One of the highlights of my year this year was when my oldest son invited me to play ball with him and some of the guys at work. We went to the OU gym and I had a blast! I didn't realize that this was such a big thing until a friend pointed out that there probably aren't a lot of 43 year old moms hanging out at the gym and playing basketball with college guys. It made me feel way cool.
I started playing basketball late. I was a sophomore in high school. People kept telling me that because I was tall, I should be playing basketball. So I went out for the team. I was put on the B-team of course, but really lucky because our A-team went to State that year and the next. I got to be with the best. We had a class hour set aside for basketball, and we also practiced after school during the season. Our coach was a stickler for the fundamentals, and yet we learned advanced concepts too, plays and zone defenses and the particulars of man-to-man defense. It all fascinated me. The players on the B-team were all told they could come to the A-team practices and shoot on the sidelines. I was at every single practice, shooting and watching the A-team run the plays over and over again. Sometimes the coach would put me in the scrimmage at the end of practice. I was really proud of my progress. By my Junior year I had improved enough to dress out with the A-team. We went to state again and I had a blue and gold letter jacket decorated with patches. I loved that jacket!
All this was a grounding experience for me at a time when my home life was rapidly deteriorating. I had trouble getting to the games. I'd walk miles home from practice, and yet I was determined to participate no matter what. My mother never attended even one of my games. Along the end of my Junior year, my mom stopped coming home, first for a night, then several nights, and then for two weeks. I was the oldest of four children. We were taken away from her and two weeks into my Senior year, just as I was poised to step up and hopefully become a starter for our team, we moved to a very small Missouri town, population 400. I was now in a Senior class of 25 teenagers who had all known each other since grade school. I played basketball there, but it wasn't the same.
After I graduated, I didn't play basketball again until I went to Iran. By that time I had two small sons at home. I mentioned that I loved basketball in one of the English classes I taught, and one of my students told me there was a basketball class in a nearby gym. I went to a practice and was immediately invited to join the team. I did and for the next eleven years we played ball! We lost a lot in the beginning and went through a lot of trial and turmoil. Basketball is not the most appreciated activity for a Muslim woman who is expected to be chaste and ladylike. A lot of the girls had to really work hard to convince their families to let them play at a competitive level. Even I would never have been able to do it if not for my sons incredible aunts, who took care of them when I was at games and tournaments. Eventually we improved and were able to represent the city in different tournaments and eventually we joined the National League and worked our way up from Level 3 to Level 2, and then to Level 1. We really worked hard for that. We even had a sponsor, Homa Air. That was Awesome! The next level is the Superleague. The members of the National Women's team are chosen from players on Level 1 and Superleague teams. They then play womens teams from other countries. I credit Basketball with saving my sanity. The cultural difference was stressful, not to mention the fact that I was trapped in Iran and not allowed to leave the country. I would be at home, and upset with some crazy idea my ex-husband had, or something that had happened with my children that I couldn't control. I would go off to practice in a huff, angry and stressed out. After 2 hours of running, jumping, drills, and scrimmage, I would arrive at home an angel, at peace with the world and clear about how I was going to handle the problem of the day. Even to this day, exercise is my anti-depressant. It allows me to serve myself and the world with energy, optimism, and inner peace.
It will be 5 years in March 2012 since I have returned from Iran. I still play basketball 1-3 times a week, mostly one-on-one with my son. It's funny, men were never allowed to see our games in Iran, only women were allowed in the gym because we wore classic basketball uniforms: tank top and shorts. (I was always number 14) Now we play here at the YMCA and it's our way to bond. We talk trash, foul each other like crazy and love it! Not many Moms can say that their son is not afraid to take them to the college gym to play with the guys. I am truly blessed!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Do you love me? Do you really do?
I am reading M. Scott Peck's "Further Along the Road Less Traveled" Sigh. I love reading books like this, but they always make me feel that I have so far to go on the road to being a complete and whole human being. I feel like a jigsaw puzzle, with fragments lying all over the table. There's a really beautiful picture there somewhere, but so far, only little pockets here and there have enough pieces put together to hint at the possibility of the whole.
In the book, Scott talks about a study the military did back when he was working in the army. They studied a group of "markedly successful" people who were not only successful in their careers but loved and popular socially. At one point in the study they were asked to write down the three most important things in their life, in order of importance. All of the participants (there were twelve) took a long time to do this. Scott reports that the person that turned his in first took about forty minutes, and some took more than an hour. They weren't allowed to consult with each other, but an amazing thing happened. They all wrote exactly the same thing for answer # one. Myself. M. Scott Peck says "Not 'Love.' Not 'God.' Not 'My family.' But 'Myself' And that, I suggest, was an expression of mature self-love. Self-love implies the care, respect, and responsibility for and the knowledge of the self. Without loving one's self one cannot love others. But do not confuse self-love with self-centeredness. These successful men and women were loving spouses and parents and caring supervisors."
Then Scott goes on to describe an encounter with a person he labels as being a person of the lie. He thinks these people of the lie are essentially evil. When he asked this person what was most important the reply was, "My self-esteem." So what's the difference? Self-esteem is supposed to be a good thing right? I was confused. He goes on to say that people of the lie believe that self-esteem is so important that they will do anything to preserve their self-esteem at all costs, whereas self-love is believing ourselves to be important and valued without being attached to being constantly having to perceive ourselves as esteemed.
The concept of constantly trying to preserve self-esteem is really foreign to me. I can't imagine what that life would feel like. My perspective is probably the opposite. I struggled for years and still struggle with believing in my intrinsic value and worth, although I've come so far from the whisper of a person that I once was.
Let's go back to the answer, "MYSELF." Putting “Myself” at the top of the list of priorities in my life. I stopped when I read that passage and asked myself two questions: 1. "Hey self, how long would you have taken to write down your answers? Would you have gotten impatient and written down a few trite responses that you thought other people would think were good answers? Huh, self? Would you have sat in a room for at least forty minutes deliberating?" (What I'd really like to know is if they were given all the time in the world to answer, because they had the day off and nothing else was pressing, or if all of them had jobs waiting that they really needed to get back to. I'd like to know if the question floored them when they read it and they sat down and mentally said, 'this'll take some consideration.' Then putting all else aside devoted themselves to the answer in spite of outside pressure.) Yes, my first question was "How Long?" I read all the time about sitting down to really set goals, just taking time to really think about what I want from life, what direction I need to go, but then I tell myself, "Ok Sunday. We'll do that Sunday.” Then I rush off willy-nilly into my life. Sunday comes and goes, vroom! I don't think I would have taken all the time I needed. I don't think I take all the time I need.
The second question I asked myself was, "Hey Self, what would you have written at the top of the list? I then reviewed all the possibilities and conclude that the question is no longer fair. I know what the kids at the top of the class would've written. I actually laughed out loud! I don't know what I would've written before, but I know what I'm writing now! It's been two weeks now since I've read that passage on page 88 of the book. I've told different people about it, discussed it. I even have applied it to my own life. There was a tough decision I had to make. Someone needed my help, a rescue of sorts. In the past I would've immediately said, "Yes!" even if my gut were telling me, "NO!" So I said to myself, "Self! If you were a person who had written, "Myself" at the top of a list of The Three Most Important Things in My Life, what would you do? I stopped. I realized how sad, how stressed, and how overwhelming all the events in my life right now already are. I realized that I am already helping people now, and I don't have the resources to rescue anyone. I also realized I was angry. I was angry because the person asking for a rescue had already asked me once before, and I had already said no. Now this person is back again in more dire circumstances, still expecting a rescue from me, for a situation that came about as a result of a lack of planning and an expectation that everyone else would chip right in and make miracles happen! (I stopped and asked myself why I was so angry, what’s the deal with the self-righteousness? It's said the things that make you angry are the weaknesses you yourself possess. I have a weakness for wanting things to happen so bad that I just blindly think miracles will happen and that somehow my lack of vision and planning will be smoothed over and made up for. I think it comes of a victim mentality and the belief that someone, somewhere will want to rescue me if I am pitiful. It's a really lazy way of thinking, yet very addictive and destructive. I learned it as a neglected, lonely child as a way to get attention. It's not a skill that serves me now. I have to fight that constantly.) Back to the dilemma, after I considered the situation as a person who would have written "Myself", I realized I needed to say no once again. It wouldn't serve the person or me to rescue him with bitterness, regret, or anger in my heart. I released the outcome, and prayed for guidance for us all. I was able to do so calmly without all the guilty voices that might have condemned me in the past. (It seems that self-love may be a calm way to live.) I saw him recently; other people had stepped forward and were helping. I was glad. Glad he was helped, and glad I took care of what was important first, even if just this one time.
"Myself" Perhaps I wouldn't have written that at the top of my list before. I am writing it now. I am envisioning a life in which it becomes the absolute Truth.
Love your neighbor as yourself. Answer me this: How much do you love yourself?
In the book, Scott talks about a study the military did back when he was working in the army. They studied a group of "markedly successful" people who were not only successful in their careers but loved and popular socially. At one point in the study they were asked to write down the three most important things in their life, in order of importance. All of the participants (there were twelve) took a long time to do this. Scott reports that the person that turned his in first took about forty minutes, and some took more than an hour. They weren't allowed to consult with each other, but an amazing thing happened. They all wrote exactly the same thing for answer # one. Myself. M. Scott Peck says "Not 'Love.' Not 'God.' Not 'My family.' But 'Myself' And that, I suggest, was an expression of mature self-love. Self-love implies the care, respect, and responsibility for and the knowledge of the self. Without loving one's self one cannot love others. But do not confuse self-love with self-centeredness. These successful men and women were loving spouses and parents and caring supervisors."
Then Scott goes on to describe an encounter with a person he labels as being a person of the lie. He thinks these people of the lie are essentially evil. When he asked this person what was most important the reply was, "My self-esteem." So what's the difference? Self-esteem is supposed to be a good thing right? I was confused. He goes on to say that people of the lie believe that self-esteem is so important that they will do anything to preserve their self-esteem at all costs, whereas self-love is believing ourselves to be important and valued without being attached to being constantly having to perceive ourselves as esteemed.
The concept of constantly trying to preserve self-esteem is really foreign to me. I can't imagine what that life would feel like. My perspective is probably the opposite. I struggled for years and still struggle with believing in my intrinsic value and worth, although I've come so far from the whisper of a person that I once was.
Let's go back to the answer, "MYSELF." Putting “Myself” at the top of the list of priorities in my life. I stopped when I read that passage and asked myself two questions: 1. "Hey self, how long would you have taken to write down your answers? Would you have gotten impatient and written down a few trite responses that you thought other people would think were good answers? Huh, self? Would you have sat in a room for at least forty minutes deliberating?" (What I'd really like to know is if they were given all the time in the world to answer, because they had the day off and nothing else was pressing, or if all of them had jobs waiting that they really needed to get back to. I'd like to know if the question floored them when they read it and they sat down and mentally said, 'this'll take some consideration.' Then putting all else aside devoted themselves to the answer in spite of outside pressure.) Yes, my first question was "How Long?" I read all the time about sitting down to really set goals, just taking time to really think about what I want from life, what direction I need to go, but then I tell myself, "Ok Sunday. We'll do that Sunday.” Then I rush off willy-nilly into my life. Sunday comes and goes, vroom! I don't think I would have taken all the time I needed. I don't think I take all the time I need.
The second question I asked myself was, "Hey Self, what would you have written at the top of the list? I then reviewed all the possibilities and conclude that the question is no longer fair. I know what the kids at the top of the class would've written. I actually laughed out loud! I don't know what I would've written before, but I know what I'm writing now! It's been two weeks now since I've read that passage on page 88 of the book. I've told different people about it, discussed it. I even have applied it to my own life. There was a tough decision I had to make. Someone needed my help, a rescue of sorts. In the past I would've immediately said, "Yes!" even if my gut were telling me, "NO!" So I said to myself, "Self! If you were a person who had written, "Myself" at the top of a list of The Three Most Important Things in My Life, what would you do? I stopped. I realized how sad, how stressed, and how overwhelming all the events in my life right now already are. I realized that I am already helping people now, and I don't have the resources to rescue anyone. I also realized I was angry. I was angry because the person asking for a rescue had already asked me once before, and I had already said no. Now this person is back again in more dire circumstances, still expecting a rescue from me, for a situation that came about as a result of a lack of planning and an expectation that everyone else would chip right in and make miracles happen! (I stopped and asked myself why I was so angry, what’s the deal with the self-righteousness? It's said the things that make you angry are the weaknesses you yourself possess. I have a weakness for wanting things to happen so bad that I just blindly think miracles will happen and that somehow my lack of vision and planning will be smoothed over and made up for. I think it comes of a victim mentality and the belief that someone, somewhere will want to rescue me if I am pitiful. It's a really lazy way of thinking, yet very addictive and destructive. I learned it as a neglected, lonely child as a way to get attention. It's not a skill that serves me now. I have to fight that constantly.) Back to the dilemma, after I considered the situation as a person who would have written "Myself", I realized I needed to say no once again. It wouldn't serve the person or me to rescue him with bitterness, regret, or anger in my heart. I released the outcome, and prayed for guidance for us all. I was able to do so calmly without all the guilty voices that might have condemned me in the past. (It seems that self-love may be a calm way to live.) I saw him recently; other people had stepped forward and were helping. I was glad. Glad he was helped, and glad I took care of what was important first, even if just this one time.
"Myself" Perhaps I wouldn't have written that at the top of my list before. I am writing it now. I am envisioning a life in which it becomes the absolute Truth.
Love your neighbor as yourself. Answer me this: How much do you love yourself?
Sunday, September 11, 2011
What's the price?
A very dear friend recently gave me the book Wild At Heart, by John Eldredge. It is a book written by a man for men. The subtitle is Discovering the Secret of a Man's Soul. My friend recommended it to me because of difficulty I am having with a relationship I am in.
One amazing thing he says is about the temptation of Eve. He says that Adam was present when Eve was being tempted. That Adam could've intervened but didn't and even after he stands back and watches Eve eat the forbidden fruit, he could've chosen God over Eve but he didn't.
This created a lot of anger and conflict in my mind. Anger because I looked back over the history of Christianity and Islam and I see centuries of blame. How many times because of the story of The Fall from Eden have women been punished and persecuted? How many women have been made to feel weak and inferior because they have been accused of being the reason Evil is in the world? That women are the reason for estrangement from God? Then I began to think. It's just that kind of anger, the broad-stroke anger against men in general that I was feeling, that is actually the same sort of anger that the self-righteous men who believed they had been wronged by Eve and that the daughters of Eve should be punished were feeling. The world is too diverse and complicated for blanket accusations. Even the Bible had the Good Samaritan, who should have given in to prejudice, but didn't and even went the extra mile to save someone who by cultural norms should've been offensive to him. Meeting each person on a case by case basis, and attempting to see and figure out all the good and all the bad in that person, loving him unconditionally as God would, putting up boundaries, fair and firm. to protect your own lovely God-given soul from the bad, opening yourself up to drink the good the other has to offer into your heart, and deciding how far into your life each person will be allowed is a HUGE amount of work. Especially because all the while you are doing this, your own bad and good, cultural references and judgment, childhood relationship issues, and worries about bills, money, family, and self-worth are all clouding your ability to see and hear the other person. When you think about it, stereotypes and snap-judgments save us a lot of psychological strain and stress. They are easy, a cheap way to handle relationships with others in our world. What's the price? What is the real price of paying all that energy into a relationship, or going the cheaper judgmental route and being done with it?
Long ago, I read somewhere about the price of everything in our lives. For everything obtained, material or spiritual, there is a price. The accepted view in the material world is that things of great value generally cost much more than things of little value. Things of great value usually are of a much higher quality and purity than things of little value. Things of great value are usually long-lived, cherished and enjoyed for generations, where things that are come by cheaply don't last long, aren't cherished or given much thought, and give very short-term satisfaction. I've come to believe that it is the same for a man's inner world as well. Quality thinking is bought by spending time on reading, thinking, and listening to others who have also spent time on thought. Quality relationships are bought by people who spend time and energy on becoming better listeners, better acceptors of self and others, who try to really see the core of each person they come in contact with. Deep lasting awareness of self and others is bought with a price. The price is going beyond stereotypes, and hashing out a conscious way of thinking, knowing that pain, fear, anger, or other strong emotions will accompany that process. It's asking a Higher Power for guidance until we finally make a resolution and act upon it, knowing that, based upon our severely limited knowledge and ability, that we may be making a mistake. It's willingness to accept responsibility for a mistake, then go through the whole painful process again to make a better choice than last time. Sometimes I deliberate and ruminate, and decide. Those decisions are the ones that feel the sweetest to me. They seem to expand my soul, somehow make me into something a little bigger. Sometimes I am miserable, tired, or too busy to deliberate. Sometimes I just want to avoid the pain, let someone else decide, give up my personal power and go with whatever popular opinion seems to be. Actually I’ve made a lot of decisions this way. So many of those cheap decisions, in afterthought, caused a lot more anguish, embarrassment, and regret down the road than I would ever have imagined.
Ultimately I guess that perhaps it's not so important whether Eve tempted Adam, whether Adam was present or off in another part of Paradise doing cool Paradise things, or if Adam could've stopped Eve or didn't. Who’s to blame Adam or Eve? The result is and always will be the same. That's all in the past. We are here, we are human, we have right now, and we have all our relationships that are right here, right now. We are alive today and we have a life to spend, our currency today is time and energy. However any of us came by the next 24 hours, I am certain that if you are human, it was hard-won. Love as unconditionally as you possibly can. See as judgment free as you possibly can. Embrace joy and sorrow as the twins that they surely are. Seek and search out quality as much as possible!
One amazing thing he says is about the temptation of Eve. He says that Adam was present when Eve was being tempted. That Adam could've intervened but didn't and even after he stands back and watches Eve eat the forbidden fruit, he could've chosen God over Eve but he didn't.
This created a lot of anger and conflict in my mind. Anger because I looked back over the history of Christianity and Islam and I see centuries of blame. How many times because of the story of The Fall from Eden have women been punished and persecuted? How many women have been made to feel weak and inferior because they have been accused of being the reason Evil is in the world? That women are the reason for estrangement from God? Then I began to think. It's just that kind of anger, the broad-stroke anger against men in general that I was feeling, that is actually the same sort of anger that the self-righteous men who believed they had been wronged by Eve and that the daughters of Eve should be punished were feeling. The world is too diverse and complicated for blanket accusations. Even the Bible had the Good Samaritan, who should have given in to prejudice, but didn't and even went the extra mile to save someone who by cultural norms should've been offensive to him. Meeting each person on a case by case basis, and attempting to see and figure out all the good and all the bad in that person, loving him unconditionally as God would, putting up boundaries, fair and firm. to protect your own lovely God-given soul from the bad, opening yourself up to drink the good the other has to offer into your heart, and deciding how far into your life each person will be allowed is a HUGE amount of work. Especially because all the while you are doing this, your own bad and good, cultural references and judgment, childhood relationship issues, and worries about bills, money, family, and self-worth are all clouding your ability to see and hear the other person. When you think about it, stereotypes and snap-judgments save us a lot of psychological strain and stress. They are easy, a cheap way to handle relationships with others in our world. What's the price? What is the real price of paying all that energy into a relationship, or going the cheaper judgmental route and being done with it?
Long ago, I read somewhere about the price of everything in our lives. For everything obtained, material or spiritual, there is a price. The accepted view in the material world is that things of great value generally cost much more than things of little value. Things of great value usually are of a much higher quality and purity than things of little value. Things of great value are usually long-lived, cherished and enjoyed for generations, where things that are come by cheaply don't last long, aren't cherished or given much thought, and give very short-term satisfaction. I've come to believe that it is the same for a man's inner world as well. Quality thinking is bought by spending time on reading, thinking, and listening to others who have also spent time on thought. Quality relationships are bought by people who spend time and energy on becoming better listeners, better acceptors of self and others, who try to really see the core of each person they come in contact with. Deep lasting awareness of self and others is bought with a price. The price is going beyond stereotypes, and hashing out a conscious way of thinking, knowing that pain, fear, anger, or other strong emotions will accompany that process. It's asking a Higher Power for guidance until we finally make a resolution and act upon it, knowing that, based upon our severely limited knowledge and ability, that we may be making a mistake. It's willingness to accept responsibility for a mistake, then go through the whole painful process again to make a better choice than last time. Sometimes I deliberate and ruminate, and decide. Those decisions are the ones that feel the sweetest to me. They seem to expand my soul, somehow make me into something a little bigger. Sometimes I am miserable, tired, or too busy to deliberate. Sometimes I just want to avoid the pain, let someone else decide, give up my personal power and go with whatever popular opinion seems to be. Actually I’ve made a lot of decisions this way. So many of those cheap decisions, in afterthought, caused a lot more anguish, embarrassment, and regret down the road than I would ever have imagined.
Ultimately I guess that perhaps it's not so important whether Eve tempted Adam, whether Adam was present or off in another part of Paradise doing cool Paradise things, or if Adam could've stopped Eve or didn't. Who’s to blame Adam or Eve? The result is and always will be the same. That's all in the past. We are here, we are human, we have right now, and we have all our relationships that are right here, right now. We are alive today and we have a life to spend, our currency today is time and energy. However any of us came by the next 24 hours, I am certain that if you are human, it was hard-won. Love as unconditionally as you possibly can. See as judgment free as you possibly can. Embrace joy and sorrow as the twins that they surely are. Seek and search out quality as much as possible!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Smile, everyone!
I was reading a recent article on Yahoo by Jennifer Margulis about the impact a smile can have on people.
One of the pieces of information in the article that fascinated me was that “Smiles exert subliminal powers.” The article went on to say that in a study where people were shown an image of a smiling face for just four milliseconds, they experience an emotional high. Four milliseconds are not even enough to register in the conscious minds of the test subjects! The article listed three results that were found in the study. “Compared with control groups, the smile-viewers perceive the world in a better light: To them, boring material is more interesting, neutral images look more positive, even bland drinks seem tastier”
I have been doing a lot of reading lately about the science of influence. There are so many tried and true, ethical ways to influence consumers today. Books are being written daily about just this subject. However this is super simple. This is just a big smile, folks. We’ve always known that smiles open doors, but in today’s competitive markets, looks like they also make sales. There is a trick however (You knew it was coming, didn’t you?) The trick is this; it has to be a genuine smile. The fake ones that don’t reach your eyes don’t get the job done. According to the article, there’s a muscle in the face that automatically is activated when we smile genuinely, and never when we fake smile. Somehow people can pick up on that. So next time you want to influence someone to your way of thinking, think happy thoughts, and smile big!
What does that mean to me as a salesperson? It’s the difference between a customer that stays in our store and one who goes to the competition. Since I read the article, if I’m helping a customer and I pass another who is “just looking” or even if someone comes in the door, I try to dazzle them with a smile, and at least a “How are you today?” If four subconscious milliseconds have an influence on test subjects, then my one or two second smile should knock’em out! Seriously though, I’m finding out that the science of influence is not rocket science- it’s actually social science. You can start today to improve your influence by finding reasons to smile, genuinely smile, your way to better sales success.
http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/health/what-the-size-of-your-smile-says-about-you-2528046/
http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/health/what-the-size-of-your-smile-says-about-you-2528046/
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Creativity, it's everywhere!
So many people say, in a humble, self-deprecating way, usually with a shrug, "I'm just not a creative person". That can never be a true statement. Creativity is an intrinsic part of every single human being. Without it, there could be no life, great or small. People who say they are not creative do not realize that it's like a little energetic, smiling imp, ever-present, peeking around the corners and through the cracks of what he or she believes to be an uncreative life. There is no such thing as an uncreative life.
The definition of creativity is the ability to create. We do that whether consciously, or unconsciously on a daily basis.We create words, pictures with words, relationships, emotions, desires. Creation is so much more than art, although the creation of art and beauty is what most think of when creativity is mentioned.
There are inspired creations, sublime creations, so-so creations, painful creations, evil creations, unintended creations, lopsided creations, creations that got the job done, creations that didn't quite work out, endless, endless creations, to infinity-and beyond!!! (I love that phrase, thanks Buzz Lightyear to you and your creator.)
Each time any person makes a way where there was no way before, an answer is created. Even imitation of someone else's creation shows, first, an appreciation of another's creativity, and second, the creativity of the imitator, because even the most accomplished imitator can't help but pour himself into the imitation, and so the copy is also a creation. Each time I procrastinate by coming up with a new excuse, an avoidance is created. Think about it, a person contemplating sucicide must create reasons for himself to do it, or not to do it. Every action, every thought is a creation resulting of the sum of a person's whole. Each time a student, teacher, co-worker or I realize a difficult concept that someone else wants us to understand, a connection is created, an emotion brought into being, an expression fills our faces, a momentary rush of adrenaline speeds our heart, and we experience the thrill of "AHA!"
Creativity is pouring over us, in us, around us, and yes, out of us all day every day, with or without our help. Every life, whether lived with intense purpose, regimented, goal-oriented, with intense conviction, or helter-skelter, any-which-way, with no general purpose other than existence or survival, is still a creation.
The definition of creativity is the ability to create. We do that whether consciously, or unconsciously on a daily basis.We create words, pictures with words, relationships, emotions, desires. Creation is so much more than art, although the creation of art and beauty is what most think of when creativity is mentioned.
There are inspired creations, sublime creations, so-so creations, painful creations, evil creations, unintended creations, lopsided creations, creations that got the job done, creations that didn't quite work out, endless, endless creations, to infinity-and beyond!!! (I love that phrase, thanks Buzz Lightyear to you and your creator.)
Each time any person makes a way where there was no way before, an answer is created. Even imitation of someone else's creation shows, first, an appreciation of another's creativity, and second, the creativity of the imitator, because even the most accomplished imitator can't help but pour himself into the imitation, and so the copy is also a creation. Each time I procrastinate by coming up with a new excuse, an avoidance is created. Think about it, a person contemplating sucicide must create reasons for himself to do it, or not to do it. Every action, every thought is a creation resulting of the sum of a person's whole. Each time a student, teacher, co-worker or I realize a difficult concept that someone else wants us to understand, a connection is created, an emotion brought into being, an expression fills our faces, a momentary rush of adrenaline speeds our heart, and we experience the thrill of "AHA!"
Creativity is pouring over us, in us, around us, and yes, out of us all day every day, with or without our help. Every life, whether lived with intense purpose, regimented, goal-oriented, with intense conviction, or helter-skelter, any-which-way, with no general purpose other than existence or survival, is still a creation.
Monday, May 9, 2011
A thousand words for love......
This saying was on a piece of art at the Scotsdale Airport:
"The Ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand, and the Eskimos have a hundred words for snow. I wish that I had a thousand words for love. All I can think of is the way you move against me in your sleep, and I have no words for that."
I stood there for several moments, memorizing this. Then I wrote it down in a notebook. It could mean one thing to a mother holding a sleeping newborn, another to a lover, or longtime spouse.
A thousand words for love: Joy, sorrow, honey, dear, azizam, baby giggles, God, flowers, children, shared laughter, tears, a wry smile, an exultant grin, a grimace born of unconsolable grief, a clean pair of underwear in the drawer when you need it...... but these are expressions of love, what are the words??
What's the word you feel when you eat your mother's homecooking after a year of being away?
What's the word you feel when you are in church, or the mosque, or the synagogue and you are swept away with the majesty and smallness of being, all at once?
What's the word for the catch in your throat, when your baby sighs, or when your stinky, sour little boy gives you a sweaty kiss, or they go to school for the first time?
What's the word for the way your heart stops when adoring eyes shine into yours and your realize that you are really seeing your own adoration mirrored back to you, and then yours back to his, and so on into infinity?
What are the words for love??
"The Ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand, and the Eskimos have a hundred words for snow. I wish that I had a thousand words for love. All I can think of is the way you move against me in your sleep, and I have no words for that."
I stood there for several moments, memorizing this. Then I wrote it down in a notebook. It could mean one thing to a mother holding a sleeping newborn, another to a lover, or longtime spouse.
A thousand words for love: Joy, sorrow, honey, dear, azizam, baby giggles, God, flowers, children, shared laughter, tears, a wry smile, an exultant grin, a grimace born of unconsolable grief, a clean pair of underwear in the drawer when you need it...... but these are expressions of love, what are the words??
What's the word you feel when you eat your mother's homecooking after a year of being away?
What's the word you feel when you are in church, or the mosque, or the synagogue and you are swept away with the majesty and smallness of being, all at once?
What's the word for the catch in your throat, when your baby sighs, or when your stinky, sour little boy gives you a sweaty kiss, or they go to school for the first time?
What's the word for the way your heart stops when adoring eyes shine into yours and your realize that you are really seeing your own adoration mirrored back to you, and then yours back to his, and so on into infinity?
What are the words for love??
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Attention to Detail
Attention to Detail:
I get up in the morning and I pray in bed, because it feels like a lot of work to get out of bed and into a comtemplative position. This makes me feel guilty,because God is definitely worth assuming a position of reverence. Not just that but God is worth soaring Cathedrals and intricate Art and complicated, vibrating music. Worship deserves attention to detail. I tell myself that God is unconditional love, and although he/she would really appreciate an intricate, precise, planned out act of worship, that he also knows exuberant, slaphappy me inside and out. I imagine God clucking his/her tongue and smiling, and at the same time knowing that I will not reach the level of Oneness and Awareness that I aspire to without attention to detail.
When I get dressed, I pull out the adorable dress that needs ironing and many days I'll hang it back up because I'd rather go for a run, blog, or think about the world and people I know or I've just met than iron. I pull my shoes out to put them on. They look dusty. It'll take too long to shine them,so I put them on, wipe them quickly with a damp rag, and rush headlong into the world, eager to eat, eager to meet and greet, eager to see what's new and different, eager to love, eager to see and be seen. I want to gobble up life, even though it would be so much better to slow down and chew each delicious morsel as it's presented to me.
I take dance classes at our local Ballroom Dancing Studio. It's called "Shall We Dance?" There's a group class and a party afterwards every Friday so all the students can socialize and practice what they've worked on during the week. At the class, we change partners after we practice each move. Once there was a young cowboy there and he was sparkling with attention to detail. His shirt was starched to perfection and his blue jeans had an amazing crease creating perfect symmetry, perpendicular to his shining belt buckle. His boots were shined, his hair combed with just enough hair pomade. I drank in the completeness of the picture he made, oh, the attention to detail! When it was my turn to dance with him, I hesitated to place my hand on his shoulder, I did not want to mess up that beautifully starched red plaid shirt! He conjured up a vision of an exquisitely neat stable somewhere, rows of shiny tack displayed just so, hay bales stacked, pristine covered bins of feed in a perfect row, and well-behaved horses, contently munching thier oats out of pristine wooden feed trays. I did place my hand on his shoulder and we fox-trotted along. All the while I was secretly amused and distracted by how stiffly starched his shirt really was and wondering just how long he stood at the ironing board to achieve that amazing tribute to neatness. The next day at work I described with awe that amazing starched shirt and my co-worker said that most of those cowboys take their shirts and jeans to a laundry to be starched into submission. Oh.
Each time I meet someone like that:
a University professor with an exquisite ascot and matching hanky, usually burgandy or navy, mirror-glossy shoes, and snowy white hair gleaming over shiny pink skin,
or a rapper, his baggy pants crisp-clean, his plaid shirt starched and ironed, the white t-shirt underneath glowing with newness, the expensive hi-tops pristine, his hair and beard trimmed with geometric precision, his dark skin glowingly oiled,
or an elegant woman, perfect coif, teased and heat-pressed into artful shape, make-up applied in shimmery detail, killer designer shoes to sigh over in amazement, and exquisitely fitted skirt, perfectly arranged shirt, sparkly waterfalls of jewelry to top it all off.......
I love it! I love you, you people with your attention to detail! You are walking works of art. You are the people who work for perfection. You have sent us to the moon. You have created works that take years and years of precision to make. Gargantuan Cathedrals! Tiny Computers! Monumental Sculptures! Democratic Constitutions! Human Rights Advancements! Mind-blowing Novels! Sweet Soul-saving Music!
Oooh, I'm inspired. I think I'll go shine my shoes, or iron. sigh.
I get up in the morning and I pray in bed, because it feels like a lot of work to get out of bed and into a comtemplative position. This makes me feel guilty,because God is definitely worth assuming a position of reverence. Not just that but God is worth soaring Cathedrals and intricate Art and complicated, vibrating music. Worship deserves attention to detail. I tell myself that God is unconditional love, and although he/she would really appreciate an intricate, precise, planned out act of worship, that he also knows exuberant, slaphappy me inside and out. I imagine God clucking his/her tongue and smiling, and at the same time knowing that I will not reach the level of Oneness and Awareness that I aspire to without attention to detail.
When I get dressed, I pull out the adorable dress that needs ironing and many days I'll hang it back up because I'd rather go for a run, blog, or think about the world and people I know or I've just met than iron. I pull my shoes out to put them on. They look dusty. It'll take too long to shine them,so I put them on, wipe them quickly with a damp rag, and rush headlong into the world, eager to eat, eager to meet and greet, eager to see what's new and different, eager to love, eager to see and be seen. I want to gobble up life, even though it would be so much better to slow down and chew each delicious morsel as it's presented to me.
I take dance classes at our local Ballroom Dancing Studio. It's called "Shall We Dance?" There's a group class and a party afterwards every Friday so all the students can socialize and practice what they've worked on during the week. At the class, we change partners after we practice each move. Once there was a young cowboy there and he was sparkling with attention to detail. His shirt was starched to perfection and his blue jeans had an amazing crease creating perfect symmetry, perpendicular to his shining belt buckle. His boots were shined, his hair combed with just enough hair pomade. I drank in the completeness of the picture he made, oh, the attention to detail! When it was my turn to dance with him, I hesitated to place my hand on his shoulder, I did not want to mess up that beautifully starched red plaid shirt! He conjured up a vision of an exquisitely neat stable somewhere, rows of shiny tack displayed just so, hay bales stacked, pristine covered bins of feed in a perfect row, and well-behaved horses, contently munching thier oats out of pristine wooden feed trays. I did place my hand on his shoulder and we fox-trotted along. All the while I was secretly amused and distracted by how stiffly starched his shirt really was and wondering just how long he stood at the ironing board to achieve that amazing tribute to neatness. The next day at work I described with awe that amazing starched shirt and my co-worker said that most of those cowboys take their shirts and jeans to a laundry to be starched into submission. Oh.
Each time I meet someone like that:
a University professor with an exquisite ascot and matching hanky, usually burgandy or navy, mirror-glossy shoes, and snowy white hair gleaming over shiny pink skin,
or a rapper, his baggy pants crisp-clean, his plaid shirt starched and ironed, the white t-shirt underneath glowing with newness, the expensive hi-tops pristine, his hair and beard trimmed with geometric precision, his dark skin glowingly oiled,
or an elegant woman, perfect coif, teased and heat-pressed into artful shape, make-up applied in shimmery detail, killer designer shoes to sigh over in amazement, and exquisitely fitted skirt, perfectly arranged shirt, sparkly waterfalls of jewelry to top it all off.......
I love it! I love you, you people with your attention to detail! You are walking works of art. You are the people who work for perfection. You have sent us to the moon. You have created works that take years and years of precision to make. Gargantuan Cathedrals! Tiny Computers! Monumental Sculptures! Democratic Constitutions! Human Rights Advancements! Mind-blowing Novels! Sweet Soul-saving Music!
Oooh, I'm inspired. I think I'll go shine my shoes, or iron. sigh.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Simpleology.com
I've been a member of Simpleology.com for sometime now and started over several times because I haven't made it all the way through the program. This time I'm on day 9, and I'm staying with it!
The lesson for day 9 says in one part, "Did you know that there is really no such thing as 'procrastination' or 'laziness'? These two words presuppose 'inaction'on the part of a person, but such a state does not exist. Again, you are always doing something. 'Procrastination; and 'laziness'are really just ineffective actions masquerading as inaction."
This really hit me. I listened to it four times. I always believe that I have a big problem with procrastination, but maybe it's more of a decision problem. Simpleology asks: "Will you choose to take action that brings you closer to or further away from, your desired Target?" "Will you make decisions that Strengthen your Power or Weaken your Power?"
I've made a lot of Weakening decsions, and some Strengthening decsions. I am already beginning to use these questions in the daily choices I am making, and even if I do choose the weakening choice over the strengthening one, I am clearly weighing my options before doing so. I know that my decision is a concious one. That really does make a world of difference.
Simpleology.com is a free website and the first module is absolutely free. Try it today and let me know what you think!
The lesson for day 9 says in one part, "Did you know that there is really no such thing as 'procrastination' or 'laziness'? These two words presuppose 'inaction'on the part of a person, but such a state does not exist. Again, you are always doing something. 'Procrastination; and 'laziness'are really just ineffective actions masquerading as inaction."
This really hit me. I listened to it four times. I always believe that I have a big problem with procrastination, but maybe it's more of a decision problem. Simpleology asks: "Will you choose to take action that brings you closer to or further away from, your desired Target?" "Will you make decisions that Strengthen your Power or Weaken your Power?"
I've made a lot of Weakening decsions, and some Strengthening decsions. I am already beginning to use these questions in the daily choices I am making, and even if I do choose the weakening choice over the strengthening one, I am clearly weighing my options before doing so. I know that my decision is a concious one. That really does make a world of difference.
Simpleology.com is a free website and the first module is absolutely free. Try it today and let me know what you think!
Monday, March 28, 2011
Persian New Year's Preparations
I really meant to blog a lot more often about Now Rooz during the actual Now Rooz celebrations, but an unexpected Spring cold has had me feeling tired and listless lately. I’ve been spelling it as it sounds: No Rooz, but most Iranians spell it Now Rooz, even though it sounds like “NO” not “NOW”
Preparations for Now Rooz start way before the actual first day of Spring, or the time of the Vernal Equinox. For at least a month or maybe more, Iranian housewives begin to literally turn their households upside down. Each room is emptied of its furnishings and the walls are scrubbed and the ceilings brushed to get any cobwebs or dust. The windows are washed inside and out and made to sparkle. One of my sisters-in-law believed the best way to do this was for two people to wash the window, one inside and one out so there would absolutely be no streaks left anywhere to be seen. Then the curtains, blinds and carpets are all washed and left in the sun to dry. Meanwhile the furniture is completely wiped, polished and cleaned from top to bottom. Any contents of drawers or closets that are not needed are discarded and everything else organized. Finally the room is put back together, fresh, clean, and pure. This is done for every single room in the house, until everything sparkles. If it is needed, this is the time when homeowners will paint, paper, or buy new furniture.
After the house is renewed, then the woman of the house turns her attention to her family. She buys a new set of clothes for each member of the house. This includes shoes and socks.
When I was a child, I can’t remember ever having seen my mother wash even one window. The concept of Spring Cleaning was one I’d read about in books, usually pioneer books. When I saw the effort and the zeal that Iranian women put into Spring Cleaning, I was hooked. I fully embraced the idea of a fresh clean start each year. My problem was that, being my mother’s daughter, I didn’t fully embrace all the work it took to get the house that clean. Our home in Iran was a very large four bedroom home with a huge living and dining area. I was always afraid of not getting my house clean on time. I would start at the beginning of February and usually pull out the 3 bedrooms at the back in a frenzy of cleaning that lasted about two days. Then on to the living room, kitchen, and last, the bathroom. Sometimes I would get lucky and two or three of my sisters-in-law would happen by and roll up their sleeves and help me. I would never actually ask them for help though, because I didn’t think I would be able to reciprocate. I worked, played basketball (my guilty pleasure), and liked to do other things with my time besides cook and clean. I rarely had free days when I could just meander over to their homes and spend a day helping them scrub. I did make an effort to help with my mother-in-law’s home, because it was culturally expected that the wives of married sons help their mother-in-laws out. They were always ready to lend a helping hand to me, however, and I was always glad and grateful when they did, even if they did arrange the furniture to their liking, not mine.
My early start for fear of not finishing usually had the effect that I would be finished with my Spring Cleaning long before everyone else. Then visiting female relatives would lament, “Oh, you’re so lucky, you are already finished, I’m just getting started. I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish in time.” I would feel relived and a little smug, but I would also know they were just talking to have something to say, because they would finish, even if they stayed up till midnight to get it done. Iranian people are fanatics about cleanliness and about getting stuff done when it’s supposed to be. I learned a lot about cleanliness, housework, and discipline when I was in Iran. I wish I’d learned more.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
No Rooz
Spring again!!! Time to dance and sing and love! It's so wonderful and completely apt that Iranians celebrate the new year in Spring just as all is born again. It starts at the exact moment of the Spring Equinox, whenever in the day that occurs. One year we celebrated the moment of the new year at 4 AM! That was the year we went to Abadan to celebrate. My ex, my mother-in-law (God rest her soul), my darling Laila, and my two sons, Bijan and Jahangir.
The Azaleas in Abadan were lovely papery masses of fushia, tree sized because of the humidity and warm weather there. The mosquitos were huge as well, that reminded me of Houston. Actually Abadan, and Khuszestan in general, has striking similarities to Texas, if only in my opinion. There's the oil of course, both are oil-rich. There's the mosquitos, robust and large! Then there are the people, larger than life, or at least that's what they want you to think. Both Texans, and Abadanis are famous for thier powers of exaggeration. Everything is bigger, better, purer and simply sublime in an Abadani or Texas world viewpoint, especially if you are talking about their hometown, their family, or their ability to fight, fish, or hunt.
I digress, sorry, there's so much beauty and humor and silliness in the world, I need hours on end to tell you about it, but I'm forced into a prison of minutes!
That year we spent Eid-e-no rooz in Abadan was the year Laila was 17, Jahangir was 11 and Bijan was 9. We'd arranged to travel with the family of the man who owned the shop just down the street from my ex's restaurant. They had teenage daughters, so Laila was happy spending time with them. After a long drive we arrived at our hotel in Abadan. It had recently been remodeled and was shiny and new, with one exception. They had deliberately neglected to cover the bullet holes in the hallway. The bullet holes had been left there as a reminder of the Iran-Iraq war and how Iran had been able to hold back the Iraqis. We had a lovely hotel and after checking in and doing some sightseeing, we came back and went to bed early. My mother-in-law and I woke everyone at 3:30 AM. Somehow, we showered, put on our new clothes and made our way to the lobby, where a beautiful new year's display had been set up.Not many of the guests were there, including the group we traveled with. We hugged and kissed each other, exclaiming "Happy New Year!", my-ex gave out the traditional gifts of money to the kids, and then we all went back up to the rooms and back to bed.
Bijan had seen a toy car in the hotel gift shop and talked about it non-stop until my mother-in-law couldn't take it any more and took him downstairs to buy it. (Such is the tenacity of Asperger's syndrome) His sparkling brown eyes and curly brown hair made him look like a cherub, and everywhere we went people were irresistably drawn to him. They were always pinching his cheeks and rubbing his belly and if he protested, it made him that much cuter. (I've often wondered what would happen if all autistics had a huge Iranian family to poke, pinch, prod and kiss them to death. It would be socialization by sensory overload. Bijan is much better at social than the average American Asperger's child)
Later, at lunch in a local kababi, (that's kabab restaurant to the uninitiated), she asked Jahangir what she could give him for Eide. He was sitting there in his brand-new new year's clothes. (Everyone is required to have a new set of clothes for eide. New clothes to start a new year.) His hair was slicked back to one side. His large, beautiful hands were resting on the table. He blushed, and said, "Hair gel." My mother-in-law didn't laugh often, but when she did, it was the most magical sound in the world. Anyone who ever heard her laugh was bound and determined to hear it again and so would go to great lengths to make her laugh. She laughed now, and asked him again, "What? Hair gel" We all teased him good-naturedly about looking good and girls, then the two of them headed off towards the bazaar to buy hair gel.
This was the first Eide ever that my mother-in-law had not stayed home to oversee the endless cooking and recieving of guests that Eide-e-No Rooz entails. It was a status symbol to be able to travel to a vacation spot for the new year's holiday. She now had the money and the time to travel and she could tell her family and neighbors that her son had taken her to a nice hotel for Eide. The truth was that after the first two days, she missed everyone, and was lonely and bored. The family we had traveled with was modern and not traditional enough for her. She pestered my ex until he agreed that we would not stay the five days we'd intended but go home. So we said goodbye to our traveling companions and set off for home, a 16 or 17 hour drive away. We went home in a round-about way through the mountains at night. When my ex got it in his mind to go somewhere, he would buy a bag of sunflower seeds and drive until he got there. All night long the car wove through the mountains, on narrow, harrowing roads. Sometimes we'd see foxes on the sides, thier trotting gait interupted rudely by the glare of our headlights. If we'd been able to see, we probably would've been all scared stiff by the sheer drop-offs on the side of the road with just flimsy aluminum barriers to warn us away. I'd read somewhere once that if the person sitting in the passenger side stays awake, it helps the driver to stay awake. However once I get into a car to go any distance, if I am a passenger, I am instantly drowsy. I felt guilty about sleeping in the passenger seat, and my mother-in-law who was fearfully wide awake almost the whole time, refused to sit in the front seat, preferring instead the safety of the back seat. So we drove through the endless night, the sound and nauseating smell of the constantly cracking sunflower seeds filling the car. I would awake periodically to ask my ex if he was ok and if he wanted me to drive. He never let me drive if he was in the car. I don't know if he was afraid of my driving or afraid to let go of his control, but the result was the same, I never drove.
Finally, we arrived home to tell our stories, to hear the latest gossip from visiting family and to start the shiny new year together, as best we could.
The Azaleas in Abadan were lovely papery masses of fushia, tree sized because of the humidity and warm weather there. The mosquitos were huge as well, that reminded me of Houston. Actually Abadan, and Khuszestan in general, has striking similarities to Texas, if only in my opinion. There's the oil of course, both are oil-rich. There's the mosquitos, robust and large! Then there are the people, larger than life, or at least that's what they want you to think. Both Texans, and Abadanis are famous for thier powers of exaggeration. Everything is bigger, better, purer and simply sublime in an Abadani or Texas world viewpoint, especially if you are talking about their hometown, their family, or their ability to fight, fish, or hunt.
I digress, sorry, there's so much beauty and humor and silliness in the world, I need hours on end to tell you about it, but I'm forced into a prison of minutes!
That year we spent Eid-e-no rooz in Abadan was the year Laila was 17, Jahangir was 11 and Bijan was 9. We'd arranged to travel with the family of the man who owned the shop just down the street from my ex's restaurant. They had teenage daughters, so Laila was happy spending time with them. After a long drive we arrived at our hotel in Abadan. It had recently been remodeled and was shiny and new, with one exception. They had deliberately neglected to cover the bullet holes in the hallway. The bullet holes had been left there as a reminder of the Iran-Iraq war and how Iran had been able to hold back the Iraqis. We had a lovely hotel and after checking in and doing some sightseeing, we came back and went to bed early. My mother-in-law and I woke everyone at 3:30 AM. Somehow, we showered, put on our new clothes and made our way to the lobby, where a beautiful new year's display had been set up.Not many of the guests were there, including the group we traveled with. We hugged and kissed each other, exclaiming "Happy New Year!", my-ex gave out the traditional gifts of money to the kids, and then we all went back up to the rooms and back to bed.
Bijan had seen a toy car in the hotel gift shop and talked about it non-stop until my mother-in-law couldn't take it any more and took him downstairs to buy it. (Such is the tenacity of Asperger's syndrome) His sparkling brown eyes and curly brown hair made him look like a cherub, and everywhere we went people were irresistably drawn to him. They were always pinching his cheeks and rubbing his belly and if he protested, it made him that much cuter. (I've often wondered what would happen if all autistics had a huge Iranian family to poke, pinch, prod and kiss them to death. It would be socialization by sensory overload. Bijan is much better at social than the average American Asperger's child)
Later, at lunch in a local kababi, (that's kabab restaurant to the uninitiated), she asked Jahangir what she could give him for Eide. He was sitting there in his brand-new new year's clothes. (Everyone is required to have a new set of clothes for eide. New clothes to start a new year.) His hair was slicked back to one side. His large, beautiful hands were resting on the table. He blushed, and said, "Hair gel." My mother-in-law didn't laugh often, but when she did, it was the most magical sound in the world. Anyone who ever heard her laugh was bound and determined to hear it again and so would go to great lengths to make her laugh. She laughed now, and asked him again, "What? Hair gel" We all teased him good-naturedly about looking good and girls, then the two of them headed off towards the bazaar to buy hair gel.
This was the first Eide ever that my mother-in-law had not stayed home to oversee the endless cooking and recieving of guests that Eide-e-No Rooz entails. It was a status symbol to be able to travel to a vacation spot for the new year's holiday. She now had the money and the time to travel and she could tell her family and neighbors that her son had taken her to a nice hotel for Eide. The truth was that after the first two days, she missed everyone, and was lonely and bored. The family we had traveled with was modern and not traditional enough for her. She pestered my ex until he agreed that we would not stay the five days we'd intended but go home. So we said goodbye to our traveling companions and set off for home, a 16 or 17 hour drive away. We went home in a round-about way through the mountains at night. When my ex got it in his mind to go somewhere, he would buy a bag of sunflower seeds and drive until he got there. All night long the car wove through the mountains, on narrow, harrowing roads. Sometimes we'd see foxes on the sides, thier trotting gait interupted rudely by the glare of our headlights. If we'd been able to see, we probably would've been all scared stiff by the sheer drop-offs on the side of the road with just flimsy aluminum barriers to warn us away. I'd read somewhere once that if the person sitting in the passenger side stays awake, it helps the driver to stay awake. However once I get into a car to go any distance, if I am a passenger, I am instantly drowsy. I felt guilty about sleeping in the passenger seat, and my mother-in-law who was fearfully wide awake almost the whole time, refused to sit in the front seat, preferring instead the safety of the back seat. So we drove through the endless night, the sound and nauseating smell of the constantly cracking sunflower seeds filling the car. I would awake periodically to ask my ex if he was ok and if he wanted me to drive. He never let me drive if he was in the car. I don't know if he was afraid of my driving or afraid to let go of his control, but the result was the same, I never drove.
Finally, we arrived home to tell our stories, to hear the latest gossip from visiting family and to start the shiny new year together, as best we could.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
More Optimism!
Maybe this is serendipity, maybe not, but I just found this in a journal from April 18, 2009.
Optimism is when your heart breaks but you still smile again. Optimism is when you've done awful things but you still believe in forgiveness and you are able to forgive. (On an everyday ongoing basis you face the reality and harshness and yet still love.)
Hate is when your heart breaks and you decide not to smile again, or to forgive yourself for having a broken heart.
We oftentimes break our own hearts by not being heros to ourselves. When we do ugly and depraved things, then we disappoint ourselves.
Some of us face our fears and learn to understand weakness and forgive it in others.
Some of us face our fears and learn to understand weakness and exploit it in others.
Some of us hide from our fears and abhor the weakness we see in others, pretending to be more; stronger and better.
Some of us drown in our fears on a day to day basis, barely surviving, believing that at any moment the fear could take over and sweep us away.
Be your own true Hero. Bravely accept your weakness, and forgive it. Courageously acknowledge your glorious strength, and be grateful. If you would save your life, surrender to the inevitablity of humanity. Become intimate with fear, but never allow fear to take the lead. The paradox is that true power comes to those who truly surrender to the whole mess, both good and bad.
Optimism is when your heart breaks but you still smile again. Optimism is when you've done awful things but you still believe in forgiveness and you are able to forgive. (On an everyday ongoing basis you face the reality and harshness and yet still love.)
Hate is when your heart breaks and you decide not to smile again, or to forgive yourself for having a broken heart.
We oftentimes break our own hearts by not being heros to ourselves. When we do ugly and depraved things, then we disappoint ourselves.
Some of us face our fears and learn to understand weakness and forgive it in others.
Some of us face our fears and learn to understand weakness and exploit it in others.
Some of us hide from our fears and abhor the weakness we see in others, pretending to be more; stronger and better.
Some of us drown in our fears on a day to day basis, barely surviving, believing that at any moment the fear could take over and sweep us away.
Be your own true Hero. Bravely accept your weakness, and forgive it. Courageously acknowledge your glorious strength, and be grateful. If you would save your life, surrender to the inevitablity of humanity. Become intimate with fear, but never allow fear to take the lead. The paradox is that true power comes to those who truly surrender to the whole mess, both good and bad.
Optimism
I just took Oprah's How Optimistic Are You? quiz in her lastest magazine. Guess What? I'm "one of the few super-optimists. Only 10% of people score above 10 points."
Gerald Matthews, PhD, the author says, "Research has found that super-optimists tend to be prone to unrealistic expectations. When they're driving, for example, they often believe that they're invunerable to crashing."
While I am a super-optimist, unrealistic expectations and all, I never allow myself to believe that I'm invulnerable. I am all too vulnerable to the whims of nature and the karmic consequences of my blind faith and bad decisions. I do believe from extensive experience surviving a variety of life changing catastrophes and reading about other people's incredible resiliency that every thing bad gives way to good and that almost anything can not only be survived, but surmounted. If you're really unlucky and then survive to smile again, you might even have a unique story that you could make into a book, and do public speaking gigs for years. Just a thought about looking on the bright side.
I practice constantly to stay in a state of joy. It takes constant maintenance. I have a technique where I give myself a mental slap or shake whenever I feel depression drifting over my mind and heart like a creeping fog.
If that doesn't work I go for a run, or put music on and dance. I lift myself up on the way to work by singing at the top of my lungs to my favorites on the radio. It does happen that I get cut off in traffic by idiots from time to time. I feel the rage surge through my heart, and fill my brain, making my eyeballs want to pop out. Folks, rage hurts my body, my heart, my mind. It makes me want to cry. What I do these days is kind of crazy. I take a deep breath, I put my open hand over my heart, I imagine pulling all the rage out of my body. I throw it as hard as I can back to the person who cut me off, or honked because I didn't get out his way fast enough. I shout, "This isn't mine. You can have it!" It doesn't always work the first time, because all those chemicals from the anger are still in my body and have to clear. I don't let them win. I keep pulling out the imaginary anger and throwing it to the wind. (I think I must be very entertaining to other drivers, a female Jim Carey on the road.) I find the loudest, happiest song and smile so hard it probably looks like a grimace, and I sing! Yes, it's ridiculous, completely ridculous. When I think about it, I laugh. Hard.
That's a way optimism can be cultivated. I'm raising the cup to super-optimism. Wanna join me?
Gerald Matthews, PhD, the author says, "Research has found that super-optimists tend to be prone to unrealistic expectations. When they're driving, for example, they often believe that they're invunerable to crashing."
While I am a super-optimist, unrealistic expectations and all, I never allow myself to believe that I'm invulnerable. I am all too vulnerable to the whims of nature and the karmic consequences of my blind faith and bad decisions. I do believe from extensive experience surviving a variety of life changing catastrophes and reading about other people's incredible resiliency that every thing bad gives way to good and that almost anything can not only be survived, but surmounted. If you're really unlucky and then survive to smile again, you might even have a unique story that you could make into a book, and do public speaking gigs for years. Just a thought about looking on the bright side.
I practice constantly to stay in a state of joy. It takes constant maintenance. I have a technique where I give myself a mental slap or shake whenever I feel depression drifting over my mind and heart like a creeping fog.
If that doesn't work I go for a run, or put music on and dance. I lift myself up on the way to work by singing at the top of my lungs to my favorites on the radio. It does happen that I get cut off in traffic by idiots from time to time. I feel the rage surge through my heart, and fill my brain, making my eyeballs want to pop out. Folks, rage hurts my body, my heart, my mind. It makes me want to cry. What I do these days is kind of crazy. I take a deep breath, I put my open hand over my heart, I imagine pulling all the rage out of my body. I throw it as hard as I can back to the person who cut me off, or honked because I didn't get out his way fast enough. I shout, "This isn't mine. You can have it!" It doesn't always work the first time, because all those chemicals from the anger are still in my body and have to clear. I don't let them win. I keep pulling out the imaginary anger and throwing it to the wind. (I think I must be very entertaining to other drivers, a female Jim Carey on the road.) I find the loudest, happiest song and smile so hard it probably looks like a grimace, and I sing! Yes, it's ridiculous, completely ridculous. When I think about it, I laugh. Hard.
That's a way optimism can be cultivated. I'm raising the cup to super-optimism. Wanna join me?
Monday, March 7, 2011
If Momma ain't happy.....
If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
I'm gonna add to this: if Momma don't know how to be happy, noone else knows what to do with her either.
My mother used to get up after a random bout of depression, having decided that things could be better, and she would give us some variation of her "Let's all be happy" speech. She would beseech us, "Please kids, please, just for one day, one day, let's be happy. Please just for one day no one fight. Let's just all get along."
What none of us knew, including my mom, was how to accomplish this. I'd sit there frozen in fear and guilt, wondering why it was we couldn't just be happy.
Are any of you out there parents? Of more than one child? I am, and I still remember the awkwardness and feeling of wanting to figure out a smooth way to stop the bickering. I read some good parenting books that helped, but nothing ever takes away the feeling that things probably could've gone better. I used to sympathize with my mom, when that would happen. I stll never, never allowed myself to blame them because I wasn't good enough. My guys are practically grown now and they are pretty cool people, so I guess I did something right. Thank God, for "How to Talk so Kids Will Listen, And How to Listen So Kids Will Talk": that book saved my life.
Growing up, none of us four kids had a clue at the time about how to be happy. We'd only ever seen miserable. Our single, stressed-out, bi-polar, alcholic mother had no idea what to do with herself, let alone four kids. The minute she said, "Please don't fight", it was just a matter of time until someone pushed or poked or teased. We knew, even while we were doing it, what the outcome would be, but it was all so inevitable. "OOOW, MOM! She hit me!" "NO I DIDN'T. YOU STARTED IT" That was it. Our happy day blown to smithereens! What was wrong with us? We might get a violent spanking or not. It would definitely end with Mom, boo-hooing down the hall, a trail of accusations spewing over her shoulder to lie heavily over our hearts. "You kids destroy everything I have. I don't have anything because of you kids." Then she would sob dramatically, the muffled sounds making us sick to our stomachs. It was always our fault. Even today I take responsiblity for way too much.
Fast forward to Iran, 1994, there I was. Stuck. I was in Iran, with no hope of leaving, because my husband at the time had taken my passports and refused to give them back. I had come to Iran with the intention to live, but I'd been promised I could come back to the States once a year. There was no difference in the physical situation, total difference in the psychological. I was devastated. To top it all off, even though, we had our own house, I was forced to live with my sister-in-law, her husband, and child against my will because they needed help. God forbid, a family member should not get help when they needed it. Never mind that I was going out of my mind with culture shock and lonliness. Momma was not happy, she was very unhappy. I cried a lot, we argued a lot. Then I realized what was happening to my children. They were spending a lot of time trying to make me happy. No, No, NO!! Not what I wanted for my kids. Not at all. I made peace with the situation. I used the serenity prayer. There were things I couldn't change. There were things I could've, but I either didn't have the courage, or it wasn't worth the peace of mind it would've cost me and my kids. I made peace with my ex. I probably enabled him by doing that, but the cost to my sanity and my family's happiness to go on fighting wasn't worth it. I decided to create peace, come hell or high water! The kids and I met him at the door each day with happy faces, shouting, "Baba's home!" I cultivated a wonderful group of foriegn ladies married to Iranians. We'd get together and drink coffee, share cultures, and share our problems and give each other advice and support. I exercised like crazy to relieve stress. First it was aerobics classes, then later I joined a women's basketball team, and those girls were my family for the next 11 years. I would leave my house rabid with frustration over something inane and unfeeling my ex had done. After a two-hour practice of running, drills, and practice, I'd come home drained of all negativity, loving the world, a perfect angel. I read self-help books constantly. It was amazing, there were no English bookstores there selling novels. Yet everytime I had a problem that I couldn't solve, a book would materialize. Something on someone's bookshelf would attract me and I'd get to borrow it. Or I'd find a something in dusty used book store. Towards the end, there were a lot of unaproved copies of books that had been made for English students. I once found an entire copied set of Anthony Robbins CDs. (Sorry Anthony. No copyright laws in Iran, and I was desperate!) I prayed. I made the determination that if I was happy, then people around me would be happy. Thank God, that through grace, and an addiction to reading, and a burning desire to know what happiness is, I learned what it takes to feel joy in the worst of circumstances, to look at small everyday things and be comforted. My mantra in times of trouble is"This too shall pass" and whether it passes well or in throes of agony, yep, it all passes on.
It sure does pass better, baby, if Momma is smiling! :)
I'm gonna add to this: if Momma don't know how to be happy, noone else knows what to do with her either.
My mother used to get up after a random bout of depression, having decided that things could be better, and she would give us some variation of her "Let's all be happy" speech. She would beseech us, "Please kids, please, just for one day, one day, let's be happy. Please just for one day no one fight. Let's just all get along."
What none of us knew, including my mom, was how to accomplish this. I'd sit there frozen in fear and guilt, wondering why it was we couldn't just be happy.
Are any of you out there parents? Of more than one child? I am, and I still remember the awkwardness and feeling of wanting to figure out a smooth way to stop the bickering. I read some good parenting books that helped, but nothing ever takes away the feeling that things probably could've gone better. I used to sympathize with my mom, when that would happen. I stll never, never allowed myself to blame them because I wasn't good enough. My guys are practically grown now and they are pretty cool people, so I guess I did something right. Thank God, for "How to Talk so Kids Will Listen, And How to Listen So Kids Will Talk": that book saved my life.
Growing up, none of us four kids had a clue at the time about how to be happy. We'd only ever seen miserable. Our single, stressed-out, bi-polar, alcholic mother had no idea what to do with herself, let alone four kids. The minute she said, "Please don't fight", it was just a matter of time until someone pushed or poked or teased. We knew, even while we were doing it, what the outcome would be, but it was all so inevitable. "OOOW, MOM! She hit me!" "NO I DIDN'T. YOU STARTED IT" That was it. Our happy day blown to smithereens! What was wrong with us? We might get a violent spanking or not. It would definitely end with Mom, boo-hooing down the hall, a trail of accusations spewing over her shoulder to lie heavily over our hearts. "You kids destroy everything I have. I don't have anything because of you kids." Then she would sob dramatically, the muffled sounds making us sick to our stomachs. It was always our fault. Even today I take responsiblity for way too much.
Fast forward to Iran, 1994, there I was. Stuck. I was in Iran, with no hope of leaving, because my husband at the time had taken my passports and refused to give them back. I had come to Iran with the intention to live, but I'd been promised I could come back to the States once a year. There was no difference in the physical situation, total difference in the psychological. I was devastated. To top it all off, even though, we had our own house, I was forced to live with my sister-in-law, her husband, and child against my will because they needed help. God forbid, a family member should not get help when they needed it. Never mind that I was going out of my mind with culture shock and lonliness. Momma was not happy, she was very unhappy. I cried a lot, we argued a lot. Then I realized what was happening to my children. They were spending a lot of time trying to make me happy. No, No, NO!! Not what I wanted for my kids. Not at all. I made peace with the situation. I used the serenity prayer. There were things I couldn't change. There were things I could've, but I either didn't have the courage, or it wasn't worth the peace of mind it would've cost me and my kids. I made peace with my ex. I probably enabled him by doing that, but the cost to my sanity and my family's happiness to go on fighting wasn't worth it. I decided to create peace, come hell or high water! The kids and I met him at the door each day with happy faces, shouting, "Baba's home!" I cultivated a wonderful group of foriegn ladies married to Iranians. We'd get together and drink coffee, share cultures, and share our problems and give each other advice and support. I exercised like crazy to relieve stress. First it was aerobics classes, then later I joined a women's basketball team, and those girls were my family for the next 11 years. I would leave my house rabid with frustration over something inane and unfeeling my ex had done. After a two-hour practice of running, drills, and practice, I'd come home drained of all negativity, loving the world, a perfect angel. I read self-help books constantly. It was amazing, there were no English bookstores there selling novels. Yet everytime I had a problem that I couldn't solve, a book would materialize. Something on someone's bookshelf would attract me and I'd get to borrow it. Or I'd find a something in dusty used book store. Towards the end, there were a lot of unaproved copies of books that had been made for English students. I once found an entire copied set of Anthony Robbins CDs. (Sorry Anthony. No copyright laws in Iran, and I was desperate!) I prayed. I made the determination that if I was happy, then people around me would be happy. Thank God, that through grace, and an addiction to reading, and a burning desire to know what happiness is, I learned what it takes to feel joy in the worst of circumstances, to look at small everyday things and be comforted. My mantra in times of trouble is"This too shall pass" and whether it passes well or in throes of agony, yep, it all passes on.
It sure does pass better, baby, if Momma is smiling! :)
Friday, March 4, 2011
IGNITE OKC #3
"Enlighten us! But make it quick." Five minutes. 20 slides, advancing every 15 seconds. Fun! I happened to see an article in the Oklahoma Gazette about this. I also heard about it at my Tuesday Toastmaster's Meeting.
There was a band, Moon there. They're music was good, but I couldn't understand any of thier lyrics, so I have no idea what their message was. Also they kept playing while the Emcee, was speaking, so she had to shout out above the sound of the three electric guitars. To their credit, they played softer when she spoke, but when is rock music every really soft? Towards the end it was just plain annoying and took a lot away from the introductions.
Some of the speakers were awesomely rehearsed and moved smoothly along with thier slides. They made five minutes seem like so much more. The garden lady, Heather Popowsky had great presentation and a vivacious smile when she came out but lost her place and fell behind. She was obviously achingly aware of this and it drained a lot of energy from her presentation, including her engaging smile. I was willing her to relax and go with it because she was so obviously prepared and had a good thing going.
Alexandra Rupp's presentation about literacy probably moved me the most, because I always say books saved my life. The stats about literacy were heartbreaking, and truthfully, unbelievable. There's a very aggressive literacy campaign in Iran. (I attended classes to improve my Farsi.) It's very grass roots but very accessable and well advertised. It's easy to assume because this is America, the land of Golden Opportunity, that we are all living happily ever after. So how can these kids believe in the fairytale of the American Dream if they can't read enough to even know what it is? I have to look into this.
Kudos to Rachel Hernandez, I loved her stage presence, and the original graphics on her slides were amazing, especially after she let us know that her husband had drawn them. I felt sorry for the little Master lock at the end, he was just doing his job. After hearing her introduction, it was really hard to reconcile the cutting edge image, killer red pumps, and amazing figure to a Mom with three kids and her own company. You rock girl!
All the speakers were incredible in their own rights, simply amazing. I was informed, entertained and moved.The concept was awesome. I loved the absolute diversity of the crowd. The speakers were amazingly diverse too, from many places outside Oklahoma. Only one that I can recall, Trevor Bruner, said that he was born and bred in Oklahoma in his intro.
It was my first time at an Ignite event, according to the OK Gazette, they have become a "global phenomenon." I'm going to Google that today. There's another coming up in Fall 2011.
There was a band, Moon there. They're music was good, but I couldn't understand any of thier lyrics, so I have no idea what their message was. Also they kept playing while the Emcee, was speaking, so she had to shout out above the sound of the three electric guitars. To their credit, they played softer when she spoke, but when is rock music every really soft? Towards the end it was just plain annoying and took a lot away from the introductions.
Some of the speakers were awesomely rehearsed and moved smoothly along with thier slides. They made five minutes seem like so much more. The garden lady, Heather Popowsky had great presentation and a vivacious smile when she came out but lost her place and fell behind. She was obviously achingly aware of this and it drained a lot of energy from her presentation, including her engaging smile. I was willing her to relax and go with it because she was so obviously prepared and had a good thing going.
Alexandra Rupp's presentation about literacy probably moved me the most, because I always say books saved my life. The stats about literacy were heartbreaking, and truthfully, unbelievable. There's a very aggressive literacy campaign in Iran. (I attended classes to improve my Farsi.) It's very grass roots but very accessable and well advertised. It's easy to assume because this is America, the land of Golden Opportunity, that we are all living happily ever after. So how can these kids believe in the fairytale of the American Dream if they can't read enough to even know what it is? I have to look into this.
Kudos to Rachel Hernandez, I loved her stage presence, and the original graphics on her slides were amazing, especially after she let us know that her husband had drawn them. I felt sorry for the little Master lock at the end, he was just doing his job. After hearing her introduction, it was really hard to reconcile the cutting edge image, killer red pumps, and amazing figure to a Mom with three kids and her own company. You rock girl!
All the speakers were incredible in their own rights, simply amazing. I was informed, entertained and moved.The concept was awesome. I loved the absolute diversity of the crowd. The speakers were amazingly diverse too, from many places outside Oklahoma. Only one that I can recall, Trevor Bruner, said that he was born and bred in Oklahoma in his intro.
It was my first time at an Ignite event, according to the OK Gazette, they have become a "global phenomenon." I'm going to Google that today. There's another coming up in Fall 2011.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Richest Man in Babylon
I’m reading the Richest Man in Babylon out loud to my youngest son in the evenings.
There was a passage I read that keeps ringing in my head again and again:
" 'Will Power!' retorted Arkad. 'What nonsense. Do you think will power gives a man the strength to lift a burden that a camel cannot carry, or to draw a load that an oxen cannot budge? Will power is but the unwvering intention to carry a task you set for yourself to completion. If I set for myself a task, be it ever so trivial, I will see it through. How else can I have confidence in myself todo important things? If I said to muself, 'For a hundred days, as I walk across the bridge into the city, I will pick up a stone from the road and throw it into the stream,' I would do it. If on the seventh day I passed by without remembering, I wouldn't say to myself, 'Tomorrow I'll throw two stones which will do just as well.' Instead I would retrace my steps and throw in the stone. Nor on the twentieth day would I say to myself, 'Arkad, this is useless. What does it help you to throw a stone every day? Just throw in a handful of stones and be done with it.' No, I would not say or do that. When I set a task for myself, I complete it. Therefore I'm careful not to start difficult and impractical tasks, because I love leisure."
From The Richest Man in Babylon by George S. Clason
I’ve read so many things and put so many things into practice from what I’ve read, but eventually I stop doing a lot of them, first one day, then another, until something else takes its place. There are other practices that have taken root and stayed in my life as formed habits, but still so many good intentions have fallen by the wayside. One thing I want to do is create a daily to-do list and cross things off and double check it at the end of the day. That would mean not falling into bed, exhausted, until my review is performed. It’s funny, I’m afraid to commit for fear of failure, but if I do commit and fail, that would be better than just being afraid. If I do commit and succeed, then I will have succeeded in creating a new life for myself.
The problem is not only do I want to do a list everyday, but I also have another long list of everyday or weekly habits I wish to cultivate:
Gardening at least two hours a week.
Yoga 3 x per week.
Meditation for at least 10 min everyday.
Write for an hour everyday.
Read all my affirmations 2 x daily. (I was doing really well with this for about a month, then went on vacation and didn’t do it. Now I’ve started again.)
Blog every single day at least once.
Write a weekly menu and shopping list. ( my youngest son helps with this but it needs to be a habit)
Have a chore list that rotates between everyone who lives with me. (This would be awesome. No more things not getting done because one person says I won’t clean because other people don’t clean. My sons keep chore score and if they think they are doing more than someone else they stop helping out.)
Spend an hour on lead generation for my speaking business and my appliance sales job every day.
I have the wild out-of-control feeling that if I could do these things on a daily basis, my life will change dramatically. I realized last night that I’ve gotten into the habit of whining and expecting people to feel sorry for me. I don’t want any one to feel sorry for me at all, ever. I am going to get going and get doing! No more sitting around wishing. That’s not getting me anywhere.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentine's Day
When I see all the hype about different holidays in the Media, I wonder if people really get that excited about holidays. For me holidays feel as good as any other day except that, depending on the holiday, there is extra pressure about whether to give a gift or not, when to decorate, who to invite, what to do, etc. These days everyday feels so joyful, so alive, so full that holidays are more of the same. I don't remember exactly when life became so intensely pleasurable, but most days are pretty incredible.
When I was a child, however,that just wasn't the case. It was all so stressful. Holidays were days when my mom did stuff for us because she felt she had to. She must have felt tremendous pressure at holidays as well. She didn't handle it very well though. One Christmas, I don't remember what we as kids had done, (there were four of us) but she got so angry that she threw the entire tree out the door, decorations and all. That was devastating. Valentine's was when we went to the store and bought the cheapest valentines and then hoped we would get some in return. I went to so many different schools, I didn't always know many people in my class.
Now as an adult, I have friends and co-workers that decorate and plan and make the world beautiful everyday, but especially for holidays. If you are a home-room mother who makes fantastic pink cupcakes, I thank you for the benediction those sweet bundles of caring bring into deprived, neglected, abused children's lives. I know perhaps you weren't thinking of that child when you made the cupcakes, but just maybe your own child's happiness, but it spills over into other lives, lives that are hungry for beauty and stability. If you are a decorator, the kind of person who pastes hearts and red and white decorations for Valentine's, shamrocks for St. Patrick's, and bunnies for Easter, thank you. Thank you for making the effort. I don't know where your boundless enthusiasm comes from, but when I see your decorations, I am amazed at your creativity and willingness to create something finite, to pull out all the decorations and lovingly pack them away again. When I see what you have done, I am again the awkward child at the back of the room, you are the homeroom mother who is only being nice as you offer me the fruits of your labor, but I bask in your secondhand love. I am exceedingly grateful you exist. Please don't stop decorating the world. Let it be ok that I don't decorate, because I am busy surviving. Thank you for the beauty you bring to this world.
When I was a child, however,that just wasn't the case. It was all so stressful. Holidays were days when my mom did stuff for us because she felt she had to. She must have felt tremendous pressure at holidays as well. She didn't handle it very well though. One Christmas, I don't remember what we as kids had done, (there were four of us) but she got so angry that she threw the entire tree out the door, decorations and all. That was devastating. Valentine's was when we went to the store and bought the cheapest valentines and then hoped we would get some in return. I went to so many different schools, I didn't always know many people in my class.
Now as an adult, I have friends and co-workers that decorate and plan and make the world beautiful everyday, but especially for holidays. If you are a home-room mother who makes fantastic pink cupcakes, I thank you for the benediction those sweet bundles of caring bring into deprived, neglected, abused children's lives. I know perhaps you weren't thinking of that child when you made the cupcakes, but just maybe your own child's happiness, but it spills over into other lives, lives that are hungry for beauty and stability. If you are a decorator, the kind of person who pastes hearts and red and white decorations for Valentine's, shamrocks for St. Patrick's, and bunnies for Easter, thank you. Thank you for making the effort. I don't know where your boundless enthusiasm comes from, but when I see your decorations, I am amazed at your creativity and willingness to create something finite, to pull out all the decorations and lovingly pack them away again. When I see what you have done, I am again the awkward child at the back of the room, you are the homeroom mother who is only being nice as you offer me the fruits of your labor, but I bask in your secondhand love. I am exceedingly grateful you exist. Please don't stop decorating the world. Let it be ok that I don't decorate, because I am busy surviving. Thank you for the beauty you bring to this world.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
What do I say?
I have a speech coming up for the Lion’s Club and the coordinator asked me to share with them how it was to live in Iran . I have about 20 minutes to speak. I’m thinking really hard about how to squeeze 13 years of amazing experience into 20 minutes. In addition to that, a speech usually needs to be relevant to the audience. How can I make the beauty and loveliness of the culture apparent, even as I share how making good choices and having a good attitude can help people everywhere?
My son and I were talking about the Egyptian uprising that’s happening now and in the news. We were comparing it to the uprising during the recent elections in Iran , when the “Where’s My Vote?” campaign went violently wrong. He put on an Iranian song that’s a political statement of the youth lamenting all that’s wrong with the government at the moment and violations of human rights. I looked at him and for a moment doubted myself. I told him, “I know these things happen and I know the reality and the horror of it, I’ve seen some of it. What I really want to do however is to share what I love about Iran , what I found that was good, uplifting, and positive. I want to share the funny paradox that living in Iran was to me. I want to tell people how Iran saved my life and share my personal story. I’m a hopeless Pollyanna. I can’t help but see the good.” He gave me a hug and said, “Mom, that’s okay. As long as you concentrate on the people, it will be good.”
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Checking Things Out
This morning I finished, "Who Let The Blogs Out" by Biz Stone. He's part of the reason I finally got going and created MY BLOG. That sounds so good! I've also been looking at some of the other blogs here at Blogger. There are some pretty creative things happening here. I can't wait to really get into this and find some blogs that I'd like to follow.
I could've been doing this all along when I lived in Iran! If I'd only known....
I could've been doing this all along when I lived in Iran! If I'd only known....
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
First Times
Here's another first to add to a long list of firsts: First Blog. It sure took me long enough! I've been blogging everyday all along in my mind for years. I am so excited about what this blog will eventually look like and where it will take me.
Some of my more memorable firsts:
My first pony when I was eleven. I even went on a hunger strike to get a pony but I really love food so it only lasted about half a day. I did get a beautiful Welsh paint pony with one blue eye and one brown eye. I was so timid and worried about doing things wrong that I had a hard time getting him to do what I wanted. He aggravated me, but I loved him. Funny, it was really my weakness that was making me unable to get what I wanted, but I had no way of knowing it at the time.
My first baby: I spent so much time reading and getting ready for him. I sewed him a whole layette by myself. I took Bradley classes, I went to a LaLeche League meeting. I thought I was prepared. When he arrived, I had no idea what to do with him. Once after I'd fed him, changed him and done everything I could think of, he was still crying. I actually shook him and said to him, "I don't know what you want!" That terrified me. I was so afraid I was going to be a terrible mother. I called a lady from my childbirth classes and asked her if we could go to lunch. I also started counseling sessions and it changed all our lives for the better.
The first time I went to the Baths in Sare Ein, a small town in Ardebil in Iran. It's located high on this gorgeous rolling plateau, cool even in summer. Most of Iran is located on a huge fault line so there are tons of earthquakes, but also lots of hot mineral springs. In Sare Ein they've built a big pool over a hot sulfur spring. There's a wall around it, but it's open to the sky. The first time we went there, I walked down a long dark hall, pulled aside a curtain and there in the steam were all ages of women, soaking, scrubbing, singing, dancing, all in various levels of undress. The most modest wore swimsuits, and the bravest wore nothing. It was cold in the air, goosebump cold, then the water was scalding. Afterwards the street vendors sold an amazing stew made with yogurt and chickpeas and flavored with garlic. We goobled the stew, lightheaded from the Baths, and it was the most wonderful thing.
There are a thousand other firsts in my mind, but for now this is enough. Yes, at last! My own blog.
Some of my more memorable firsts:
My first pony when I was eleven. I even went on a hunger strike to get a pony but I really love food so it only lasted about half a day. I did get a beautiful Welsh paint pony with one blue eye and one brown eye. I was so timid and worried about doing things wrong that I had a hard time getting him to do what I wanted. He aggravated me, but I loved him. Funny, it was really my weakness that was making me unable to get what I wanted, but I had no way of knowing it at the time.
My first baby: I spent so much time reading and getting ready for him. I sewed him a whole layette by myself. I took Bradley classes, I went to a LaLeche League meeting. I thought I was prepared. When he arrived, I had no idea what to do with him. Once after I'd fed him, changed him and done everything I could think of, he was still crying. I actually shook him and said to him, "I don't know what you want!" That terrified me. I was so afraid I was going to be a terrible mother. I called a lady from my childbirth classes and asked her if we could go to lunch. I also started counseling sessions and it changed all our lives for the better.
The first time I went to the Baths in Sare Ein, a small town in Ardebil in Iran. It's located high on this gorgeous rolling plateau, cool even in summer. Most of Iran is located on a huge fault line so there are tons of earthquakes, but also lots of hot mineral springs. In Sare Ein they've built a big pool over a hot sulfur spring. There's a wall around it, but it's open to the sky. The first time we went there, I walked down a long dark hall, pulled aside a curtain and there in the steam were all ages of women, soaking, scrubbing, singing, dancing, all in various levels of undress. The most modest wore swimsuits, and the bravest wore nothing. It was cold in the air, goosebump cold, then the water was scalding. Afterwards the street vendors sold an amazing stew made with yogurt and chickpeas and flavored with garlic. We goobled the stew, lightheaded from the Baths, and it was the most wonderful thing.
There are a thousand other firsts in my mind, but for now this is enough. Yes, at last! My own blog.
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