reason to be discontent with my life, rather than cultivating gratitude for what I have. During childhood, I didn’t have another basis of comparison; I lived spontaneously, and in the moment. I didn’t fear anything, and maybe that carefree, limitless state of mind is what is now tugging on my heart.

“Home” then, and now, is actively created in my mind through the actions of my parents and family, similar to the ones I now create for my children. On a daily basis, my actions of parenting, participating in the community and sharing that community with my sister and her family, is creating my new version of home. Even if I never again experience that same feeling from childhood, I am part of the living, breathing “home” which offers a new warm embrace.

Everything I have needed to find “home“, all this time, was right here at my fingertips. Simply finding the courage to embrace it in the present moment, and having enough faith in my future to allow that fearlessness the space to spill over and grow bigger than my fear of losing the past. My wildest dreams and fantasies of the future are possible, if only I can embrace it and abandon my need to control the outcome. Breathe in the security of the future to feel its warm embrace, surrender all thoughts and expectations, and finally just let go. Maybe then it is possible to recreate “home” right here in California, where she’ll finally have a fighting chance to compete in my heart; the only place I can ever really find.

What is Mother?

27 Sunday Apr 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Mom

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

2014, Adoption, Children, Gardening, Mothering, Nature, Spring

Springtime has arrived in California. The birds are busy building their nests, the cherry blossoms are blooming, and we are planting flowers and veggies in our little garden.

I took the kids to Lowe’s last weekend, and we walked through the store and came across the plant “clearance” section. Tilley and Mason asked me why the plants looked so sad. As I picked up a bag of birdseed, I told them that those were the plants that no one wanted anymore and they were probably dying. Before I knew it, Mason had filled the cart with as many plants as his little arms could carry and told me that we were going to save them. My son’s great big heart of compassion couldn’t bear to have even one plant left behind.

We spent a good portion of our day in the backyard. We planted our new, sad flowers in their pots, soaked our flower seeds in jars and re-filled the bird and hummingbird feeders with fresh food.

As a child, I remember feeling very connected to nature and animals. My parents would constantly ask me to clean my bedroom, as the aroma of my hamster, mice, frogs and turtle was enough to keep anyone away. I grew up in the outskirts of a small town, and I have fond memories of hiking through the wooded areas that lined my street; writing poetry, sitting by the stream and just relaxing in nature. I could spend hours in my backyard looking for grasshoppers and other creatures, keeping them as pets for a few days before releasing them.

Aliso Niguel Canyon (2014)

As a mother, I’m trying to help cultivate that same connection to nature for my children. Although we live in a sprawling city, there are many places to explore and enjoy. From the ocean, to the canyons and desert, to the lake right down the street, my kids have more than enough to be wondrous about in nature. Tilley loves bugs and will happily pick up any creature she finds. Rolly pollies, worms, and snails… Tilley carries them around like her little pets. I try not to make a squeamish face when she picks up the slimy ones, as I really don’t want to discourage her fearlessness.

Last weekend we went to the park and walked the trails to find nature’s treasures; empty snail shells, acorns, pieces of bark, flowers and rocks. The kids were busy climbing trees and didn’t get excited when I found a miniature snail shell. I laughed and wondered who was acting more like a kid. Then I remembered… I’m usually the one that anxiously sits by and waits for the caterpillars to transform into butterflies. And it’s me who marks the transformation from larvae to pupa to lady bug.

Even if I am the one benefiting from these childhood activities, I know my passion will one day transfer to my children. Even now, they help me remove the snails and worms from sidewalks before the sun gets too hot. They use their shovels to dig holes in the earth, as I re-pot our vegetables and flowers for the summer. They mirror my excitement as the baby birds chirp and joyfully follow me to the nest to catch a peek.

Connecting our children to the earth and the ultimate “Mother” is one of the most beautiful things we can do. Mother Earth whispers her secrets in every flower, every tree and in every living creature.

Notice the difference between the noun and verb definitions that come from the word Mother. Of course there is the traditional “noun” definition which describes a woman that has “given birth”. But there is a separate, distinctly different “verb” definition that speaks to the day in, day out actions of providing “care and affection”. As we know, it is not always the birth mother that raises a child and “the art of mothering” goes well beyond the act of giving birth.

Through my actions, I am the same mother to Mason, Elisabeth and Evelyn. There is no difference in my actions of reading a book, cooking and feeding them dinner or taking them to the park. Although I didn’t give birth to Mason, he is my son through and through. He has adopted my mannerisms, my many food preferences, and he takes joy in similar pleasures. I can see myself reflected through him and his approach to life. His wide open heart, his joyful nature and his willingness to experience life are things I see in myself, now coming alive through him.

It is through the art of mothering that this transference has occurred. In my daily actions of love, care and affection, I have helped to shape the life of my son. I understand his needs and what makes him happy and scared. I know what to say to inspire him to take action. I know his favorite foods and what books will encourage him to read more. I know which parks have his favorite slides and the stuffed animals he asks to snuggle with at night. I know all of these things because he is my son, and I am his mother.

Nature and mothering go hand in hand. There are metaphors around every corner; in the new sprout, the bird’s nest, even in the strong climbing branches of the mature tree. I feel it in the energy of the buzzing bees, butterflies, and birds that pollinate my garden to grow. And although none of these beings have come from me, through our actions we participate in their creation and we help them grow. If I hadn’t soaked and planted a seed one week ago, then the sprout of this Morning Glory wouldn’t be here today. We are the ones that help the seed to sprout, by cultivating the soil, and by watering them until they bloom. Through our actions, we are all “The Mother”.

Just like a mother, we are… …the planter that transforms the seed into the sprout of the Morning Glory. …the provider of food that nourishes the plants and birds so they can grow. …the fertilizer that helps the vegetables achieve their fullest potential. …the watcher that lives through their eyes to make sure every need is met.

Not yet. Not yet. Eat me now. Too late.

09 Sunday Mar 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me, Mom, Wife

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Tags

2014, Aging, Beauty, Children, Death, Loss, Potential, Purpose, Regret

My friend posted this picture on Facebook the other day. Isn’t this the truth… you’re either waiting for an avocado to ripen or cursing it for going bad. There are many things in life that have a similar shelf life and quickly “go bad”.

I went in to Tilley’s bedroom the other day to pick out an outfit for her class project; I was frustrated to find shirts in her dresser that had never been worn. My kids wear the same worn out clothing on a regular basis, so when I find any clothes with tags and they’re too small, my blood starts to boil. I remember my pregnancy; staring at many pink and blue outfits, dreaming of the day I would meet my children. I thought about them and how they would look dressed in these little clothes. But life happens, and it’s filled with onesies and swaddles, not dresses and bows; and the inevitable sadness sets in when you realize those sweet little things no longer fit. Now in the midst of their childhood, I feel a sense of desperation for all things clothing related. These outfits, and their small window of opportunity, will be outgrown soon.

On Monday mornings, you will find me somewhere in Southern California, standing in a grocery store, choosing my favorite bouquet from an array of beautiful flowers. It’s a tough choice, but without fail, every week, one arrangement stands out among the rest. When I get to work, I clean out my vase from the week before and fill it with new, fresh water. It’s such an enjoyable ritual. I love having flowers in my office and I look at them often; sometimes even taking pictures to text to friends and brighten their day. I frequently get comments from co-workers who pass by and admire their beauty. It brings me a lot of happiness and I think it makes other people happy too; when I forget to bring them in I get lots of comments. On Fridays, I make a quick decision on whether to take or toss them before the weekend. If the flowers are healthy and strong, they come home. If not, they go in the trash.

Of course, I have also tried to keep potted flowers in my office. I absolutely love gardening, but I’m not good at it. Derek laughs every time I bring a plant home. “Dead already, but it doesn’t know it yet,” he’ll chuckle. I have to remind Derek that just because I’m not good at something, that doesn’t mean I’m going to quit! I will try and try (and fail) and try again, because one day I will succeed! In the end, so many plants will have suffered as a result of my learning, but one day I will become a great gardener! Their sacrifices will not have been made in vain!

My latest obsession is the orchid because it’s one of the hardest plants to care for. It’s a challenge for me; so I study it, nurture it and (want to) understand it so that (eventually) it will thrive in my care. But, if you’ve ever befriended a potted orchid before, you know how frustrating it can be. I can just look at it the wrong way and it drops its flowers. Only days before, it was a healthy, luscious, beautiful plant in Whole Foods; and now I’m left with an ugly stem and some leaves. It’s truly heartbreaking. Today, I have two “leaf plants” that will hopefully flower again, but no progress just yet.

Last weekend, I was looking at my Gerbera daisies, remembering how beautiful they were just days before. I reflected on how quickly a flower goes from “beautiful” to “wilted” in my eyes. Thinking; the aging of my flowers makes them less beautiful than before. Once the flowers beauty is lost, I throw them in the trash. Of course, I wouldn’t keep a bunch of dead flowers around, but do you see the problem here?

If I listen closely, all of these things quietly whisper their wisdom in my ear. The irritation I experience upon finding rotten avocados and outgrown kids clothes, the sadness over the inevitable decline of my waning wilted flowers; their short life cycles serve as every day reminders of life’s most difficult lessons. There is more to my frustration than some silly, outgrown clothing. I’m being quietly reminded how quickly life is passing by, and before I know it my kids will be grown and gone. As parents, it feels like we do a lot of waiting, but if we forget, or we are careless, we won’t get another chance. If I’m not paying enough attention, these windows of opportunity will be lost, as when I reach for that rotten avocado. The sole purpose of that avocado was to be utilized and enjoyed. I purchased it; it was my responsibility to help it achieve its purpose and I failed. Its potential is wasted, so I throw it in the trash. And my Friday flowers; they served their purpose and are no longer useful to me, so I throw them in the trash too.

Although it sounds overly exaggerated to mourn kids’ clothing, avocados and flowers, you don’t have to venture too far off to find more realistic examples of where this happens in life. Even now, in my thirties, I can look at pictures from the past and think about what I once had that is now gone; mourning my youthfulness, resilience, innocence, even my physical strength. I can’t even imagine how I’ll feel later in life. But those pictures and memories I have are deceiving. Said differently, it is confusing the pictures I take of the Monday morning flowers with the real flower. I know that the flower will wilt and die within a week, but I don’t celebrate the wilted flowers come Friday. I don’t take any pictures of them. I simply remember them as they once were and that is all.

Rather than trying to find acceptance for the flowers in every stage of life, we attach to the immortal version of the flower that we can find in pictures only. We don’t want to accept the wilted flowers any more than we are willing to accept some less than perfect version of ourselves. I think, if left unchecked, I am always striving to get back to the “Monday morning” version of myself. I don’t want to accept the lesser version when I know that an “idealistic” version has existed in the past. I incorrectly think life should be a deliberate and constant improvement from status quo and things can only get better from here. This is deceiving. We know that, physically, we are no different than the waning wilted flower. We know that we will age, get old and eventually die, yet we don’t want to accept this. Instead, we distract ourselves with superficial treatments to make us look youthful again. If you can’t relate to this, just give it a few years, I promise it’s coming.

No one wants to feel like they have wasted their potential. We are all striving to avoid the rotten avocado phenomenon. If there is purpose and potential, then it must be utilized. We cannot afford to be careless and risk being tossed out in the trash. Life is too short. Instead, be primed and ready to use those kids’ clothes as soon as they fit, cut open that avocado as soon as it’s ripe, and accept the flowers in all their forms.

This is how we improve. This is how life becomes a constant upward spiral. When we understand and cultivate a life that is ever more accepting and understanding and we strive to meet our fullest potential; and we support one another so that all of us can achieve these things. No one should feel that their purpose and potential has been wasted.

But no matter what happens, let us not forget that the avocado and flowers will find new life and purpose in tomorrow’s compost piles and those unworn kids’ clothes will go walking on someone else’s beautiful child one day. Although life didn’t go the way we thought it would, it will work out from a different point of view. There is always potential even if we are unable to see it. So don’t ever take those “leaf plants” for granted and forget their invisible potential. They will find their way into the arms of a great gardener and flower again one day.

Enough.

01 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me, Mom, Wife

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

2014, Enough, Future, Gratitude, Past, Present, Running, Thankful

My chest felt constricted, my breath was fast and shallow, I was only 1.5 miles into my run, but my body was tired and I wanted to stop. For 30 seconds, I let myself walk and regain my strength. I ran the first mile too quickly and was now paying the price. It was morning in the park, there were no cars to be heard or seen and I watched as the birds flew overhead. I felt the sun’s warmth as it came down on my face. As I picked up the pace, I paid attention to my stride, my breath. My attention shifted to the geese as they socialized by the stream. There were dozens of them.

I ran up the hill to the lake. Even at this early hour, there were dozens of fisherman in their canoes. I stopped to observe the ducks and geese as they sailed by. I smiled as two beautiful cranes swam in sync with one another. I watched as a dragonfly rested her body, and sent ripples from her wings as they touched the water. I was there, fully present, absorbing the moment in all of its beauty. It was peaceful, and fleeting. My attention turned to the voices passing by, the bicycle tires hitting the trail, and my phone as it lit up with messages. The family would be back soon. The moment passed. I jogged on.

I am usually distracted with everyday life. My mind spins a million miles a minute as I try to get everything done. I think about the future; a presentation to prepare, a dinner menu to plan, a project to complete. I think about the past; yesterday’s meeting, a memory of a friend, a concerning comment. Rarely am I aware of the present moment as my mind flips between these thoughts of past and future. Sometimes I am so distracted, I realize the kids have called my name 3 or 4 times before I actually respond.

Even after 8 years of meditation, I still find that remaining in the present moment is one of the hardest things to do on a regular basis. In an effort to be more present, I left my cell phone in the car and ran in to Starbucks for some coffee. I observed people sitting, talking, laughing; simply enjoying the morning. A constant stream of patrons walked in and out of the store; checking their phones, impatiently waiting for their order. They were going about their day as they normally do, but today was different, today I noticed.

The barista prepared drinks behind the counter. She wasn’t her normal self; no smile, no make-up, no greeting. Concerned, I waited for her to look up, so I could say hello. She finished my drink and moved on to the next. I walked out the door, coffee in hand, disappointed that I didn’t find an opportunity. As I got into my car, I thought about how if I had been distracted thinking about my day or looking at my phone, I wouldn’t have noticed she was upset, nor would I have been available at all. At the very least, I was aware. I was available, if she needed me.

This thought stayed with me, as it came clear that being available is really an act of compassion. At Starbucks, I simply made myself present, and in doing so, I got myself out of the way. Rather than being stuck in my own head, my “me” centric universe, I shifted my attention to the world around me. Being aware is really the opposite of selfishness. It’s almost like a state of gratitude for what the moment has to offer. You are there to observe and to be open; you are not worried about yourself and what you will receive.

When we are aware, we leave an open space, we welcome possibilities. When we are distracted, we are closed off and unsettled. We are either thinking, seeking, desiring, craving, fixing, or planning. It’s active discontentment. If you are unsettled, your cup is empty; you distract and busy yourself with actions to fill it. But if your cup is full, you have nothing left to seek. You are already fulfilled. Your mind can just stop, be aware, be present, and be available.

I think contentment only comes about when we start practicing gratitude. Right now, no matter what is going on in your life, if you can find gratitude, then you will find happiness. For example, if you are reading this right now, then you have a home, or at least a place to kick up your feet and read this. You must be educated, and you’re probably living in a developed country. If you are reading this right now, that means that you either have a phone or a computer, which means you have the money to buy these things, and you aren’t struggling to meet your basic needs. You are blessed.

Really, we are all blessed enough and when we arrive at this realization of “enough”, we will be happy. Maybe it will come about when we stop looking at the world with what it has to offer us and start thinking about what we can offer it. According to the Global Rich List, you are probably richer than 96% of the humans that inhabit this planet. (Click on the link; type in your income and find out) You live during one of the most privileged times in the history of the universe, as you scan the internet, and benefit from the information waiting at your fingertips. If you have all of these things, then you must be one of the luckiest people to have ever walked on the planet. So, what are you doing with all of this good fortune?

We have so much to be thankful for already and (guaranteed) we can find others worse off, who are in need of our help and support. Isn’t it time to stop distracting ourselves with thoughts of “me” and start distracting ourselves with thoughts of how we can help others to be happier and healthier?

If that’s too hard to do right now, because you have serious challenges going on in your life, then just relax and think of all of those things that you do have to be thankful for. There are so many things when you really think about it.

At the very least, if nothing else, try to practice awareness and exist in the present moment; it’s really one of the most selfless things you can do.

We can never obtain peace in the outer world until we make peace with ourselves. ~Dalai Lama

3 Ways to be a Good Mom (everything is awesome!)

16 Sunday Feb 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Mom

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

2014, Anxiety, Children, Fear, Insecurities, Legos, Mom, Motherhood, Perfectionist

Last weekend our family went to see the Lego Movie. And although I was a bit distracted by Evie’s unsettled-ness, and her need to run up and down the aisle, I watched and observed as Emmett set off on his adventure. Unaware that the movie’s lesson was aimed squarely at me, I blissfully watched the Lego characters search for the “missing piece”.

While I exited the movie theater, my awareness of this parenting lesson began to sink in. Wasn’t I the same parent that Will Ferrell so artfully portrayed in the movie? Haven’t I been enforcing the same “rules and instructions” on my kids? Aren’t there two boxes of Legos sitting in the corner of Mason’s bedroom, right now, completely off limits to him?

As we walked in the door to my house, I asked Mason to find his Legos. I let him know that there were no longer going to be anymore “rules” on how to put Legos together and he could make whatever he wanted. Joyfully, he ran up the stairs and played, for hours, with his new found freedom.

If you read my blog post last week, it may have felt somewhat vague. But if I can explain with context, you will understand. We all have emotional baggage that we are carrying around; in many forms. Anytime we feel a tinge of anger at a person, or an annoyance at the world around us. Anytime we obsess over something, feel greed, pride, jealousy or the need to defend ourselves. All of these things are pointing to something inside of us that needs to be addressed.

Our intentions and motivations are little windows to the soul. When we observe them, and see them for what they are, we learn about ourselves. You see, Legos are just one of my examples to explain how my insecurities come alive.

Mason, the “Master Builder”

The last time Mason and I played with Legos we opened the box, pulled out the instructions and organized the pieces. Step by step, we read and followed the directions until we created the Police Mobile Unit. I was in my zone; an 8-year old girl again, constructing this amazing creation out of hundreds of little pieces! Mason sat there, and twiddled his thumbs, as his mother so carefully created his Lego toy. While I experienced a surge of new found energy and looked at my project with pride, Mason’s anxiety grew as his mother cautioned him to be careful with his new toy. I held my breath every time he picked it up and even stored it in my bedroom so it wouldn’t get broken!

I don’t know about other moms, but I will speak for myself and say that when I sit down with my kids to complete an art project, I become an obsessed, competitive perfectionist. The 8-year old little girl inside me comes alive, just as she did back then, competing to win the most creative or perfect award. (Of course there is no such thing as a perfect award, but I would still like to try and achieve it!) So why am I surprised when Tilley and Mason compare and contrast their projects, arguing over whose is better, prettier or more creative?

You see the Legos are just a physical representation of my insecurities. When Mason opens a box of Legos, I get anxiety. He mixes the pieces together, loses some, he separates the instructions from the box and starts putting them together whatever way he wants. Okay, first of all, do you know how annoying it is to look for that one missing Lego piece? Mason’s fearless approach to Lego building represents everything that pushes my buttons. He is out of control, messy, and doesn’t follow instructions. It triggers something in me and is the reason his two boxes of Legos sat there for months, collecting dust, in the corner of his room. Now, although I do so unintentionally, I am (sadly) stuffing my son full of anxieties and transferring my emotional baggage to him.

This whole situation reminds me of when the kids had this project, last year, in Kindergarten. The teachers scheduled a few sessions, in the middle of the day, to inform parents about the project. Since I am a working mom, I decided, instead, to ask for the Cliff notes version as I dropped off the kids that morning. The teacher handed me two pieces of wood, one for Tilley & Mason. I was to “secretly” bring it home and surprise them with it. She showed me some examples of how we could decorate the board with stickers and paint. Her examples were elaborate. We were supposed to decorate them with anything that the kids cared about.

The Sunday night before the project was due; I pulled out the boards for the kids to decorate. Instead of being my usual self and going overboard on art supplies, I decided to dig into my supply bins, and pull out some markers and stickers that we already had. Those teacher examples had been way over the top anyway. We didn’t need fancy stickers to have fun with this project!

I restrained myself from wanting to step in; that tendency of the perfectionist normally takes over anytime the kids have a project. Instead, I just watched and enjoyed as they happily decorated their boards with the stickers and supplies they had been given.

On the day of the presentation, the parents were to be in the classroom midday, and Derek and I took time off of work to be there. I had been looking forward to it all week. The teacher asked the parents to come up one-by-one with their kids to present their boards. Slightly confused, I let other parents volunteer before me, so I could just observe.

The first mother came to the front of the classroom, pulled out her board, and read from a letter she wrote to her child. Shifting uncomfortably in my chair, I realized that I misunderstood the assignment. This project was for the mothers to complete and present to their child. Horrified, I looked for the closest exit! I wasn’t really going to leave, but I really wanted to curl up in my chair and die. Derek was confused, and asked me what was wrong. I explained the situation, but he told me to just relax, it was no big deal.

As I watched the mothers, one by one, present their boards to their children, my anxiety grew. Each board was better than the next. These parents took time and energy to create their boards for their kids. Some were fully painted, and decorated with expensive scrapbook stickers; some even had been strung with ribbon so the child could hang it on their bedroom wall! Mine looked like they had been put together with duct tape and feathers. I was humiliated!!!

I sat there; furious with myself, and furious about the project. I was so distracted with my life, my work, that I didn’t understand the simplest instructions. I felt regret that, amongst this circle of moms, I didn’t have any close friends (yet) that could have clued me in to the assignment. Right there, all at once, it became overwhelming; my regrets, insecurities, anxieties… looking at me squarely in the face, everyone could see it, my greatest fear coming true that I WAS A TERRIBLE MOM!

Finally, the last parents to volunteer, Derek, the kids and I walked to the front of the room and took our seats in the little chairs. I told a story about how we named the kids, and how during Mason’s adoption, Tilley had (surprise!) graced us with her presence. I said a lot of stuff, most of it forgettable by now, but what I do remember was the way the kid’s smiled as I spoke in their classroom. The way they held their boards up, with pride, and happily displayed it for all of their friends.

You see, my kids won’t remember that we did the assignment wrong. In fact, they didn’t notice anything was wrong that day. What they will remember was how mom let them have fun decorating their boards. And how both mommy & daddy came to support them on this day, and spoke in front of their classroom, to their friends and teachers.

Looking back now, does it matter that I didn’t put my heart and soul into that silly little board? Anyway, if I had understood the directions, that board would have been just another one of my endless pursuits of unachievable perfection. Instead, a blessing in disguise, this project taught me a lot about myself. I have been forced to reflect on my own insecurities of failure and why (WHY?!) I equated not understanding the assignment with being a bad mom.

Of course, I know that these things don’t really make me a “bad mom”. And what does it mean to be a “good mom” anyway? I have given this topic some thought, and although I don’t think that I have everything figured out, I think that really “good moms” do three things well. I am sure there are more, but stay with me for a minute…

We let our children be who they are. We do not try to control or direct who our child will turn out to be. We do not think that our child is an extension of ourselves, but rather that they are their own person. As parents, we of course can provide good soil, sunlight and water, but whether they turn out to be a palm or a pine tree has nothing to do with us. It’s only our job to accept them as they are.
We give them unconditional love, and at all times. (Key word: unconditional) We should not put conditions on our love, understanding, support, encouragement, advice, or just a shoulder to cry on. Although this seems obvious and somewhat simple, if you ever attach a condition to anything, then this by definition is NOT unconditional. (Warning: many blog posts will stem from this one!)
We restrain ourselves from passing down all of our fears, baggage and insecurities. We refrain from making the subtle comments, sharing our all too obvious anxieties, so that these things don’t trickle down for them into their adulthood. This is much easier said than done, but if you are aware of it, then you can do a much better job of controlling your speech and actions.

The common thread of Legos and this Kindergarten project is they both fall into Tiffany’s category #3. However, if I am aware of my triggers, and I don’t allow my fears of not being good enough, to pass on to my children, then I am going to (probably) help them to avoid a similar future of insecurity. Hopefully, with awareness, the opposite of oblivion, we can shine a light on our insecurities and we can work with them. Maybe we can even get to the root of them and overcome them, if we’re lucky.

We are all on a journey of self-discovery and the point is to evolve, become better people, so that we can help other people… and hopefully, so that all of us can just be happy.

Once a perfectionist, always a perfectionist. A week after the class presentation, we flipped the boards over, bought our stickers and completed them the “right” way!

Oblivion

08 Saturday Feb 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

2014, Anxiety, Awareness, Depression, Oblivion

Did anyone catch Bastille on SNL last week? I heard their song “Oblivion” for the first time and absolutely fell in love with it. I’ve listened to it, I don’t know, a hundred times since then. As I usually do, I was thinking about the lyrics and their meaning.

This week at work I discussed with my co-worker how it feels like we merely work on the latest crisis. We are just spinning, trying to catch our tails, cleaning up the latest mess. We don’t take time to step away and view the situation from a different vantage point. I think of the great Albert Einstein and the quotes he left for us about this problem. You know the ones…

“We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.”

“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Everyone is on their own journey and our obstacles are different, but we all have them. If you don’t know what yours are, just give it some time, I promise you’ll find them. Everyone has challenges and fears. From a humanity standpoint, this fact should make us feel closer to each other. We all go through rough times. No one is perfect. We have been placed on earth to live out our journey, our potential. Our hard work will be revealed to us in due time and when we are ready.

As individuals, we categorize everything into feelings of good, bad or neutral. Everything; every person we meet, every place we visit, every object we see with our eyes fits into one of these three labels. “I like this. I don’t like that. I like her, but I don’t like him.” We want to keep good things in our lives, we push the bad things away and we pretty much ignore the neutral things all together.

The idea that I’ve been playing with this week, however, relates to those things that we don’t like. There are people in our lives that push our buttons. We push these people away. We go to great lengths to avoid them. They are like a hot stove and every time they are near us they burn our physical body. We avert our eyes, we plug our ears, and we walk away. But why are you avoiding them?

This week I have been trying to look at those things that bring me pause with a different lens, a new vantage point. Everything and everyone in our lives is a teacher. There is nothing in life that isn’t trying to teach you something. The awareness that there is a teaching behind those things that you don’t like is powerful. Yes, you should find those things you dislike and pull them in closer. I’m not saying that you should go hang out with your worst enemy, but maybe just think for a moment, what is it you don’t like about them? What are they reflecting back at you? If there were no mirrors in the world, then who are you reflecting? You attract what you are. Every person in our lives is there for a reason. There are no coincidences.

Now, you don’t have to subscribe to this message. You can dislike my ideas and push them away. But how many of us are leading our lives this way? You know what I’m talking about. We have been walking around with this emotional baggage for years. It has been tripping us up because we are either in denial of it or we aren’t ready to let it go. Your thoughts of not being good enough, and limiting yourself from who you really are. You are just holding yourself back from your true potential. We all have fear of success, fear of failure, fear of life and death, fear of being alone, fear of losing everything you have ever loved. It’s amazing that we get up every day and function with all of these thoughts roaming through our minds! We put on a great show don’t we? We hide; behind our names, our labels, our families, our careers. Our lives are like a great movie production, the world is your movie set and you are the producer. But pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. You know the one… the man that is afraid of the unknown.

We are motivated by these fears, you know? The emotional baggage that we carry with us is behind everything as an intention, a motivation. Friends, we aren’t even aware of it! It takes work, lots of work, to scrape it away. But when you start investigating, and peel back the layers of the onion, I promise that you will cry. You will be brought to your knees by the truth of your life. Look deeply behind your thoughts, your actions, your speech, it is there. There are deeper layers if you’re willing to look. But you may not want to find it. Maybe you’re okay going on with your life and fighting the latest fire, distracting yourself from all of this.

But if you choose to look, that’s where the beauty is. It’s painful and beautiful all at the same time. I promise.

“What you hate, you re-create; and what you bless, you put to rest.” – Eric Micha’el Leventhal

“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have…”

03 Monday Feb 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

2014, Adoption, Duality, Love, New Year

We welcomed the Lunar New Year this week in true Vietnamese style! We had Pho for dinner and many other traditional foods that I picked up at the Asian market on my lunch break. With every passing year, the Shaw family is embracing the Vietnamese culture to ensure that Mason’s childhood is reminiscent of his country and their traditions.

Personally, I welcomed the New Year with open arms. Every astrological blog post and website I came across talks about the shifting energy in the universe and the power of the Supermoon and New Year. I don’t know a lot about that stuff, but I could certainly feel its energy. To say that 2013 was a difficult year for me would be an understatement. It was a year of painful transition in many areas of my life.

The New Year signifies a new start. It is the beginning of a new mindset. With that said, it is evident that with any new beginning, you also have awareness of what you leave behind. An ending is bittersweet, in that you welcome what is to come, but it is not without some degree of mourning what you leave behind.

Mason sweeping out the bad energy of the old year

That invisible line in the sand somehow differentiates the old from the new, but it allows us to move forward with a clean slate. As we all do, I hope this year brings our family health, happiness and prosperity. Simply put, to retain happiness and love in our lives and refrain from feelings of unhappiness and fear. There is nothing original with this wish. It is a universal idea with the beginning of any new year.

However, as I reflect on my aversion of all that’s “bad” and my welcoming of all that’s “good”, I stumbled on an idea that stayed with me for a while. It’s not a new concept, but one that makes a lot of sense considering the significance of this passing of this year.

Just as we come to know “light” with its opposite, “darkness”, how can we ever really understand anything without experiencing the opposing emotion? Said differently, the overwhelming love you have for your child is met with overwhelming pain when he gets hurt. The broken heart you experience, only after you know what it is like to truly love someone. There is polarity in everything.

If we really want to welcome “good” things in our lives, then we must experience the pain and heartache that comes along with it. The opposing feelings are just two sides of the same coin. You can’t have one without the other. In other words, the idea of having only good things in our lives is impossible. We must have both.

I think our resistance to this idea is the reason we suffer so much. We think that life should be full of good news. We have unrealistic expectations and the degree to which we suffer is the degree to which we resist this fact. Maybe if we just could embrace this truth, that life should be really messy, then maybe we could handle it when bad stuff “randomly” pops up in our lives.

If we want to have love in our lives, then we must accept that it will bring us pain; a lot of pain. If we want to have a good career, then we also have to accept that there will be suffering (eg: pressure, fear, humiliation, etc…). If we want to have money, then we should accept that it will take time and energy away from other things that we love.

If I knew before adopting Mason how much it would hurt to go through that process, would I have chosen to not adopt at all? If I knew how much it would hurt to watch loved ones leave my life or pass away, would I have chosen, instead, to not have them in my lives at all? Of course not! I would choose it all, over and over again, if it meant that I was to experience love. Nothing comes to us without a price. Sometimes these things are subtle, but they are there.

So as we welcome the New Year, I think we need to remember that there is a purpose with every good thing and with every challenge we experience. Rather than rejecting those “bad” things that come, we need to reflect on why they are there and what opposing emotions brought them to us (eg: love). If we just walk around being indifferent and neutral to everyone and everything in our lives, would that be a life worth living? No, I think most of us would choose the life that is full of love and compassion, full of energy and emotion, even if that means that we will experience pain.

I know I will.

“The shortest interval between two points is the awareness that they are not two.” ~ Eric Micha’el Leventhal

A New Year

26 Sunday Jan 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

2014, Beginning, Blogging, Journey

2013 was a very challenging year. It was a year of growth and painful transition. I had to release my desire to make everything perfect. I had to get comfortable with knowing I didn’t have all the answers and with being responsible for more than what one person is remotely capable of. It was messy. I was pushed emotionally, physically and spiritually.

But there is beauty in the breakdown. You either give up and shut down or you open up and receive all that the universe is willing to offer. I chose the latter.

The thing is, when I look back at 2013, it’s all a blur. I survived it. I was living without being present in my moment to moment experience. There was little reflection and little joy. I know that this is not how I want to lead my life. I’ve made a commitment to myself that 2014 will be different. This year I will reconnect to the those things that bring me happiness and share my journey with others.

Wife, Mom and Me

~ Everyday thoughts about life

Tag Archives: 2014

The Art of Friendship

Back in the World Again

Home Sweet Home

What is Mother?

Not yet. Not yet. Eat me now. Too late.

Enough.

3 Ways to be a Good Mom (everything is awesome!)

Oblivion

“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have…”

A New Year