Compassion ain't just for Bullies

I remember the undesirable response so clearly. Like it was yesterday. I had come home tear streaked and dirt caked. I had been pushed by a terribly vicious mean girl and my face and ground had become one. My Mother while cleaning me up was trying in her Jackie O. way to enlighten me on feeling some love towards the offender on the playground.

I was having none of it.

"But...but... but..." was all I could stammer forward. Didn't she get it?! Didn't she know what had just happened??
Of course as a Mother now I understand. Understand what Mom was trying to do. I can also pretty much bet that even though she was calm and still as lake placid she was also doing her best to stifle her "hand that rocks the cradle" rage too. All in an attempt to instill in me a different vantage point to consider.

Again, having none of it.

Which begs the question; how do we teach our children and for that matter ourselves to have compassion? Especially in those sticky situations where all you really want to do is go Soprano's on their ass? I used to think it was stuffing the anger like a sausage and channeling Gandhi. But now I am not so sure. I think it's more about Milk and Dark chocolate. Doesn't it always come back to Milk and Dark chocolate?

Everyone has some 90% cacao bitterness to them. Everyone. We also have our light, fluffy Milky Way side. Most of us walk around each day with a little bit of both. Some of us hide our bitter side well, some not so much. The trouble comes in when we get hurt, betrayed, generally disheveled and we start looking at everyone like they are one flavor. We start crying, ruminating, venting dark chocolate morning, noon and night. We see only dark chocolate for miles and miles, stretching out before us.

Where compassion comes in and makes an appearance is when we see both sides of the fence. Where we try to do the "walk in their shoes" motto. You know, what Mom said. We don't know why we are being pushed in the dirt. Is it because they are being pushed?

It's really hard to hate someone when you feel for them. Try it. It's hard.

We can't make what happened to us magically vaporize, can't set the fracture, can't unring the bell. But where we can sufficiently save ourselves is when we can compassionately look in their direction. When we give them a second glance and forgive them their foibles. Forgive them their need to push us down to a stumble.

I imagine if they could do it for themselves they would. All they can really do is push that pain out and away, like vomit. Give it to them they say to their inky hearts. They don't know what to do with it.

But we do. We know. We just have to have the courage to take that step, make that pinky finger motion forward. Clean up our faces, lick our wounds and do what Mom told us to.

A teacher's spirit

Come, take my hand. I am going to greet you with the BIGGEST hug, more of a tackle really, I am ready to go! (All before 9:00 am) I am going to tell you that I had pizza for dinner last night, how my Brother pulled my hair and how I read that new book you told me I should check out. I read it after I was supposed to be asleep. Don't tell my Mom though, O.K.? Thanks!

Come, take my hand. I am quiet this morning as there was too much noise in my house last night.

My Dad is really mad, he left for awhile. He wasn't there when I woke up this morning. I am glad to be here. I am glad for your smile, your touch, the way you really look at me to see if I am doing O.K. You see me, and that, shapes my world.

Come, take my hand. I was on the playground this morning and my friend wouldn't talk to me. She like, always talks to me but today she didn't. She likes her new friend better. They don't include me and when I said I liked her new skirt she kinda just looked at me and didn't say anything but I know if her new friend wasn't there she would have like, totally said something back to me. There is nothing as important to me as this is RIGHT NOW. My Mom, she kinda rubs her forehead and says "O.K. enough conversation about this!" But you, you are always interested. You ask me questions like, maybe my friend is having a bad day, and do I ever have days like that? And even though my Dad said kinda the same thing like 100 times, I listen to you.

I am not so upset anymore.

Come, take my hand. I am nervous to be here today. I don't always understand my Math work. Sometimes, I get embarrassed because everyone else is doing so much better than me.

Sometimes I don't want to try anymore. You come over to my desk and help me. You explain it in a new way that I get now. You tell me everybody gets stuck on something sometimes.

Maybe I'm not so bad at Math, after all?

Come child, take my hand. I have been here since 6:45 this morning and my 3rd cup of coffee is making me shake. I was up way past when I should have been last night, but I just couldn't sleep thinking about how I could: Help you. Guide you. Care for you. How I could explain something differently to keep that spark in your eye lit. How I could quietly feed you a little something extra because I know you didn't get enough to eat today. How I could celebrate with you on the triumphs, both big and small, that you accomplish each day. How I could comfort you when you stumble.

I was overwhelmed, thinking, how right before my eyes you grow so much each day, how you get on surer footing, with every step that you take. How humbled I am knowing each day together brings our time closer to an end. But I know when I see you in the hall, we will smile at each other. I will know that you carry a little sliver of me in yourself that will be there when you walk into your first job, or read to your child. I will remember what you were like when you were eight when we see each other when you are twenty. I will never forget, because that is the gift of my time with you here, that we share. So come child, take my hand and we will start our day together anew once again.

Coming around the mountain

I've come to realize that aging is like September. One minute you are basking in the glow of Summer, the next you are hugging the sweater around your shoulders. It's still lovely out, still warm, but something has changed...the climate is not the same, there is definitely a chill in the air.

This is not to say we don't love September. There are many, many wonderful things about September. It's a gentle time, kids are back in school, days are slow and after an activity filled Summer it's nice to take some time for you. Instead of sunbathing you take a picnic to the beach. That walk on the shore, now more empty and still, brings out it's emerging Fall face. The beach is longing for not just the pitter-patter of little feet and plastic toys, chicken salad sandwiches and umbrella's. It is sentimental for the richness of a peaceful moment, the stretching out of solid feet.

I get it. I know we don't go from puppy one minute to hag the next. It's truly wonderful to fit into yourself like an cozy sweater. When you understand why you do what you do, why you feel how you feel. The liberation, the joy. Got it.

What I don't get is the crack in the tea cup. That one hurts. Big time. What starts as a tiny hairline fracture blossoms into a full on break.

I know what you are thinking-- that I am talking about my boobs again. Wrong.

I am talking about my bones, my hips, shoulders, arches of my feet. I'm talking about going from running 40 miles a week to my knee starting to ache a bit to surprise! not being able to run at all. For six months. I'm talking about running a mile now and having it hurt. No injury here; my body is just talking to me.
As in, what the hell are you doing woman?? Don't you know I don't move that effortlessly, completely, heartily anymore?? Actually, no I don't. I have selective amnesia as to what my body can do. My brain thinks I can still rock climb like a twenty-five year old.

 My body laughs at my brain. Silly, silly brain.

I think that it happens this way to humble us. To remind us that the endless Summer is not ours to keep. That's O.K. I've had too much time in the sun anyway.

I have just over a month left being 39. Holding up all right thank you very much. Except my boobs (you knew that was coming) and my saggy tushie. I can still rock a pair of jeans but my bikini days are numbered. I would really like to know when I went from accenting with lipstick to needing it to flush out the color in my cheeks. Oh Well, I hear the vampire look is in now anyway.

So I take my supplements and get lots of sleep. Drink red wine and laugh everyday. Say a prayer to my knees before I run and pinch my friend who says it only goes downhill from here.

All the wisdom I have gained is in my laugh lines. My boobs fed my kiddos and my tushie was never my best feature anyway. I wouldn't trade to be twenty again.

 I'm looking forward to September.

At the end of the day it's just a plastic egg.

How to manage disappointment. Tricky thing. Whether you are eight or eighty it is something we all struggle with.

Yesterday was Easter. We do this insanely wonderful thing year after year; we fill anywhere from 800-900 plastic eggs with chocolate, invite upwards of 60 family/friends/neighbors over on Easter morning and watch the kids devour the hunt in a minute-thirty, tops. We lollygag and hang out with coffee, mimosa's and ridiculously yummy food all the while enjoying the Spring morning. Most kids walk away with 20+ eggs. We have been doing this for a decade and it is great fun. Chaotic, chocolate dripping from the ears of the kids, fun.

I only have two rules: don't trample the emerging flowers in the garden and share.

If you are older and have more eggs it is your moral duty to share with the younger kiddo's. Over the years there has been little drama, the hunt has gone surprisingly without incident. No"but she has more than me or I wanted that egg!!"

I think it is because of my T.I.H.I.I. policy--This Is How It Is.

Haven't heard of it? It's my lifeline in the world of parenthood. Such a secret is worth millions, but I am feeling especially generous today, a bit of mimosa haze from the holiday is lingering so I will spill it.

T.I.H.I.I.

With everything.

Toys.

Hair products.

Dinner fare.
Especially dessert.

Friendship.

Family.

Mom's energy level.

and most definitely all life lessons.

Did I mention plastic eggs?

 Yesterday my Isabel came rushing up to me telling me her baby Brother smashed (gasp) her favorite shiny green egg!!
Now granted it was an accident (her words not his) but still! The injustice! The horror! The world is not spinning correctly- hello- he broke her shiny green egg!!!!

Now what to do, what to do... insert empathic look. Hand to the shoulder. Apology. Yes, that was a terrible thing that happened.
But, and here it comes...it's just a plastic egg.  T.I.H.I.I. Baby.

She got it. After years of Pavlovian-like training, she got it. All was right again, she forgave the crime and moved on with her day. There would be other eggs.

I like to think I have just saved her thousands in therapy bills.

So much of my disappointment and anger in life has been centered around the "unfairness" of my situation. My Mother's brutal end. Not getting to Grad school. My Italian hips. But what if instead of focusing on the road that led to these things I just- after many good cry's and a pot of chamomile tea- looked at it for what it is.

As in: this is how it is.

Life is not fair and eggs are going to get smashed. But what we can give to ourselves and others is the gift of resiliency, willfully keeping calm and carrying on as the Brits used to say. It's what generations before us did, it's entirely what Annie did.

I'm thinking there is a roadmap here.

I'm thinking I'm going to see where it takes me and my lovely Italian hips.

Gray

No Olivia, I won't color my hair.

I won't mask the silvery glitter, the thick, curved strands of time that refuse to be tamed.
I will let them be who they are; full, like my life has been.

No, Olivia, I won't sit in a chair for hours on end, debating color choices named for lattes, filling my lungs with a smell of a factory not yet shut down...but should be.

I will be in the woods. I will be dreaming, conjuring up who I will be. Next.

No Olivia, I won't pull or tug my face into the face of someone else.

I will hold on to each line, I will kiss them with fingertips each morning; grateful for what they have taught me, living with them like the companions they are.

No Olivia, I will not mourn or cry for the body I don't have.

I will not curse my thighs or the way my hips sway. My thighs root me, holding me up when the world seems determined to keep me to a stumble.

I will not have the breasts of the latest model, and Olivia, I will not care. I will look at my breasts with their gaze downward, with awe and gratitude of a Mother, that the first taste in your mouth; the milk they miraculously provided.

No Olivia, I will not starve myself to shrink my stomach.

My stomach carried you suspended in air for so long; I still remember what it felt like to have you stir within me. Why would I ever want to make that smaller? The softness reminds me.

No Olivia, I will not look at the magazines in the grocery aisle. I will turn from them like Brussel sprouts.

I will not believe their lies that my world would be better if I was:

Taller. Thinner. Bigger in my lips but shrunken in my soul.

No Olivia, I won't let them get through, they will not have me.

I will wear jeans that don't crush me.
I will wear red lipstick that is way too much for me.

I will sleep even when I know I could be doing

oh

so

much

more.

I will tell people what I think. And sometimes, with no trace of a diplomatic smile.
I will be outside everyday no matter how chilly, how hot, how rainy, how fierce.
I will believe until I know I shouldn't. Then I won't. It won't take me years to figure it out.
I will remember time is short.
I will not wish away ANYTHING.
I will not put up with any crap. From anybody.
I will saywhatIneed. saywhatIneed. saywhatIneed.
I will remember my purpose in this world is not to be endlessly beautiful, captivating, "interesting" or good in bed.
I will stand on my Mother's shoulders, her tiny, fragile, weighed down shoulders that could not support her frame or her spirit and I will,

I will do something, different.

Someone has to say it

It needs to be discussed. I will do it in my most tra-la-la voice bringing on the high pitch to accentuate the positive, but cheese and crackers, it needs to be aired in the light of day.

Fairly confident we have what makes good friend covered.
Now lets talk about what...doesn't.

Again, skating by the snark deftly with precision, we all have been there haven't we? You are having coffee, feeling a bit low, kids are going wackadoo again, tween's head is spinning around ala' Linda Blair and you need...reassurance. You need support. You need a cocktail.

You think you are going to get it from your pal, your neighbor, your kid's teacher, the mailman for Christsakes, but noooo, sadly, you are not. You are passing the poopstorm baton and there is nobody there to give you the high five and run with it.

Here are some of my most favorite baton dropping scenario's:

Silence is a good one. When you pour your heart out and get the look. Somewhere between complete condescension and out and out scorn. Or maybe it's whatever. Hard to say.

Or you: OMG can you believe this is happening?? Has this ever happened to you??!! (insert dire look to friend's eye) Them: Golly, no, My -insert name- kids/husband/mother-in-law/boss never does that. Must be something you are doing. 

Awesome.

There are some real hum dingers, but the basic line is that you are not getting that loving feeling back from someone who you thought was going to be the Hall to your Oats.

Well dear ones, this is a cautionary tale. Do not do what I did. Do not pour loving kindness in, do not explain yourself more (because they must just not understand that is why the uncomfortable, deafening silence really! really!) Just let the sentence die midstep, curtsy and exit the stage.

You can still be friends, sure, but it's never going to be the same again. Know that. Much like losing your virginity, you have crossed a bridge that you cannot uncross. Ooh-I almost forgot, rule #3- don't be delusional and tell yourself what happened didn't happen. It did. It wasn't just a bad day, it just is what it is.

Listen, there are friends you can laugh with, some you cry with, some you drink copious amounts of alcohol with. Your drinking buddy is not going to bring you dinner when your dog dies. Not going to happen. Accept it now, you will feel better. All friends were not meant to fit all purposes and all friendships were not meant to last forever. Saying goodbye to them or even taking that step away can range from feeling like when your first boyfriend dumped you (gut wrenching despair) to getting your ears pierced (hurts like hell but over quickly). At the end of the day we need to do what our Mom always told us to. End the day, end the chapter, close the book and look for a brighter morning. That may mean many things in our complicated lives: to look for meaning, look for purpose or look for the friend who says Honey, I have been there--- emergency dark chocolate and cheap red wine comin' up. 

Someone to watch over me

It's crucial that someone has your back. When the doo doo hits the fan you need to have that person or person's in your corner.  It's the essence of who we are.  Of what family is.  Community.  When we are rocked and thrown by the waves in our lives it is these brave souls who put us back together, patch us up.  I say brave because devastation ain't pretty.  It takes a strong stomach to watch it unfold.  We all cringe when we recall the harsh lessons of when someone wasn't there to catch our fall or perhaps when we were pushed.  I don't think I have ever experienced a more painful time (including natural childbirth!) as when I thought I had a friend, only to realize I did not.  Ouch.  How many of us have had that painful moment when you discover all is not right in Denmark?

It's the ones who say they will be there and aren't that sting the most.  Or perhaps the ones who love you just to the point of knocking you flat on your face.  So many of life's lessons give us the opportunity to see.  A lost job.  Scandal.  Ruin.  Whoever stands by us in those moments are our family.  Be it neighbor or lover.

As far as I am concerned they can pull up a chair at the Thanksgiving table because they are my Sisters now.  I bless and let go of the ones who are not.  First curse them, then let them go.  Bye, bye.  Then kiss the ground in thanks that this experience-job loss/divorce/ miscarriage/betrayal came into my life.

Thank you,  thank you,  thank you  for showing me who is true.

Thank you for showing me the creme rising to the top.

Because if I wake up with a lump in my breast I want to know I can call on you.  If my world implodes I want to know I won't get a polite smile and a too bad dear, I'll get you crawling  into bed with me to pull the covers up, cry with me, yell with me, eat chocolate with me until it gets better.  And it always gets better.  That we know.

Perpetual Winter is not for us.

Bless and let go.  Look for the ones who stay.  Look for the creme in your cup.