31 March 2009
Lucid, I read it at first glance. I know that one. It means clear; easy to understand. Not in this case, actually. Not at all. This is not a typo. This is not a word I've come across before. The word indeed is LUDIC.
ludic \LOO-dik\, adjective: Of or relating to play; characterized by play; playful.
The kids and I walked to a particular park on a particularly pleasant morning a few weeks back. I'm not sure what came over me, but I did something I've never done in my five-plus years as a parent: I played. I mean I slid down the slide, climbed up nets and poles, scaled ropes and swung from the monkey bars with my belly button showing. I played. My kiddos were flabbergasted. They weren't sure what to make of it. Neither was I.
You see, I have spent so much time soul-searching, digging deep and pressing in - dealing and healing, seeking and searching over the last few years. It has been good, VERY good. But somewhere along the way I lost my ability to play.
I have cultivated efficiency. I am effective. I am the master multi-tasker. I am peaceful and profound in thought, action and deed. I am content to learn, to grow, to create and to clean. I love to run and to rollerblade, to hike and to sit in the sun. I love to read and to write and to spend time with the people whom I love. I love pedicures, sipping tea and sitting in silence. I am thrilled to experiment with good food in my kitchen and even more, I like to eat it. I appreciate quality and depth and color and flavor. I delight in these things. I get these things, but sit me down with some action figures, and I am at a loss. Where are the crafts and learning toys? I silently wonder.
Somewhere down the road, I misplaced my ability to watch a movie without folding laundry concurrently. Come to think of it, I can't actually recall the last time I saw a movie. But my kiddos - my avatars - are clearing the path, lifting my veil and helping me to see. And as I have searched myself and seen myself, as I have considered my worth and my place and my desires, as I have pursued peace, simplicity, creativity and the kingdom without clarity and with abandon, a funny thing has happened. Modeling clay, board games, Kung Fu Panda and paper airplanes have pushed their way into my days, and I have rediscovered the joys of a soccer ball.
In my free time of late, I have test ridden and subsequently dreamed about a road bike, sketched at a coffee shop, lost myself in an art museum and walked to the park without plans, reading material or packed lunches. I have played, and it has been good. Damn good.
Now 25 years after I became a grown up, I am learning to appreciate the art of ludic living, and what do you know? Lucidity. The kingdom is becoming clearer.
17 March 2009
You dive in, you hit a high note, you step into the unknown, and it resonates. It just feels right. With little but your heart to fall back on, you make another move, and somewhere down deep... a song. Just to be sure you take another step. Harmony. You strike a chord.
The sweetest song. I love that. Thank you.
This morning I had a revelation: I love socks. I've never really given them much thought before. But today, I do declare, I love socks.
After 10 years in California, they eventually eluded me. There was that year and a half after I got married that I literally didn't wear shoes - just flip flops. Not sure why, I just didn't. But as I've moved on and grown up, slowly, surely, socks have made their way back into my life. This morning, I stepped into one of my favorite pairs, and I swear I heard wind chimes and birds.
Socks are awesome. They are all snuggly and cozy and soft and warm. They cradle and keep my weathered feet. You've seen the best and the worst of my feet. Regardless of their state or my own, they hold me and hug me and love me and make me smile.
I love them.
And I love springtime and sunshine and sisters and sushi and soup... and all manner of things that happen to start with S.
There go those birds again.
12 March 2009
A simple, silent, random act of kindness. Of thoughtfulness. Utterly perfect and profound. You know me and I, you. Ah, to know and to be known, it is sweet. You have blessed me. You have blessed me, and I thank you. Your gift arrived at just the right time on just the right day for just the right place, wrapped in just the right color. To know and to be known... ah, so sweet.
You listened. You heard. You gave, and I thank you. I thank you.
You surprised me and moved me and warmed my insides and my face with wet, wonderful tears. You fortified my faith and my family, you nourished my soul and inspired me to give as you have given. You have incited my heart to push forward and to press in - to give to another and then to another and then to another. I thank you.
Oh, if we all stilled ourselves and listened and loved as you have loved. What a wonderful, warm and bright world this would be. It will be. I promise I will not let your gift stop here. I will work and till and sow this seed in rich soil. And it will bear fruit, bushels and bushels of sweet, splendid fruit. And you, my sister, will reap a bountiful harvest. Ten times tenfold, my mysterious and magical sister.
You have blessed me, and I thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
10 March 2009
I look in Maya’s eyes and I see beauty and brown and love. I see creativity and curiosity. I see promise and potential. I see my mom, my in-laws… myself. Every once in a while, I’ll catch a glimpse of my husband or my granddaughter, and my heart will flutter. I feel love and at the same time I feel loss. I feel sweetness and sadness at once. Sometimes, I feel responsible, overwhelmed, ill-equipped and insufficient. She has questions, and I’m not sure if I have the answers.
The truth is that I also have questions. I have a lot of questions. I needn’t look any further than my own reflection or the pictures of my sleep to see that they are there. I hear faint whispers calling my name. “Abimbola, come. Maya Grace, come. Come.”
Martina, or Katrina, or whatever her name is, and so many others have gotten me thinking. I look around and within and I want to know.
I heard recently that the only way to get answers in life is to start asking the right questions. I’m not sure what those questions are, but I am willing to ask. I want to know… Do you?
I am embarking on a journey, and I’d like you to come with me. I’m not exactly sure where it will take me – or you – but I am certain that this is one race neither of us can run alone. Will you join me? I’d love your company, as well as your thoughts, your insight, your feedback and your perspective along the way. Perhaps together we will unearth the questions.
If you will help me or you would like to accompany me or you are at least curious, please email me at email@example.com , and I will fill you in on the details. Feel free to invite others – your mother, your daughter, your grandmother, your granddaughter, your sister or your friends – to join us. Who knows what we will find.