The Winter Doorway

I took a breather from technology over the holiday season. At first because I felt determined to be more present to my kids during the holiday - to be more prayerful as a family, more focused on making time for quality time, and less distracted by the noise of modern life. We were wildly and modestly successful.

The "I wants" disappeared as fast as they arrived. It was an important lesson on the power of positive parenting. Trust yourself. Your kids are watching and listening more than you think. We baked and made gingerbread houses. We read Christmas stories at bedtime.  We gave unexpected gifts. We ate dinner together more as a family.  We lit candles and went to mass. We talked and we listened more. There are too kinds of "more" - this year I decided I wanted the right kind of "more" - the real kind.

We truly celebrated Christmas this year, but I still want more time. As I'm facing their return to school, I wish I'd had more story times and afternoon naps. Maybe because I see 2013 will offer me older kids, less naps and more happily independent readers. I love reading to my kids - but now the older ones enjoy reading on their own as well. Maybe it never feels like enough - maybe the truth is that we can always be better at loving each other.

The second was because of the massacre in Newtown.  My three older children are in kindergarten, first grade and third grade and I couldn't stomach how this mass murder was covered in the news - misinformation, unethical reporting (who interviews a 6 year old witness?), and the desensitized banter around it all.

Almost nothing I read, even from writers I really admire, resonated with me. Everyone was talking, writing, and sharing but no one was really saying anything. Some of it even went so far in my mind as being self promoting (I felt like so many people were screaming I CAN MAKE SENSE OF IT ALL!  LISTEN TO ME! LISTEN TO ME!)  The final straw was the NRA press conference where they presented this atrocity as a opportunity to market more guns to schools. I felt sour, shameful and incredibly sad. I craved silence. It gave me a deeper understanding of why peace and quiet are synonyms.

I put my cell phone away before Christmas Eve and didn't take it out again until after Christmas.  My office had become gift wrapping central for the whole family and so it lost its appeal as my quiet retreat.  It felt so freeing to leave all the noise of social media and online news for a bit.  Like returning from vacation - I am energized and happy to be back writing, reading again.  It was an important lesson for me - stepping away hopefully makes us better when we come back.

The last time I took this kind of break, I accidentally forgot my phone on our family vacation last October.  The result was surprising and wonderful.  I felt more focused. I took runs without Pandora and had to listen to my own thoughts.  This blog emerged from one of those runs.  Running along the beach, watching the ocean disappear into the distance I saw a kindred spirit in the horizon, I saw myself and my writing in a whole new light. And so here we are a few months and many degrees different later.

Fresh snow, no footprints yet

I have many wishes for 2013. I'm sure you do as well. My nine year old told me yesterday that January was named for the Roman god Janus - the god of doorways. He is very into Greek and Roman mythology right now - I love the unexpected wisdom of our kids.

I am living in the doorway right now. I see both sides so clearly. My baby is no longer a baby - almost walking and more than one year old. The nine year old is dancing towards the end of childhood - he's not in a rush - but I can see him gathering wisdom, confidence and experiences like snow falling tenderly, quietly accumulating flake on top of tiny, miraculous flake.

The view from my favorite doorway

We spent the closing of 2012 and the beginning of 2013 with all our living parents. My mother-in-law is visiting for a few weeks and we'll remember my father-in-law (whom our youngest is named after) this weekend.  He'll have been gone for five years now - both a lifetime and an instant.

I asked everyone on New Year's Eve to share something they were grateful for in 2012 and something they were hopeful for in 2013. My father is grateful that his vision is improving, and hoped to keep as much of his memory in tack as possible.  We talked for the first time together as a multi-generational family about my dad's concerns about his memory and his ability. No one was upset or afraid. We moved along onto other hopes and dreams. It's a part of life we must acknowledge and respect.

It made me understand what it is I want for 2013.  I want to live honestly, slowly and fearlessly. I'd like to write twice a week for this blog - I hope you'll help keep me to that vow. I'd like to stay true to my ideals about living a happy, fulfilling life. Sometimes it is easier said than done. I believe in practice, I believe in living deliberately. Thoughtful living does not come effortlessly, but practice helps us face the darkest times with the strength and sturdiness of our sense of self and faith and purpose. I believe in muscle memory for the soul.

Kids on the edge of land and water

We are forever at the threshold of something - but in January we seem more aware of it. I write a letter every January to my kids about how I see them, what I hope for them in the up coming year. I finished it yesterday but it almost writes itself. Now I understand that this blog is for me, about what I dream and hope for myself, what I want to understand and share.

So as I sit here in this doorway thinking about what is behind us and what is ahead, I am grateful. I'm grateful for healthy bodies, true love, big families, safe homes, and all the bounty in our lives. But I'm also grateful for words and stories and the chance to share them. I am delighted that this threshold is a passageway from the brightness of our history, the preciousness of our past.  It sheds light into a new room with opportunity to glow and grow. I pause, we should all pause, and appreciate the view.
 

The divide

First steps on fresh snow