School of Heart (A Poem)

School of Heart::Heart of School
Young children filled with curiosity.
Explorers posing questions;
always in the moment; 
laughing frequently.
Their little bodies fully inhabited;
they play with abandon.

Children enter school with anticipation 
and open minds.
Learning happens. Training occurs.
Copious time spent in the classroom.
Twelve years.
Then perhaps four more.

The explorers are less intrepid;
the excitement dims.
Tests, activities, assessment,
prestige, and excellence.
Where are the risks?
GPA trumps new exploration.
Where is the balance?
Constant achievement is the scissors
to balance's paper.

What class teaches self-acceptance?
What school prioritizes pause and reflection?
What curriculum works with the range 
of human emotions?

We teach to the brain,
as if it's severed from the body
and the heart.
These curious explorers are worthy
of so much more.

Backyard Flowers (everyday beauty)

I cannot resist flowers. They are colorful and rich (especially in the details). Plus, they represent something bigger: fully blooming and enjoying life. Luckily for me, my backyard is full of flower magic. Each day I take a mindful walk around the perimeter and notice the new buds, half-blooms, and full blooms. It's truly amazing what can happen in a single day. Nature is such a special teacher.

And this is just the beginning! As the summer progresses there will be blooms from geranium, Shasta daisy, aster, black-eyed-Susan, bee balm, lily, Hosta, and ornamental grass (to name just a few). It's eye candy, but it's also a lesson in seeing; a lesson in anticipation, patience, noticing, and beauty.

Lessons Learned from Nieces & Nephews

My nieces and nephews are now 15, 13, 12, and 10 years old. From the moment they were born, I loved them with my whole heart. They're a very important part of my life. I love them fiercely and also gently. I unabashedly spoil them with special experiences, gooey cookies, my deep love and attention, and an occasional candy salad. In turn, they teach me much about life. Here are but a few of the lessons I regularly receive from my nieces & nephews:

Laugh and be silly.

When I'm in my normal routine, especially when things are busy at school, I sometimes take myself way too seriously. Things become more urgent. My role as a teacher becomes overly important. I press too hard. (The urgency and importance is a function of my own mind state, not of any external events.) It's during these times that a weekend visit with my kiddos brings me back to myself--to silliness, laughter, and play. I gain wonderful perspective. I step outside my typical boundaries and take on imaginary roles (e.g., funny voices or actions). I laugh a ton. I realize most things are not urgent and really not that important--certainly not more important than laughter.

Be creative.
My nieces are both very creative. They see things in refreshing, interesting ways. Where I see the same-old-stuff, they see unusual beauty or magic. A glimpse through their eyes is a special gift. It reminds me to access my own creativity regularly and tenderly. And it reminds me that creativity is found in wide-ranging places. (BTW, my nephews are also quite creative, but in different ways. This speaks again to my last statement about finding artistry in wide-ranging places. Creativity is really all-encompassing. So why not create?)

Run around.
When my niece Emma was very young (maybe 3?), she and my sister attended story time at the library. Emma sat attentively for the first part of the story, then she turned to my sister and said, "Mommy, I need to run around." She proceeded to run a lap around the inside of the library. Then she happily sat down for the rest of the story. (Big grin. I love this memory.) We all need to run around sometimes. Whether it be to clear our heads, relieve stress, gain a new perspective, re-inhabit our bodies, or free ourselves from limitations. Running around is a great option to keep in my back pocket.

Allow for indulgence.

I am a very disciplined person. (Mark says one of my superpowers is that I immediately and genuinely like any food that is nutritious and good for me.) That discipline often helps me. For example, I typically make healthful choices in terms of food, exercise, emotional exploration, and connection. On the flip side, my discipline can sometimes turn into self-punishment. I'm now more aware of when I move into the self-punishment realm (that's a constricting, fearful place to inhabit). And I'm more willing to indulge and fully enjoy life. Whenever I'm with my nieces & nephews, there's typically some form of indulgence (often created by me), which I fully embrace.

Stick together.
We all need alone time for reflection and rejuvenation. Yet connection is another vital part of our life force. When I'm with my nieces and nephews, I am fully connected. We stick together through everything. Regardless of the ups and downs, fights and joys, thrills and disappointments, we believe in the acceptance and love that runs through our relationship.

Never take yourself too seriously.
Not taking myself too seriously is directly related to the first lesson: laugh and be silly. I just couldn't resist including this picture of me and my nieces as the "Angels" to my dad's "Charlie." This photo was taken on a whim--an idea of Emma's that we made happen in the moment. It was great fun. 

Be brave.

All my nieces & nephews challenge themselves with new things--new things that might bring disappointment, but also great joy. They are fearless in some ways that I really admire. They are themselves. They are brave. And when you're surrounded by people who do brave things and expose their vulnerability, it opens a space--a space for more people to be brave. I feel my courage soar whenever I'm with these kiddos.

Be open to new perspectives.
The kids often bring new perspectives to a conversation or a situation. Sometimes this is more helpful than other times, but always it's welcome. I'm refreshed by a new viewpoint or a new experience, both of which appear whenever I'm with one of my nieces and nephews. My eyes and mind are opened just a bit more.

Surprise yourself.
This is a lesson not directly gained from my nieces and nephews, but indirectly gained through quality time spent with them. When I'm with them, I know I can truly be myself. And I can surprise myself. I can make authentic choices, be silly, take quiet time, share, laugh, be honest--and I can do these things in surprising ways. I sometimes put limitations on myself about how to act or be. When I'm with my special nieces and nephews these limitations are lifted.

Secret Lives of Professors

Some of my students think I'm always upbeat, happy, and excited. Reality: occasionally I need a serious pick-me-up before class. Once I'm in the classroom, I feed off the students young, inquisitive energy. Yet it's important I enter that space as mindfully and authentically as possible. Periodically, I need to jump around in my office as a pre-class warm-up:

Grounding Myself in the Moment

Impermanence is a central teaching in Buddhism. Nothing stays the same; there is no solid ground on which to stand forever; it is not possible to wrap everything up. This can be very unsettling, as we humans have difficulty with uncertainty and change. (I so want to wrap up everything--it's a go-to daydream of mine.) Yet it's also freeing in that our emotions, like everything else,  are impermanent. We might feel intense grief or fear or shame (for minutes, hours, or days), but it won't last. The emotional weather will indeed change. On the flip side, the golden, joyous moments (and accompanying pleasant emotions) cannot stay forever, as much as we'd like to live in bliss.

As I explore photography and poetry, I notice a certain theme: the from-where-I-stand photograph. During my recent poetry class, I took these photos daily for a week. Looking at them together, I think about the teaching of impermanence. There is no solid ground on which we can consistently stand, but we can ground ourselves in this very moment. We can pause, feel our feet connect with the ground, pay attention to our breath, and experience the now. A paradox: the only solid ground we have is the present moment, which is constantly changing. The more moments we can fully inhabit, the more comfortable we become with uncertainty.

Authentic Motivation

Teaching brings me creative and personal fulfillment. I reflect on the current topics and on my particular class of students, and then I piece together an activity, set of questions, helpful explanation, and/or interesting example (and perhaps some levity). 

Outside the classroom, I enjoy varied creative outlets. (These are the color in my life.)  My creativity takes many forms: photography, card making, journaling, cooking, poetry, gardening, and my blog. These are soul-filling activities for me. Yet they are also a place on which my comparing-mind latches. 

Here's an example of my comparing-mind: "Look at so-so's blog. She's way more creative than you are. Her pictures are more beautiful; her words are more powerful; and the layout of her blog is more interesting. She's an artist. You're a hack."

Sometimes my response is "but I'm a statistician! She's an artist by profession. That's not a fair comparison." Yet even that response is not authentic--it's defensive. It's a response meant to protect my vulnerable heart. It's a surface response and doesn't address the real issue. Here's the important question: why do I create? What is my authentic motivation?

The creative process keeps me in the moment, teaches me about myself, encourages me to experiment, and brings me joy. These reasons are my authentic motivation. When I'm centered in these motivations, then comparing-mind disappears (poof!). It's just me and the creative process (and no one else).

Comparing-mind flares not just in creative work, but in any and all places. Some varied examples of comparing-mind: "She's a more devoted mother than you." "He is much smarter than you." "She runs much faster than you." "He gets so much more done than you." "She has more publications than you." "He has more friends than you."

These are all versions of the same untrue, fear-based story: you are not okay just as you are. Yet they flare in all of us. It's us being human. When comparing-mind takes over my thoughts, I find it helpful to center myself in my authentic motivation. Why do I create? Why do I exercise? Why do I make cards for my friends? Initially, I get a defensive reaction, but if I sit still long enough, I access my genuine motivation: I create because it brings me peace and joy; I exercise because it feels good to move my body; I make cards for my friends, because I love them deeply. 

Once I reconnect with my true intention, there's an easiness and spaciousness. And with that gentleness I'm better able to serve my true self and serve others. I'm better equipped to interact with this beautiful, crazy, always-changing, awesome world.

Color in Photography & Life

The practice of photography teaches me loads about life. A sprinkling of examples: photography teaches me to be in the moment, take a different perspective, look for light, and see beauty everywhere. Photography also teaches me about color. A bold color or contrast of colors can make a photograph pop.

I've recently looked for color through my camera lens, so I naturally think about color in my life. To me, a life filled with color means a life filled with joy, authenticity, bravery, and creativity. When we live in color, we let our true selves shine; we fully participate; we enjoy ourselves (even on a weeknight!); we celebrate just because; we aren't afraid to be seen. Color is gorgeous, deep, bright, and playful. To borrow a phrase from Emile Zola, a life filled with color is "lived out loud."

Of course, real life isn't beautiful color every moment. But the pops of color are vital to our existence. The pops of color are soul filling. Without that color, our experiences become blah, tedious, and lifeless. Photography provides some important questions for me: Where is there color in my life? What are the different shades of color and what do they do for me? When do I actually prefer black and white? When do I desperately crave a splash of color? Most importantly: do I honor my needs? Do I "live out loud," regardless of the color shade? 

This Girl, She...

[The prompt for this poem, "This girl, she...", was provided by Liz Lamoreux.]

This Girl

This girl, she carries a bright light in her soul.

At times, she covers the radiance,

fearful of what it means to be seen.

Occasionally she shifts to high-beam,

boldly exposing herself.

Often she focuses the soft glow

on a person in need.

This girl, she struggles daily

with the light-stealing habits of ego;

mirrors used to deflect attention

from the truth.

The truth that she is okay.

This girl, she is beautiful.

She is complicated, compassionate,

and creative.

She is beyond words.

This girl, she must trust herself.

For everything she needs

is already inside of her.

Tenderness

During my walk home Monday evening, I took many dandelion pictures. In particular, I'm drawn to the delicate, soft state of dandelions when they go to seed. I want to curl up in them and take a long nap. Inside there's such tenderness--such a soft center. This softness is lovely compared to the harshness I sometimes encounter. Harshness of world realities, judgment, and overwork. Interesting to find such tenderness in dandelions--a weed with which I have a complicated relationship (some days I fully see its beauty and other days I see a group of ugly things in my yard). Perhaps it's appropriate to receive a lesson in softness from a weed. In fact, the complicated relationship I have with dandelions, I have with myself. Some days I see my beautiful soul; other days I judge myself with harshness. This dandelion photo reminds me to release the tight grasp of harshness and let go into tenderness; to embrace the soft spot in my own heart.

Peskiness of Ego

The cartoon below comes from the May issue of Shambhala Sun. 

In case you can't read the punch line, I'll repeat it: "Between yoga, pilates, therapy, massage, and meditation, I hardly have any time for myself." As someone who does all these things, the cartoon made me chuckle. Sometimes we make to-dos out of our spiritual practice. Or our creative practice. Or our workout practice. This is the peskiness of ego. (I use the word "ego." Others might call it gremlin voice, negative-pants voice, etc.)

For example, we might enter into a routine with very positive intentions. But at some point ego flips the intention to must-do-this-or-you-are-not-a-good-person anxiety. Meddling ego. This is the story of my life. Just when I think I know all the routes ego takes, it finds a new one. But when I notice, I try to smile and then simply ignore. (Note: This is difficult to do, but oh-so worth it.)

Recently, I've been doing a lot. It's been a great deal of creative fun (e.g., photography class, changes to my statistics course, poetry class, meeting with advisees, gardening). But it's too much doing and not enough being. Sometimes I just need to lay on the couch and check in with myself--and specifically ignore my monkey mind of new things to do. Sometimes, instead of creating (e.g. taking a photo or writing a poem), I really need to experience the moment; to watch the animals in the backyard; to simply listen to a thunderstorm; to just be with myself, no distractions needed.

The Library Rocks!

Recently I've been interested in poetry--both reading and writing. It's a new-to-me art form. For so long I pushed poetry away, thinking it was beyond my grasp. Now it's my latest crush. I want to read as many poets as possible--just dabble, perhaps not fully commit. The last three weeks, I've spent quality Saturday morning time at the library. In fact, not only am I crushing on poetry, but I'm also a little in love with the library. 

When I walk in the doors, I immediately feel comforted, surrounded by so many books. And I can sit in the stacks for hours--no pressure to leave quickly and no guilt to buy; I just leisurely peruse. Then I can check out a huge stack of books. The library is a beautiful thing.

In my last online poetry class, our teacher (Liz Lamoreux) read the poem "The Sun Never Says" by Hafiz. Such a short poem, yet so powerful and beautiful. And, you guessed it, I found it at the library:

The library (among many other things) lights up my sky. Thank you!

Puddles

Over the last two days, we've gotten much rain (including some fabulous thunderstorms). Yesterday, I took a work break and walked around campus. In particular, the puddles caught my eye. Huge puddles left after a long rain; puddles with amazing reflections. It was a lovely meditation to see inside the puddles and take photographs. Upon viewing the pictures on my computer, I realized the puddles contained lessons.

In the above diptych, the first picture focuses on the ground, whereas the second picture focuses on the reflection in the puddle. Both interesting photos, just different focus. Makes me think about life and the places I put my focus. Sometimes I get so bogged down in details that I miss the big picture. Or I'm so focused on the ground, that I miss the amazing sky. Whenever I feel like I have no choices and I must do something, that's usually the time when I need a new focus. The puddles reminded me of that. 

Now consider another viewpoint. What do you see in the photo below?

The scene seems surreal yet somewhat familiar. In fact, it's one of my puddle pictures turned 180 degrees. Again, this reminds me of life. Sometimes it's really helpful to change my viewpoint 180 degrees. This helps me intellectually, creatively, and emotionally. Luckily for me, Mark has an excellent eye. He sees things through a different, interesting lens. (For example, he's the one who suggested the 180-degree shift of the puddle picture.) It's good for me to be pushed by Mark (and by my friends who regularly think outside the box and question the status quo). It's good for me to be pushed by myself. Finding new perspectives and new views creates space, growth, and freedom.
  
Who knew I could learn so much from puddles? (I think there are many great teachers--of all kinds--that go unnoticed, puddles included.)

Life (just as is)

Today began with a fabulous thunderstorm at 5am. It ended with sunshine and 75-degree temps. In the meantime, I graded 31 exams; caught up on email; interacted with my fun, inquisitive students; wrote homework solutions; had important conversations; read poetry (I love the Writer's Almanac for finding new poems); went to Pilates class; and walked home.

When I returned home on this gorgeous day, I took more self-timer actions shots in the backyard. There's so much I love about this kind of photo: the playfulness, the experimentation, the creativity, the athleticism, the joy. Mark came home and smiled at me from the window. He knew exactly what I was doing. 

But then it's time for me to get out from behind my camera and focus on my life. Mark and I rode our bikes to Fratellos, had drinks and dinner, and thoroughly enjoyed each other's company. These are the blessings of life--just as it is.

And lest you think I've forgotten about my precious flowers during this whole self-timer-action-shot phase, please know I'm taking daily photos of the green, colorful plant growth in my backyard. That's the magic of fairy tales:

    

Accompanying haiku:

New purple petals,

in a sea of gorgeous growth.

I spy you each time.

Superhero

Long ago, I gave up the notion of "doing it all" and being superwoman. Yes, my ego still wants me to get everything done beautifully while maintaining a calm, happy exterior, but that's not the reality. Reality: some errands don't get done, some papers get handed back late, some birthday cards are belated, and some workouts are skipped. BUT, the things I do are done with my whole heart and from my authentic self--imperfect and precious as it is.

That said, it's still fun to pretend to be a superhero--to pretend I can fly. Photography teacher, Andrea Scher, encourages us to play with the self-timer on our camera; to let our inner child/superhero fly. (I showed a few of these types of photos in a previous blog post.) After work yesterday, while there was still some light, I took 40+ superman photos in my bedroom. The lighting in that room is terrible for photos, but who cares? I had an absolute blast. And for a moment I flew:

These self-timer action photos are a blast. Even if none of them turns out as I hope, the experience is so much FUN. I experiment, laugh, and try new things. I play. And sometimes, after a long day in the office, I need to take a joyful leaping break (just 'cause it brings a smile to my face):