Finding my Path

Something that has been coming up again and again lately is - what kind of “fill in the blank” do I want to be?  What kind of parent do I want to be?  What kind of yoga teacher do I want to be?  What kind of life coach do I want to be?  What kind of spiritual coach do I want to be?  I’ve thought about it and the answer is, I don’t.  I don’t want to be a parent, a yoga teacher a life coach, a spiritual coach. I want to be me.  I don’t want others to look to me for guidance.  What I do want is to be the best me I can be.  I want the opportunity to live my life, my way.  I want to explore, learn and develop into me.  I want the chance to walk my path, with love and support from those that walk beside me for a time. 

All of these questions are suggesting that I can teach you how to be a better person.  I can teach my children how to be better people.  I can teach people how to be better yogis.  I can help you become more spiritually connected.  But really, I can’t.  All I can do is support you on your personal journey.  I can’t teach you how to be a better you.  That is something you need to discover for yourself.  All I can do, as a parent, a yoga teacher, a coach, is to hold an open heart and extend love, support and encouragement to you as you find your way.  Of course I’m human and I’ll advise now and then but its okay if my advice is ignored.  You have to do what’s right for you.  I have to do what’s right for me.  And that’s okay. 

I can’t see the bigger picture.  I don’t know why you have come into my life or why I have come into yours, but as we walk beside each other, we have the opportunity to accept and love each other for exactly who we are, today.  At some point our paths will diverge as we both move forward on our journey. That’s okay too.  Those people who walk beside you will always leave an imprint on your heart, a memory. 

My job as I journey through life is to learn, to grow, to become the best, most authentic me that I can be.  My job is to release fear, to learn to love without limits and somehow figure out how to become closer, more connected to my Source.  (insert whatever word you are comfortable with here, God, The Divine, Allah, Jehovah…)  This is your job too.  My job is to find ways to make my heart sing with joy, to sit with the sorrows, to explore opportunities and to create connections.  I can do all those things while I parent, teach yoga and coach others.  But I can’t show you the way.  I can’t tell you what makes your heart sing.  I can’t explore your opportunities.  Perhaps I can inspire you to release fear, to open your heart and to find the courage to follow your authentic path to a deeper connection.  Or perhaps not, and that’s okay too.

So please don’t place your expectations on me, you’ll only be disappointed.  And don’t judge me either, that hurts us both.  But live and let live, learn and let learn, love and let love, each of us in our own way. 

A Meeting of Friends

When you read that title, what does it bring to mind?  Do you think about tea at the kitchen table?  Maybe a crowd of friends at a party?  Of perhaps a chance encounter at the grocery store?
This past week, in doing my homework, I was blessed to have a Meeting of Friends.  It was unexpected, surprising and yet, oh so comforting.  Part of my homework is to observe sacred ceremonies.  This can be any kind of ceremony, from any culture or religion.  I did a little research and discovered that the Quakers have a Sunday morning, un-programmed worship service, not too far away from me.  With some trepidation I decided to attend.  I know nothing about Quakers other than what I read on their website.  They are called the Religious Society of Friends.  They believe that if you sit quietly the Spirit will speak to you.  They believe that we are all equal and that we are all children of God.  These are all things that resonate with me.
Sunday morning I drove out to find their meeting place.  I was nervous.  I was heading alone into a strange place, to meet strangers.  If you know me, you know that I would describe myself as shy, reserved.  If you've read my blog you know that I'm struggling to break out of my box, to expand my comfort zone.  This was a big step for me.  Perhaps, I should have taken the option of just watching some random ceremony on YouTube.  But since I was here, standing outside the door, I gathered my courage and walked in.
The building itself was beautiful, simply designed and decorated.  I found someone preparing coffee.  He said he was supposed to be greeting people but got distracted by coffee making.  I was asked to sign the guest book and would I mind wearing a name tag.  Okay.
The service began in one room, with people sitting in a circle singing songs.  No music, no music leader or choir.  People just calling out names of songs, finding the right page and then singing along.  People came in and out, moved around, laughed and joked with each other.  I don't recognize this as worship, this was family.  Then it was time to move into the meeting room.  Here there was a small circular table in the center of the room with a microphone on it and some daffodils.  The chairs were arranged in to concentric circles around the table.  There were about 25 people who came in and found a seat.  Then we sat and waited.  For what?  To hear the heartbeat of God.  To hear the Spirit speak to you.  An hour of silent waiting on God. Even with my background in yoga and meditation I thought this would be long and painful.  Instead it was reverent and holy.  I observed people who raised their heads to God, people who closed their eyes and bowed their head, people whose faces looked peaceful and people who looked like they were battling demons.  What they all had in common was a willingness to sit and listen, not to a preacher, but to their own hearts, to the voice of God within.
I had hoped that it wouldn't be a full hour of silence, that someone would (oh please God) be moved to share something.  Two people did chose to share, something about coming to meeting not to make sense of things but coming with an open heart-mind, just to accept and something about how darkness can not clear away darkness, only light can do that.  I found these messages valuable, but more valuable was the lesson in being willing to sit and listen for God.  In our busy lives, how rarely do we sit and listen for God to speak to us?
I was touched by the evidence of community, of caring that I saw during the meeting.  How a man wrote down the messages on a white board for an elderly woman to read.  I assumed she couldn't hear.  How the children were welcomed into the meeting with their squirming and their giggles without any frustration on the part of the rest of the meeting.  How they listened to the children, who's  messages were just as important as anyone else's message.  How they accepted me, a stranger in their midst.
A Quaker meeting ends with introductions, announcements and then coffee and snacks.  When it was my turn with the microphone I introduced myself, explained about my school assignment and thanked them for welcoming me into their sacred ceremony.  After the Meeting I was approached by different people suggesting different other ceremonies I should observe.
I entered into this Meeting place with nervousness and I left feeling like I had just been welcomed into a Meeting of Friends.  These people are all strangers to me.  I don't know their stories, they don't know mine. But they looked beyond the surface.  It doesn't matter where I come from, who I am or why I came, what matters is that I am a child of God in their midst.  Therefore I am welcome.

For my mother, with my deepest apologies

Dear Mom,

Do you remember when I was a teenager and I knew everything?  Do you remember when I was moody and difficult, the screaming fights?  Do you remember the horrible things I said to you?  How I judged you and found you wanting?  I was sure I would be a better mother than you were.  I could detail your every fault, your every mistake and I knew that I was going to be a much better mother because I wasn't going to be like you.  Oh the wisdom of youth.  Did you ever hope that I would grow up to have a child "just like me"?
There are so many things I didn't know then.  I didn't know that having a child takes your heart out of your chest and lays it bare.  I didn't know that a parent carries worry and fear, hopes and dreams.  I never once thought of how difficult it could be to stand still and watch your child make mistakes when you know better, if only they would listen.
I had a conversation with the boys recently that didn't go well.  They were cruel in their words.  It seems, 25 years later, I have become you and my children have become me.  Is this the cycle of life?  I was hurt from the things they said to me.  Don't they understand how deeply I love them?  Don't they understand that I have done my best?  Don't they know that I would do anything for them?  It seems that my best hasn't been good enough.  In their teenage wisdom they question my choices, my actions, my parenting skills.  From my advanced years I understand that we are all doing the best we can with the knowledge we have.  From their advanced wisdom they are sure that my choices are wrong and they could do better.  Perhaps you should be grateful that there was only one of me hurling accusations at you.  They ganged up on me and left me in tears.
I was appalled that my boys could behave so poorly.  Didn't I raise them better then that?  Didn't I teach them about kindness, compassion and forgiveness?  I know I did.  But then, I know you raised me better then to behave that way and it certainly didn't stop my cruel words towards you.
In my pride, I thought, what a good, kind, person I am for forgiving my mother her failings.  Every time you disappointed me, every time I felt like you should have been there for me, every time you didn't read my mind, say the right words, do the right thing... I have forgiven you all.
I have to wonder if my children will forgive me for my failings someday.  But wait, I don't think I have failed them.  I have done my best.  I have loved them unconditionally.  I have fought for them.  I have stood back and allowed them to grow when I wanted to protect them.  I have cheered their successes and allowed them to face defeats.  I have encouraged them and supported them.  I have held them in the night and dried their tears. I have believed in them.
Then I am humbled, because in my pride I have forgiven you, but was there anything to forgive?  You were the best mother you knew how to be.  More to the point, have you forgiven me for my teenage rebellions?  Of course I know the answer to that.  In the same way that I have already forgiven my boys, with the understanding that they are children, in men's bodies.  And they really don't know everything, they just think they do.  Still it is worth saying, I'm sorry.  Perhaps it is the cycle of life, perhaps it is a normal part of growing up, but I'm sorry for thoughtless, teenage words.  I'm sorry for the worries and the pain I caused you.  I'm sorry for the fights and the tears.
It seems I really have turned into you.  Your words come out of  my mouth every day.  Driving a boy to school we had a conversation about why he wouldn't wear his jacket when it was so cold and snowy and then I thought, why bother?  I had the same conversation with you when I was a teenager and I wasn't going to be so uncool as to wear a jacket either.  So there!  I decided it wasn't worth the effort and that he was the one who was going to be cold so why waste my time.
When I was a child I was sure that I would never grow up to be like you.  Yet now being like you, isn't such a bad thing after all.  I know I'm not the best mother in the world but I'm okay with that.  My hope isn't that my children forgive me my failings and I don't wish that they have a child just like they are.  My hope is that they grow in wisdom, in compassion and someday see that I have done my best.  I hope that they learn to love me and appreciate me the same way I have learned to love and appreciate you.
Thanks for the many, many years of parenting already done and the many more still to come.
 

Love Victoria