At times, parenting reminds me of my childhood fear of the basement.

May 11th, 2010

Being a parent is the only job I know of that cannot wait until tomorrow. Such intimidating responsibility. The feeling of parenting a young adolescent often feels like standing in my grandma’s cellar in front of her old iron boiler. Shadowed in the darkened corner with such menacing personality, I was so afraid of  it. So many strange valves and heavy levers. Deafening vents spewing off heated vapors, the groaning hot iron… As a parent, navigating the intensity of adolescence has similarities. If I can just pass by without upsetting the rhythm of this very moody vessel. If I can just manage to not accidentally bump a lever.  I am learning that the best response to the adolescent fervor is a current moment response. To be present. To be still. To hear. To see. To mirror her.  Then go cry like a baby knowing within the next five minutes I’ll have to go back down in the basement and face it again!

Carrie

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Allowing how we live to guide us in how we grieve.

May 7th, 2010

This morning I’m writing in the sun, which is promising to be 73 degrees today. I love this time of year. The jasmine growing up our veranda is blooming. I love the deep glossy green leaves and delicate white star shaped flowers. But mostly I love the scent. To me it is the essence of California.

My daughter built a tent in our front room. It is a mini Taj Mahal. The architecture is very clever – symmetrical and solid. She has been literally living in there since our dog died. She sleeps, does homework and listens to her music in there. If I want to see her I have to crawl inside and visit her in the tent. I was starting to wonder if I should worry about her as it is day nine since Utah passed. But yesterday when I went to visit her in this magical place, I understood.

Our dog’s death is her first up and close experience with mortality. Living in the tent is her way of coping with the death. In her own creative way she constructed comfort. The tent provides immediate respite from the rest of the house which is full of memories and reminders of her beloved companion. Her Taj Mahal is a mental, emotional and physical bubble. Within this bubble she can, in manageable doses, grieve.

When we grieve some of us may need to hold onto life as it was exactly before. Others may need to redefine parts or all of their existence. And some of us may simply need to live in a tent for awhile.  In life my daughter is creative and unique. She does very little  in an ordinary way. And now, she is allowing her unique personality and creative approach to life to define how she grieves.  I like this idea: Allowing how we live to guide us in how we grieve.

Carrie

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It’s Complicated.

May 6th, 2010

I recently watched the movie It’s Complicated with Meryl Streep who plays the divorcee, Jane Adler. I loved it. Fun, funny, refreshing and messy (except for Adler’s garden and croissants! They were gorgeous.) I’m inspired. I’m going to make croissants one morning very soon.

The complicated part of Adler’s life was, I thought, enlightening. I think our human nature is much more comfortable with a clearly defined, everything falls in order and stays in order, type of existence. We can see what’s coming and we’re good with that. But how often does life unfold in this way?

When I am in chaos, confusion or facing something negative that seems to have no end, I envision that I am standing in the middle of an overgrown garden or a thicket. In the centre of it all, I can only see the  entangled, confusing vines, skyward shooting branches and wildly growing shrubs that immediately surround me. My awareness is limited to the unclear, confusing, seemingly isolated bits and pieces taking over the garden.

However, if we could rise above and see the garden in its entirety we might see that on the edge there is a gardener diligently working to bring shape to the chaos. With every weed she pulls or root she digs a new life, a new outcome, a new meaning is taking form. Somewhere on the edge, the confusion is being brought into a meaningful whole one weed pulling at a time. I’m just not privy to the activity taking place. So I have to remind myself that somewhere in the garden that is my life, meaningful creation is occurring and it is only a matter of time or necessary experiences before that new creation becomes visible to me.

Carrie

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Set yourself free.

May 3rd, 2010

My adored dog Utah died. Like with any death, I am back in conversation with thoughts surrounding mortality. Walking around in the haze that comes with separation from a loved one. Wondering what comes after a passing. How to comfort oneself against regrets and longings. How to live in a world changed by their parting.

Utah was almost 17 years old. We loved her intensely. We adored her. She was part of our family. She was a loving companion, a comfort, a constant in my life through many many changes. However, at almost 17 she was showing signs of great pain. With the help of our vet, under our elm tree, in the freshness of the morning, we were able to set Utah free. 

To set her free we had to trust in the unknown. We had to trust in something invisible.  We had to trust in something we had never personally experienced before. We had to trust that assisting her to leave and drift into a place we cannot enter was better than keeping her with us. If we didn’t trust, we would have tried to hold on to her forever – avoiding our fear of loss and uncertainty but prolonging her pain. 

There is so much that causes us pain in this lifetime. Loss, broken hearts, fear, alone-ness, tolerating less, wanting more, the ego, fighting, conflict…. How can you set yourself free from the cause of your suffering? What belief, person, circumstance or outcome do you need to let go of? What do you need to place your trust in? 

Carrie

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She stands on her own two feet.

April 22nd, 2010

We had a wild storm last night. I lay with my daughter Maxie listening to the wind. As her breathing slowed and she fell asleep, I drifted back to a time when she was three years old.  I watched her fall asleep then – feeling awful, anticipating what the morning would bring. Our days, just the two of us alone with an easy peaceful carefree unstructured freedom was all she had known and that was about to change. Maxie had no way of knowing what the morning would bring – which made it all the worse and I was a mess.

Daycare? What is daycare Mama? Yes daycare my little love. I have to leave you here. Pleading with her 3 years of knowledge to understand that I wasn’t leaving her indefinitely. That she was not being abandoned. Not to be scared and that I would come back for her. But she was scared and she didn’t understand.  She was beside herself, at the edge of something she had never experienced before. My tears no longer containable fell into her hair. I wanted to pick her up and run out the daycare gate. Who needs money anyhow? Who needs a career? We can make it without… As if reading my mind the daycare director said “if you give up today, drop off time tomorrow will be double as hard.” Double as hard? Double as hard! How could anything feel worse than this?

As my little girl wrapped her body around my legs she looked up at me. There it was for the first time ever. Her forehead was crinkled and her eyes were filled with worry. I’ll never forget how startling it was to see such a foreign emotion now announcing itself across her face. Obliging with the director I left. I cried driving into town. The ache to be with her growing greater the farther away she became. There it was again – the bargainer within. Forfeiting a career and being penniless is better than thisWe could live off selling mangoes on the beach in Mexico. Anything would be better than this.

I cried in the line up at Starbucks. Sought comfort in my chai latte. It didn’t come. Not on that day. Not in the few weeks that followed. Today my little one is 12. She is whole and beautiful. Very bright. Creative. Fun and funny. I could go on and on about her. But what I want to say to all you moms and dads who are fraught with regret, pain or guilt; Struggling with daycare, divorce or whatever else that makes you feel lost as a parent or even a failure, my daughter no matter what stands on her own two feet. Firmly planted, centred by her own roots, strong and willed.

Don’t get me wrong.  I still go over her with a magnifying glass looking for a crack or some kind of evidence that she was harmed by a single parent upbringing or by her early daycare days. And you know what? My quest to find the crack is treasure-less. Cracks remain unseen.

Carrie

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Earth Day.

April 22nd, 2010

I worked out with my husband yesterday and of course  the morning after he is energized and very alive in the kitchen at 5:45am making buckwheat crepes for the kids before leaving for work. And I am resisting the mortifying urge to crawl to the bathroom because my body aches so bad from head to toe.  I am extremely grateful for my lovely husband who flipped crepes as the sun came up. I am also grateful for my body that puts up with whatever pace I put it through. However, today is Earth Day and my gratitude is centered on our miraculous planet.

What change will you be making today in support of life on Earth?

Earth Day 2010. The Best Ways to Get Involved.

Earth Day 2010. Climate Declaration.

Carrie

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To all the dads.

April 20th, 2010

My dear friend’s dad recently passed away. I still can’t believe these words as I see them written here on the page. The loss has been tremendous for her and her family. His death has been a catalyst for much reflecting about my relationship with my dad.

I wonder, how on earth he has time to tend to his own life when he has been so busy running up and down the sidelines of my own. Cheering me on. Championing me to  believe in myself. Sending me towards a better life.  Several times I’ve been that weary traveler heading homeward late at night after life broke my heart. As the boat docked or the plane pulled into its gate, a still figure stood in the darkened terminal – my dad. Always my dad. The unsolicited sun in my sky.

Painting my living room. Pointing out the colors of my soul. His loving strength compelled me to be more courageous. His pure endorsement made the challenges more bearable.  He has a loving way of gently peering past my more “ugly” moments to what lies beneath. He never inquired about the bad mood or “why so snarky?”  He inquired about the burden and considered how he might lessen it. Refusing to let me forget that “I am one of a kind, deserving of the world,” I ventured into the heart of it all.

So all you dads out there – know that you are changing the world simply by being your daughter’s biggest fan. It makes the world of difference. And by doing so makes the world a different place.

On living up to yourself,

Carrie

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Nights to Remember

April 19th, 2010

Last night I lit the candles on the dinner table around 6pm. It has become a tradition to always have candle light for dinner. If I forget one of the kids remembers. Last night the candle light was hardly noticeable in a house still flooded with daylight. The six of us sat down to dinner at 6:30ish. An hour and a half later, our little group was still lingering around fun conversation and laughter. The night had crept into our cozy cottage and we were in pure darkness except for the friendly glow radiating from the centre of the table. The brightness of the kid’s eyes peered back at me, illuminated by the candle light. Their individual personalities even more pronounced as the backdrop of a busy day was now hushed by darkness.

Somewhere between laughing, fruitful conversation and playing a few rounds of who can name the most types of trees or cheese or mountains, the sun went down. The day ended. Not wanting to part from the spirit that is created when we come together for dinner, no one gave in to time’s passing. 

Moments like these remind me of how easy it is to connect with abundance in our lives. It doesn’t have to cost us a thing. A sense of abundance can be created in a moment. By a bright spot. Over dinner. In a conversation. Or in a game of naming cheese.

 On living up to yourself,

 Carrie

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The Broken Road

April 16th, 2010

When I was 30 I went through a breakup. It was characteristic of most breakups: empty spaces, a lurching of my world, the unbearable stillness that settles in when someone leaves. The dread. The bad hair. Fighting against the “he is all I need” conspiracy controlling my thoughts. Awful feeling of grief gently lulled along a river of tears….

My reply to the heartbreak was a decision to move from Vancouver BC back to Vancouver Island BC. I didn’t need six months of therapy. I just needed to move. To redefine my life. I didn’t have a voice inside saying “yes absolutely moving is the right thing to do.” It wasn’t like that. It didn’t carry the comfort of an absolute. Rather it was more of a gentle tugging, a small little hand hailing to me from my homeland. It was a risk. I was unsure. However, it turned out to be the right and best decision.

Back surrounded by loving family, the freshness of the ocean, the cool comforting presence of old growth trees, the quiet of rustic gardens and many cups of tea with my mom, I wrote a book. Out of the blue, for the next 8 months, for the first time in my life, I wrote. I wrote my heart out. Exercise your Ex is not what its title implies. It is not about badgering your ex out of your soul or your memory or your life. It’s about identifying the covert ways your pain works to keep you from moving on. 

Even though the book cover no longer has an image as the rights I purchased from Getty Images have long expired, and even though I would write it differently today, the book stands, for me, as a testimony as a monument actually, that I risked redefining my life.   

Those redefining moments: moving to the island, writing, fixing my hair again, and surrounding myself with family formed a bright constellation. A group of shining stars that led me over the years and lit my way through many more valleys, to a brand new kind of moment. A moment on Jan 22 of this year when I danced with my husband to our wedding song “God bless the broken road.”  And today looking back, I do bless the broken road. The breakups, the empty spaces, the fear, the challenges and most of all I bless whatever it was inside of me that just knew it was time to redefine.  

On living up to yourself,

Carrie

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Look for the Bright Spots.

April 15th, 2010

Rather than focusing on what the problem is, or trying to understand the problem or concentrating on finding a solution to your problem, in their newest book Switch: How to Change Things When Change is Hard, Dan and Chip Heath talk about doing the opposite.  They propose that we find a “bright spot and clone it.” The idea is to discover what is working well within a situation and duplicate it.

An inspiring example, that I loved which Dan and Chip provide, was how NGO employee Jerry Sternin made a tremendous difference in alleviating the malnourishment of Vietnamese children. Sternin was given just six months by the country’s government to turn things around. Sternin was very aware of the sources of the problem: a lack of sanitation, poverty, and unclean water. He also knew that diving into and attempting to change the root causes would be useless with just six months and no funding.  Instead Jerry Sternin set out to find the “bright spots” in the community. 

He struck gold. He indeed discovered children who were thriving in the exact same conditions others were perishing. Sternin identified what their “bright spot” mothers were doing differently: dividing two meals a day into four and adding sweet potato greens to the meals.  Small and extremely accessible changes were making the difference between life and death.

I think the idea of switching from “how do I solve this problem” to finding a bright spot and cloning it, is applicable to all part of our lives: work, relationship, parenting, school, creativity. Let’s all look for the “sweet potato greens” and clone them. Thank you Dan and Chip. And hats off to Jerry Sternin for your eye for “bright spots.”

On living up to yourself,

Carrie

 

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