Vulnerability. To let yourself be vulnerable, for most people, is one of the scariest prospects. This is especially true if you've been hurt in the past. Me, I've never had that problem. I always kept my heart and soul wide open (again, some would say too open), even after being wounded or rejected. I kept putting myself out there, emotionally speaking, regardless of the risk. I was never any good at putting up walls around myself.
It's been a long time since I've been in a position of vulnerability in matters of the heart. It's also been a long time since I've been hurt, but I've recently experienced both. I put my feelings out there and was met with rejection. And yeah, it hurts. But I know I'd do it again in a minute. Because without that risk, I would never know what could have been. And more than once, the risk has paid off in a big way. If you're not willing to be vulnerable, willing to be hurt, you're also losing out on the opportunity to love, to be loved.
There is a line in a song by Ingrid Michaelson that says "Happy is the heart that still feels pain." Indeed. For me, even the pain is okay. It reminds me that I can still be vulnerable, that I can still open up to the unknown, risking the most precious thing I have--my heart. And what's more, I'm not collapsing in on myself because of that pain. I am sitting in it, feeling it, owning it. I don't feel despair, I don't feel stupid or silly. I feel like I was true to myself and my feelings and at the end of the day, that's who I have to answer to.
Maybe I would have done well to learn how to close off my heart a bit. When I was younger, the pain of rejection overwhelmed me, made me turn in on myself, fall apart. Probably because I just didn't have enough of my authentic self to connect with, to hold me up in the face of another. I let the rejection define my self-worth. It would have been good self-preservation for me to not leave myself open to that kind of hurt.
Now I accept that in order to have a heart that feels, I have to feel both the love and the pain. And I know that if I put myself out there and get rejected, it doesn't mean there is anything wrong with me. It means that I just opened up to the wrong person and if I don't keep opening up, I'll never find the right person--one who is willing to let me in, open up to me, too.
Certainly there is a time for closing off. Pulsing, like contracting, is a natural part of the rhythm of life. We breathe, in and out. We open, we close. We should be able to close off and protect ourselves if we are being mistreated or abused. We should go inward, keep some things to ourselves when we need to. We should stop opening to someone who doesn't want to take in what we're offering.
And when we have been rejected and hurt, that is also a good time to close off, go inward and heal. Soothe ourselves, reconnect with our authentic being. I know that's what I will do. But I also know that I will open up again the next time around because I know what is possible and I know that it's worth it. Every heartachy minute of it.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Honesty: Revealing You
In many respects, I've always been a very open person, both emotionally and otherwise. Some would say too much so and they might be right. I'd say it is both a gift and a curse. My reasoning was always that it was better for people to have all the information up front so they knew what they were getting. I could feel like I'd done my part by being clear on where I stood. There would be no guessing.
And honesty is a relief. Keeping things in is such a burden and so unnecessary. For me, being honest doesn't just mean telling the truth when asked. It means not withholding or omitting information that might have an impact on a person or situation. And it means revealing yourself. That isn't to say that you need to share everything with everyone--just the people that matter most to you. Sometimes that's hardest of all.
Often times we are so worried about hurting someone else that we deny ourselves the ability to feel and express our own thoughts, emotions, wants and needs. In a predominantly Christian culture, other always comes first. Self-sacrifice is an aspiration, martyrdom a prize. It's not widely-accepted to put yourself first or to say what you want. I'm not advocating being insensitive or inflexible. I'm not saying you say and do what you want with no concern for others. I think it's a gift to be able to see both sides of an issue but you can't do it at the expense of yourself. There has to be a balance. You can see both sides but at the end of the day, being authentic means being true to yourself...choosing you, staying with you, even as you are conscious and considerate of others.
Anger has never been an emotion that sat well with me or one that I connected much with. Sadness, yep. Fear, yeah, I know that one. Joy, sure. All of these are emotions that I had no problem identifying in myself but that I also had no problem exposing to others. But anger was a tough one…I could get angry for a cause or in defense of someone or something else but never on my own behalf. I never owned my own anger when it came to me, I guess because it always seemed so ugly and scary so I pushed it down so far that I couldn't even access it. I might initially be angry with someone, but almost immediately my instinct was to justify it or jump into their shoes. "Oh, they weren't trying to hurt me," I'd reason. I couldn't stand with myself, in my own feeling.
Recently, a friend did something that I saw as a great betrayal. I knew that she was doing it from a place of genuine concern and love for me but it really made me mad. That came as a shock to me because I so rarely feel that (the exception being with my husband). This friend had set the standard for honest and direct communication in our relationship so I felt comfortable expressing myself to her. I did not yell, I did not call names or accuse. I simply told her honestly, and with a tone that was fairly severe (for me), how I felt. She explained her side of things. I acknowledged that she was coming from a good place but I did not brush aside my anger because of that, nor did I dump it all on her. I owned it, I felt it and accepted it completely. Only then was I truly able to let it go. It helped that she validated how I felt, understood my reaction. Certainly the mark of a true friend.
I've had other opportunities recently to practice what I preach which I may share in future blogs, but for now, the bottom line is that being honest with others can't happen unless you're honest and in touch with yourself, even the parts that seem ugly or scary. It is amazing what growth, what connection can come from that honesty because we can learn so much from each other. And we can experience such freedom.
And honesty is a relief. Keeping things in is such a burden and so unnecessary. For me, being honest doesn't just mean telling the truth when asked. It means not withholding or omitting information that might have an impact on a person or situation. And it means revealing yourself. That isn't to say that you need to share everything with everyone--just the people that matter most to you. Sometimes that's hardest of all.
Often times we are so worried about hurting someone else that we deny ourselves the ability to feel and express our own thoughts, emotions, wants and needs. In a predominantly Christian culture, other always comes first. Self-sacrifice is an aspiration, martyrdom a prize. It's not widely-accepted to put yourself first or to say what you want. I'm not advocating being insensitive or inflexible. I'm not saying you say and do what you want with no concern for others. I think it's a gift to be able to see both sides of an issue but you can't do it at the expense of yourself. There has to be a balance. You can see both sides but at the end of the day, being authentic means being true to yourself...choosing you, staying with you, even as you are conscious and considerate of others.
Anger has never been an emotion that sat well with me or one that I connected much with. Sadness, yep. Fear, yeah, I know that one. Joy, sure. All of these are emotions that I had no problem identifying in myself but that I also had no problem exposing to others. But anger was a tough one…I could get angry for a cause or in defense of someone or something else but never on my own behalf. I never owned my own anger when it came to me, I guess because it always seemed so ugly and scary so I pushed it down so far that I couldn't even access it. I might initially be angry with someone, but almost immediately my instinct was to justify it or jump into their shoes. "Oh, they weren't trying to hurt me," I'd reason. I couldn't stand with myself, in my own feeling.
Recently, a friend did something that I saw as a great betrayal. I knew that she was doing it from a place of genuine concern and love for me but it really made me mad. That came as a shock to me because I so rarely feel that (the exception being with my husband). This friend had set the standard for honest and direct communication in our relationship so I felt comfortable expressing myself to her. I did not yell, I did not call names or accuse. I simply told her honestly, and with a tone that was fairly severe (for me), how I felt. She explained her side of things. I acknowledged that she was coming from a good place but I did not brush aside my anger because of that, nor did I dump it all on her. I owned it, I felt it and accepted it completely. Only then was I truly able to let it go. It helped that she validated how I felt, understood my reaction. Certainly the mark of a true friend.
I've had other opportunities recently to practice what I preach which I may share in future blogs, but for now, the bottom line is that being honest with others can't happen unless you're honest and in touch with yourself, even the parts that seem ugly or scary. It is amazing what growth, what connection can come from that honesty because we can learn so much from each other. And we can experience such freedom.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Three Part Harmony of Our Being
It's hard to be in our bodies. We find countless ways to escape...television, drugs, alcohol, work, sex, shopping, thinking about the past, thinking about the future...even religion. They all can be forms of escapism. And our bodies--well, we ourselves--are constantly trying to get us back in.
I'm lying here in bed, sick. My body aches, my head hurts and I feel like I could sleep all day. I feel like it's my body's way of saying "come back home." It's a way of forcing me to be in my body because I am feeling and experiencing discomfort. I can't escape it. If I try, it will most likely linger or get more intense. We're smart like that.
Being human, being embodied, is challenging. All that feeling, all those aches and pains, both physical and emotional are sometimes difficult to bear. It's easier to find something to take us out of all that. Or to imagine that if we suffer, we'll be rewarded later for it.
My belief is that we really are a three-part being: physical, mental, spiritual. Feeling, thought, energy. The first two are obvious and accepted while the third one is up for debate. Since our experiences inform our views, our filter of the world and thus our beliefs, I can tell you that for me, the third component is not in question. It is. And it is also my belief that all three must be integrated to be healthy.
It seems to me that our society is fragmented into those three extremes. There is so much information that would have you believe that your brain is everything...it is the center of all and if you can learn to control or work with that, see things through that lens, you'll be able to solve any problem. Other sources would have you believe it's God or some outside force...that if you just connect with that, believe in that, you'll be saved. The third element, the feeling or emotional element, gets less focus, but there are sources that would say it's all about feeling and what gets stuck in the body as a result of your emotional development or lack thereof and if you can discover, unlock those secrets you'll be happy.
What is overlooked is the way in which all of these elements work together. All perspectives are valid. If we look at illness as physical...that's true. If we look at it as emotional...that's true, too. If we look at it as spiritual or energetic, that's true. They feed off each other, they are reflections of each other...they are each other.
If we accept what science tells us, we know that energy cannot be created or destroyed. So when our bodies die, that energy goes somewhere...it exists without the body. I couldn't tell you whether it goes to the sky or into another body or whether or not it holds memories or impressions. I have my own ideas about that but really, I don't know. And I'm okay not knowing.
If we humans view the world through only a mental or spiritual lens, we are operating and using only the top quarter of our bodies. We are disconnected from 3/4 of our being. By believing that thought and logic and facts are the only valid way to learn, to interpret...well, that's our brain. All of our energy is focused there. By believing that something outside of us, something out in the sky or the air is the only way to exist or get information, it takes us out of our bodies altogether. Not only that, but it takes the power out of our own hands. Religion would have you believe that humans have no power, that earth is just a place to be endured or suffered until you can go to Heaven. No wonder we're so detached from our environment, our earth, and everything on it. We're not experiencing it because we're existing only in the top 1/4 of our bodies. And we're not feeling.
When I was a child, I used to be called "sensitive", "dramatic", "overly emotional". My parents are wonderful people so this is not a judgment on them--I just don't think they understood the depth of feeling I had. To be fair, I don't think most people did. I think because I felt so misunderstood my emotions just escalated in an attempt to convey how much I really did feel. All this did was enforce the "dramatic" label and take me out of my own body.
Looking back now, I think I experienced so much sensation, such intense feeling because my parents did not. And on a larger scale, the super-sensitive, emotional people of the world are somehow trying to offset the detached, strictly-logical people of the world because there is always a balance. Humans are living longer, overpopulating while certain animal species are going extinct. There are haves and have-nots. There are the desensitized and the sensitive and everything in between.
But emotions are a way of being in the body. Sometimes they can be so intense that we want to be anywhere but our bodies. I have had that experience before, the feeling of wanting to disappear. It is the feeling, the emotional component of our beings that is the least appreciated or valued in our world. It is a bad thing to make emotional decisions. It is socially unacceptable to express emotions outwardly. It is a sign of weakness to be affected by your feelings. Wow, no wonder I wanted to escape my body---everything around me told me that what I was experiencing was invalid.
To be fully in our bodies, energetically speaking, we have to be able to accept all aspects of our being. We have to let ourselves feel what is going on inside, let ourselves feel our own emotions (positive or negative) and take ownership of them. Even the ones we think of as ugly or dark. We have to accept our own humanity, which is more than a body and brain (though of course those are important parts). We are feeling, sensing beings, too. We are heart and soul. We are body, mind and spirit. Being authentic is acknowledging and living them all, simultaneously.
I'm lying here in bed, sick. My body aches, my head hurts and I feel like I could sleep all day. I feel like it's my body's way of saying "come back home." It's a way of forcing me to be in my body because I am feeling and experiencing discomfort. I can't escape it. If I try, it will most likely linger or get more intense. We're smart like that.
Being human, being embodied, is challenging. All that feeling, all those aches and pains, both physical and emotional are sometimes difficult to bear. It's easier to find something to take us out of all that. Or to imagine that if we suffer, we'll be rewarded later for it.
My belief is that we really are a three-part being: physical, mental, spiritual. Feeling, thought, energy. The first two are obvious and accepted while the third one is up for debate. Since our experiences inform our views, our filter of the world and thus our beliefs, I can tell you that for me, the third component is not in question. It is. And it is also my belief that all three must be integrated to be healthy.
It seems to me that our society is fragmented into those three extremes. There is so much information that would have you believe that your brain is everything...it is the center of all and if you can learn to control or work with that, see things through that lens, you'll be able to solve any problem. Other sources would have you believe it's God or some outside force...that if you just connect with that, believe in that, you'll be saved. The third element, the feeling or emotional element, gets less focus, but there are sources that would say it's all about feeling and what gets stuck in the body as a result of your emotional development or lack thereof and if you can discover, unlock those secrets you'll be happy.
What is overlooked is the way in which all of these elements work together. All perspectives are valid. If we look at illness as physical...that's true. If we look at it as emotional...that's true, too. If we look at it as spiritual or energetic, that's true. They feed off each other, they are reflections of each other...they are each other.
If we accept what science tells us, we know that energy cannot be created or destroyed. So when our bodies die, that energy goes somewhere...it exists without the body. I couldn't tell you whether it goes to the sky or into another body or whether or not it holds memories or impressions. I have my own ideas about that but really, I don't know. And I'm okay not knowing.
If we humans view the world through only a mental or spiritual lens, we are operating and using only the top quarter of our bodies. We are disconnected from 3/4 of our being. By believing that thought and logic and facts are the only valid way to learn, to interpret...well, that's our brain. All of our energy is focused there. By believing that something outside of us, something out in the sky or the air is the only way to exist or get information, it takes us out of our bodies altogether. Not only that, but it takes the power out of our own hands. Religion would have you believe that humans have no power, that earth is just a place to be endured or suffered until you can go to Heaven. No wonder we're so detached from our environment, our earth, and everything on it. We're not experiencing it because we're existing only in the top 1/4 of our bodies. And we're not feeling.
When I was a child, I used to be called "sensitive", "dramatic", "overly emotional". My parents are wonderful people so this is not a judgment on them--I just don't think they understood the depth of feeling I had. To be fair, I don't think most people did. I think because I felt so misunderstood my emotions just escalated in an attempt to convey how much I really did feel. All this did was enforce the "dramatic" label and take me out of my own body.
Looking back now, I think I experienced so much sensation, such intense feeling because my parents did not. And on a larger scale, the super-sensitive, emotional people of the world are somehow trying to offset the detached, strictly-logical people of the world because there is always a balance. Humans are living longer, overpopulating while certain animal species are going extinct. There are haves and have-nots. There are the desensitized and the sensitive and everything in between.
But emotions are a way of being in the body. Sometimes they can be so intense that we want to be anywhere but our bodies. I have had that experience before, the feeling of wanting to disappear. It is the feeling, the emotional component of our beings that is the least appreciated or valued in our world. It is a bad thing to make emotional decisions. It is socially unacceptable to express emotions outwardly. It is a sign of weakness to be affected by your feelings. Wow, no wonder I wanted to escape my body---everything around me told me that what I was experiencing was invalid.
To be fully in our bodies, energetically speaking, we have to be able to accept all aspects of our being. We have to let ourselves feel what is going on inside, let ourselves feel our own emotions (positive or negative) and take ownership of them. Even the ones we think of as ugly or dark. We have to accept our own humanity, which is more than a body and brain (though of course those are important parts). We are feeling, sensing beings, too. We are heart and soul. We are body, mind and spirit. Being authentic is acknowledging and living them all, simultaneously.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Value of Play
*This is, admittedly, something I wrote awhile ago but I felt like it was worth posting.
It’s a beautiful fall day and I’ve invited several friends from the homeschooling group we’re part of to come over and play in our yard. My 7-year-old son is chasing my 10-year old daughter and her friend around our yard as they squeal in delighted terror. This isn’t going well so the girls decide to start an army to defeat my son and his friends. My son is not enjoying being the object of their attack so we all work together to create two teams that will battle each other by fencing with sticks. Interestingly, and not by adult design, the teams consist of one group of four girls and one boy and another of four boys and one girl.
This is not the first time they’ve constructed a scenario to be played out--the last time we were all together at a local park, they had created a kingdom with hunters and gatherers and wizards, everyone playing a part. From our adult vantage point, it looked like they were all climbing on a big tree trunk but when we peeked into their world, for whatever reason, we discovered something much more complex, imaginative and purposeful.
While all of the parents in our group have different styles of homeschooling (from highly structured to unschooling) we all agree on one thing—the importance of letting kids have time to be kids. Imaginative play and connecting with nature are things we encourage and see actively in our children and are aspects of education and child-rearing that sometimes get lost in today’s world.
While studying education years ago, before I had children, I remember reading about the importance of imaginative play, not just in toddlers or very small children but in older children as well. Among other things, role-playing helped kids develop empathy, since they were more easily able to put themselves in someone else’s shoes. It also helped nurture an ability to find creative ways to problem-solve and think outside the box (like using a stick as a sword or a banana for a phone). Surely these things are not only useful but necessary for all of us and imaginative play is most certainly underestimated or overlooked compared to reading, writing, testing and the like.
Parents with kids in school tell me that kindergarteners are doing worksheets and homework, and that children in elementary school are developing anxiety disorders due to the stress and increased pressure to excel academically and the amount of work being given. Add to this the reduction in recess or free time and we’ve got a recipe for children who might be successful in their academic or professional lives, but disconnected from each other and the natural world around them.
I have been heartened to see my 5-year-old daughter building a nest out of twigs and leaves for herself and her “baby bird” (another 5-year old) after observing a mother and baby robin or to see my 10-year-old daughter rushing to the computer to look up anything she can on painted turtles so that she can find out how (if at all) to help the baby she found in the driveway. These aren’t things that can be taught, they must be experienced and their value must not be underestimated. Without empathy, how can we become a more peaceful society? Without imagination, how can there be innovation?
So today, while the kids march off with sticks in hand for hours, I am confident that they will do more than just hit sticks together…rules will be made, alliances formed, ideas played out. Play is never just play. It is, as Albert Einstein says, “the greatest form of research.”
It’s a beautiful fall day and I’ve invited several friends from the homeschooling group we’re part of to come over and play in our yard. My 7-year-old son is chasing my 10-year old daughter and her friend around our yard as they squeal in delighted terror. This isn’t going well so the girls decide to start an army to defeat my son and his friends. My son is not enjoying being the object of their attack so we all work together to create two teams that will battle each other by fencing with sticks. Interestingly, and not by adult design, the teams consist of one group of four girls and one boy and another of four boys and one girl.
This is not the first time they’ve constructed a scenario to be played out--the last time we were all together at a local park, they had created a kingdom with hunters and gatherers and wizards, everyone playing a part. From our adult vantage point, it looked like they were all climbing on a big tree trunk but when we peeked into their world, for whatever reason, we discovered something much more complex, imaginative and purposeful.
While all of the parents in our group have different styles of homeschooling (from highly structured to unschooling) we all agree on one thing—the importance of letting kids have time to be kids. Imaginative play and connecting with nature are things we encourage and see actively in our children and are aspects of education and child-rearing that sometimes get lost in today’s world.
While studying education years ago, before I had children, I remember reading about the importance of imaginative play, not just in toddlers or very small children but in older children as well. Among other things, role-playing helped kids develop empathy, since they were more easily able to put themselves in someone else’s shoes. It also helped nurture an ability to find creative ways to problem-solve and think outside the box (like using a stick as a sword or a banana for a phone). Surely these things are not only useful but necessary for all of us and imaginative play is most certainly underestimated or overlooked compared to reading, writing, testing and the like.
Parents with kids in school tell me that kindergarteners are doing worksheets and homework, and that children in elementary school are developing anxiety disorders due to the stress and increased pressure to excel academically and the amount of work being given. Add to this the reduction in recess or free time and we’ve got a recipe for children who might be successful in their academic or professional lives, but disconnected from each other and the natural world around them.
I have been heartened to see my 5-year-old daughter building a nest out of twigs and leaves for herself and her “baby bird” (another 5-year old) after observing a mother and baby robin or to see my 10-year-old daughter rushing to the computer to look up anything she can on painted turtles so that she can find out how (if at all) to help the baby she found in the driveway. These aren’t things that can be taught, they must be experienced and their value must not be underestimated. Without empathy, how can we become a more peaceful society? Without imagination, how can there be innovation?
So today, while the kids march off with sticks in hand for hours, I am confident that they will do more than just hit sticks together…rules will be made, alliances formed, ideas played out. Play is never just play. It is, as Albert Einstein says, “the greatest form of research.”
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Authentic Learning/Unschooling
For me, unschooling is a natural fit for leading an authentic life. Unschooling looks different in every family simply because it is guided and defined by the individuals that make up that family, including the children. The basic concept is that learning happens naturally, through living life. It doesn't have to be separated from life or institutionalized.
Today, for example, I was making granola with my 5-year-old daughter. I've done a lot of baking with my kids and math and chemistry are naturally embedded in the activity. I think my eldest learned fractions primarily from using the various measuring cups and spoons. But today, we got a lesson in physics, as well. Sadie was stirring the honey and oil together with a spoon. The bowl was metal and she wasn't holding onto it.
"Mom, look at this!" she squealed. Since she wasn't holding onto the bowl, the spoon was spinning that rather than the ingredients. "Look how high it can get!" she noticed. The faster she spun, the higher the liquid rose on the side of the bowl, leaving almost nothing at the bottom.
I'm not a scientist and I remember very little from my science classes in high school so I had to look up the word and definition for what I was seeing. Sadie could care less about that. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but an experience is worth even more.
My ten-year-old daughter is trying to find local horse rescues on the computer. She tends to like for me to give her direction so when she came to me feeling bored and wanting something to do, that's what I suggested because I know she wants to volunteer at a rescue and I haven't gotten the chance to look it up yet.
As I'm sitting and writing this, I'm watching my practically-eight-year-old son making a diving board off of our couch using his fort-building kit (pieces of peg board, posts with holes, screws, nuts and bolts.) He's figured out how to support the front but is still working on how to stabilize the back when weight is put on the front. He's used ropes but it's still not quite stable. Now he's got a back-up plan: pillows and blankets at the bottom. He's decided it will be more like a dunk tank (which he and his dad made this summer) than a diving board. And the experiment continues with his sisters getting in the act, too. It works as a diving board only if someone holds the back end down. Ari has used several layers of pegboard for the diving platform to prevent it from breaking.
I could categorize all the various lessons the kids are learning from this exercise or any of the other activities from our daily lives. But there's no need. It is organic learning, experiencing, living and they will retain and use and build on whatever is authentic and meaningful to them.
Authenticity begins young. I think we come into the world as authentic beings and our experiences during our formative years help to determine our connection to our authentic self. School age has gotten younger and younger, there are fewer recesses, more expectations, less time to play and be children. I would hazard a guess that all that this does is lead to delayed childhood, adults acting out their unfinished development in sometimes subtle, sometimes obvious ways.
Learning doesn't have to be compulsory and by making it so, we take the ownership of that learning away from our kids. As a society we tell them what to learn, when to learn it and how to learn it and if the schools' formula doesn't fit the child, too bad. Unschooling gives the ownership of learning back to the individual child. He/she seeks out what is interesting, stimulating, enjoyable. As a parent, I'm not a teacher, necessarily, but a facilitator, a guide, a partner in that learning. I try to provide a variety of resources and exposure to different things but I don't force them to learn anything or provide external motivation (ie: positive or negative reinforcement) for them to learn. I don't need to. All I need to do is open my eyes and my mind and see that they are learning every day, every minute. They are either learning from what they are experiencing in their physical world or they are learning from going inward, reflecting, imagining.
But I can't judge what they learn or the ways in which they learn because it is theirs and it is authentic to them. It is driven by them and I am there to support and nurture and validate their experience, not to create an experience for them that I think will result in their success or intelligence or whatever other expectation one might have. Sure, I want them to be successful out in the world but I don't define that success--they do. And above all, I want them to know themselves. That is the best education of all.
Today, for example, I was making granola with my 5-year-old daughter. I've done a lot of baking with my kids and math and chemistry are naturally embedded in the activity. I think my eldest learned fractions primarily from using the various measuring cups and spoons. But today, we got a lesson in physics, as well. Sadie was stirring the honey and oil together with a spoon. The bowl was metal and she wasn't holding onto it.
"Mom, look at this!" she squealed. Since she wasn't holding onto the bowl, the spoon was spinning that rather than the ingredients. "Look how high it can get!" she noticed. The faster she spun, the higher the liquid rose on the side of the bowl, leaving almost nothing at the bottom.
I'm not a scientist and I remember very little from my science classes in high school so I had to look up the word and definition for what I was seeing. Sadie could care less about that. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but an experience is worth even more.
My ten-year-old daughter is trying to find local horse rescues on the computer. She tends to like for me to give her direction so when she came to me feeling bored and wanting something to do, that's what I suggested because I know she wants to volunteer at a rescue and I haven't gotten the chance to look it up yet.
As I'm sitting and writing this, I'm watching my practically-eight-year-old son making a diving board off of our couch using his fort-building kit (pieces of peg board, posts with holes, screws, nuts and bolts.) He's figured out how to support the front but is still working on how to stabilize the back when weight is put on the front. He's used ropes but it's still not quite stable. Now he's got a back-up plan: pillows and blankets at the bottom. He's decided it will be more like a dunk tank (which he and his dad made this summer) than a diving board. And the experiment continues with his sisters getting in the act, too. It works as a diving board only if someone holds the back end down. Ari has used several layers of pegboard for the diving platform to prevent it from breaking.
I could categorize all the various lessons the kids are learning from this exercise or any of the other activities from our daily lives. But there's no need. It is organic learning, experiencing, living and they will retain and use and build on whatever is authentic and meaningful to them.
Authenticity begins young. I think we come into the world as authentic beings and our experiences during our formative years help to determine our connection to our authentic self. School age has gotten younger and younger, there are fewer recesses, more expectations, less time to play and be children. I would hazard a guess that all that this does is lead to delayed childhood, adults acting out their unfinished development in sometimes subtle, sometimes obvious ways.
Learning doesn't have to be compulsory and by making it so, we take the ownership of that learning away from our kids. As a society we tell them what to learn, when to learn it and how to learn it and if the schools' formula doesn't fit the child, too bad. Unschooling gives the ownership of learning back to the individual child. He/she seeks out what is interesting, stimulating, enjoyable. As a parent, I'm not a teacher, necessarily, but a facilitator, a guide, a partner in that learning. I try to provide a variety of resources and exposure to different things but I don't force them to learn anything or provide external motivation (ie: positive or negative reinforcement) for them to learn. I don't need to. All I need to do is open my eyes and my mind and see that they are learning every day, every minute. They are either learning from what they are experiencing in their physical world or they are learning from going inward, reflecting, imagining.
But I can't judge what they learn or the ways in which they learn because it is theirs and it is authentic to them. It is driven by them and I am there to support and nurture and validate their experience, not to create an experience for them that I think will result in their success or intelligence or whatever other expectation one might have. Sure, I want them to be successful out in the world but I don't define that success--they do. And above all, I want them to know themselves. That is the best education of all.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Authentic Me store at Cafe Press
Hey, check out my store for tshirts, mugs, etc. with original artwork: http://www.cafepress.com/AuthenticMe
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Hair
I cut my hair. Really short. Now, it's not the first time, but it' been awhile.
When my son was just a baby, which was 7 years ago now, I shaved my hair clean off with my husband's clippers after a botched attempt at a self-performed haircut. It was completely impulsive, but I remember grinning at myself in the mirror, thrilled by my own daring and tenacity. Doing something so bold felt good, gave me a sense of strength that I sometimes forget that I have. "Here I am", it screamed, "there's nothing to hide behind."
I kept my shaved/short hair for quite awhile but it's been years now and my hair had grown quite long. It was thin, tangled, coming out in places…I'd been considering cutting it for awhile, remembering how liberated I felt when it was short. Then that second voice in my head said, "You were younger then, thinner…you didn't need anything to hide your face behind". And indeed, in the 7 years that have passed since the first hair-shaving, I've nursed for 4 years, been pregnant for 9 months, suffered several major depressive episodes, put on weight and unschooled three children. And yes, it shows…in the lines in my face, in the somewhat puffiness under my eyes and in the wisps of grayish-whitish-silver that congregate at my scalp. I let those things convince me that my hair provided some sort of cover, that only fresh faces deserved to be seen, that I could hide the encroaching white hairs underneath the longer, brown ones on top.
But I've found myself feeling stronger lately…physically and emotionally. I've been doing yoga for several months and while I'm not as thin, toned or accomplished as some of my yoga peers, I have more upper-body strength than I ever had and more endurance than I imagined myself capable of having. I've accepted the unconventional child-raising methods I've chosen to use, accepted that we don't necessarily fit in the mainstream and accepted that I am truly human, perfect in my imperfection. I am valid. I am worth seeing.
So when we were all sitting around at our Fall Equinox party a few weeks ago, discussing the things we were wanting to let go, I mentioned my hair. Yes, it's just hair, but it's also representative of the past years of struggle, the weight of uncertainty of my choices, the fear of showing myself. My friend offered to give me a haircut, right then and there and after some convincing, I agreed.
"How short do you want it?" she asked me.
"Really short," I said, "I want it to be bad-ass."
She laughed, "Ellie, you're too soft to be bad-ass. But I'll do my best."
So the hair started coming off, inch by inch. At one point she stopped and stood back to look at me. Her eyes lit up and she said, "It's really cute!"
"I don't want cute," I told her soberly, "No cute."
She sighed and kept going. We went inside to take a look.
"Shorter," I said, after looking in the mirror.
One last round of cuts later and she stepped back again, surveying me.
"It looks like it was shaved and is just growing out. This is what you want."
I peered in the mirror. Indeed it was what I wanted. My hair was background noise, an afterthought to my face in all its lined, tired glory. But somehow, to me, I didn't look as tired anymore. My silver hairs looked like they belonged instead of being intruders on my otherwise youthful strands. The strength that I knew I had, seemed to now be more evident. I felt free.
Just as the trees lose their leaves in the fall, bringing one cycle to a close, I've dropped my hair. It feels like a fresh start…not a new me, but a more definitive me, a decidedly stronger me.
The friend who cut my hair has a 5 year old son. At the park recently, he told me that bad guys have short hair so now I looked like a bad guy. I took this as a great compliment. I've always had a softness, a tender look about me. You could call it innocence, femininity, vulnerability…all qualities that I possess, more at some points in my life than others. The addition of this other element, of strength, of "bad" was quite a boon. That five-year-old made my day.
That being said, it isn't the haircut itself that is bad-ass or strong--it's the act of cutting the hair off. It's the strength it takes to say, "I don't need this to be feminine". It's the courage to let the world see the evidence of my human struggles and victories on my face. And for me, it's being brave enough to drop the facade of "good" girl. I am caring, compassionate and kind but I am also fierce, opinionated and confident. And both sides are worth seeing.
When my son was just a baby, which was 7 years ago now, I shaved my hair clean off with my husband's clippers after a botched attempt at a self-performed haircut. It was completely impulsive, but I remember grinning at myself in the mirror, thrilled by my own daring and tenacity. Doing something so bold felt good, gave me a sense of strength that I sometimes forget that I have. "Here I am", it screamed, "there's nothing to hide behind."
I kept my shaved/short hair for quite awhile but it's been years now and my hair had grown quite long. It was thin, tangled, coming out in places…I'd been considering cutting it for awhile, remembering how liberated I felt when it was short. Then that second voice in my head said, "You were younger then, thinner…you didn't need anything to hide your face behind". And indeed, in the 7 years that have passed since the first hair-shaving, I've nursed for 4 years, been pregnant for 9 months, suffered several major depressive episodes, put on weight and unschooled three children. And yes, it shows…in the lines in my face, in the somewhat puffiness under my eyes and in the wisps of grayish-whitish-silver that congregate at my scalp. I let those things convince me that my hair provided some sort of cover, that only fresh faces deserved to be seen, that I could hide the encroaching white hairs underneath the longer, brown ones on top.
But I've found myself feeling stronger lately…physically and emotionally. I've been doing yoga for several months and while I'm not as thin, toned or accomplished as some of my yoga peers, I have more upper-body strength than I ever had and more endurance than I imagined myself capable of having. I've accepted the unconventional child-raising methods I've chosen to use, accepted that we don't necessarily fit in the mainstream and accepted that I am truly human, perfect in my imperfection. I am valid. I am worth seeing.
So when we were all sitting around at our Fall Equinox party a few weeks ago, discussing the things we were wanting to let go, I mentioned my hair. Yes, it's just hair, but it's also representative of the past years of struggle, the weight of uncertainty of my choices, the fear of showing myself. My friend offered to give me a haircut, right then and there and after some convincing, I agreed.
"How short do you want it?" she asked me.
"Really short," I said, "I want it to be bad-ass."
She laughed, "Ellie, you're too soft to be bad-ass. But I'll do my best."
So the hair started coming off, inch by inch. At one point she stopped and stood back to look at me. Her eyes lit up and she said, "It's really cute!"
"I don't want cute," I told her soberly, "No cute."
She sighed and kept going. We went inside to take a look.
"Shorter," I said, after looking in the mirror.
One last round of cuts later and she stepped back again, surveying me.
"It looks like it was shaved and is just growing out. This is what you want."
I peered in the mirror. Indeed it was what I wanted. My hair was background noise, an afterthought to my face in all its lined, tired glory. But somehow, to me, I didn't look as tired anymore. My silver hairs looked like they belonged instead of being intruders on my otherwise youthful strands. The strength that I knew I had, seemed to now be more evident. I felt free.
Just as the trees lose their leaves in the fall, bringing one cycle to a close, I've dropped my hair. It feels like a fresh start…not a new me, but a more definitive me, a decidedly stronger me.
The friend who cut my hair has a 5 year old son. At the park recently, he told me that bad guys have short hair so now I looked like a bad guy. I took this as a great compliment. I've always had a softness, a tender look about me. You could call it innocence, femininity, vulnerability…all qualities that I possess, more at some points in my life than others. The addition of this other element, of strength, of "bad" was quite a boon. That five-year-old made my day.
That being said, it isn't the haircut itself that is bad-ass or strong--it's the act of cutting the hair off. It's the strength it takes to say, "I don't need this to be feminine". It's the courage to let the world see the evidence of my human struggles and victories on my face. And for me, it's being brave enough to drop the facade of "good" girl. I am caring, compassionate and kind but I am also fierce, opinionated and confident. And both sides are worth seeing.
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