my superpower reality check

 
A long time ago, when someone asked me what I would pick as a super power, I would always choose flying. Then, as I got older, it became a wish for the power to heal people (physically & mentally) with just a thought. 

When I presented this sanctimonious desire to the kids* over Bobba tea yesterday evening, they both made me aware of the problematic nature of such power. I would cause over-population, there would be shortages in resources, people would be starving, the negative spiral just went on and on - I totally did not think about the consequences of my seemingly wholesome wish.

It also made me wonder about how such power would mess with God's universe. If you believe in God, that is. If I could heal everyone, then I would rob people of potential personal growth, as difficult times tend to serve as catalysts for most. Also, would I mess with assigned times of death? We all perish eventually but maybe the order in which we die serves a purpose. One that we can't see on a micro level, of course. 

Think macro is what I tell myself a lot lately. Recognize your insignificance and significance at the same time. We are very self-involved beings, what happens to us is important to us, affects us emotionally more so than anything else. But we are just specks in this universe and as such our lives and deaths are only functional to the whole. One tiny particle in a gigantic web of connections that creates the dynamic of our world. So yes, you matter but maybe not in the way you think you do .. or don't.

* the kids are over 18 now and include Nini's BFF, Jule, who I have recently taken in as she has run out of places to live.

Some thoughts about happiness or lack thereof

I’m sitting here, looking up at the branches of this beautiful tree _ the leaves are rustling steadily in the summer breeze of this exceptionally perfect day _ and I am not happy. I don’t understand how a sight that made me smile just a few months ago, has now no power to ignite even a speck of joy. “I should be happy”, I think. Why can’t I remember how to be happy? Like .. how is it done? 

If happiness comes from within then why can’t I create it in times of need? Why are outer circumstances stronger than I am – the supposed happiness creator.

Lots of mundane things bring me joy. I’m simple that way. It’s probably why I am usually a pretty content individual. The sound of crickets, the smell of fresh-cut grass, my morning coffee, a baby’s chubby cheeks, pretty sun rays, a parking spot in Manhattan.

Alas, I am in the midst of a transitional phase I did not anticipate. A phase of required emotional adjustments on my part. A time of change. [ A break-up with someone I thought I would grow old with. Chemo companion for a best friend. Another BFF with cancer and now a hole in her heart. My teenage daughter moving across the globe to go to college. ]

It’s been weeks now of dark clouds over my head as I frantically try to stay so busy that I have no other choice but to ignore the collection of uncomfortable realities around me. Unfortunately, my usually terrible-at-multitasking type of brain seems to be excellent at concurrently juggling depression and everything else. 

I know this sadness won’t last – because, for one – I am grateful to report – this isn’t clinical, but also, as I’ve been learning or not learning – but always the hard way: nothing lasts forever. … Then again, there are plenty things that last forever. So maybe the saying should go most things don’t last forever.. not very poetic.

A few days ago I dreamed that I lost some of my front teeth. I tried so hard to wake myself up in the dream … hoping to realize that it isn’t real, but I couldn’t. So I had to sit with the perceived reality that my teeth were coming loose into my hands until I finally woke to my alarm – my blessed, usually despised 6:45a.m. alarm.

Losing teeth in a dream usually means the loss of something important.
Didn’t need anyone interpreting that for me. 

A few summers ago, I was equally depressed as I recovered from a could-have-been-prevented-had-I-listened-my-inner-guidance heart-break, but I cannot actually remember or even relate to the sorrow of that time. I don’t know how it felt. .... So * – will I, one day, also not remember the overwhelming sadness I am feeling now? How long will it be until this is just a memory, something in the distant past? It seems so hard to imagine when you’re fully experiencing the grief of the moment.  And while I contemplate these questions, I remind myself: This too shall pass. …. This too shall pass.

* i was going to say "I wonder", but I'm not trying to pretend to be Carrie Bradshaw over here. Although - my Gosh, I wish I had that gorgeous Gramercy Park apartment she gets in the new (they're all in their 50s now) season.

when your love language is expletives

My first-born daughter's love language is physical affection. I wonder why life has given her a mother who doesn't like to be touched. I so desperately want to give her the love she needs, and she needs it, oh so desperately. She requests constant confirmation that I haven't changed my mind over how I feel about her. I don't know why. What have I done that this kid does not believe her mother's love is a permanent condition? I thought, I am a pretty conscientious parent -- I have always made an effort to talk about our feelings, good and bad. But, I guess, all my kid wants is to be held every day and even though I would die for my children, giving out hugs is a task requiring great effort where there should be none. My hugs feel mechanical and my daughter comments with amusement over my somatic shortcomings. Nonetheless, she reaches out to be touched every day.

To make things worse, I also have this bad habit of slipping with my language when I care about someone. Combined with my animal-like morning self, I'm a ticking time-bomb in the hours between approximately 6am and 9am. This psycho version of me is no stranger to my kids. When my younger daughter Nini was three years old, she once quietly woke me up with a piece of artwork she delivered to my bedside. 

"What's that?" I inquired.

"This is Mommy - angry in the morning," she explained like it's the most natural thing in the world.

As my kids have grown older, I've become even more relaxed. Too relaxed for someone who doesn't allow cursing in the house. I have developed, like my father when I was a teenager, the double-standard that I, as the parent, am allowed to use crude language when needed, but for the children to use a foul word would be a down-right abomination. Never mind the fact that, from hearsay, I know that my 18-yr-old curses like a sailor when she is with her friends. 

The other day, I yelled at Lee to wash her effin' hands and to eat her effin' french toast already (and, no effin-s but the actual F word were used). Granted, it was before 9 a.m., but who does that?! For all the self-control I can exercise throughout the day - some call me the queen of diplomacy (okay, nobody does, but I'd like to think I am) - in the morning hours, I am pure animal instincts. When the kids were younger, there were times I would simply just growl at them. Like a mother bear, but not in the affectionate way one might imagine this now.

When Lee later reminded me of my schizophrenic behavior in the morning and recommended to perhaps avoid interaction with other people before noon, I went into a bit of guilt-driven introspection. What I emerged with was that, while I may in fact be a different person in the morning who is best left alone to adjust to the waking life, the expletives targeted at my kid earlier in the day were ultimately driven by worry and love. I love my child and she is systematically starving herself into a body that more resembles a victim of famine than an average, athletic American teen from a loving, somewhat middle-class home.

When I presented my theory to her, she rolled her eyes. 

"I think my love language takes the form of expletives," I said.

"Your love language is acts of service, Mom", Lee responded without looking up from her phone.

Okay - so much for today's attempt at self-analysis.

Maybe my daughter does know how much I love her.

recognizing the relativity of time & age

Never before have I been reminded as often as I have in the past few weeks, that time is relative. It is a concept that isn't exact and as such, I assume, has been described as "an illusion".

On the one hand, there is the perception of actual time. For example, I have met this man - this beautiful soul - and when I am with him, 12 hours feel like one. It's near magical, how the perception of time changes depending on what you're doing or who you're with.

But, what I have been reminded of lately when it comes to the well-known relativity of time, is how age plays into it. I am so set into the concept of age according to the years we have on our backs, accepting the associated limits as facts, even though a lot of them are social constructs, that I have forgotten how fluid time and, more specifically, age can be.

I'm not saying ageing is an illusion. Ageing is part of life, sure. But the way we have packaged it, is very generalized and doesn't necessarily apply to everyone. I recently heard an interview with David Sinclair (on the Good Life podcast) that further expanded my understanding of the aging process. I don't know if I fully believe all theories presented by Dr. Sinclair, but some things he said really did ring true. He reminded me of the fact that we have a recorded age and a biological age, which can be determined by simple DNA testing.

I'm not sure why I have always felt old. I remember, it was right after my 24th birthday, that my thinking shifted. By the time I reached 30, I felt ancient. The discovery of my first wrinkle sealed the deal that it surely was all downhill from there.

When I look at photos from that time (around 30), I am in amazement at my skewed perception of self. I had the face of a 15-yr-old.

A couple of days ago I spoke to the guy who I had been intimate with over a few years until I cut it off last year. This sentence makes him seem like a very casual, irrelevant connection. While it was perhaps casual, it was so only for one reason: our age difference. He is 20 years younger than I am, and even though he is a lovely, incredibly mature young man who clearly loves me, I could never allow to open my heart or life to him. It was my responsibility as "his elder". 😝

He has asked me to marry him and have a child together on more than one occasion. Once more, when I told him that I had met someone (i.e. sealing the doors for good). It never was casual for him. But, as I was venting to a girlfriend of mine, our age difference wasn't going to change. Even if I would have opened myself and said yes to his proposals, there is no way he would always desire me. I will soon be "old". He may always love me, but at some point he is not going to want me anymore. 

Over this statement, my friend chuckled and reminded me of the fact that age differences have nothing to do with such developments. Usually, it is just a side-effect of long term relationships. She herself was in such a situation. No big age gap, two magazine-type beautiful people, raising a lovely little family together, but struggling with the upkeep of sexual desire for each other. Just like most married couples do. It takes work and sometimes miracles to maintain the sensual and sexual element. I've been married myself before. 12 years. I know its realities. Especially with small children in the picture. It's a challenge.

Either way, my friend managed to return perspective to my skewed conviction focused solely on age. And it made me think what else I was sabotaging based on my socially conditioned opinions.

inner religious turmoil (but not really)

I am sitting here ... it's Easter Sunday, the weather is unbelievably perfect, all my windows are open to let in a beautiful, warm cross breeze, birds are singing, and someone is barbecuing. It's a thing up here in my hood. The moment the temperature goes over 60 degrees Fahrenheit, people are at their grills imagining themselves in the still entirely too distant summer.
A perfect moment, but I am huffing with frustration. My kid is being taken to Easter Mass against my will. It's not that I have a problem with her joining church services. She goes to Catholic School, after all. But, the thing is ... we're technically Muslim. And, wait, this gets more complicated.

So - despite the fact that I was raised Muslim and my kids consider themselves Muslims, we don't really practice the religion. Except that we don't eat pork (that's a lie - we all secretly sneak bacon behind each other's back, for we are all worried about each other's judgment. This is particularly interesting, when we are out to brunch together with non-Muslim/non-Jewish friends and there is a plate of bacon, which we supposedly don't eat, but are all dying to add to our pancakes.)

The fact that we don't practice created the problem that my younger daughter, Nini, started to not believe in God. This to me was horrifying, for I find it a necessity of life to have faith. She may not know this now, but things can get really dark and desperate in one's time on Earth. There were times that my God belief saved me or, at least, was the only comfort I had when everything around me was in shambles and I felt completely alone. Anyway ... I don't want to get lost on this tangent but, let's just say, I would like for my children not to be atheists.
Turns out, if you don't talk about God with them (or place them in some religious community/framework), there is a good chance they will be atheists. And so, I decided, Catholic School may be a good place for my little one (who, btw, isn't little anymore - she is 12). This school also happened to be the only good option in my neighborhood.
I want her to know the stories of the Bible, for most of them are also in the Qur'an, and I believe, knowing the main stories of the Abrahamic books is kinda common knowledge. That said, I also don't necessarily want her to believe them, literally.

Easter Sunday is big for Christians. I understand that Easter Mass isn't just regular church service. It means a lot. Urbi et Orbi and stuff. (My mom is Catholic; she, and by default - we, would watch the pope's blessing on Easter Sunday every year.). So, it's one thing if my kid has to attend the service every day at school, but it's another thing if she goes to Easter Mass with other people outside of school. (She had spent the night at a friend's house.)
I decided that I needed to counter-balance this event with some research on my part. Put the whole Easter thing in Muslim perspective for her. Just so she has a reference and her information isn't just one-sided. I felt, it's my duty as a mother. The reality here is, of course, that I am outsourcing her religious education and I need to figure out how to make sure she doesn't get lost over there. (Nini, btw, isn't really that invested. I'm most likely freaking out for no reason, for she just wants to hang out with her friends who happen to all be dragged to church by their more involved parents. ... "They just sang a whole lot of songs and gave us a bottle of holy water, which I forgot at my friend's house," Nini reported when I voiced my concerns about all this.). Nonetheless, I spent my Easter morning researching how Islam sees the whole resurrection of Christ story. Hence the earlier mentioned frustration. It seems impossible to find an unbiased opinion out there. Why can't I just get facts? Ideally, I would like historical facts, combined with direct quotes from the Qur'an and then a juxtaposition of this to the Biblical texts, explaining the differences and why such differences may have developed.

What I have learned from my hours of reading at various places on the internet are the following things:
 - Christians didn't really do Easter since the beginning of their time (it's a thing of the New Testament)
- The cross wasn't a Christian symbol (or, at least, there is a question about its origins)
- Muslims believe in Jesus (of course) but what I didn't realize is that they also believe in him as the chosen Messiah (Christ) who is said to return one day, in Damascus of all places. They also believe he is the only one of God's prophets who was without sin.
- Easter is heavily influenced by Pagan rituals (no news to most of us, as that's a historical fact ... combination of Christian and Pagan rituals to make the transition easier for people .. Easter bunny is a sign of fertility ... Christmas tree is a traditional/folkloric thing .. as we now know, Jesus was born in March).
- Muslims don't believe Jesus died on the cross but that God saved him

But - that's pretty much all I could find until I gave up. It wasn't enough information and, ultimately, just one belief against the other - so, nothing I could work with.

This whole excursus just reminded me of the fact that accurate accounts of anything are hard to come by. People twist stories the way they want to see things all the time. I believe, now we have a term for this: "alternative facts". Even when we have EVIDENCE to the contrary (e.g. video footage), people are still able to perpetuate completely fabricated "truths".
Now - what are the chances, man has been in the habit of doing this since the beginning of time?

Just sayin' ....

I guess, that's why we have to take all these stories with a grain of salt, or a big pinch of it, or, the whole salt shaker on occasion (especially, as it comes to religion).

I suppose, the best way to approach this is to find statements and messages that overlap or repeat in all the main religious stories. Those are probably the most accurate and worthy of consideration, if you so will. Also - the ones that speak to your inner compass. I think, we have all been equipped with it, but it can get corrupted over time and then those general rules come in handy (given, said people accept them as God-given laws).

 - Thou shalt not kill
                    .... steal
                    .... commit adultery
                    .... covet your neighbor's stuff (and wife)
                    etc., etc.
                 
plus ....
- honor your parents
- pray
- treat people the way you would like to be treated (you know, ... the do unto others thingy)

Not bad guidelines to live by.


Btw. ... I totally gave my kids chocolate Easter bunnies yesterday, as they were leaving for the weekend. And Christmas is my favorite holiday of the year - mostly because of that pretty tree.

is it wrong to combine smoke breaks with mediation?

I live by a fairly busy street and have grown used to the noise of passing cars, so it is particularly strange when it suddenly becomes completely silent outside because of an unpredictable traffic hole. I love this phenomena. I usually pause everything I'm doing, for the moment almost begs for attention. I was just presented with one of these rare moments. An opportunity to pause and listen to what remains - the birds, the sound of the wind in the treetops. A micro-meditation.

I've become accustomed to such mini-meditations, for I have decided a while back that I will settle for whatever brief pocket of time I can find in order to rebalance myself. Yesterday was so busy (although, I can't remember anything I did) that I combined my mini meditation with a cigarette on the fire escape. Is it wrong to combine Om-chants with smoking breaks?
I can't stand pan-flute music, but apparently it's a very hip instrument in the meditation music genre. So, I was very happy when I finally found this very basic Om-chant online.

I first learned about the ataractic physical sensation brought on by chanting when I was forced to go to a yoga class by one of my friends. She was actually teaching the class, so I had to be there for support. I used to despise yoga and thus it was a true friendship service for me to attend, particularly challenging in nature, for she included candle lighting by a picture of some guru and then - oh God - the chanting. However, I have to admit, to my great surprise, when I dutifully (and supportively) chanted along with the room, something happened. The vibrations of everyone humming together were incredibly realxing and left me liberated from the tension I had carried in my shoulders as well as, once again, reminding of the rewarding possibilities of opening up one's horizons.

Nowadays, I try to recreate this feeling of chant-vibration-induced serenity by sitting in front of a base-heavy speaker playing similar Om chants I find on Spotify. It's subpar to the real thing, sitting in a room full of people chanting together in unison, but it's like my micro-meditations: it'll do. it'll do.

making sense of things (and not)

I usually just write my own stuff (with a quote here and there), but this piece in New York Magazine really struck a chord with me and since nobody seems to have the attention span to read a long article anymore, I've pulled a few paragraphs to summarize Mr. Sullivan's point (or at least, my perceived point of the article):

"American democracy has been able to thrive with unprecedented stability over the last couple of centuries even as it has brought more and more people into its embrace. It remains, in my view, a miracle of constitutional craftsmanship and cultural resilience. There is no place I would rather live. But it is not immortal, nor should we assume it is immune to the forces that have endangered democracy so many times in human history." [...]

"In Eric Hoffer’s classic 1951 tract, 'The True Believer', he sketches the dynamics of a genuine mass movement. He was thinking of the upheavals in Europe in the first half of the century, but the book remains sobering, especially now. Hoffer’s core insight was to locate the source of all truly mass movements in a collective sense of acute frustration. Not despair, or revolt, or resignation — but frustration simmering with rage. Mass movements, he notes (as did Tocqueville centuries before him), rarely arise when oppression or misery is at its worst (say, 2009); they tend to appear when the worst is behind us but the future seems not so much better (say, 2016). It is when a recovery finally gathers speed and some improvement is tangible but not yet widespread that the anger begins to rise." [...]
"But the most powerful engine for such a [mass] movement — the thing that gets it off the ground, shapes and solidifies and entrenches it — is always the evocation of hatred. [...] And what makes Trump uniquely dangerous in the history of American politics [...] is his response to all [...] enemies. It’s the threat of blunt coercion and dominance.

And so after demonizing most undocumented Mexican immigrants, he then vowed to round up and deport all 11 million of them by force. “They have to go” was the typically blunt phrase he used — and somehow people didn’t immediately recognize the monstrous historical echoes. The sheer scale of the police and military operation that this policy would entail boggles the mind. [...]

[Trump's] movement is clearly fascistic in its demonization of foreigners, its hyping of a threat by a domestic minority (Muslims and Mexicans are the new Jews), its focus on a single supreme leader of what can only be called a cult, and its deep belief in violence and coercion in a democracy that has heretofore relied on debate and persuasion."
____

It's an older article but the analysis is still (tragically) on point...

http://nymag.com/daily/intelligencer/2016/04/america-tyranny-donald-trump.html

on gratitude

Every morning, I sit down to write a bullet list of things I am grateful for, a good practice I heard about on Tim Ferriss's podcast a while back. It's hard for me to be grateful in the mornings. I'm not very happy (i.e. grateful) to be awake, nor am I particularly articulate. In fact, my children know not to tick me off in the mornings, for I am an animal of instinct when I've just woken up. This usually very composed and restrained mama will become a force to be reckoned with if poked in the early hours of the day. There is cursing, needless aggression over Nutella depletion or teenage clothing choices, there are non-sensical accusations and things are said that would never come out of my mouth at any other time of the day. So, at this point, I have trained my children well to keep things calm in the morning and not agitate me, for I will regress into something, which nobody in the house wants to deal with (including me).

But - other than my state of morning madness, I am pretty much grateful all the time. For everything. Okay, maybe not everything. But, a lot. I am so incredibly grateful so often during the day that I feel it is, perhaps, built in. Is gratitude part of human nature? Or is it nurture? So many people seem to not be grateful or appreciative at all. Or maybe, I just don't know that they are. Or could it be that they are, but just for the wrong reasons? Can there even be such a thing as a wrong reason for gratitude? Do dictators, ISIS members, and other atrocious members of our world experience gratitude? And, if yes, what for? Does it still qualify as wholesome gratitude if the appreciation is for something awful or selfish? Then again, isn't all gratitude due to some sense of selfishness? We are grateful because something is good for us. Although, we do experience gratefulness on behalf of people we care about, right? Question is, is that a true altruistic sentiment or is it also based in the "selfish" interest of making oneself feel good?

school dress codes: a form of slut-shaming?

After reading this (and watching all the embedded videos) ...
http://www.dailykos.com/story/2016/10/23/1578415/-Damn-those-dress-codes-Young-feminists-are-taking-a-stand

.... I had to take a moment to comment:

I have several things to say here…. as a female, a feminist, and mother of two teenage girls.

1.) A dress code isn’t teaching boys that it is okay to harass women/girls if they’re showing skin. Their upbringing, their character, and the company they keep will nurture or shun such Neanderthal behavior .. which brings me to point number 2...

2.) The last video snippet mentions, dress codes are *teaching* boys that they are “biologically programmed” to objectify women. No offense, but aren’t they (the great majority, anyway)? … They are biologically programmed to spread their seed. #facts

3.) I don’t understand in which way teaching girls how to dress more modestly (and with more awareness) is slut shaming. But honestly, I’m still not completely sure what slut shaming *really* is. Schools' clothing policies are just an attempt to reverse a different type of dress code. One that seems to be deeply embedded in most teens of today’s society: the hyper-sexual dress code imposed on our girls by the media, only that they seem to be so “brain-washed”, they don’t even know they are adhering to a code.
I can’t tell you the drama that goes on in my house about clothing choices every morning. Why? Why?! You are going to school. Throw on some jeans and a T-shirt. Done. It’s not a fashion show. You’re going there to learn...which brings me to point number 4....

4.) There are some disturbing comments being made by school administrators in these videos. ("Not all behinds look cute in leggings" .. ?!! Ehm, what?!) …. Not only are such comments distorting the message, but they are also insulting, thus creating a rebellious response.
This shouldn’t be about rebellion — it should be about education. The problem is that schools are trying to undo damage that has already been done. .. Or, let’s say “change” instead of “damage”, only that I still have to be convinced it’s the former and not the latter. I’m not a total prude, I swear, but I have lived long enough on this planet to know that it is NOT just a saying that “boys will be boys” … it’s a fact. And, if these boys/men have learned how to behave themselves, which many of them have, they’re still thinking things…. and this brings me to my last point…

5.) I would like to see some interviews with boys and men about the subject matter. All we are hearing here (in the videos) are girls’ opinions. Us wishing that most men are not driven by sexuality, is naive. They simply are. Most of them, anyway. Which is why women’s bodies sell products so well. Which is why female models, on average, make 70% more than male models. .. It’s sad, but it’s a fact. … And, ultimately, that fact should make you, as a female, want to cover up, for such an act will be truly rebellious, make your body yours (and I don't mean burka-style, obviously). Divert the attention to what should matter only — your intellect, your talents, your character. … But… yea, okay .. that’s wishful thinking, too. That’s never going to happen. People are entirely too superficial to not care about appearances. (big sigh)


PS: In the meantime, I am trying to package this message in a way that doesn’t result in me slut-shaming my daughters, who are vehemently supporting the ideas outlined in the above linked article. In the end, all I want is children that think critically, walk with self-awareness as well as self-respect, and who understand the basic workings of this world. I also want them to have the courage to change what they see as wrong and take a stand about the things they're passionate about. However, I’m not sure if this here is a misguided fight...What should be our/their target is the media and how it portrays (and dresses) women and girls.

perspective ...

I got a $138 ticket for rolling through a stop sign WHILE looking straight at the cops parked on the corner. Apparently, I was too "high" on my 250mg of acetaminophen to react to the situation appropriately (‪#‎painmedsLightweight‬). Getting caught violating the traffic rules, is usually something that makes me angry. I know, it makes no sense, since it's my own fault, but sometimes we just don't make sense.

As the officers were writing me my fine, I sat waiting and listening to NPR and then simply became too sad to continue to be upset about this ticket. The story on the radio featured a refugee woman who watched the love of her life and a hundred other people drown after their boat was forcibly capsized. She also was given a toddler to join her on the flimsy little swim ring she was clinging on to and then had to watch as the child's mother drowned in front of her.

This just really put things into perspective and made it impossible for me to be aggravated by this traffic fine. In fact, it made me feel guilty to even have entertained the thought of feeding into my mundane aggravation. I had to hold back my tears about the story so the officers wouldn't think I'm crying about this stupid ticket, and I'm sad to admit, there have been days I have cried over something as ridiculous as a traffic fine.

Every day, I am grateful that we don't live in a war zone and don't have to know the unimaginable suffering so many people in this world today have to know. Every day, when I speak this gratitude I also ask and wish that the people in these terrible situations are given moments of strength, light, and hope.