Blink and You Might Miss it: Finding the Sweet Spot

To some, 'sweet spot' means the best place on a bat to connect with the baseball or the place to hit a golf ball with the club. But how often does "sweet spot" make us think of a point in time when life is as good as it gets? 

I've spent a lot of time lately feeling like I'm in a sweet spot with my two little ones. There are often days they nap at the same time, one is potty trained and things feel like they're running smoothly. But I've been at this long enough to know that these easy days can quickly become a blur of "about to get harder" and "the worst is over" moments. Both kids could refuse to nap and the oldest could decide to use the carpet for a bathroom on the same day.

Because there's always a chance our smooth sailing will turn into staying afloat in stormy seas, all too often the sweetest spots in time are found only in hindsight. Whether it's the sleep deprivation of parenthood, the stress of work outside of the home, or both to blame, it's so easy for moments we'll long for one day to go unnoticed as they happen. My little ones are growing faster than time should move and I want to find the sweet spot in each day and tuck it away.

There are times I remember being aware of that moment when it happened, the one that makes you pause and copy it to a mental hard drive. Snorkeling in Sharm El Sheikh years before we were parents, I remember staring at a school of rainbow colored fish, backlit by sunshine like a lite-brite and thinking how lucky we were to be there experiencing that amazing moment together. I'd never felt a spiritual thankfulness like it before and knew in that minute of beauty, life was as good as life gets.

If only it was always so easy to be aware of the perfection in our lives that so often gets missed.  From the nights in college spent feeling burdened by studying that in reality are the nights with the most freedom of our lives to the newborn's schedule that feels so demanding but will be the most relaxed schedule we ever have, everyone can look back on a time they missed a sweet spot.

When my son was about a week old a friend stopped by to visit and I somehow managed to pretend that I wasn't completely overwhelmed by the demands of being home with him. As she was leaving she commented how lucky I was to have nothing else to do but stay home and take care of him. I couldn't relate to what she was saying but I never forgot that she said it. I didn't understand at the time how right she was, just how sweet a spot it was, how I would look at a new mom and think the same thing someday, or how I would give anything to have those days back now.

As I prepare to send that baby to preschool, I know another sweet spot is about to change and I'm clinging to these last days free of a schedule other than our own. Instead of rushing through breakfast to get on with the day, I'm letting it drag on long enough to remember him eating syrupy pancakes with his hands, stuffed puppy and real puppy by his side.

It's hard to resist looking ahead to the next milestone, imagining how it will be different or better when the baby naps longer, eats solid food, walks, talks, or starts school. It's just a way to cope with the rough stages. But thinking too far ahead is like skipping ahead in a story- the ending isn't the same if you missed all the pages that came before it.

If it sometimes feels like the sweet spot in a day was the morning coffee or drifting to sleep at its end that's o.k. because, let's face it, most days that ocean view exists only in vacation photos. But no matter how smoothly things run or how chaotic every waking second of it feels, there's a chance each day to notice what's perfect just the way it is.

The day neither child naps, there's couscous stuck to every inch of the kitchen, a mysterious rash is spreading on one kid's face, dad's out of town, and the baby spit up in my unwashed hair as I'm leaving the house? There's a moment or two that day I'll wish I had back not long from now. It may even be those messy minutes themselves.

A Month of Writing

I started writing daily blog posts in March after joining the NaBloPoMo on BlogHer. When I learned about it, I quickly signed up and then proceeded to work and think harder than any mom to a toddler should have so readily agreed to. The theme for March was Risk and each day had a different writing prompt related to risk and choices.
I was happily surprised by the memories and thoughts that these prompts brought up. Questions such as "Name a time when a risk you took paid off,"  and "What is the greatest reward that can come from risk?" inspired me to write, A Stone, a Leaf, a Circus Tent and If You're Lucky. The NaBloPoMo questions helped me, forced me really, to put words to so many thoughts that are keeping me awake at night as we are getting ready to move yet again.

 

When BlogHer asked on March 8, "Do you always look before you leap", my response, If I Looked, I Might Never Leap, speaks to me now as I go back and read the reluctantly matter of fact way I reflected on having to leave my family and friends very soon.

My decision to post photos of myself , my family, my house, and to post my thoughts and stories each day was not easy to make but it has been such a great experience reaching out into the days of the other bloggers who participated. What seemed like a diary at first, very quickly became more when the first comment appeared on my blog and when I got my first follower. I love writing and to have people respond to something that I wrote was enough to keep me coming back each day to write more. For that reason it was worth every hour of sleep that I lost trying to get posts written and published. I only worked on the blog during naptime or after my son went to bed each night but found myself thinking about writing a lot of the time. I worried that my focus might become too much on writing about what I should just be enjoying every minute of.

The new NaBloPoMo theme for April is Fresh. It's almost too fitting for someone like me, about to write a brand new chapter in our military move storybook but I know that as hard as I tried, I couldn't post every day in April. March may have had some sick days and mini vacations but April will bring the moving truck to my door and really that says it all for me. The new risk that I'm taking after thinking and posting about risk all month is to not post every day. The risk that I have to take now is to post three or four times a week instead of seven and still be a writer that people want to read. So although I want to continue to post and hope to write in a way that speaks to people, instead of worrying about getting the posts published on time or about followers, I'll be focused a little more on the fact that I'd follow these two anywhere.

Thanks for the inspiration, BlogHer!

Flowerkill

There are a lot of flowers in my house right now. I've gone a little overboard in an attempt to entice spring to arrive and melt the snow in my yard. You've heard of overkill. Well my friends, now let me introduce you to flowerkill. 

Today's writing prompt for the March NaBloPoMo on BlogHer was to discuss this famous Anais Nin quote: "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

 

These words bring to mind the memory of a life ending too soon and the desperation that went along with leaving the world unfulfilled. We all know someone that died too young or someone that lived a long life filled with the regret of missed opportunities. To witness someone I loved in a hospital trying to cling to useless hope that they might have a second chance at life or even a few more hours to see the faces of loved ones is the most painful memory I have.

It is this memory that makes me strive to avoid having to feel that same pain at the end of my own life. I have a wonderful family and I'm blessed beyond what I ever thought possible. I can say that my life has been fulfilling if it were to end tomorrow and I want to keep living it as if it could.




But what about those who don't feel the same? Many feel stuck in jobs they hate, trapped in unhealthy relationships, or feel bound by outside forces keeping them from reaching for what they truly want, no matter what the risk. They stay tightly closed in these places and endure the grief that comes along with missing out on a happy existence rather than risk making a change.
The exact minute in their life that will be the last chance they have to break out of these situations is not evident and therefore passes many by. If only it was kept in mind that every choice we make has a number and is being subtracted from the total we are going to get.

It might not be possible to live a life that ends with no regrets but I believe it is closer within reach than we know.

The saddest thing I've ever seen and hope ever will is the sorrow felt by an ending life that never bloomed.

 

 I had to end with another shot of the bunny.

 

A Stone, A Leaf, A Circus Tent?

Thomas Wolfe's 1929 novel Look Homeward, Angel  begins, "... a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; of a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces." I've always thought it is one of the greatest first lines. I hadn't read the book until I decided to apply to Cornell in 1999.
There were a few choices of essay questions in the application packet. The one I chose was something along the lines of: A stone, a leaf, an unfound door.. What three items describe you? 

I didn't tell anyone that I was applying to Cornell. I was embarrassed that I had so much secret confidence. After all, I was 23 years old and finishing my two year degree at a community college after dropping out of THREE other schools and quitting too many jobs to count. I knew that I was ready and able but I guess I just didn't think other people saw me that way. (See admissions counselor below)
I decided to write my admissions essay in a way that most truly showed who I was. I wasn't a third generation Cornell family member, my family wasn't going to fund a new building on campus, and I was not my class valedictorian- seven years earlier when I graduated from high school. I was a good student, I wanted to learn from professors who wrote the textbook for their class and I wanted to experience life at one of the best schools in the country. The only thing I had to risk other than my application fee was my pride.

I wrote my essay in the format "Yesterday I was, Today I am, and Tomorrow I will be." The items that I used were pretty creative and I know that I stood out from the other "forgotten faces" when the admissions committee read my first line. It read simply, "Yesterday, I was a circus tent." I went on to describe how at any given moment you could find a lion, roaring with pride or a tightrope walker, being careful to plan each step carefully, afraid to make the wrong move. I somehow described that I was a microscope today seeing my life and path clearly and in detail and finally, I wrote that tomorrow I would be a landslide with nothing able to change my path. I very accurately described my past and present but of course I was naive about my future and just how many times my path would veer, be redirected, and at times even seem to be halted!

To this day I believe that my essay played a large part in my admission to Cornell. Surely, many other applicants had grades as high as mine, SAT or other scores to beat mine, or more to pad their resumes. I am certain that not a single other student used a circus tent to describe who they were. If they did I need to meet them. I'm so glad that I was honest about the real me at the risk of being rejected or even laughed at. My decision to write in my own way and not how I thought the Ivy League might want to hear me paid off in the best way.


Cornell- High above Cayuga's Waters

After being accepted, I visited the campus to meet in person with an admissions counselor in my specific school. She talked to me as if she had objected to my admission! It was a lot of, "People that come here from small towns tend to get overwhelmed," and "If I had accepted you I would have required another math before entry." I drove four hours home that April day wondering why there had been no congratulations, no advice for best classes, no secret handshake. I was packing up my life and moving there in a few months and now I felt like it had been some sort of mistake. My first experience at Cornell was one of the counselors basically telling me that there was no way I was going to make it there. I swear, every semester that I made the Dean's List I wanted to email her and I just may have stuck my tongue out at her as I processed past her in my cap and gown on the way to my graduation in the stadium two years later.

On the track at Schoellkopf Field at Cornell

The risk I took by putting myself out there to face rejection paid off in a way that changed my life forever. But, if someone were to ask me today, ...a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; what three items describe you? I'm thinking about it.....