The Price of Fear

Lately I have been reflecting on how hard it is to get motivated to do certain things in life. All of the sudden I am afraid, for example, to really take a look at my checkbook, and my financial situation, or to really take a look at what kind of foods I am eating during the day and perhaps take a look at putting regular exercise into my daily routine. Is it that I am lazy? Or irresponsible? Or just plain crazy?

I think that the answer is that I am afraid. Afraid of what knowing the answers will require of my life. When I think about it in a rational way, I have NO idea what I am afraid of. Since delving into those things of which I am afraid, would in fact only set me free. I know that it sounds like a “cliché” but it will set us free. On my wall in front of my desk, I have a quote, “Stand up to your obstacles and do something about them. You will find that they haven't half the strength you think they have.” It is so true, that taking care of things in our life will begin to break all of those things that keep us from being all that we can be. But, the fact remains that, “I am afraid!”. I live in this place of fear, and therefore, things don’t get done and I become my own worse enemy. I spend a lot of time in “self sabatoge mode”. After all, I would never let a friend live through most of the things that I allow myself to live through. I would help my friend, and tell her to “suck it up” and make that phone call to the mortgage company or I would help her take one step at a time in figuring out a new budget so that life would not be so pressured. I would help her if she called me when she felt empty and wanted to go and spend money just to make herself feel good. I would help her figure out how to have that difficult conversation with her father in the nursing home, because certain words need to be said before it is too late. I have all the skills in my head to do those things, and for a friend, I would help her manage all these things. But, that is not how I live; I live in a way that doesn’t really make sense when I look at things in that rational place. So, what to do? How do we stop living in this place of fear?

I have a friend that seems fearless. He takes on the world, and believes that he will be successful. He doesn’t allow the voices to come into his head and think that what he dreams about is impossible. This is truly a character that I admire in him. How can he believe that all is possible? He says that he “knows” that if he puts the needed effort into something that there is no way it will turn out bad. Now, he does admit that sometimes things will not go the way he had planned, but they will NEVER go bad. He believes in God’s plan for good, even despite his flaws. He truly has a sense that God desires only good for him and his life, and he is ready to make the sacrifices and has the determination to create dreams and to pursue them. I have never seen him afraid. Because he does not live in fear, he lives in freedom, no matter what is going on his life. I want to be like that.

Fear sometimes, can be a wonderful thing to hold on to. Fear can be such a great excuse. It is in fact, the excuse that allows us to be creative in our excuses. All my life, I felt that I had a book lurking inside me. I felt that I had talent to write, but I was afraid to fail. I was defeated before I even started to write. So many things in my life didn’t get done because I was afraid to fail. But in this life, we will never be successful in anything if we do not take the risk to fail. After all, this is one of the things that I want my child to know, not to hold back, and to give life all that you can give. Only when you give life all you have, will you get the rewards that God has in store for you.

Recently, when John Travolta tragically lost his son, I was reminded that everyone In life has a cross to bear, that no matter how successful, how rich, how famous, everyone feels their heart break on occasion, and somehow, we stand back up and continue the journey we call our life. We can all experience a loss so great that we feel we can not go another step. But we need to live in faith. Not in some blind faith, but faith that God really wants good for us; that God knows more than we do, and that in every struggle, is an opportunity to learn something more about ourselves and this experience of life. In tragedy we can become closer to one another as human beings, and we can, ultimately become closer to God our creator. In knowing this, what on earth should we be afraid of?

Even with all this knowledge, I am afraid, and I live in that place. I am afraid that life will get the best of me, that I will not know the feeling of accomplishing even one dream, that I will spend the end of my life alone, that I will be laughed at, and the list could go on and on. How does someone get over the fear? I really believe that we get over the fear by doing a couple of things. (And, I am dedicating myself to adopt these into my life daily). First, we have to take a step at a time. A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. We certainly wouldn’t start walking on a thousand mile journey, but we can take one step toward our destination. We have to look at our problems and obstacles in small digestible pieces. Only we can determine how big that step is, but we have to be able to manage it. I know, for me, I have to stop seeing life as Mt. Everest, and start taking the small hills first. Today, this hour, I can take care of one thing in which I was procrastinating because of my fear.

Secondly, we have to visualize the worse possible scenario, and we have to have a vision of what life could be like with that obstacle out of the way. We need to ask ourselves, “Is that feeling of freedom worth the risk of the worse possible outcome? It has been my experience that life is never as bad as the worse possible scenario I can create in my mind.

And most importantly, we have to believe that we have what it takes to reach our dreams. My friend that I spoke about has this unbelievable sense of his abilities and a great belief in himself, despite what the people around him think. What would life be like if we were no longer afraid? Would we be closer to those around us because we could finally share our feelings in a more honest, vulnerable way and they could do the same? Would people around us finally really know us, and therefore would we feel less lonely? Would we smile more? Would we be better parents? Siblings? Friends? What would life be like? What would I be like?
I don’t know about you, but I want to work on finding out.

Noah and the Nuns

Image via Wikipedia

When I was a small girl, we would not go on “vacations” but we would take the drive to Montreal and to Sherbrooke to visit relatives. My mother had 5 sisters who all became nuns. I use to love to go and visit them, as most of them lived in very large convents. These old buildings were like walking into some kind of castle. The places all had a familiar feeling to them. I remember having to sit quietly for hours as my parents visited with them. Sometimes if we were lucky we would have a book to read to break up the day. Sometimes, if we were really, really lucky, my Aunt would allow us to roam around the convent. I remember this particular day, (my Aunt Madeleine was the Mother Superior),the students were gone on vacation, and so the classrooms were empty and we were allowed to go into the classrooms, and I was able to write on the chalkboards (this was a fascination of mine, and frequently got into trouble at school for writing on the board). At that time, the sisters were in full habit and seemed very much untouchable and somewhat inhuman. These experiences brought a sense of a certain awe about life; to know these women and those around them who gave their lives for something bigger than themselves. They have never owned a house, a car or anything else that we subconsciously (or not so subconsciously) judge ourselves and other worth by. I have some wonderful memories in these convents.

When I had my son, and I was unmarried, and I had my share of “catholic guilt”; my Aunt Lorraine came to visit me and she told me that my son was a gift, and that now, God had made sure that I would not be alone in my life. She told me that my job, was to give the best life I could to this child, and that God had not abandoned me. It gave me such a renewed spirit. It was exactly what I needed to hear and because of that one conversation I have been a better mother. TShat day my Aunt became approachable and human. She even began to use her English (they only spoke French when I grew up) and she began to be a woman that was not just my aunt the nun, but was this woman of which I was her namesake and admired.

Last weekend, I decided to take my mother and my son to visit her in Montreal. It had been the first time in many, many years that I went back to the convent. It was SO different. Because of the decrease in the amount of women entering the convent, they were forced to sell these “castle like” buildings and now live in small homes throughout the city. While they continue to live in community, they live with about 7 or 8 other sisters. However, it was interesting, that when you entered this small house, one still had that “feeling” of awe that I had experienced in the much bigger convents.

That day we had the pleasure of visiting Mount Royal, and the Oratory of St. Joseph.I loved taking my son to this amazing church, and see him experience something I did when I was his age. It was the greatest as we opened the front door and he experienced the scenery of all of Montreal in front of us. Through him, I was experiencing all of it again for the first time. He had many good questions and my best memory was of my son, kneeling in front of the alter praying the “Our Father”. How could God ever ignore the prayers of this innocent creature? I saw myself in him. All day was an amazing experience. It brought me back to my roots and reminded me of who I was. We went to the little gift shop and he got a rosary and a nice wooden cross necklace. We went down to the crypt, and there a priest was available to bless our new things and to give us a blessing also. It was such a moment, standing there with my son, being blessed in this amazing place and hearing these words from a priest we had never met, but for some reason, he was saying the words that both Noah and I needed to hear. After, we received small bottles of holy water.

Image by MusMs via Flickr

After visiting the church, we returned to the convent. There they had dinner for us; only in a way that nuns can give you dinner. Simple, yet elegant. They had rice soup, and Noah doesn’t really like rice soup, and normally he would just be honest and say that he didn’t like rice soup; but today, he was determined to eat this soup because the nuns had made it for him. I was very proud of him. There was something in the atmosphere that, while we couldn’t explain it, was affecting us. After dinner, Noah showed the sisters how his DSi worked, they were amazed at this little gadget, and he was able to take pictures of them, and one sister, took a picture of him. But it was Sr. Monique that changed my son’s life that day. She was interested in him, she listened to him and she was truly present to him. While my mother, aunt and I were in the parlor talking, Noah and Sr. Monique were in the kitchen, test driving a small matchbox car over some obstacles. They must have spent an hour in there together. When they finally arrived to the parlor, Noah had a new friend. When we left he hugged her, in a a way that a child would hug a long lost grandmother. All the sisters thought he was a great boy and told him that they would pray for him. They also told him that he was welcomed there anytime and that they hoped that he would come again soon.

When we got into the car, he was unusually quiet, we were driving away from the house, and he said, “I only wish for one thing, that I could spend just a few more moments with Monique.” I thought that it was a cute statement, but then I realized that he had started crying. How could someone he met and only spent a couple of hours with have such an impact on him. He cried for sometime on the way home, this cry that comes from his heart. What was it that touched him so much? Sr. Monique was different than most people, she had the gift to be present to others. She was able to put aside what she might have wanted, though I don’t think that this ever enters her mind. She genuinely wanted to know this little boy and she was the hand of God on earth. She made this sometimes awkward little boy feel special, feel important and feel that he mattered. She was able to teach him that day, of the love God has for him. It was unconditional, it was given freely and it was genuine. This is what touched my son’s heart in the convent that day. It was the same thing that touched my heart when I was young, this pure feeling of God that was all around you when you entered into a holy space. I was so grateful to God that through Sr. Monique he touched my son in the most personal way.

Image by Prisoner 5413 via Flickr

Now, when Noah has troubles, he takes the holy water and sprinkles himself with a faith that God will help him in his trials. He is somehow different, a bit more mature, a bit more caring, gentle and thoughtful. Our lives changed that day, and we were given a gift, a gift of love for the next generation in the convent.

(As soon as I figure out how to take the pictures off of the DSi, I will post Noah and the nuns.)

12 Things Smart People Know ( The Important Points of Life I Want to Teach My Son)

Image by Ben Sutherland via Flickr

1. Never forget your first roller coaster ride. (If you haven’t ridden one yet, get on one Now)
2. Be honest no matter what, the long term outcomes outweigh the anxiety of the moment.
3. Give your soul to your children, they deserve it more than anyone else.
4. Things are just things.
5. Find who you are early in life, so that you can live a life doing what you love. Be prepared for it to change and grow.
6. Learn to forgive yourself, without letting your self off the hook.
7. Be kind and empathetic to those around you.
8. Save for a rainy day, because we all have to live through spring.
9. Carry your photo album in your head.
10. Find something big to believe in; never forget your spirit side.
11. Cherish snow days.
12. You owe it to the world to let your creative powers loose.

Reflections on a Spa Day

Friday I was able to experience my very first massage, it was truly a spiritual experience! I am sold that people should have this regularly, and never, ever wait 45 years! It brought to me however, the question...Why is the human touch so healing? At first I thought that perhaps it would feel like the massage chairs in the hall at the mall, however, it was so much more than that!




I began a search on the Internet to read about this very subject, the human touch. My first overwhelming experience of human touch happened when my son, Noah, was an infant. Within just minutes of being born, he was experiencing his first touches. I wondered what he was experiencing as he was being moved from one person to another, how the nurses wash them off, in not the most gentle way or at least that is how I perceived it. And my first experience of him was seeing him lying on the table, totally naked and vulnerable, people doing this and that to him, and him crying uncontrollably. His face red, his lips quivering. I understand that you do want to hear that cry, but for Noah, it so sounded like a cry to return to the womb, to be once again enveloped in some one's love. No words, no compromises, no fears, just this immersion into the perfect love. No past to create a sense of insecurity.When he was finally put into my arms, I felt the most close to any human being than I had ever been. We spent many years, hugging, kissing, holding each other close.

As a single mother, who spends more hours at work than at home, being close to him physically had to be a priority for successful parenting. I made a decision, when he was a toddler that he would not be "made" to sleep in his own bed, and he could use the other half of mine. I was focused on his need to feel close to me, even though we spent so many hours away from each other during the day. I had a sense that I was on the right track when, in the middle of the night, I felt this little hand, touching my arm, looking for reassurance that I was present. It was very much a part of the bonding process. As he got bigger physically, and more independent emotionally and intellectually, our moments of physical closeness lessened. My life somehow became much more busy and stressful as his caretaker as well as that of my parents. I had more responsibilities at work, my own sense of feeling of alone-ness, the pressure of bills, home repairs, etc. and found myself spending less and less time, hugging my child. Mornings were rushed to get to school, evenings are full of homework, bath time, dinner, etc. It has become more of a habit of rushing him to and fro then taking a moment to feel him close, or to smell his hair, or to touch his hand. The other day, he was typing on the computer and I couldn't believe how large his hands had become. No little baby anymore! And still, he finds his way to my bed at night, lying close, and still sometimes reaching that hand to feel my presence. His size duped me, I thought he was older and didn't need that so much. But, I realized that I am 45, and desperately longing for someone to put their arms around me, don't need to say anything, don't need to fix the problem, just to hold me, touch me, and heal my humanness.

The need for touch is almost as powerful as the need for air, food and water. Studies have shown that there are destructive consequences of inadequate or inappropriate touch. Everone needs touch, despite your age. Recently, my mother (76) hugged me (45) goodbye when I was leaving for work, and telling me, that she doesn't know why she doesn't hug me more often, after all I was once her baby. And it felt great. It swept me back into my childhood and gave me a sense of connection, from what I was and what I have become.

There is a wonderful poem about the idea of the human touch, by Spencer Michael Free (1856-1938) :

’Tis the human touchin this world that counts,

The touch of your hand and mine,

Which means far more to the fainting heart

Than shelter and bread and wine.

For shelter is gonewhen the night is o’er,

And bread lasts only a day.

But the touch of the hand

And the sound of the voice

Sing on in the soul always.

I found this on www.suite101.com/article.cfm/womens_health/83603

"Are you interested in learning how to include touch in your
life? Here are a few beginning tips:

• Start by kissing friends hello on the cheek. If that makes you
  uncomfortable, try hugs. A good hug is a quick, anti-stress remedy, as
  spiritually healing as hours of meditation. The person you are hugging has the
  power, with their touch, to free you from the tyranny of your restless mind.
• As most of us are realizing, our society does not have a very
  affectionate culture (except during a tragedy) but you can overcome this. Begin
  with a friendly pat on a person's back. Walk arm and arm with a friend. When
  talking to someone, gently touch his or her arm or hand during the conversation.
  Small touches can go a long way to making a person's day.
• We all know that gently touching a child can help them to
  develop into loving, caring adults, so spend more "touching" time with them. Snuggle with your children while watching television. Tackle them just for the fun of it, and even rub their backs while they sleep. I know not everyone is into the Family Bed, but for the first two years of each of my children's lives, they slept with me. It was crowded and inconvenient on occasion, but wonderful. They slept all night and woke each morning in a pleasant mood.
  
• Rub your husband/partner's back for 30 minutes, and then insist
  on receiving one in turn. Try to do this each night instead of having a cocktail. The benefits are long lasting. Even a self-massage has wonderful benefits. "

So what does this all mean? I think that it means, that God made us to show our emotions, to take the scarey leap, and lean over and touch the person beside you; I think that it means sometimes, we have to forget our own personal space and that of others and just touch one another. There are times in life when a touch means more than any word could convey. Our world needs more people hugging!

In the words of Bruce Springsteen:

"Oh girl, that feeling of safety that you prize,
Well it comes at a hard, hard price
You can't shut off the risk and the pain
Without losing the love that remains
We are all riders on this train."

I know that for me, I will hug and kiss my Mom and Son today, and everyday that God gives me with them.

Check out the Free Hug Campaign Video !

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4

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• Beyond the Baby B's: Attachment Through Play (attachmentparenting.org)

To Be or Not to Be...with the "right" guy

We all want to be with the "right" person. But how do we know what that means really? Recently I went on a "blind" internet date. I was most nervous because I thought of all the things that were wrong with me. I worked hard not to have a bad hair day, make sure my clothing was correct for the occasion, and no unsightly bulges were too accentuated. I made sure legs were shaved, all unwanted facial hair was gone, make up perfect (not too much, not too little) and I smelled really good. I left the house pretty confident that I had found a balance of looking put together but not too much so. And so off I went to meet this virtual stranger. There he was waiting in the parking lot, like he said he would. I was a little surprised, it didn't seem like he put ANY effort into this and well I think he might have taken his shirt out of the laundry basket, done one of those sniffs guys do to make sure that it was ok, and ran out the door. But hey, I am not a shallow person, so I tried not to make any judgements. We went into the resteraunt, and I found that I was at ease and the conversation went pretty well, with only a few quiet spots here and there. THe margaritas were good and cheap but I still wasn't committing to a "meal", despite the waitresses constant attention of what we would like to order. After a few margarita's his lack of personal style, his inability to ask me any questions about myself, and his constant talk of his ex didn't seem to matter. My expectations and standards were waining a little (this is not a point I am proud of, mind you) and the date continued on. What got was this... after years of suffering from "male attention deprivation" I found myself just liking the fact that someone liked me in returned. I had actually gone, met someone from the internet, and sat there, across from him feeling pretty confident! This was such a new feeling to me. And I was going to bask in it. And so we spent quite an enjoyable day together, I actually had fun. Probably because he did not intemidate me, what did I have to lose really. But by the end of the day I was convinced that I wanted to see him again, perhaps it was because of his lake house, but really I have to admit there was somthing charming about him, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. After the date was done, I didn't really know if we would see each other again. He was very much involved with women from Russia, and loved the fact that they were beautiful...his actual words were that they "looked like strippers". Well, I am about as far as one can get from the stripper type, and that is when I kind of had a hint that this guy, who was nothing I would want in a male, and was about to let go of all my standards, thought that I was not good enough for him!! Hmmm. It really threw me for a loop, considering this guy, in my head, was suppose to be thanking his lucky stars that he found someone so "normal" as me on the internet, and that we lived relatively close by to each other, and while we were both middle aged, had young boys. On paper we were great for each other. But ultimately, I wanted someone who would wear a clean shirt to dinner, and he wanted a skinny stripper type, that spoke limited english, and would not afford saying something about his "style" because she would be grateful to be in the US! So, I sent a nice email saying that I thought we were in different places in life...and he sent me an email saying that he couldn't see me anymore because his "dog had died". Seriously??

This whole thing got me thinking, to what extent does a person have to compromise to have someone in thier life? I know that all of relationships are compromises, but at this age, in your mid 40's peole have baggage, and I guess we just have to choose what baggage we are willing to live with, or are we willing to take the risk that we might have to go it alone. They say that when one door closes another opens, I don't know if it is true. It seems that looking back there have been times that a door closed and nothing else came in its place. But I do have hope. Hope that something will come along to make life feel a little less lonely. I have also come to the conclusion, that it is a sick joke God has played on us, because i think that we all have this inner thing, that makes us want to be connected to someone else. I think that we can all put a strong face on and say that we are find, happy, complete alone, but ultimately, God has given us this "thing"; this thing that makes us want to be hugged, want to be touched, want to be wanted, connecting with someone on a mind, body, spiritual level. It seems that God wants us to expect that from a relationship, and who are we to not reach for it!

I have dedicated myself to get out there, and find some connection, and maybe make some friends along the way, and who knows, maybe God will bless me with more than that. But until I really think that the guy sitting in front of me, is THAT guy, I will hold my standards up, somewhat, in a realistic manner. No one is perfect, but someone is perfect for me.