Choosing

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I shared this image on Instagram a few days ago.  This is what Sedona felt like – the sacred was all around us, and I couldn’t stop noticing it.  One day we went for the short hike up to the vortex on the property of our hotel.  We sat up there for a bit, talking to another guest, and Grace and Whit had lots of questions.  She was very nice, and told us all about the energy of the place.  I could tell that certain members of my family weren’t buying it.

As we walked down, though, Whit trailed behind with me.  He stopped briefly to examine the cairn he’d built on the way up, and I paused with him.  As he stood up he looked at me.  “I think I felt something,” he said quickly.

“Me too, Whit.”  I smiled, rubbed his shoulders, and we kept walking.

All week I felt the holiness in the air.  Maybe because I’d heard so much about it, who knows.  But whatever the reason, the very atmosphere in Sedona was charged with something both humming with vitality and deeply peaceful.  I thought about it a lot.  Annie Dillard rang in my head, alongside Barbara Brown Taylor (above, and the passage about altars I quoted on Monday): “What a hideout: Holiness lies spread and borne over the surface of time and stuff like color.”

And since coming home I’ve been thinking about choosing.  Do I choose to see the divinity all around me? It doesn’t feel like a choice, I can tell you that. We can remain open to the sacred that exists in our ordinary lives, of that much I’m sure.  But do we opt to see it, or does it just appear to some people?

Maybe this ambivalence about choosing what we see is connected to how I’ve always felt a little reservation about the notion that we choose happiness.  Do we choose joy?  I’m honestly not sure.  I don’t know that I choose how I am in the world – I’ve been porous since day one, and as I get older I’m getting more that way.  But is this something I choose?  I don’t think so.  It feels more like how I exist in the world, the way I’m wired, some kind of deep-seated default orientation. Not saying I wouldn’t choose it, but I’m not sure that I do.

How do you feel about the notion of choosing joy, or choosing receptivity to life’s holiness? 

The Grand Canyon and Sedona

Last week was spring break.  I’ve written before about how important it is to both Matt and me that Grace and Whit see the world. That impulse has driven us to Jerusalem, to Washington DC, to the Galapagos, and to Paris.  Last week it took us to the Grand Canyon and to Sedona, Arizona.

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In the Grand Canyon we stayed at El Tovar, a historic hotel right on the canyon’s south rim.  It was old and beautiful.  The first day after a long drive (pro tip: meclizine for motion sickness) we walked around the rim and ogled the outrageously beautiful canyon. It really is hard to fathom, in its enormity and its glory.

We had a drink and dinner in the El Tovar bar and dining room, overlooking the canyon as night fell.  The next morning we woke up early to go on a mule ride along the rim.  Our guide, Josiah, was absolutely phenomenal: full of both information and good humor, entertaining, energetic, competent. It was beautiful to see the canyon on mules, and we definitely got views that we would not have had otherwise.  Whit’s mule was called Seymour, because he liked to get you nice and close the rim.  So you can see more, of course.

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Then it was off to Sedona.  Several people told me that I would love Sedona, and they were right.  There is a tangible peace and holiness to the place.  I kept thinking of Barbara Brown Taylor’s line from An Altar in the World that “earth is so thick with divine possibility that it is a wonder we can walk anywhere without cracking our shins on altars.”  We stayed at the Enchantment, and the views from the pool, our room, and the restaurant (which happened to serve French cuisine) were all equally astonishing.

IMG_0106The red rocks, yes.  But also the blue sky!  Perfect, unbelievable blue, like I’ve never seen before.  We hiked, we hung out, we read books, we felt the energy vortex on the property.  At least Whit and I did.  I swear we did.  We did a few things we did that I’d really recommend.  The first and best known is a Pink Jeep Tour.  The driver (of an, indeed, pink jeep) took us way off-road into the national forest.  This afforded both some very exciting and bumpy riding and some breathtaking vistas.

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I am pretty sure that Grace will be taller than I am in 2016.  We also went out for an adventure with Catherine and Jef from Center Focus Adventures.  They were great.  We rock climbed and we white water kayaked.  Highly recommend.  Both Whit and Grace are incredibly inspired by rock climbing, and Matt and I loved watching them.

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Finally, we went for a Cowboy Cookout at M Diamond Ranch.  This was a solid hour outside of Sedona, and I think because of that, it felt like we were the only people in the world.  We went for a ride (we were part of a group of 10) and then were driven to a beautiful spot at the top of a hill to watch sunset and enjoy steaks cooked on the grill while an older man sang country music.

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When we got home (on the redeye – everyone was a little bit luggage) I asked Matt, Grace, and Whit what their favorite part of our week was.  Everybody had a different answer.  That’s the mark of a good vacation in my opinion.  This is a huge and gorgeous country we live in, and I am glad to be showing Grace and Whit corners of it that are far away from where we live.

Note: this is not a sponsored post and these are not affiliate links.  I was not compensated in any way for these links.  I just loved our trip and several people have asked for our itinerary, so I wanted to share it.  If anyone wants more information, please email me or leave a comment and I’ll get in touch with you.

honoring the end as much as the beginning

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Silver bells from our tree lined up after we took them down on 1/3/16.  Time for some silver polish?

On January 3rd, we took down our tree.  I woke up that morning and went for a run during a glorious sunrise, and then came home to a regular morning of coffee, laundry, and, eventually, ornament removal.  And all morning I felt sad.  Really sad.  Like, sitting in the chair by myself with tears rolling down my face sad.

I couldn’t get out of my own way.  Our tree was coming down, and we were wrapping up another Christmas.  Our 14th as a family, our 11th as a family of four.  I’m a nostalgic person, prone to melancholy – we’ve established that – but this sorrow was unusually acute, even for me.  How many more years do we have when the children will relish the quiet, slow week at home with us between Christmas and New Year’s?  How long until they no longer embrace enthusiastically our family traditions, like celebrating New Year’s Eve as a family of four?  I’m not a fool.  I know these days are numbered.

It was my wise friend Julie Daley who gave me words for what I was feeling.  On Instagram she noted that what I was doing was honoring the ending of something, and she said that always carried grief with it.  Her words hit me with the force of a sledgehammer.  Yes.  That’s precisely it.  I’m a porous person, that’s not news to anyone who knows me, but still, sometimes I’m bewildered by how bittersweet this life can be and by how much loss is contained in every single day.

Even as I write this I realize how tiny this goodbye is.  Everyday life is full of farewells, and if we’re fortunate, they’re mostly small.  I thought of my friend Lisa often during this Christmas season, a friend who walked with all of us who knew her right to life’s final farewell.  Her courage in that process astonishes me still.  I suspect it always will.  Bidding goodbye to another holiday is a huge privilege, of course, compared to her experience.  Compared to anything real.  I know that.  Trust me, I do, and still, I’m sad.

But I’ve been musing over this notion now for weeks, the concept of honoring the ends of things.  The idea that the end is as sacred as the beginning, while something that feels deeply true to me, also seems somehow counter-cultural in American life, with our quasi-obsession with newness and the start of things.  I think of a vase of flowers, drooping and faded, or of those who are elderly, or of even the darkest, end days of the year.  All of these things make me feel some vague sense of unease, but as I get older I also recognize their particular beauty.

I think also of Whit’s off-the-cuff comment, one I think of almost daily, that Grace gets the firsts, but he gets the lasts.  How true that is.  And both are vital, essential, powerful. We are marked and shaped as surely by the beginnings of things as we are by their end.  The start of something (birth being the most fundamental example) is holy, no question about it, but so too is the end (death, here, in this analogy).

Despite our societal discomfort with endings – and my own – I think witnessing the individual losses and farewells and losses is crucial to fully living this life.  At least, for me, there’s no other choice.  So thank you, Julie, for helping me understand the grief that is so much a part of my daily experience. It is this: honoring the ends.  I don’t love how this sorrow feels as it courses through my days, but I feel certain that it makes the joy more vivid.

Things Grace and Whit do alone

I loved this post by Elisabeth Stitt about 10 things children need to be able to do on their own by middle school.  The post, and the topic, reminded me of Jessica Lahey‘s marvelous book, The Gift of Failure, which I read, loved, and reviewed this fall.  Lahey asserts, as does Stitt, that we need to let our children do more, in every way.  Their learning certain skills and activities both prepares them for adulthood and lifts some of the stultifying burden of doing everything from parents.

I share this view.  I want my children to emerge from our household able to do a load of laundry, cook a simple dinner, and interact confidently with adults.  With that in mind, here are a few things that I both encourage and expect Grace and Whit to do by themselves.  These tasks make my life easier (though at first I am always nervous, of course) but far more importantly they build their confidence and sense of mastery in the world.

Cook dinner.  Late this summer, when Matt was away, I went to a late afternoon yoga class and left both the children at home and asked Grace to make dinner. She cooked hamburgers on the stove, cleaned everything up, set the table, lit candles.  It was pleasurable for me and hugely gratifying for her.  She’s asked several times since them to be allowed to make dinner alone, and each time I joyfully say yes.

Fold and put away their laundry.  It was reading Lahey’s book that made me realize I have to stop putting away Whit’s laundry and refolding his tee-shirts when he rummages through them.  Who cares.  He can find what he needs, and the lesson of re-doing everything he does is far more toxic than letting a little mess stand.

Walk to and from school.  We don’t do this often in the morning, since I prioritize sleep.  As soon as our school allows it, I like Grace and Whit to walk the 0.75 miles home alone.  They know the way home that has stop lights and crossing guards, and I think they enjoy the downtime.

Solder metal.  Whit as a soldering iron and he uses it unsupervised.  It took both Matt and I a little while to get used to this idea, but the pride Whit feels when I wear a necklace he fixed for me with his soldering iron – every single time – delights me. Plus, I love that I didn’t have to go to a jeweler.

Shake hands with, address by name, and speak with adults. We are old-fashioned and use Mr. and Mrs. by default.  Grace and Whit still struggle in some cases to make eye contact with grown-ups, but it continues to be an expectation.  We spend a lot of time as a family and rarely seat the children at a separate table.  I expect them to interact with adults, to make conversation and respond when spoken to.  They’ve both learned from a very early age that it’s very important to ask questions of other people.  I’m constantly amazed at how few people do this.

Pack their own lunches.  I still sometimes do this, but the truth is I do that because I love it.  Grace in particular enjoys packing her own lunch and both are hugely capable of it.  Even when I pack lunch, they both know that the first thing they do when they come in the door after school is empty their lunch boxes and put the glass containers from the day in the dishwasher.

Do their own homework, alone.  Both kids know that if they need help or have a question, they can ask.  They do, from time to time.  Otherwise, the expectation is that they manage their own homework.  We received an email from school recently asking parents to back off from “helping” with homework.  In many cases it was clear the work was not done by the children themselves, the email said.  I laughed out loud, since while I have many issues, that is not one of them.  I think expressing interest in what they’re learning at school is vital.  I think doing their homework with them is damaging.

What should Grace and Whit be doing alone that they’re not?  What are your kids doing alone?  Do you agree with me that this is important?