Less Than Perfect

Recently Fred and I have returned to the world of group meditation.

Who am I kidding? Recently we have returned to the world of meditation--group or not. Since June was born the days of one-and-a-half hour morning meditation and yoga have gone by the wayside, as is to be expected. Or maybe that's me justifying it all. Nevertheless...

We've returned. After discovering a Zen center near us that also has a kids program (a rare occurrence here in the land of the Midwest), we were excited to check it out. The space was warm, the silence inviting, the people who lead the kids' program energetic and sincere. Sitting down to meditate in a group again felt like coming home.

While I appreciate and, in certain ways, still relate to my Lutheran upbringing (when the shit hits the fan, I still pray; not meditate, but pray), I no longer feel like I belong in a Lutheran church. I love the Garrison Keillorness of it all--the monotone singing voices, the tempered emotions, the Puritan denial of the body and the concurrent obsession with it. There is something so heartbreakingly stoic about it all that crushes me in the best possible way. But it feels surreal. Jesus was a great human being, and that's about all I can feel about it these days.

The Zen center feels more comfortable, like they're speaking my language. So when we returned, it felt right, sincere. There we sat, forty five minutes of blissful silence, a rare commodity in life with a small child.

When the meditation session had finished, everyone shifted on their cushions and eyes wandered around the room, including mine. Then, something interesting happened. I had a thought--one that seems obvious, benign; one that perhaps I should have had years ago. But before I tell you the thought, I have to preface it a bit.

This has been a difficult year. I won't go into the details of that, being fully aware that difficulty is something that we all face and is not something unique to me. This difficulty has brought with it an increasing sense of my being Never Quite Good Enough and my somewhat narcissistic tendency to blame myself for all the ills of the world (okay, that's a bit extreme) growing even more intense. I am a perfectionist. This perfectionism has caused me to quit many things before I've even began. This perfectionism has been a lame sidekick.

So, here we were, sitting session done, people shifting around, and as I looked from person to person--some large, some small, most old, some young, some beautiful, some homely--I had the thought, "Ahhhh...I see. No one is perfect."

Again, like I said, this thought isn't terribly original. It isn't profound. But--oh!--it felt profound. It was profound to me. Suddenly I saw how idiotic my perfectionism was, how I was doing myself a disservice by disliking myself so much and for so long. It was as if my heart and mind just opened up and were replaced with a mountain's worth of fresh air. For a moment, everything was perfect in its imperfection.

Now, that moment was a Moment. Since then, I've had as many moments of hating my wrinkles and hating my impatience and hating the fact that I waited until I was 37 to do what I really want to do with my life. But now, there are as many moments of This. Whatever this is, it is fine. Whatever is happening is fine. Whomever I am, it is fine.

And there's really only one thing I can say about it:

It's been heavenly.

Compassion

Feeling compassion for ourselves in no way releases us from responsibility for our actions. Rather, it releases us from the self-hatred that prevents us from responding to our life with clarity and balance.

-Tara Brach, Ph.D.

She Blinded Me With Science

Studies show that young women who like math and science are more confident in general, and also feel better about the way they look than any other group of either sex. In addition, they are less concerned about being liked by others.

This quote is from a book I am reading at the moment titled, Things Will Be Different for My Daughter: A Practical Guide to Building Her Self-Esteem and Self-Reliance by Mindy Bingham and Sandy Stryker. The book was written in 1995 but is still relevant, if not more so, in 2011.

I try to remember back to my science and math classes and whether boys were, indeed, treated differently than girls and if they were given more attention, validation and reward. I can't remember to be honest. I was pretty good at math and science, though I excelled in English and art classes.

Fred and I have already expressed (to one another) the hope that June wants to be an engineer or chemist or some such thing. We've also looked into private schools that focus on supporting girls in the sciences. So, obviously, we must have some sense that what Bingham and Stryker say is true.

Now, if June decides she wants to be an artist or an actress, I'm all for it. It's up to her. But I do want to encourage her to use her brain to its fullest capacity (of course) and not to be intimidated by anyone else's biases or preconceptions.

If you have a daughter, I highly recommend taking a look at this book. I wish it had been around when I was a girl.

Singing in the Rain

Sometimes June is so stinkin' cute, I can barely handle it. Like the other night when she asked to go sit on our porch just to watch the rain fall down. For twenty minutes or so, she sat there, quietly, entranced as the rain fell steadily on her umbrella. Of course I had to take a picture.

Yay Fred!

Have I ever mentioned how lucky I am that I married the man I did? Have I mentioned that, when I look back over my life and think about the ex-boyfriend who wanted to marry me (who also happened to be pathologically unable to keep it in his pants and who was an alcoholic), I thank sweet Jesus that I had the wisdom (somehow) not to listen to his reasoning behind why we'd be so happy together and instead waited for someone sane, gorgeous, dedicated, hard-working and loving. I love you Fred!

Parenting Against the Trend

At book club the other night, myself and the other mothers were talking about the need for a revolution in America. Sometime in the near future, people will stop being so apathetic and will revolt against having their country run by corporations and will be willing to take risks to defend the democracy they hold so dear.

God, I hope that's true.

Then we went on to discuss ways in which we can make our voices heard; heard for real, meaning that because of our words, action will be taken to benefit the country or the world at large. That's not asking for much, is it?

Is it asking too much? Isn't this how movements always begin, with a few voices?

As all of us in the group are mothers, our reasons for wanting to change the world is largely rooted in our wanting a better world for our children. What floors me is that not everyone wants the same. What blows my mind is that there are parents who not only aren't thinking about the ways to make the world better for their children but are buying their daughters pajamas that say, "I Like Daddy's Money" or t-shirts that say, "My Brother Does My Math Homework" and are telling their two-year-old children to "shut the hell up" in the Target aisle when their child is being about as mild-mannered as can be expected and even more so.

Sometimes, it feels like I'm parenting against the trend, but I refuse to talk to my daughter like she's an inconvenience and undeserving of respect, and will NEVER buy her clothing that attests to a complete lack of self-esteem and a supremely shallow view of her potential and the world.

So then, what do I intend to do about it, besides bitching about it? How will I be a part of the revolution?

America the Beautiful