In the slow lane

What a rare morning. I've always considered myself a night-owl and ventured only of grudging necessity into the behavior of morning people after giving birth to Jimmy. However, this is one of those days where I could swear that I've changed my spots to stripes.

I got up at 5:20 and for some reason was immune to my usual creakiness getting out of bed. I dressed, grabbed my swim gear, crept down the stairs, ate a banana, and arrived at the pool at 5:40. My swim buddy Debbie's still taking care of her daughter, so I was swimming solo. In the slow lane, it was just me and Kurt for most of my 30-minute swim. With only the two of us, we had room to each take a side of the slow lane and swim at our own paces: him, with his leisurely backstroke, and me alternating crawl-, back- and breaststrokes. I met Kurt last summer when I started swimming for triathlon training. He's ninety. He told me that he's been swimming at the public pool most mornings for 25 years now. We got to know each other a little by chatting in the sauna (which will sadly continue to be off-limits to me for the next few months).

About 6:05, Kurt finished and for 10 glorious minutes, the slow lane was mine alone. No old lady pile-ups, where I have to pass two or three silver-haired swimmers in short succession; no scraping up against the wall as I veer to the right to let a faster swimmer pass. Just me and the slow lane, enveloping my body in its cool blue ripples as I swim at my steady, deliberate pace.

Creating joy

It's true. The very fact I'm blogging right now means I'm avoiding lawn maintenance. Which is okay. I've promised myself that after a hectic, crazy-making week, I'm going to take today in small bite-sized chunks. Each chunk will consist of something that really needs to get done (mowing, laundry, dishes) and in between, I will put my feet up and relax so that my ankles don't look like elephant legs by the end of the day. Blogging is just one of those in-betweens, so I can push the lawn mower a little further, for a little longer.

This morning I came down to my sewing/computer room to check email and noticed a yellow piece of paper beside my keyboard, half hidden by forget-me-not seed packets. Scrawled across the agenda for a women's conference I attended last May were my notes on one of the workshops, "Creating Joy In Our Lives". I remember the workshop leader was a dynamic Mexican American woman who is a social worker. She asked for a volunteer to assist with an object lesson, said she needed someone fairly strong. I had been working out with weights in training for a triathlon, so I raised my hand and she picked me. I came to the front of the room and she proceeded to load me down with heavy textbooks. I was confident in my strength as well as my stamina, and at first that seemed to be justified. Both my arms were full, and she ran out of books. Her eyebrows shot up momentarily, but without missing a beat she grabbed more books from some shelves in the room and kept piling them on. This went on for about two minutes, maybe two and a half. I was pleased with my feat of strength as I saw surprised looks on the faces of the other women in the room. Suddenly, I felt my arms buckle and I panicked. Sure enough, first one stack and then the other slid to the floor. Like a lightbulb flicking on in my head, I immediately knew where she was going with this object lesson.

After we cleaned up the books, the speaker went on to make her point: creating joy isn't possible when we are overloading ourselves. The physical sensation of losing control was so visceral that it brought that point home to me in a way nothing else ever had. I felt awash with gratitude, because I knew how much I needed to learn this particular lesson, and I realized that I wouldn't have got it on such a deep level if I hadn't been the one to hold and then drop all the books.

It comes back to me clearly now as I look at the hastily scribbled words on yellow paper:

each season has its own challenges
drop unrealistic expectations of ourselves and others
love ourselves just a little bit as much as God loves us
find rest in our daily lives

I'm struck by the fact that as much as I need to be busy, I also need that rest: a time to reflect, to replenish and simply to have balance. And it's up to me to create it for myself. I can't be blaming the people in my life for not intuitively noticing my needs; I have to take the initiative to ask for help if I need it, to take responsibility for nurturing myself.

Let's hope I can still remember this tomorrow!

What bliss is this?

There's nothing quite like being good to yourself. Not that I think the world should revolve around me, but I think it's a vital part of emotional health to do things for yourself every so often that give you an emotional and/or physical boost.

I've been getting therapeutic massages for about seven years now, and I highly recommend massage as the perfectly healthful, non-fattening and relatively economical way to be good to yourself. I started back when I was in college because I had problems with a repetitive stress injury in my back. The injury was brought on because I spent so much time on the computer between my job and schoolwork. I started getting therapeutic massages about every four months (usually the weekend after finals) and my back problems subsided.

Now that I've ventured into the wilds of motherhood, I don't have the time (or the money) to get a massage quite so often. When I was expecting Jimmy, my doula was a massage therapist, and I got a couple of wonderful pre-natal massages. Lately I've been feeling pretty sore and creaky, and I decided it was time again. So I went for an hour-and-a-half massage this evening and it was wonderful. The lady I see uses hot stone massage and it was ... ahhhhh.

All is well

Every once in a while I have a fleeting sensation of well-being, that everything is right in my world. Today was one of those days. It was my turn to teach the lesson in our Young Women meeting at church. Since I only get to teach once every couple of months I have been looking forward to it, studying and mentally planning my lesson for quite a while. Last night before going to bed, I typed up my outline, printed up handouts, packed all my lesson materials in a bag, and even took a few extra minutes to iron a small lacy tablecloth. I also ironed church clothes for me, Jim, and Jimmy. This morning I slept in for a bit, then got up and got ready. Before we left for church, I had time to go out in the back yard and cut some fresh tulips for a centerpiece. We got to church on time, and I felt calm and relaxed, able to enjoy the meetings. Even when Jimmy got a little rowdy, I felt calm with him and he quieted down. Then I had time to prepare the classroom before the other leaders and the young women arrived. My lesson went smoothly and when it was over, I had a great sense of accomplishment of having successfully conveyed an important message to the girls.

I've been savoring the peaceful feeling since I got home from church and reflecting on it. I really love my responsibility at church, to lead, teach and mentor the young women. It's very satisfying to be able to utilize my talents in a way that's so deeply meaningful, to feel like I'm doing with my life what God wants me to do. At the same time, today I realized that sometimes the difference in just doing it and enjoying it as I do it is being prepared. When I'm unprepared, I often feel rushed, flustered and disorganized (both in life and in my church responsibilities). Having a day like this gives me something to strive for: to be, as much as possible, prepared from day to day so that I can have that calm feeling of "all is right" a little more often!