Maui Jen

Wakes up to the ocean,
dreams only of happy, swirling sea turtles.
Shreds on a boogie board,
eats the ocean,
floats with her face toward the sun.
Spoiled with never-ending showers;
her hair most comfortable swirled on the top of her head.
A clear mind,
full of life,
she is where her feet are.
Even her toes find freedom outside the Jeep window.
Ready for adventure and pukes on the rafting tour.
Maui Jen, she’s so zen.

Kauai Ry

Two buttons undone on his Hawaiian polo,
he saunters with red dirt beneath his feet.
He takes control of the Jeep,
brings “summer to winter”.
His favorite place to be:
lost at sea with nothing but his snorkel and fins.
He smells like salt and Sun Bum.
Hands in the air;
when not holding a Mai Tai.
Goes commando,
friendly with chickens,
unbothered.
Kauai Ry; he’s my guy.

The Missing App

A stolen moment of freedom spent on the porcelain throne.
“Hey babe, can you watch the kids? I’ll be back in a ‘minute’ ”.
I take off down the habitual rabbit hole of time well wasted; checking in on that complete stranger to see if she had her baby yet.
Gmail →  Instagram → Facebook.
Something’s missing.
Where’s that app I really need.
The one that guides and predicts my day:

For dinner tonight cook this.
Here are directions to the path of least resistance;
to the path of most enjoyment.
Reminder: don’t pick that battle.
Coura needs to be held 20% more today.
A weird rash analysis.
Toddler not listening? Say this instead of that.

An app that knows for sure: everything is going to be okay today.
So I can let go of my worries and find joy without hesitation. 
Check in to my abundant reality.

I guess I don’t need an app for that.
Time to shit or get off the pot.

Borrowed Time

In talking with a friend about her friend’s near death experience, I asked, with a misplaced chip on my shoulder, “I wonder what he plans to do with his borrowed time?”

The words left my lips and immediately made a swift u-turn, staring at me blankly in the face.  

Ah, right.

We’re all on borrowed time. We’re all on God’s schedule, lucky to even have these thoughts and breathe this breath. 

Even distant stories of death or illness have a way of slamming us into our shoes of the present moment with a clear map for how to live. This phenomenon gives way to a little dance I’m always practicing – finding the balance between carpe diem and everyday to-dos. Acknowledging death and feeling safe in the world.  Loving myself, my daughters, my husband and my family with a whole heart of love, rather than a heart motivated by fear. Holding death at the forefront, not as a stressor, but as a way to stay in alignment with priorities and timetables.

As a mom, I often forget that having fun and leading with happiness is a serious option for how to live my life. Choosing fear and anxiety can feel safer, but it’s merely a facade for my misguided mind. With every moment of practice and intention, my armor of lighthearted joy is getting stronger; a much better fit. 

So the question is: what am I doing with my borrowed time?

More of these things: boogie board, forgive, feel my daughter’s cheek on mine, pay attention, listen to what feels true to me.

And less of these things: hold resentments, judge, feed anxious thoughts, listen to what I’m “supposed to be doing”. 

 

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean–
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

What I Used to Think

“You can turn over every stone on Earth and still not find what you’re looking for.” 

I used to think I’d find myself in the color of my hair, or the clothes I’d wear; the number of piercings in my ear. 

The friends I’d make, the boys I’d kiss, the jobs I’d win; how fast I’d fly down the track. 

“Just be yourself!” they’d say. 

I looked everywhere; couldn’t seem to find her anywhere. 

Until these days, when what I used to think isn’t working out so well for me anymore. 

If someone asked me now, I’d say:

I’ll find myself right where I’m standing, in whatever shoes I’m wearing, in the voice I hear that’s both mine and the Divine. 

In the sea and the trees, a deep breath of love, in things that glitter on the inside. 

A me that doesn’t don’t fade, leave or scar; whole without even trying. 

I’ll still turn over every stone and travel the Earth, but seek only accessories to the real me.