Remembering My Language

           By: Jennifer Trainor, IMF        

          Welcome to March!  As we cruise into the third month of a new year, how are you feeling?  Have you been able to incorporate your New Years' Resolutions into daily practice?  Have you forgotten what they were?!  Did you set yourself up to succeed, or to fail?  Are you feeling your resolution for evolution working it's magic, or leaving you in a lurch of unfulfilled intentions?  Today I invite all of us to go for a metaphorical and literal walk... a chance to "tiptoe through the tulips", "sing in the rain", and come back to our child-like wonder and curiosity. 

            A few weeks ago, I went and looked at a property a friend of mine is considering purchasing.  The house is beautiful - spacious rooms, gorgeous views, a decadent Japanese soaking tub in the master bath are but a few of the well considered luxuries... and the calm I felt while there got me to thinking.  Have I read too many Danielle Steele novels?  Am I consumed with a materialistic more-better-different attitude?  Was it the upgraded glass backsplash that made me feel so gleeful?  What was going on inside of me?  On the way out the front door, I turned around once more to intake the full beauty of the house.  And that's when it hit me... for lodged snugly into the foyer wall was my answer.  Smack in the middle of a southwestern-toned wall a well-used and much-loved baseball hung suspended.  The playful whimsy of childhood rushed at me, and I found myself laughing.  I realized in that moment that beauty means many things - and that what may be the most beautiful of all is connecting back to ourselves - our partners, our children.  Allowing for the "oops" moments to become opportunities to remember simple joys - like throwing a baseball with a strong, capable arm.  Instead of contracting a drywall repair man, this family had celebrated their sons' ability to throw a ball with enough force to lodge it into the wall.  This house celebrated childhood, and that is why I felt so good in it.  The owners' intentions were to make a home that allowed for real living to take place that celebrated instead of corrected what many may look at as a blemish.     

            Over the next few weeks, I began to recognize just how much our fast-paced lives interfere with our whimsy and carefree childhood perceptions.  Driving to work, I noticed that my cell phone bombarded me with phone calls, text messages, and emails - from both my personal and professional inboxes'.  I remembered with longing the days that driving was my time to crank up the radio, roll down the window, and bellow the lyrics to music that made me feel like dancing.  I remembered how it felt to have the sun caress my face while the wind whipped my hair around.  I felt so far away from being able to do this now; I couldn't show up to work with my hair a rats nest and a voicemail clogged with unanswered calls!  What would people think? 

            Home later the next evening, I "watched" myself spin around the kitchen like a wind up toy gone wrong, bouncing off counters and springing from sink to stove.  I caught a reflection of myself in the window and was surprised to see such a pinched, angry look on my face.  I used to love to cook for friends and loved ones!  What changed?  Why did meal preparation seem to be yet another chore on a list of "get through the day"?  And when had a day become something that I had to "get through" for that matter?  I lay in bed that night... searching for a way out of the trap I felt my mind and life had become.  What to do?  How to do it?  Does becoming an adult mean losing unadulterated joy? 

            Searching for inspiration and guidance, motivated by the laughter and ease of children, the next day I turned to my favorite childhood poet, Shel Silverstein.  Amongst his wise words, I found a poem that seemed to sum up both my problem: overwhelmed with daily barrages of technology and obligation, and what I consider my solution:  connecting with nature, imagination, intentionality in my choice of leaving the "world" behind and nurturing myself and family with the simplicity and grace of trees, rocks, the ocean.  I walked into the fear of leaving my phone behind, and found that the world still rotated on its' axis.  I found that when I retrieved the messages, I answered the calls with a lighter heart - with calm instead of resentment.  After a few weeks of communing with nature, I noticed I was getting more accomplished throughout the day.  I no longer felt like pushing off "difficult" phone calls because I was not "in the right space to deal with so-and-so".  I began to wonder if perhaps I, too, had been one of those "difficult" people myself!  There is more laughter in the house, we enjoy each other more, and I am reminded of happy childhoods everyday because I am fostering an environment that helps create them.