A Little Big Life

Hi everybody.  I haven't been here for a while.  I haven't felt much like writing.  I've been kind of on autopilot for the past month or so.  It's such an easy state to fall into.  Wake up, shower, nurse the baby, feed him, feed myself, get dressed, go to work, come home, feed the baby, put him to bed, watch TV, go to sleep.  Repeat.  Weeks go by so quickly and another page on the calendar turns over.  There is great happiness in each day with a little one - the speed with which he changes and learns astounds me.  His vocabulary and physical strength seem to grow every day.  I feel so blessed to be his mom.  Yet even with this sweet, active boy in my life, days can seem remarkably the same.

This past week, though,  I've felt jolted out of my comfort zone.  I happened to read an article on Yahoo about 10 days ago about a baby and her "bucket list."  I couldn't help myself, I read the whole article.  And I cried.  And cried.  And went to her blog, which is written by her father in her voice.  And cried some more, but also became profoundly inspired.  Her parents are the embodiment of love, and they wanted to give Avery the fullest, most joyful life they could. 

Four days after that, after I'd cried a bit every day and prayed for her and her family, after I'd donated money to research for her genetic condition, I read that she'd died suddenly the previous day.  It hit me so hard, as if I knew her.  I didn't, of course, but the warmth and bravery of her family and this baby's spirit made me feel like I did.  I didn't know what to do with my sadness.  Sometimes life just ravages your heart, makes you question what the hell is the point of all of this if sweet little babies are taken from their loved ones like that.  Reading too much news will do that to you too, if you let it.

But I began to realize that baby Avery and her parents wouldn't want me to dwell in sadness.  Besides raising awareness about her condition, SMA, which is genetic and which is not routinely tested for, they wanted to celebrate the life that Avery had left, whatever that was, and they wanted others to actually live theirs. 

What would it take for me to be a more joyful, present mom to my son?  A few changes are in order:  more meditation, exercise, prayer.  Some more time with his dad would be nice!  I want to be a happy mom.  I want to feel a zest for life that I can't help but impart to my son.  I want him to grow up knowing that even though life is most definitely not fair, it is still beautiful and good.  I need to put away the "to-do list" and just BE THERE WITH HIM, introduce him to all that is lovely and wondrous about our planet.

There is so much sadness in the world.  Everybody really does hurt, as the REM song goes - no one escapes crap happening to them.  How can we be anything but kind to one another, in the face of all that hardship?  Love your kids.  Be present.  Find something to be happy about every day.  Donate money to causes you believe in, or your time.  Mentor kids, foster kids, read to kids...  we're failing our nation's children, and they deserve so much better.  If you can stand it, I encourage you to read Avery's blog.  You will come away with a fresh appreciation for life, and probably a desire to more fully experience yours.  If you're considering having a child, you might even decide to get tested and see if you're a carrier for SMA.  I know I am forever changed by that little girl and her parents's brave decision to share her story with all of us.

Only This Moment

When I take my breaks to pump milk for my son at work, I'm reading Momfulness: Mothering with Mindfulness, Compassion and Grace by Denise Roy.  (Any opportunity to read!)  I've just started it and so far I'm not rushing it, unlike my normal breakneck gobbling reading pace.  It's lovely - centering, quiet, wise.  I need a centering voice in my head these days.  I'm all over the place all the time, a million pieces of me scattered here and there.  Parts of me at work, parts of me with my husband, whom I feel like I rarely see, parts of me playing on the floor with my son.  An endless calendar and to-do list in my head, nagging me about my yard full of weeds, my unmopped floor, the cobwebs multiplying on the ceiling, the grocery list, the laundry, the friends I haven't called or seen in weeks.  One of our cars needs major repairs, more than the car is worth, so we're in the hunt for a new one - an exciting prospect but tiring as well.

It never ends.  Life doesn't stop.  Things just keep piling up, and this is how it has always been, but with an eight month old, it feels like a very heavy load.  Sometimes I feel completely overwhelmed.

Enter Momfulness.  Today I read a passage on Presence, reminding me to be in the moment.  It contains a short meditation you can do anywhere at any time, short enough to memorize or post on a small card somewhere in sight.  It's a meditation from Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh:

Breathing in, I calm my body.

Breathing out, I smile.

Dwelling in the present moment

I know that this is a wonderful moment.

I sat there in the storage room, breast pump whirring away, and closed my eyes.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  This is the only moment.  I am making milk to feed my son.  I am lucky to have a place and time to do this at work.  So many women do not have a supportive pro-breastfeeding workplaces. I am lucky to have a job.  I am lucky to have this good quality pump.  I am lucky to have a son.

Roy says that not every moment is a wonderful moment, but it's the only moment.  You can switch out the words if you need to.  But in this moment of quiet and relative solitude, there is much wonder.

Better

I haven't felt like writing lately.  I was in quite a royal funk for a week or so.  Sometimes its really, really hard to be a parent.  Yes, I know how fortunate I am - a healthy child, a job, a husband whom I adore and who adores me and is a fantastic dad.  Knowing this makes me feel even worse about myself.  So I sulk, I eat, I cry, I watch television.  I feel fat and frumpy and out of the loop.  And then I get over it.  This week, I'm better.

Two lunches out with friends make a first-time mom feel good.  I reconnected to my friends and to myself.  My husband and my mom gave me the gift of time to myself, which really is the most precious gift anyone can give a new mom.

And I realized something - I want to be the best Mom I can be for Baby J, which means I need to do whatever it takes to make myself happy.  When I feel good about myself I can focus my energy on my son with gusto and joy, which is exactly what that amazing little boy deserves.  Being happy with myself means I deserve time with friends now and then.  It means I should wear clothes that fit and make me feel good.  It means I need time to move.  It means I stop freaking out about dirty floors and dirty dishes all the time.  This motherhood is mine - what's with all the comparing?  Snap out of it! 

J. deserves better.  I can be better. 

In the Air, There's a Feeling of Christmas...

I love Christmas music.  My husband does not - mostly because he's forced to listen to it non-stop at his place of work, and it drives him crazy.  So we don't play much around the house - but in my car, it's another story.  I love that there's this one time a year, from Thanksgiving to Christmas, where we can enjoy timeless songs - and then we put them away for another year with all the ornaments and wrapping paper.  My favorite secular tunes are "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" (mood: wistful) and "Silver Bells" (serene.) 

Last night on my way home I listened to a mix CD that a friend made a few years back.  It's pretty eclectic, from Sting's version of "I Saw Three Ships" to Run DMC's "Christmas in Hollis."  My favorite song on the CD is NSYNC's version of "O Holy Night."  It is one of the best renditions ever done, in my opinion, and that is my very favorite religious Christmas song.  Say what you will about NSYNC, but those boys can sing, and listening to this feeds my soul this time of year. 

So here is a treat to get you in the Christmas spirit - if you aren't a Grinch.

Another Fat Mom

I am not going to become another fat mom.  There are already too many of those around today, sadly.  I completely see now how someone lets this happen to them, since having James.  There are not nearly enough minutes in the day to accomplish things as mundane as mopping the floor or raking the backyard, let alone time enough to nurture your own soul. 

I adore my child; he is the greatest thing I've contributed to in my whole life.  His sweetness and delight are infectious and addictive.  I can't get enough of his sweet smell or the way he smiles at me.  Even so...  there are times when I head straight to the pantry and stuff candy or cookies or chocolate in my mouth as fast as I can cram it in.  I have realized that I do this because it's a tiny little escape.  It's a precious second of time just for ME.  Sweets are associated in my mind with comfort, with release, with good times.  I use them as a way to nurture myself.  Until the second after the taste leaves my tongue. 

Then it's a litany of horrible feelings washing over me, sounding in my head.  Ugly, fat, glutton, addiction, disgusting... on and on.  You don't need this, I tell myself.  You shouldn't.  Don't have another piece.  And then I do, a big f*** you to the food Nazi in my brain.  And then I feel even worse.

I've checked out and bought countless books about food addiction, I have watched Oprah and read her magazine regularly, I know the drill.  I am not stupid.  No one who struggles with food addiction is stupid.  We all know what to do to be healthy and lose weight.  But this isn't even about weight for me, at least not at this stage.  Breastfeeding is managing to help me maintain my pre-pregnancy weight, thank God.  This is about control, and feeling my emotions, and managing them.  This is about feeling good about myself, dealing with loneliness, dealing with fatigue.  This is about trying to figure out how to be a mother and still feel like myself, like a whole and separate person. 

So I know how women become fat after having kids, or become alcoholics, or abuse pills, or shop themselves into debt.  Whatever your coping mechanism was before you had kids is the thing you'll turn to after.  We do it because doing so feeds something in our souls that is lacking.  We do it because we're tired, we're sick of doing all the housework, we're lonely for adult conversation.  We do it because, while we love our kids more than anything in the world, we need someone to nurture us too. 

EAT popcorn, PRAY the movie's good, end up crying all day because you LOVED it.

I saw "Eat, Pray, Love" yesterday. It met all of my lofty expectations. I adored the book, and was so thrilled that Julia Roberts was involved. She really threw herself into this movie, with joy and gusto. She really "got" it. I left the theater teary-eyed and raw, in a dewy haze of love for the world. I was spiritually moved and wanted pasta - STAT.

The character of Ketut, the sweetest old toothless medicine man you'll ever see on screen, says to Liz (Julia Roberts) near the end of the film, "Sometimes you need to lose your balance in love to find your balance in life." Something like that. It hits Liz hard and she runs to the lovely, sweet man she nearly pushed away out of fear. It struck me similarly, like a gong going off in my brain - DING! - TRUTH! Sometimes I feel like parts of myself are so intertwined with my husband that I don't know where he ends and I begin. It's not terribly liberated to admit something like that. But that's precisely what brings my joy and balance in life. What I lose of myself, I gain back from his wellspring, and together we are both whole. Love is both changeable and constant, chaotic yet serene. I give of myself and open myself to vulnerability, and in return I am strengthened and supported.

I don't see many movies at the theater - too expensive. The ones I do see are special treats. They are an escape and a visceral experience. I like the anticipation, the immersion, the darkness. I came away from this one with a silly smile on my face, like I knew a secret. It reminded me that really, I do know what life's all about - love. I'm given to grand statements of hyperbole, but as I told Eric yesterday, everything else is pretty much bullshit.

Why I (Try to) Meditate

When I finish meditating, I stop hesitating. I just go about doing things, not thinking about them but doing them. I practice with the help of a few CDs, guided meditations, which sometimes feels like cheating. But it works. It quiets my runaway mind, enables me to clear the slate. I so often am paralyzed by indecision. I so often defer to my husband or my friends - "What do you want to do?" I so often agonize over the smallest choices - do I work out first or go to Walmart? Logically I know it doesn't matter which option I pick, but my fearful, anxious brain is convinced otherwise. So I sit and stew and feel floopy.

Floopy is a word I picked up from Phoebe on "Friends." She waved her hands around her head when she said it, and so do I. It means my brain is all topsy-turvy and I'm overwhelmed by options. I truly do think it's a manifestation of my A.D.D. When I tell my husband that I feel floopy he says, "Okay, let's take a deep breath. You're okay." He knows I need reassurance and I need to hit pause.

I manage to meditate once a week, twice on a good week. I'd meditate every day if I could get myself out of bed 20 minutes earlier. But I love sleep; I never really feel like I've gotten enough. It remains a goal, though - maybe I can meditate 20 minutes a night instead of watching TV?

It's really hard to make yourself sit still. I know plenty of people who say they "can't" meditate. I say if I can do it, anyone can! It just takes a little bit of time, maybe a guided CD to help settle down, and a quiet space. For me, meditation refreshes, soothes, and propels me into action. It's one of the best things I do for myself.

Return

God, I haven't written anything in ages! How do I feel about that? Slightly guilty, a bit anxious, but otherwise... okay. I guess I've been following the dictates of my blog's title: I've been doing things. Maybe I haven't been carving out time for writing, but that doesn't mean I've been ignoring my spirit, or things that make my spirit soar. Since I wrote last I've had my "staycation," in which I spent 11 happy days gardening, reading, watching "Glee", organizing our office, going to the gym, enjoying time with my husband, and seeing friends. It was restful and good, and I felt like I made wise use of my time. I read something by Anne Lamott a couple of days ago about how we use our time. And I read something a while back by my beloved Sylvia Boorstein in which she quoted her mother, saying, "You won't get to do this day over." This idea rang in my head and still reverberates. Being awake to your life is the key to happiness, I'm convinced. Awake enough to make deliberate choices about how you want to spend your time. It's so fragile, this life, so fleeting and bittersweet. My daily endeavors are to remember to be present. Remember to celebrate goodness. Remember to be kind. Remember that I am a creative person, whether or not I'm writing. It is still there, this flow of words that runs through me cold and clear like a spring. It is good to take time to dip my hands in the water every now and then.

Found

(Note: This post contains spoilers of the LOST finale. If you have intentions of ever watching the show and haven't yet, you might want to skip this one.)

Much has been written, and will be written, about the series finale of LOST. I've resisted writing about it since Monday, but I can't hold back any longer. I am a true fan, unapologetically and completely in love with the show from the beginning. I feel like a geeky fan-club kid attempting to write about my feelings with any kind of intelligence, but I've got to give it a shot. This show matters to me. And I know I'm not the only person who feels this strongly.

The finale wasn't perfect. I still have questions about certain characters. What happened to Walt and Michael - will they get to head towards the light? Why wasn't Sayid reunited with Nadia instead of Shannon? Why didn't we get more Desmond and Penny love - and where was their son? However, at heart I am satisfied with the finale. It gave me what I desperately needed after caring for these characters for six long seasons - a feeling of peace.


When I regained my breath, after sobbing as the dog Vincent lay down beside a dying Jack, I felt deeply moved and inspired. My husband said, half-jokingly, the next day, "You felt the touch of God." And I did. Never before have I watched a more spiritual scripted television show. It made me want to be a better person. It reminded me to appreciate my life for all it is worth, while it's here. It didn't espouse a certain religious path - although there were echoes of Christianity and Buddhism that were obvious to me - but it left me certain that the show's producers were men and women of faith. They led these characters on a winding, arduous journey towards redemption and possibly rebirth.


Everything that happened on the island - and a lot of it was bad - mattered. Some of it was horrible - watching Jin's and Sun's deaths come to mind - but bad things just happen. They happen to everyone whether or not you've crashed on a mystical island that no one can find! But the horrible things these characters went through changed them - made them stronger, more compassionate, braver, self-aware. I'm not saying that they couldn't have grown without Jacob plucking them from their pre-island lives. I'm not saying it was fair that he did that to them. But my father's most famous words to me as a child were, "Whoever said life was fair?" And the older I get, the more I see his point.


Sawyer, Desmond, Jack, Hurley, Locke - they were GREAT characters. They were vibrant, complicated, intelligent, courageous. I cared about them as if I knew them. I'll miss them as if I knew them. A woman I see regularly at the library talked about the show with me and said it felt like a death, that she was grieving the show. It's hyperbolic, but I see what she means.


I wanted to know that these people had some measure of peace. Whether it was in this life, or in the next, they did. Even Jack experienced peace as he watched his friends fly away from the island as he died. I don't know how I'd feel about the show if I didn't believe in God or an afterlife. All along the show dealt with faith versus reason, and as the show progressed you could feel which way it was going. I'm not sure what my afterlife looks like yet, and I'm still wrestling with my picture of God. But I feel God, if I don't intimately or intellectually know God. And I'm operating on feeling here, with my assessment of the finale. My intellect isn't completely sated, but my heart is, and that's enough. To borrow a tweet from one of the producers, I will remember, and as much as I don't want to, I will (eventually) let go.

Choices

I haven't written in quite a while. I try and I keep getting interrupted, or I don't even try at all. But I'm not discouraged! Far from it, actually. Writing this blog has helped me bust out of the fog I was in last year. I am able to see more clearly now the kind of life I want to live. Being with my mother and grandmother over the weekend - yes, I did end up going after all - crystallized for me the kind of life i don't want for myself. Their poor choices are a cautionary tale for me - for anyone. I sound unkind, and I feel a bit unkind as I write this. I, without reservation, love my mother, and despite the distance, emotional and physical, I do love my grandmother. But they live lives filled with fear and uncertainty, regrets and instability. Life is uncertain for us all - we do not know what is up on the road ahead - but there are choices in life and ways of thinking about the world that lend themselves to more positive outcomes.

I feel so blessed to have married my best friend, to have dug myself out of debt, to have the physical good health to have run a 5K. Choices I made - and continue to make - propelled me to those good things. Never have I been so keenly aware of consequences as this past weekend, trying to remain sane amongst family squabbles and the destruction of my grandmother's house in the Nashville area floods.

I have some choices ahead of me soon. The whole baby thing figures most prominently on the list. I decided, as I talked to myself on the elliptical trainer last night ("You can do this, Laila!") that I want to embark upon the Healthy Mama/Healthy Baby Project. That's what I'm calling it. A two month "program" in anticipation of trying to conceive. Exercise, healthy food, water, rest, meditation, writing. The essentials in life! I rebel against "experts" telling me what I need to do with my body and soul, so I'm just operating on instincts here. Right now what I most crave is a sense of peace. I need quiet time. I feel like the world is pressing on me too much - I think it presses on all of us too much, whether or not we're conscious of it. Too much noise, chatter, gossip, news, opinions, vulgarity, flash, marketing, spiritual disconnect. We're indoors too much, plugged in too much, staring at screens too much.

To that end, Eric and I agreed to try two new experiences. First, we're going to have a "quiet weekend" sometime this summer. No TV all weekend, try not to answer the phone. He's going to work on his music, I'll do some writing and pondering and reading, and we'll see if we can take it for two whole days! Who knows, it might drive us crazy. But it might be invigorating.

Second, we're going to make "summer reading lists" for ourselves and read classics! I don't think I have it in me to read only classics all summer long, but I'm going to read as many as I can. I want to have to focus on a book, savor it, and hope that the pace of a different time seeps into my consciousness. I know I romanticize earlier times - I gloss over polio and smallpox and women not being able to vote or wear pants, stuff like that. But part of me wants to have a Caddie Woodlawn-like experience of living on the prairie, hearing only the wind and the birds, depending on the seasons and daylight and darkness for my body's natural rhythms and the food I ate. There's got to be a way to blend the saving graces of modernity with a way of being closer to nature and solitude. A simpler life. I think we can find it. It may be a lifetime's work, but it beckons appealingly.

Blog First, Think Later

Do you, like me, have all these "shoulds" running into one another in your brain? You know, like, "I should really call X with whom I haven't spoken in weeks," or "I should really organize my important papers." I should clean out my closets. I should dust. I should go see a dermatologist. I should wash the car. I think women are especially vulnerable to the "shoulds." I don't know if it's nature or nurture, but I suspect both. I know that my husband is one of the most blithely unhurried people I know. Not that he doesn't care about things, but that he is able to relax when it's time to relax and get jiggy with it when it's time to get jiggy. I'm more likely to fret when I'm trying to relax, thinking about all the things I need to be doing. And then when I'm doing things I need to be doing, I'm thinking about how much I'd love to relax! It's ridiculous. But I'm sure I'm not alone.

I'm not going to let this blog be one of those "shoulds." My temptation is to let writing slide in favor of all those chores, or all the time-suckers that are sort of fun, like watching TV or reading. But I know what happens to me when I go for too long without writing. I get nervous, I start doubting myself, doubting whether or not I have anything worth saying. And I put it off one more day. Meanwhile, I start having even more conversations with myself, start writing blogs in my head without getting them down anywhere, and I get twitchier and twitchier. Argh. No bueno.

Today is a day to write. Tomorrow is a day to write. The day after that is a day to write. The point to just to do it, to think later. Make it automatic, like brushing my teeth or drinking my morning coffee. After all, it's elemental to who I am. Why fight it, why run from it, just because I'm afraid? I didn't run away from the challenge of the 5K race this past weekend. I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and felt a rush like I'd never felt before when I crossed that finish line. I ran in 38 minutes, which is great considering it's my first time. Training for that race never felt like a "should." It felt like honoring myself.

I think magazines are especially dangerous to women, in that each issue holds out the promise of a better, shinier you inside. Read it and you'll be a better mom, a better wife, a better cook, skinnier, and with expertly applied makeup. I have been the Magazine Queen in my lifetime. But I'm kind of over them now. It feels good at age almost 33 to say, "This is who I am. I am quirky and kind of round and like to wear jeans all the time and have hair that doesn't do anything I want it to." I wish I could have found this self-acceptance earlier, but I guess it doesn't work that way. I still have my days when I do nothing but beat myself up, but I'm getting better about cutting myself some slack. The "shoulds" won't get this woman down for long. Who's with me?

Spring

Words don't come unless you
invite them in,
make a soft, inviting place
for them to rest.
Open the shades all the way and
let in the light. Let it
warm all the dark, secret places
that have grown cold with neglect.
All this hiding, scurrying like a squirrel
has made you small, pale, peevish.
Words float back in through
cracks in windows, under the door.
You can't keep renewal out forever.
Spring shoots its way up through
cold ground and blossoms at your feet.
Know enough to hold on, to notice
the sky above you and the birds
swirling over your head.
Hear them. Don't think.
Be present.
The light and noise and warmth of rebirth
will wrap around you and make you new again,
make you write again.
Even in the dead of winter you can
smell the words
unfurling beneath your feet.

Open

I've been reading a memoir by Dani Shapiro called Devotion. (Here I am again, reading, always reading...) It's a tricky book to describe, but in it she chronicles her feeling of spiritual disconnect and search for meaning. Despite a lovely family and comfortable lifestyle, she is anxious, doubt-ridden, scared. A skilled and eloquent writer, she delves into the depths of a troubled relationship with her mother, baring insecurities fearlessly. I recognize the feelings she describes - the free-floating anxiety, the need to place her faith in something. Where's the time and space for ritual and a spiritual connection in today's rush-rush, technology-driven world? It's exciting to find another soul asking the same questions, praying, sometimes out loud, to a God she's not certain is listening.

I didn't grow up in an Orthodox Jewish household, as Shapiro did. In fact, I grew up nothing at all - no religion. My father emigrated from Iran in 1969, abandoning his Muslim upbringing and embracing the American freedom to practice no faith at all. My mom was baptized in the Baptist church as a child but her family didn't attend church regularly, and from what I can gather, didn't discuss God much at all. Mom and Dad later told me they didn't want to raise me in a certain religious tradition in order to let me choose my own way.

I appreciate that freedom in some ways, but I could have used more conversation about God. I could have used some instruction about the teachings of different religious traditions. I don't remember talking about God much at all as a child, occasionally going to a Methodist church with my mother in brief spurts. I felt like all the other kids in Sunday School knew what the heck was going on, and I was totally clueless. Needless to say, I didn't enjoy it very much.

To create a space for the acknowledgement of the sacred is one of my main goals in life and certainly something I want to introduce to my own future children. Living life without a connection to something bigger than your to-do list is no way to live. It's an endless loop of work, eat, watch TV, sleep, and do it all over again. Room for ritual, for miracles, for gratitude, for love - this is what makes life rich.

I think quiet time is a huge part of connection to God. I know I crave silence. I didn't used to be that way. Silence can be hard - you're faced with the tape in your mind, all your insecurities, fears, worries. But as Shapiro describes in Devotion, sitting in quiet meditation stirred up "something pure and deep." When you acknowledge the small voice inside that longs for God, yearns to know God intimately, you make yourself vulnerable, open. In an almost childlike way, you're asking for help. Blocking out the need for God-space with all of the modern distractions in the world just isn't working for me anymore.

This book came along at just the right time for me. It's hard to talk to other people about God. Some people want to convert you to their brand of God. Some people think you're nuts to believe in God at all. I get weirdly touchy about God-talk - anyone who is too certain of their opinion turns me off. And yet I can't stop wondering, seeking, searching. I don't necessarily expect answers. I just want to be comfortable living with the questions.

Maybe I don't need to be talking to anyone else about God right now. Maybe I just need to sit quietly and let God talk to me.

Offering

I am profoundly blessed. Let me change that - I feel profoundly blessed. I'm sitting in a rocking chair on my front porch. The sun warms me despite the brisk late February breeze. My neighborhood is relatively quiet. There's a dog barking close by. An airplane hums in the distance. Traffic from the highway is not far off but not loud enough to pierce my concentration or good mood. I feel safe. I am lucky to live in a neighborhood where I feel safe on my front porch, puttering in the backyard, or walking the five minutes down to the park. So many people in this world don't enjoy this luxury. They don't get to sun themselves in relative peace and quiet. They don't feel the gratification of slicing and eating a juicy, warm tomato grown in their backyard. These seem like simple things, but I am aware that they are luxuries for most of the people in this world.

Why me?

I know there is some element of karma at play - choices I made led me here to some extent. But let's not forget about luck. Plain old luck. And the part of me that worries and frets daily feels like throwing salt over my shoulder or crossing myself, because luck can turn on a dime. I know this.

But today, I choose happy.

Like so many others in the country right now, my brilliant, creative husband is underemployed. We get frustrated, down, worried, and that's to be expected. I keep coming back to my faith in the goodness of life. Life is what you make of it. Like Oprah, this is what I know for sure. It sounds corny, but I think that how you view the world creates your reality. I choose to shutter worry and float in gratitude.

Gratitude is the best daily practice I know to keep sadness and worry at bay. Like someone sitting in meditation practice returns to the breath, I must return to gratitude. Breathe in, breathe out. Thank you, thank you, thank you. My relationship to God is something I am still forming all the time, but I offer my thanks to whoever or whatever is out there listening.