Be Here Now

I’m channeling Ram Dass’ teachings, and trying to embrace the little moments that bring me peace. To let myself breathe and appreciate where I am. We had a wonderful weekend together, my little family and I. Out at the lake, we took Lylah and her friend tubing. It feels good to write that word- family. I wrote last time a microcosm of what could be described as the most anxiety-ridden, depressing results of a toxic long-term relationship, but I have yet to say anything about the redeeming qualities of true love. I lead a life rich with love. Deep, abiding, unconditional love. And, I understand the difference now. I think it can be distilled into one word- consideration. Rather than approaching the day or whatever conversation Billy and I may be having with the kind of “what have you done for me lately?”- power-struggle mentality that characterized many of my early rendezvous with the opposite sex, I find myself wanting to give all that I can, to be a source of comfort and warmth, to create a happy life with someone I admire and respect to my core. He is so patient with me, so caring, and genuinely wants me to find more fulfillment.

Back to the lake day- I loved seeing their smiling faces, especially when we anchored next to another family with little girls who they made friends with instantly. When I think back on my childhood, those were always the best days- disappearing outside for hours with friends, soaking up the sunshine, feeling like an explorer. I read a quote from Edward Abbey recently- “Without Courage, all other virtues are useless.” I haven’t been able to stop thinking about those words and how I’d like to embody them. In a world that seems more volatile than ever, with pain you can feel as soon as you open your front door, what values are most important to me to pass on? How can I help foster Lylah’s appreciation for nature? How can I ensure she has what Dr. Jonathan Haidt calls a “play-based” childhood? Luckily, I think I can count myself amongst the fortunate whose child has a natural inclination for both. After a long day on the water, Lylah and her friend brought me into their conversation about how the majority of other kids at school are too preoccupied with “what’s cool” to be their authentic selves, and how annoying they find this sheep-like mentality. Oh thank God! After answering their questions, and giving them examples of the drama they couldn’t believe my former classmates & I stirred up, I left her room with a huge smile on my face. She wanted my perspective.

Between split-custody, school, softball, and helping to give her some sort of social life, much of my time with Lylah is syphoned away. I’m immensely grateful she is so intuitive and still sees the beauty in being young and naive- she understands this is her time to try new things, to throw spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks. Lylah is effervescent. Speaking of experimenting, I recently started a new job. It’s the departure from sales I’ve been wanting for a long time, a career choice I landed on a decade ago, and became complacent with. I can be outspoken, fun, but mostly I am an observer. I don’t know how much that aligns with the sales executive’s persona, the LinkedIn warriors, the do-it-all people. And I am tired of trying to chameleon my way through the work day.

Last week started off rough, with Lylah expressing disappointment that I began a job right when school let out. She asked me why I requested "week over week” if I was just going to put her in summer camps. Ouch. I have to wonder where the seeds of this disappointment began, if anyone helped her doubt that I care about time with her. No one said motherhood would be easy. With trepidation, I spoke with my new manager, who is thankfully a father and a compassionate person. I’ve been granted the flexibility to be home with Lylah on the weeks I have her.

I’m grateful to have gained back more of the most precious resource- time. We are taught to see “busy” as synonymous with “success,” and I don’t know if either one is something I want to reach for anymore. At least, not in the same way. The definitions have evolved for me. I define a successful day as one where I have time to tend to the garden, to meditate, to walk Clooney, to listen to an inspiring podcast, to read, to cook a good meal for the people who matter the most to me. And now, time to create something I can be proud of. I’ve been driving Lyft to catch up after months of being unemployed, and the array of personalities I’ve come across are a constant source of entertainment and reflection.

Most often, I’ve picked up people who are trying to get to some menial job they despise. I had a guy tell me jokingly “Oh, you can just keep driving,” as I approached his work at a restaurant supply store. I had an elderly black man tell me he regrets selling his car for $350, but how desperately he had needed that wad of cash in his pocket, and how I need to tell everyone I know to get Biden out of office. “Biden has lost black peoples' vote,” he says. I couldn’t help but laugh, as he repeated the same three sentences about his hatred for Biden, how he will vote for Trump, how I shouldn’t forget to vote. He brightened my day. I picked up a pregnant woman who couldn’t have been older than twenty from her doctor’s appointment, and we chatted as much as was possible with my broken remnants of college Spanish. As I drove away, I couldn’t help but look in my rearview to glance at her lovely round, very pregnant belly again. What a singularly incredible experience that was, feeling Lylah’s flutters, dreaming of who she would be. These drives take me back to the feelings I was overwhelmed with in Bali, that Heaven-on-Earth place I was lucky enough to see.

I had never before visited such a lush, gorgeous landscape, yet with poverty all around. Or can it be deemed poverty? Ketut, the man who hosted us and maintained the villa we stayed in for the people who own it, was gracious and kind. He would prepare breakfast for us. His wife would leave an offering of incense on a bed of tropical flowers for us, a blessing, each morning. We would open the door and there it would be on the walkway, a reminder to approach the day with an open heart. I saw people working the rice paddies, toiling in humidity so thick it was hard to catch your breath. We sat drinking lattes at a cafe, by happenstance looking on as a woman loaded up her motorbike with as many bags of trash and other miscellaneous items to deliver to the next stop as possible. Everywhere people were working. Barefoot and working some of the most grueling tasks I’ve seen. Men with nothing but dented plastic helmets and paper-thin shorts to shield them were loading giant boulders, laying brick, constructing the next place for tourists to visit.

I felt a sort of remorse set in, a guilt. And then it occurred to me, who am I to pity them? As we drove from the airport to Ubud, we saw ornate temples, monuments, and statues of important Balinese Hindu figures. They were so immense and intimidating, these guardians of the island, it felt like they were looking back at us. Everywhere we had visited felt ancient, spiritual, and connected. These people don’t want or need my pity, I thought. They live in a world illuminated by the bonds of family, ancestry, faith, and ritual. Perhaps what makes a life successful is who we are to other people. Perhaps special can be found in any ordinary life, in the shared spaces where we exist in each other’s memories.