Combining poetry with a road race? Unusual. Also: genius.
Can you actually hear the poems as you run by? No, not really. Is it a total hoot to see costumed people spouting poetry from their tomes – some perched atop large boulders on the edge of the woods, emerging like sophisticated woodland nymphs or Tom Sawyer with a poetry book instead of a fishing rod, others refusing to acknowledge you as you pass, so engrossed are they in their recitation – as you amble along your sometimes-not-merry way (depending what mile it is)? 100%!
A dose of exercise with a side of culture does the body (and the psyche) good. The genesis of the James Joyce Ramble, which features poetry along a 10K race course, was a runner in the 1980s who decided that getting through James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake was as difficult as training for a road race. I can’t speak to that, but it was definitely a good idea.
I temporarily dropped my 5K or bust mantra to give it a try. It was another example of beauty in the unexpected, combining two unlikely partners and creating something brand new that is much more than 1+1 = 2. It also proved, once again, the personal growth and joy that stem from challenging yourself beyond what you think you are capable of, and the power of friends cheering you along, or running right beside you.
As they say at the James Joyce Ramble: Read. Run. Refresh. Repeat.
When I was a kid, I got Wonder Woman underoos for Christmas one year. I may be misremembering, but I am pretty sure even the weather in December didn’t stop me from proudly running down the street to show them off to the neighbors (it was the 80s, I have no better explanation than that for this behavior).
The genesis of the need for “underwear that’s fun to wear” is a bit mysterious to me – was this a time in history when parents were having inordinate difficulty getting their kids to wear underwear or something?
What I know for sure is that that Wonder Woman costume (costume? underwear?) made me feel powerful. Invincible. Strong. I mean, look at the muscles on those kids in the ad!
And that memory made me think about the wonderful poem “If I Should Have a Daughter” by spoken word poet Sarah Kay (it’s just over 3 minutes long and totally worth it). And it also made me think about the power of imagery.
For today’s Oxygen Mask Moment, imagine drawing a cape around your shoulders (or donning your favorite underoos), take a deep breath, and channel the power of your inner superhero.
And breathe again.
You will be alright.
This has been another edition of Oxygen Mask Moments by Meg
I discovered in my late teens what it means to find sanctuary. Though the word is often associated with a church, human constructs never stirred my soul or provided room for quiet contemplation in the same way that a peaceful wood, a calm lake, or a mountaintop (as long as there are not a lot of other people there) do. The combination of the effort (and endorphins) that hiking engenders plus beautiful surroundings and time for quiet contemplation has always been my favorite refuge, affording me the best opportunity to reflect and re-center.
I read that Thoreau quote for the first time in the early 1990s while sitting on the side of a mountain somewhere in Oregon’s Three Sisters Wilderness and it has stuck with me ever since.
After years of practice I have learned (okay, am learning) to quiet the noise and find my sanctuary amidst the hustle and bustle of suburban family life. Putting your own oxygen mask on is about finding refuge and peace within. It’s been a nearly lifelong practice for me. Get outside today, breathe some fresh air, and find your way toward your own calm and sanctuary.
“All of our problems stem from our inability to sit quietly in a room alone.”
This has been another edition of Oxygen Mask Moments by Meg
Did you know that horseshoe crabs have bright blue blood? I was blown away when I learned that fact, this oddity of nature making my heart leap with curiosity and wonder.
They also deserve our reverence. They are survivors, predating dinosaurs. In their modern iteration, though, they are becoming increasingly endangered. That bright blue blood of theirs? It coagulates when it is exposed to bacterial endotoxins, which has both kept them alive for millions of years and happens to be the reason we have vaccines (A Horseshoe Crab’s Blood is Vital in Testing Drugs, Washington Post August 1, 2o21).
If you live on the East Coast of the U.S. (and maybe elsewhere, but I don’t know about elsewhere), you’ve likely seen the discarded shells of these prehistoric-looking creatures on the beach. These creepy/cool little armored tanks are so much a part of the seascape that I have never really given them much of a second glance, their remnants being fought over in a screeching battle by seagulls or half buried in the sand amongst the shells and seaweed, periwinkles and rocks (yes, New England beaches feature rocks) as familiar as the sound of crashing waves. They deserve a second glance, our admiration, our gratitude, and our protection.
This has been another edition of Oxygen Mask Moments by Meg
A Snowy Owl snuggling in the dunes, an elegant, mysterious, beautiful creature.
There is so much novel and interesting out there in the world, sometimes nestled into a dune on a windy day, sometimes hiding in plain sight on your commute to work. Being aware and alert and curious brings discovery and freshness to all aspects of life.
This has been another edition of Oxygen Mask Moments by Meg
Where did the good news station go? Just because we aren’t in the middle of a pandemic-induced lockdown doesn’t mean we don’t need a steady supply of good news! Remember, psychologists say that human brains are hard-wired toward the negative. We need 3 positives to counterbalance a single negative.
When Some Good News (SGN) started I was like, wait, that’s the same idea as putting your own oxygen mask on first! Since I am fairly sure that the name SGN is taken, I will call my own short little bursts of hopefulness, joy, and wonder Oxygen Mask Moments (or OMM…omm…omm…that’s right, breathe!).
For today’s OMM, how about some photos of flamingos that descend under cover of darkness to roost on unsuspecting neighbors’ and friends’ lawns for 24 hours before the flock flies away? In the snow, in the rain, nothing deters these harbingers of joy.
It’s Tucker the schnoodle here again, back by special request from my little hoomans. They like what I have to say. They say I am a 300 IQ doggie, whatever that means.
I feel like I covered the basics in my first post but I’ve grown up a lot since then – I am now almost 16 pounds of sheer muscle and love – and have experienced spring for the first time so, yea, I suppose I have a few thoughts to share. Mostly, my ethos can be summed up by these three ideas some smartie put on the internet:
First off, WOW, just wow, about the nature that surrounds us! I have never seen so many chipmunks and squirrels and bunnies and birds! Such delight. Dead or alive, my investigation skills are fully activated. Sometimes I pick up what I find – dead squirrel, bird wing, hopping frog, beetle in the grass – you name it, I have picked it up. That causes much consternation. I would like to say that I learned my lesson, but being a dog I guess I bet I’ll do it again if I am given the chance. Life is short.
Sometimes I get so excited by all the smells during my investigations that I snort like a pig searching for truffles. Boy, that makes the hoomans laugh and laugh. I look at them with disdain – they can be so immature and undignified. Very un-schnoodle-like.
Lately I have added a new member to my pack – my Grammy! Actually, it’s a whole collection of new friends. My main hooman puts me in the car and we Go for a Ride and then we get out at this new place, which, it turns out, is where my Grammy lives! In my whole life I had only met her once and I was so busy trying to eat all the stuff on the ground outside that I barely noticed her. Now, though, we get to go inside and I think pretty much everyone there loves me. All the way down the hall I hear, “Tucker!” or “Tucker’s here!” They want to take pictures with me and give me pets. Sometimes there are dance parties and I participate. One friend likes to walk me and I let him. They all seem to feel really good when I am there. I think there’s some unspoken language of fur that happens between us. I am not sure of exactly what it is, but I feel like this is an important job. I do excel when I have a job. I may have found my people.
I have gone enough now that I know exactly where my Grammy’s room is and am not even scared of riding the elevator anymore. A little secret, though, just between us? I don’t think my Grammy likes me very much. I get this vibe that she prefers her stuffed dog to me. Never fear, I’ll keep trying, but I get the distinct impression that my kisses are not so welcome. It makes me want to try harder, of course, and some days are better than others. Isn’t that life?
I’ve also noticed that my main hooman is much better on our walks. She doesn’t hold my leash nearly as tight as she did after I got attacked. I mean, I can tell she gets nervous when other dogs are off-leash and come running up to us. I bark extra for those meetings, which she really does not seem to like at all. She tells me, “Read the room, Tucker!”, but just like with my Grammy, I’ll keep trying. Persistence is the name of the game. My main goal is to protect my hoomans. And dispense love. And eat the odd dead thing I find in the road. It’s that simple.
I am going to keep this short because, if you are like me, I know your attention span is, ummm, limited? Fractured? Broken?
As things “normalize,” I find myself exhausted by what used to be normal – kids’ activities, packing lunchboxes, the daily schlep to school. I have to wake up early. Every day. And get dressed! Often I even shower. It’s what I longed to have return, but how did I used to do this?
Now there are also people, lots of people. It’s been a slow build to this point since this time last year, really, with lots of steps in between. I guess I knew – or hoped – this day would come, but it’s still hard to believe that we are there. I didn’t realize you could get mentally out of shape from lack of practice, but I think that’s what’s happening. Or maybe I am just a year older and really tired all the time?
When this all started in March last year, what did most people think? A couple weeks? I thought for sure it would all blow over, that the news was playing up the drama and making more out of it than was real, just like any big storm. I knew I could handle anything for a couple weeks. When the duration of the stay at home order lengthened, though, I remember hearing giddy reports that there might be a vaccine – by 2021! – and nearly had a breakdown. How could I survive this modified life for nine or more months? It seemed impossible even with my look-on-the-bright-side-find-the-fun attitude and effort from the very start to create a new routine and structure for our family.
And, yet, here we are. There is a vaccine, and the world – my corner of it anyway – does seem to be opening up again. Instead of literally erasing (I still use white out :-)) all planned activities off my calendar like I did last year, more and more keep filling up the blank spaces of my time. And the hugs, oh the blessed hugs.
Honestly, it’s doing my head in. All of it. It’s joyful and hopeful and heavy with relief but also overwhelming. I am trying to remember the lessons of this year of the pivot, of learning to dance lightly on this earth as it kept shifting beneath our feet. As the tsunami of obligation and busyness hovers overhead, I am amazed by how easy it is to slip right back into old habits.
For today’s oxygen mask moment, let’s be aware of our tendency to DO, our tendency to be so absorbed by the frenetic pace of life that we forget to live it. If, like me, you set new priorities and boundaries during quarantine knowing full well that you would lose the quiet, introspective time when the world inevitably, eventually, reopened, honor them. Or at least go find where you wrote them down and reflect on what they tell you about yourself and about what you perceive to be your best version of this life.
Try not to go about life unconscious to your choices and to your role in your own life. Live life deliberately.
LIVE. LIFE. There is so much room for celebrating that we made it to this moment. And there are so many really hard and really important lessons from this past year that we should never, ever forget.
BREATHE. Continue to be grateful for each and every breath, each and every moment we are given.
Life is fragile. And life is sweet. Cherish it and make it your own.
I’ve been taking a writing class which, ironically, means I haven’t got much time to write (here). But I came across this cartoon thanks to a friend and it was so perfectly aligned with my prior post about Valentine’s Day and Loving Fiercely that I thought I’d pop on, say hello, and share it.
Next week we hit the year mark of this COVID quiet world. I’m working on a piece about that so stay tuned – and stay well!
For years after having kids and while taking care of my mom, I had to modify what I thought my life was supposed to be to accommodate what it actually was. I spent far too long trying to shove the round peg that is me into the square hole that was my expectations of myself. Life intervened. Lessons were learned (painfully).
Eventually I let go of some things and I adapted. I left the working world and focused more on my family and my health. It was disorienting and I was consumed by guilt and grief because I wasn’t living the identity I had constructed for myself of being a “working mom.” A paycheck validated my worth and provided confirmation that I was contributing substantively to the world, as sad as that is to acknowledge. Without it, and without a title, I felt diminished and like my tether to and meaning in the broader world had shrunk. My life was fully in the service of others, consumed with sports schedules and camp sign ups, meal planning and doctors appointments. I craved purpose and passion. I got dirty diapers and dishes.
I couldn’t accept for a while that this was a point in time, a temporary passage and where I needed to be for then, but not forever. I felt like I couldn’t hack it (and of course I assumed as I looked around that everyone else could and was doing “it” better than I was). What was “it,” you might ask? I am not even sure. Life? Work? Or, better, that most elusive work/life balance? My go-to mentality when I am up against a wall is that I must not be trying hard enough. But I couldn’t get out of my own way, and as most people eventually realize walls are pretty solid things. I remember reading When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron and wanting to chuck it against the wall after the 13th page because what she prescribed was to sit with my discontent, essentially, and what I wanted was a to-do list to fix it.
When the pace of life and the noise in your head gets to be too much, where do you find sanctuary? For me, there’s nothing like the smell of warm pine needles on a forest floor, the lapping of lake water against an evergreen shoreline, a boulder-strewn mountain rising in the distance, the stillness of sitting quietly by a pond. No cellphones, no crowds, no distractions. With headspace I can reorient and find my center again.
But for the longest time when my kids were young, I couldn’t travel. The place I dreamed of, Mount Katahdin in Northern Maine, was simply too far away and my life was too busy and too consumed by caring for others for me to disappear into the wilderness. Eventually I would institute an annual pilgrimage to Katahdin, but what about all the time in between? I learned to seek elements of Maine closer to home, and to find stability and happiness within. This is what Pema Chodron teaches, but it took me a while to accept it. It’s still a work in progress. I still get wound up like a top and overwhelmed by life. I still am my own harshest critic. But I find my center by carving out time for exercise; laughing with good friends (always reliable for grounding); being curious and just saying yes! to something new sometimes; taking a walk in my suburban wilderness (often now with my dog); and delighting in the little things like a crisp blue sky, flowers, or a box of cookies arriving in the mail. These are highly recommended life hacks for moms and for everyone else who might feel like life is directing them versus the other way around.
Yesterday I was reminded, spectacularly, about the power of finding sanctuary, be that a mountain vista or a more traditional place of worship. At the end of a tour of historic properties in a small, central Massachusetts mill town, our tour guide invited us to see the interior of one of the local churches. As you might guess, I am more of a nature-than-built-environment-as-sanctuary kind of person, but I am also curious. We walked through a dark entry foyer, nothing of note. But as the door to the sanctuary opened, it was a like a curtain that had veiled and protected my heart through this long, challenging year of isolation, lowering expectations, and gracefully accepting our lot was swept aside. This sanctuary of towering ceilings, stained glass windows, and ornate carvings forced a long, deep inhale. This church, modest in presentation from the outside and unexpectedly, stunningly beautiful on the inside, restored part of me that I didn’t even know was missing. It jolted awake a part of my brain that I hadn’t quite even realized was dormant. It reminded me of all the beauty there is in the world, and that you often don’t have to go very far to find it. There are unexpected treasures everywhere, if we are willing to stretch ourselves, be open-minded, and pull open the door to see it.