I have a new project.
I thought it was somewhat fitting that, as I sat down to write about it, I noticed that I my last post was post number 100. Of course, I'm not sure how TypePad counts posts and it's entirely possible that my little centi-milestone includes all the unpublished detritus and half-finished thoughts currently languishing in my queue.
Whatever. 100 posts! When I first started blogging in August of 2009, I wasn't sure if it would stick. I was half-expecting that my blog would wind up like the barely-started scrapbooks collecting dust in my hall closet. But I started writing -- anonymously at first, then slowly coming out to friends, and, eventually, the entire internet. I've discovered that thoughts that might not make any sense in my head (and make even less sense when I try to verbalize them) suddenly come to life through my fingers. More often than not, I sit down to write and find myself typing things that I had no idea I was thinking or feeling. And, I have no explanation for this, but the clarity only happens when I'm writing things I know other people will read. I've tried writing things with no intention of sharing and I may as well be trying to explain the Fibonacci sequence to Homer Simpson -- it just doesn't click.
So....this new project requires some background and explanation. I started blogging all those 20-months ago because Zoe was headed to kindergarten and I was faced with being a stay-at-home mom with no kids at home for 5+ hours a day. I was terrified. I had no idea what I wanted to do with myself and my time. I tried working full-time -- which was a full-on disaster (not to mention a less-than-ideal choice for our family). I'm consulting now, which is great in terms of work/life balance and some extra money -- but, while I have every intention of continuing my consulting business, I need something else. Something more.
I want to be more. I want to be better.
It was so much easier when the kids were really young. I jumped off the career path and launched myself into motherhood. The needs of young children are so immediate -- food, diapers, sleep.
I have always been a navel-gazer and a questioner. A seeker and a thinker. I have always lived in my head. It was a shock to discover that the immediacy of caring for two very young children required an awareness of each physical moment. I was ripped out of my Ivory Tower and propelled into the messiness of Life.
Food, diapers, sleep.
Food, diapers, sleep.
It was a walking meditation. Instead of chopping wood and carrying water, I was nursing babies and changing diapers. And even through all the challenges of new motherhood -- the fatigue, the isolation, the hormones -- I recognized that I was right where I needed to be. I knew I was learning to live in a new way.
There were occasional reminders of my former self. The self that was constantly striving to know more. To be better. They were quiet reminders and were always quickly lost in the din of infancy and toddlerhood. I don't regret the lose. I chopped my wood and carried my water. I cared for my babies. I learned to live in my body.
Lots of things have happened as the kids have gotten older. They are no longer my 24/7 companions. They still need me, but not in the same physical and immediate way they once did. The din has quieted and the reminders are not so easily lost.
I've tried to lose them. I watch bad TV, read mediocre novels, and drink a little too much wine. I turn the music up, clean the house, and shop for shoes. I complain about my wrinkles and threaten myself with botox.
There is an ersatz for everything.
The problem with ersatzes is that when they fade (and they always do), we're right back where we started. I may have a clean house, a knowledge of wine, and a closet full of shoes, but I'm no closer to understanding who I am and what I want my life to mean. I still wake in the night, terrified of being left all alone. I still feel the anguish of my own perceived inadequacies. I still allow fear and pride to inform my decisions. I still look to other people to determine my worth. I still withhold the truest parts of myself.
I am still not living the best of who I am. I am cheating myself.
I know I'm not alone. Most of us are afraid. We're living in the shadows of ourselves. We're waiting for a sense of peace, for a flash of purpose.
We're waiting to be extraordinary.
But how the hell to we get there? Apparently the directions are NOT in my navel (trust me, I've been looking forEVER!). They're also not in mindless TV or brain-candy novels or bottles of wine.
[PS: don't worry, this project does NOT involve me surrendering TV, novels, or wine]
I also know that I won't find peace and purpose by simply thinking about it or praying for it -- maybe some people do, but I've tried both and I'm still clueless.
The only thing left (at least for me) is action.
“Whatever you think you can do or believe you can do, begin it. Action has magic, grace and power in it.”
Good 'old Goethe.
So, action. The next question was form. What form would this action take? I considered yoga, daily meditation, acts of service, etc. Nothing was really fitting though -- largely because I knew needed something more defined. I needed a guide. I'll spare you all the iterations of what I considered and tell you that I decided on something called Mussar.
Mussar is part of a Jewish spiritual practice that focuses on the belief that each person is holy (or extraordinary!). The belief is that we are all capable of living and projecting our own holiness (or extraordinay-ness!). We are, they believe, all capable of being better. Of being more whole. Of finding peace. The Mussar offers a series of exercises aimed at removing the things that block us from these goals. Unlike many spiritual practices, there is no retreating from daily life -- the practices are all designed to create habits and awareness withIN ones day to day life.
Another big part of this undertaking is documenting it. So, in the spirit of taking action -- I will document. And, in light of my need to write for an audience, I will be creating a separate blog -- a public blog -- for the purpose of documentation.
There's a magic in action, according to Goethe. I sure hope he's right.
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