Undisturbed

It is Saturday morning, and I am sitting at my laptop with my whipped-cream-topped coffee, when I see this Facebook status:

"I would like to kidnap somebody and take them to a nature place close to my house. Who is free to be whisked away?"

My house is a mess.  I mean, really.  A mess. There is a pile of laundry at the bottom of the stairs that seems to be only growing.  Every kitchen surface has dishes and crumbs.  You would be hard pressed to find a piece of empty floor to lay down on.  No one is dressed.  No one has eaten anything with any nutritional value.  Sh*t is generally not together.

I am torn, once again, between responsibility and the spirit of carpe diem.  I find my fingers typing:

"Oh, boy. Me and my kids?"

Carpe Diem wins.

The next hour is marked by dressing, gathering, packing, and buckling little bodies into car seats.  Relying on my memory for a few directions given over the phone, I pull out of the driveway very close to on time.  Traffic, construction...  I arrive at the park just before 11.  Thing 1 out of the car, Thing 2 strapped to my back, and into the woods with my friend we go.

All week my nerves have been rattled.  So many feelings of swirling upheaval, and no time or space in my own mind to settle.  But here, now, surrounded by trees and mud, away from the noise and movement of the city, away from the computer and the phone, I feel my jitters start to fall away.  I hear birds.  I feel the wind on my face, and see the gently movement of the leaves.

We are not the only ones in the park this morning.  Here are a couple boys jumping bikes.  There is a fisherman on the banks of the river.  A group of 3 runners hurry past.  We are not exactly in solitude, and the morning is not marked by perfect peacefulness, either. 

Nik on a swing we found, strung simply from a tree with rope.

Nik runs ahead, gets called back, needs one thousand reminders to stay close, to not approach the water, to hold my hand or climb safely on the logs.  Alexa is mostly happy, along for the ride, but even she has her squirmy fussy moments.

But somehow, the conditions don't have to reach perfect serenity to allow me to reap the benefit of being here, in creation in the spring.  The birds still sing.  The sunlight still filters through the canopy.  The river still rushes.  These things are undisturbed by the chaotic movements of a 4 year old boy.  Undisturbed.  Still growing.  Still peaceful.  And they lead by example.

Cute when they're asleep

Let me tell you a little bit about my dear, sweet Alexa today.

During my shower, she got into my alphabet beads and dumped them all over the couch, except for the ones that she put in her mouth. Also, she stole a chocolate from Nik, and apparently used it for a full body skin treatment, so I gave her a bath. She pooped in it.

When I took her out of the bath, she ran down the hall and pulled the hurricane lamp off of the record player. Tiny gravel everywhere.

She pulled half of the books off of the kids shelf.

She emptied half a dozen puzzles and bucket of peg board pegs onto the floor.

During lunch, she tried to eat her piece of pizza by pulling off the toppings, picking up her plate with the pizza on it, tomato sauce exposed, and smooshing the plate into her face.

She is just down for a nap, now.


Sleeeeep, baby. Sleeeep.

Paving new pathways

The more I share about my own dark struggles with anxiety, the more people open up to me about theirs. Likewise, as I make progress, and live each day a little lighter, those same people have wondered aloud to me about it. What did you do? What do you do? How can I find what works for me, and let go of all this emotional sludge?

Well, I am not a therapist. I am just on a journey, maybe a bit like yours. I have no tricks, and no quick fixes. But I can share what I know, and what is working for me. Maybe it will work for you, too.

In a previous post, Unwritten, I wrote about my patterns of being worried, self-critical and defensive. These patterns, along with a generally pessimistic view of myself and my life, had become so ingrained, so part of my own self-concept, that I could barely even see them anymore. Later, in Practice, I talked about how, once a problem pattern is recognized, it is difficult to change, even when you want to. It takes daily effort, and can be a long and tiresome process. Both of these things are rooted in what we understand from basic neurochemistry.

How we learn patterns

Think of a piano student. This student has a new piece of music, and the first time she attempts to play the piece, many mistakes are made. It is slow and frustrating to get through the piece the first time. But if she keeps at it, and plays the piece again and again, and especially if she gives extra practice to those parts that are particularly challenging, the piece gets easier to play. As learning occurs, the student has to concentrate less and less, the piece sounds better and better, and playing the piece transforms from a difficult and frustrating experience, to a joyful one.

What we don't observe directly, is what happens in the pianist's brain. Brains are full of tiny neurons, that act like stepping stones in a pathway. Every time a path is followed, the electrical impulses in the brain actually cause the neurons to grow towards each other, as if the stepping stones are moved closer together. A substance called myelin also grows around neurons that are frequently used, making the impulses faster. Before we learn something, it is as difficult to follow the path as jumping from one far placed stone to the next, in heavy boots. It is slow, clumsy, and missteps are common. But as things are learned, those stones grow together, and soon it is like traveling an asphalt path in roller blades.

Unfortunately, this amazing, organic process is not only in place when we practice music. It is there when we practice anything. It is there when we practice putting ourselves down. It is there when we practice reacting in anger or fear. It is there when we practice blame, or perfectionism, or defeatist thinking. And sooner or later, our unhelpful patterns too become asphalt paths for our roller blades.

The helpful paths are not gone from our brains, but they are much harder to travel. The stones are far apart, and rough. That path is hard and slow-going. Left on automatic pilot, our brain will not choose to travel that path. Automatic pilot likes ease and speed. No, to find your way back to a helpful path will take effort, over and over. But each time you use the better path, you give it energy. Energy that it can use to grow, and get smoother. And the longer you ignore the old path, the more it will fall into disrepair.

This is not just a metaphor. Scientists have long known that brain tissue needs to be active to live. Neurons that are not used shrivel and die. As you build new pathways in your brain by consciously giving energy to a new way of thinking, the new path gets stronger, and the old path gets weaker. After a long time, the new way will be the faster pathway, and even old autopilot will choose it. But first you have to get there. You have to change your brain.

How we change patterns

Step 1 - Noticing
To shift your thinking from an old pattern to a new one, first you have to recognize what your old pattern is. One of my most pervasive patterns is that of self-critical thoughts, and that is the pattern I will be using in my example, but your unhelpful pattern may be different. Many people find it helpful to record the thoughts they are having during those times that they are feeling at their worst. As you record the thoughts and accompanying feelings, you can get an idea of where you need to focus.

It is important not to sugar coat your thoughts when you record them. For example, let's say I am driving, make some sort of error, and am suddenly feeling awful, anxious and ashamed. If I record the thought, "Gee, Lisa, you should really be more careful." I am not really being honest with myself about my inner voice. The statement, "You should be careful" would not elicit such strong feelings of anxiety or shame. It would be best to record as accurately as possible what I said to myself, and even try to capture the tone:

"Hey! What are you doing? Couldn't you see he was trying to make that turn? You totally cut him off! I can't believe you have your kids in the car and are driving like that. Just you wait and see, one of these days you will really cause an accident. Hurt your kids. Yep. What business do you even have behind the wheel?"

Wow. I am a meanie.

Can you see how those thoughts elicit those feelings of anxiety and shame? Of course I will feel anxious and ashamed if I think I am the worst driver and am going to wind up killing my own kids! The feelings and the self-talk usually match in intensity.

Step 2: Stopping
When you get a feel for your own voices, it is time to step up, and interrupt them. You make that traffic mistake, feel the anxiety, pay attention to what it was you were telling yourself, and just stop talking. Stop. Not another word. No. Some people visualize a giant stop sign, or say 'Stop' out loud to themselves. However you do it, just do it. You are not allowed to talk to yourself like that anymore.

Step 3: Restructuring
Now comes the rewrite. Question your own judgement. Does making that traffic mistake really mean you are an unobservant, rude, incompetent driver who deserves for her kids to die in a car accident? What would be a more realistic reaction? Practice saying that to yourself.

"You were distracted by your crying baby, and forget to shoulder check during that lane change. It is hard to ignore your own crying child, but accidents can happen on busy roads. You usually shoulder check. Remember to do it, even when it is loud in the car."

This is not about false optimism. You don't want to falsely congratulate yourself on your driving skills after an error. But take context into account. If you are usually a good driver, make sure to include that in your perception of events. One mistake does not a terror to the roadways make.

This is just one strategy to use when fighting the battle against anxiety and depression. It is not the only thing I have done, but it is probably the thing that has had the greatest impact. It is also not my own idea, but a simplified and adapted version of strategies conceived of and promoted by many therapists, based on the work of many researchers. Maybe it can help you. It has helped me.

drawings by Frits Ahlefeldt, and downloaded from:
http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/browse-author.php?a=1210
Thanks, Frits.

Practice

a page from my art journal

I started a new round of yoga classes recently. Yoga for Mom 'n Me, offered through the Winnipeg parks and rec department. At the beginning of the first class, the teacher asked us to introduce ourselves and our babies, and share why we had signed up for the class. I said that I wanted to get back into a regular practice.

In his book, The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem, Nathaniel Branden writes,"A practice implies a discipline of acting in a certain way over and over again- consistently. It is not action by fits and starts, or even an appropriate response to a crisis. Rather it is a way of operating day by day, in big issues and small, a way of behaving that is also a way of being."

Practice is so much of my life these days. Little by little, day by day, I am trying to work new patterns into my life. Creating changes in my thinking, in my parenting, in my reacting - just by living mindfully in the moment. That's yoga. Taking what is in your head, and integrating it into how you live, how you move, how you breath. And then taking your breath, that most simple and automatic behaviour of living, and using it to transform what it is in your head. It is a way of operating day by day. A way of being.

I have noticed that my way of operating day by day is pervasive, and difficult to change. The sharp edge of criticism in my self-talk creeps out to colour the way I speak to my son in my frustration. The sighs, the rolled eyes, the "Why can't you just" statements... They are there in my head, but they also come out on my tongue. These are not the words that I want to contribute to the voices in his head! I am determined that negative thinking not be the legacy I pass on.

I am reading, reading, reading about other ways, better ways, but I need so much practice. Paul says it well, in Romans 7:15: "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." Oh, preach on, brother. When the ideas are fresh and my head is clear, I feel that I know exactly how to deal with my son, and with myself. But at the end of the day, when my patience is thin and the baby is crying and I just want him to brush his teeth already... Well, you can guess that it does not always work out.

My prayer is still for calm spirits and thankful hearts, and we are blessed to be gaining on them day by day. But there is more work to be done. We need more practice.

One of my favourite parts of my yoga class is the bit at the beginning, where you set your intention for your practice. You can decide to push yourself, or to be gentle, to play with poses, or to settle into them with discipline. But I need to set intention for more than just my life on the mat. So I am setting an intention for a different kind of practice. It is an intention for patience, for forgiveness, and for change for the better.

And when intention meets practice, supported by prayer... That is where the magic happens.

Politics, religion and parenting

Want to start a fight on the Yahoo Answers board? Ask what the best way is to get a baby to sleep. Or when to stop breastfeeding. Or whether circumcision is a good idea. Inquire about the best way to discipline an unruly 3 year old. Invite opinions about immunizations for children or the relative risk/benefits of homeschooling. And then don your flame-proof suit. It is about to get ugly.

People are passionate about parenting, and why wouldn't they be? How we raise our kids in integrally related to how we live our lives. Our beliefs and values, political views and religious perspectives get all wrapped up in our parenting choices, and so when someone challenges them, it gets right under our skin. Saying that our choice is wrong is akin to saying that we are wrong to our very core. Our backs get up, we feel threatened, and the accusations fly. This way is weak, that way is heartless. This way is controlling, that way is irresponsible. Everyone wants to prove, to themselves or others, that their choices are the best, if not the only, way of bringing up babies. Everyone wants to be right.

Some people need to "be right" because they are doing what their parents did. If they entertain the idea that the methods are not right, then they have to deal with their own emotions about being raised that very same way. Conversely, other people need to "be right" because they are doing things differently from their parents. They need to believe they have corrected the mistakes that their parents made in raising them, because that is how they can make peace with them.

Ideas and ideals. For the most part, we learn them from our families of origin first, and then accept or reject them as we learn about alternatives through our interactions with the rest of the world. Once we have arrived at what we believe to be true, we start to form into groups with like-minded people, and play the us-vs-them game. And so play out the big three: politics, religion and parenting. We are such a tolerant people... until somebody stands up and says that what they are doing is right.

We can sometimes get around conflict in these areas by talking about 'what is right for me' or 'what works for our family'. This can defuse tempers and smooth over disagreements, letting people get past issues by 'agreeing to disagree'. However, dealing with issues in this way can quietly send the message that all choices are equal. If we really believed that, there wouldn't have been any conflict. Pretending that we think they are equal is inauthentic.

So what is the answer? Never talk about parenting with your friends? Or talk about it, and brow beat everyone you know into agreeing with you? Maybe we should all start anonymously mailing research articles that support our perspectives to our friends and family...

I can't tell you what to do. What would be the point? I may as well tell you what church to attend or which politician to support. But I have come to a place where I don't need to. I am content to just vote with my life. Keeping an open mind to new research and to other people's ideas and experiences, I can only determine what I believe to be best, and act in line with those beliefs.

In the end, I believe that I am making the parenting choices that are best for my kids and I respect other mom's rights to do the same. Let's leave the flame throwing to the message board trolls.

Geeks and misfits

Hello. My name is Lisa, and I'm not cool.

What is more, I have never been cool. Not in grade school, not in high school, not in university... Even now, as a married, mortgage-paying, career-holding mom, I am still not cool.

I come from a whole family of not cool, actually. Although I could never quite pin down the cool status of either of my parents, I have a pretty good handle on my siblings. My older sister leans toward the goody two-shoes bookworm type of not cool. My brother is classic computer geek not cool. My younger sister is adorable and likable... but still not cool. I think she lacks the mean girl gene. I am just plain old loud not cool. I think that might be the worst kind.

When I was growing up, I wanted desperately to be cool. Many tears were shed on the subject, and I also devoted quite a bit of energy to pretending I didn't care. Sometimes I felt like I was getting close to being cool, like the Christmas that I recieved a velcro-closure binder from my sister as a present. Everyone, it seemed, had a velcro-closure binder at school except for me. When I opened my new binder, it was full of lined paper. On the very first sheet, my sister had written something to the effect of "A binder for Lisa, so you can be just like everyone else," with a smiley face next to it. I took that binder to school proudly. Then I learned it was not a Note Tote, and that is what the cool kids had. That was in sixth grade, and the memory is still vibrant.

However, when I look at my twenties, and the people I am gravitating towards, 'cool' is not the word I would use to describe them. Do you know what l33t sp34k is? What about WOW? Have you played a MUD? Spend many hours of your teenage years in your basement? I think I like you. Do you read research for fun? Sit in the front row at lectures? Volunteer for extra work? You are my kind of people. Do you spend more money investing in some obscure hobby than in your personal appearance? Do you frequently forget to put on make-up, and yet still have a detailed memory for the last six books you've read? We need to get together some time.

In books and movies, I am increasing drawn to the misfit characters, rooting enthusiastically for the underdog. I love to hear about other people's weird parents, social blunders and obsessive interests. Tell me about your inept dealings with the opposite sex. Spare no detail of your less than perfect family holidays. And maybe it's petty, but if you sailed through the social scene in high school with a perfect manicure, I really do not want to know. Skip to the tough time you had adjusting to life past Grade 12.

When I meet people now that I did not know in my teens, I always feel more comfortable with them when I find out they were in choir, or the school band, or the chess club. I love to discover that she wanted to learn to play the bagpipes, or that he spent the better part of a year trying to design a working hovercraft.

As I find I am drawn more and more to the uncool, the cool people are accordingly becoming less and less attractive. People who have a huge inter-mingling group of friends, who always have plans, who spare no time in bringing up whatever expensive brand-name thing they just bought... They make me nervous. If your hair is always in place, and your life follows suit, or at least you put a lot of effort into making it look that way, I get downright uncomfortable. And if you are more proficient at making excuses for following the crowd than you are at sticking to your guns with tenacious integrity... That's a deal-breaker. I'm sorry, but this is just not going to work out.

As much as I love the geeks and misfits of the world, though, I still have trouble loving the uncool in myself. I still catch myself chasing the cool. I am a little too proud of my lululemon yoga pants. I get too much satisfaction when the popular girl at work laughs at one of my jokes. I still feel unpretty when I walk past the trendy salon in the mall.

I am trying to let go of it. I want to be a genuine, driven, mindful, conscientious person. I want to be known for my intelligence, passion and integrity. These are things not so compatible with cool. And they aren't worth sacrificing.

But I'm keeping the yoga pants.

Listening

Drizzling rain, croaking frogs, the call of birds... I am in bed early tonight with my bedroom window open, letting in the smell of freshly fallen rain, and all the backyard music.

Ours is not a spacious country home, just a small half-a-duplex in one of the decidedly less cool neighbourhoods in the city, but we are fortunate to live on the edge of a development, with ditch and dirt path and grassland just beyond our backyard fence. It is land owned by the hydroelectric company, and they have built their towers all along it, holding up long stretches of electric cable, and as a result, I know it is in no danger of being developed into the newest suburb. A funny way to get a nature preserve, I guess, but when I hear the frogs and watch the red-winged blackbirds dart in front of the setting sun, I feel lucky to live just in this humble spot.

My favourite kind of meditation is just mindful awareness of sound. I remember doing it for the first time in sixth grade, with the classroom windows open, everyone listening for as many different sounds as they could. I feel my ears stretch into the distance, searching for every pin drop of a sound, and my mind clears of everything else.

Tonight, the frogs are stealing the show, but the symphony coming in my bedroom window is varied and rich for anyone with ears to hear. There is the hum of the far off industrial plant. Also, the roar of a distant train, punctuated by the whistle blow now, and again. These are the only sounds the survive even in the dead of winter, my constant companions. Now, in full spring, I also hear birds, many kinds of birds, but my uneducated ear does not know how to name them. A hawk is there, I think, and a robin... A Canada goose... Many others call, and while I do not know their names, my ear remembers their songs, heard many evenings before this one.

Dripping water hits the fence, leaking from the eavestroughs, long overdue for a cleaning. A squirrel screeches, a cat meows, and I hear the frogs, the frogs, the constant frogs... Only in springtime are they as loud as this.

As I listen, my breathing slows without effort. My mind feels emptied, opened up by the evening air. I wonder why I don't do this all the time. I know why.

I know how prone I am to rushing, to busyness, to always finding one more thing I should be doing, until I collapse into bed, exhausted by the activities of another day, making mental lists of everything I want to accomplish tomorrow. Moving through life at this pace hardly leaves room for these sacred moments. It hardly leaves room to breathe.

Tonight, I took the time to breathe, to listen. And I hear just one more sound: the small voice of my still-awake son, quietly singing to himself in the moments before sleep. A reminder of how to slow down, and why, and for whom. It is not just about me, anymore.

Time for two

Sometimes I feel like "hurry up" is my new mantra.

I am naturally a goal-oriented and details-oriented person. That is a lofty way of saying that if I make a To Do list, it is long, specific, and I desperately want to get everything done. This characteristic served me very well when I was planning my wedding. It meant I thought of everything, weighed the pros and cons of every decision, and my wedding day was just what we hoped for and disaster-free. When it comes to mothering, however, that drive and determination serves me less well.

Because I work part-time, I usually have high hopes for the days I spend at home. Do the groceries! Prepare nutritious meals and snacks! Do the laundry and put it away! Create a clean and peaceful home! Make time to be creative! Plan and orchestrate enriching activities for my 2 year old son! Oh wait, that's right... I have a 2 year old son.

If you have any experience at all with 2 year olds, you will already know that their priorities and agendas are not the same as, say, the adult's in their lives. They aren't concerned with schedules or with being anywhere on time. They only have one thing on their To Do list, and it whatever they are doing right now.

And so, as I try to get through the day to day with a toddler in tow, I hear myself:

"Hurry up Nik, we have to get to Grandma's now"
"Hurry up and finish your snack, so we can go get Daddy from work."
"Come on, we need to clean up these toys. It is time for supper right away."
"Hurry and get your shoes on so we can go. Come on, Nik!"

Mornings are the worst, but anytime that we need to make a transition can bring trouble, and the "H" word. And while I am hurrying, and thinking about what we need to do next, and where we need to be, do you know what Nik is doing? Living blissfully in the moment. I am hurrying to get to work, and he is noticing the shadows on the floor. I am hurrying to get to the car, and he is picking up rocks. I want him to hurry up and eat, and he is methodically dropping fish crackers through the space between the table and the wall.

On my worst days, I get angry. Clearly, he is just being this way to drive me crazy. He knows I need to get to the next thing on my list! He is being slow, making messes, running in the opposite direction JUST to be contrary.

But, on my good days, when I am blessed with a little clarity and perspective, I realize that I have the power to give him the gift of time. Time to look at the rocks in the driveway. Time to stamp in the too-deep puddle on the way to Grandma's. Time to be two.

Calm spirits, thankful hearts

Yesterday, I attended a nutrition workshop for parents. All the participants were from different backgrounds, had different household sizes, perspectives and philosophies, but for an hour and a half we were united by a common goal of improving how we eat. We were united by more than that, actually, because all of us had come to the motivation for making these improvements not for our own health, but for the health of our children. It was when we became parents that we wanted nutritious food in our fridges and pantries. But you have to wonder, if it is important to us to not fill our children's tummies with junk, why were we eating it ourselves?

I think a lot of people examine their choices much more critically once there is another little person in the mix. For me, having a child has brought into sharp relief the chasm between what I want and how I live. The space between that which I value, and that which I do, is much easier to spot when I am trying to pass a value on to my son. It seems the failure to practice what you preach is more obvious when you are preaching out loud.

So, consider the following:
My son is two and a bit, and extremely active. When we get into loud and stimulating environments, it doesn't take long for my little sponge to soak up that energy and start bouncing off the walls. At home, he can sometimes play quietly and with intention, but if we are in an open space with a few other wild kids, he is swept up in it so fast, and what starts as fun degenerates into throwing and hitting and running into walls in very little time. This behaviour is spilling over into our home life more and more.

I do my best to set him up for success. We go to the Children's Museum during it's slow hours, so that it is easier to be calm. We pop in at the mall's play place only if there are just a few children playing, and no one is jumping off the slide. We avoid the play groups where the kids play rough, ignored by their bored caregivers. At home, his toys are kept organized, in good repair, and at a manageable quantity. We play calm music, and limit TV. We try.

I also am always trying to encourage my son to be content with what he has. For example, he often does not want the snack I have given him, and asks for something else. Aggravatingly, if I give him the something else, he asks for a third thing. And then juice. No, make it chocolate milk. In the yellow cup, not the green one. No, the yellow SIPPY cup! And on and on it goes.

I try to teach him to accept and appreciate what he has. "Sorry, buddy, it is apple slices and raisans right now. Maybe we can have fish crackers another time. You like apple slices!" Maybe it is not the most effective approach, but once again, I try.

One day last week, Nik had a whole morning marinated in these attractive qualities. Running and throwing, and knocking things over into a big mess, and generally being wild, interspersed with the "Nothing I have been given is good enough" attitude for extra flavour. By the time I had wrestled him to the table for lunch, I was at the end of my rope. I didn't know what else to do, so I added a line to my short lunchtime blessing:

Our Father in Heaven,

please bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies and souls,
and this day to Your glory.
Please help us to have calm spirits, and thankful hearts.
These things we pray in Jesus' name, Amen.

I felt pleased with my word choices. A calm spirit and a thankful heart, yes, that is what I want Nik to have. But I prayed, "Help us"... That was not really intentional. I mean, I always pray the prayer in the collective person. I say "our" and "we", so I logically said "us" and "spirits" and "hearts", even though I meant it to be about Nik, and his running in circles and his discontent.

But by now of course you see where I am headed. If I wanted this so badly for him, why was I not living it myself. If I wanted him to avoid the junk, why was I eating it myself?

My spirit is most times far from calm, and my heart far from overflowing with thankfulness. If my son is a little sponge for agitated energy, it is only because he is a chip off the big sponge. Like him, when I am at home base, I do have moments of quietness and intention, but put me in a crowded room, and stir me up, and soon I am mentally running in circles, and verbally throwing out words I did not take the time to think through. And I think that my previous post, From mall to museum, shows that I also struggle with being content with what I have.

I am starting to realize that my wishes for my son are born of wishes for myself. They reflect the way I want to be, even though I so consistently fall short of my own ideal. Maybe that is why his wild and discontented behaviour gets on my nerves so quickly. It is hard to look into an unflattering mirror.

Like I do for my son, I try to set myself up for success in acheiving these goals of calmness and contentment. I practice some yoga and meditation, and have learned some breathing exercises to help me slow down and disperse my own anxiety. I play calm music, and when the weather is nice, try to get outside just to walk and listen to the birds. I do my best to count my blessings, to realize what I have, to curb my tendency to always want the next thing. I try.

I try because part of me believes that if only I read enough books, organize enough closets, spend enough time, etc, then my life will fall into place. Then I will be free from all anxiety. Then I will be confident. Then I will feel calm. Oh yes, it can all be mine if only I try harder.

But I am coming to recognize this pattern for the chasing after the wind that it is. Faster and faster I run after my all-important ideals, and, for all my trying, I never seem to get any closer to living them. If anything, I am more anxious and less content with myself after trying, than I was before.

I come to the end of my rope with myself, too. So now I am going to try something new. I am going to ask for help, and let go of the control a little:

Father in Heaven,

you know how much I am prone to running in circles,
and you know how often I forget to appreciate all that I have.
Please give me a calm spirit, and a thankful heart.
I don't want the junk for Nik, and I don't want it for me either.
These things I pray in Jesus' name, Amen

Fear of a unique path

There are days when I feel like we are on a totally original parenting path. Choosing not to conform to the parenting choices around us seems to mean choosing to blaze a new trail. No, not in the global sense (we are not inventing totally new ways of doing things), but in a local sense. Being the first of the 'real' people we know, the first among our peers to do things differently, has left us feeling like pioneers, and we've experienced the accompanying sense of aloneness.

I have found that parenting has no autopilot. Every day brings new choices. Even if it is a choice you made yesterday, you have to choose to make the same choice today, or to do it differently. What is more, each choice seems to lead to one camp or another. Once you take the first step in a particular direction, it is hard to know how long to walk that path. Like joining a religious movement or a political party, there is pressure to conform, and I wonder if the "others" will accept us if we don't buy into everything. Can I choose to cloth diaper, but not buy organic? What if I breastfeed, choosing even to nurse past one year, but don't wait for child-led weaning? What if I pick up my son when he cries, never leaving him to sob himself to sleep, but keep him happy in a swing or exersaucer every chance I get? Am I leading a false life if I profess natural parenting, but my home is filled with plastic toys?

Adding to the stress of these external influences, the various schools of thought that make up my internal landscape seem to be at odds with each other as well. Sorting out how to remain true to what I believe, and also parent in a way that is filled with loving kindness, overwhlems me. I feel like a walking oxymoron at times. How can I rectify my respect for leadership and firm moral roots, with my heart's longing for gentle discussion and understanding, and my head's logical assessment of the science behind behaviour? To simplify, how can I belive in both autocracy and democracy, or natural development and behavioural reinforcment, when these things seem to be consistently at odds with one another?

How much easier would it be to just join up with a group and go with the flow? To do everything the same as the majority at church, or in my neighbourhood mom's group, or at my breastfeeding support group, or as the professionals in my workplace... My head is tired from the struggle, from considering things from all the angles, from thinking and thinking about the choices we make for our family, our son.

Is there any way for me to describe sufficiently the longing I have to truly connect with someone in real life? Because of the internet and myriad of published books out there, I am never at a loss to read the words of someone who shares my perspective or passion in any given subject. But message boards and books always leave the speaker at arm's length, only giving such a limited view of that person. Okay, so I know your thoughts on how nuture a child. What about your thoughts on spirituality, nutrition, marriage, work, art, fitness.... and the list goes on and on.

I guess I am afraid of walking a totally unique path, both as a mother, and otherwise. I don't need the whole world to share my perspective on every little thing, but meeting just one other would be nice. My longing for the perfect mentor mom is so pervasive. What a load off of my shoulders it would be to be able to have someone to run to the next time I don't know which way to turn! In my fantasy, she would have just the perfect solution, complete with logical and heartfelt reasons, and it would marry beautifully with the rest of my life. I would leave my meeting with her feeling competent and empowered, knowing just what to do next.

The reality of course, is that my perfect mentor does not exist. Adult life is defined by the struggle, the doubts and regrets, the wondering if you did the right thing, and what you will do next. It is not surprising that these feelings are brought into even sharper relief when undertaking a task as complicated and important as parenting. So we move forward, persistently weaving together our spiritual, moral, intellectual, interpersonal and intuitive knowledges as we come to each fork in the road. May you have God's blessing on the journey.