Moments in Mom-vana

December.

I have such a love/hate relationship with this month. When I was a kid, back in the day when my parents were still married and my family was all heavily involved in our church, and my sister and I were both still in grade school, December was always filled will goings-on. Days were filled with the Hanging of the Greens and school Christmas concerts and church pageants and candy making and delivering cookies to the fire stations and choir practices and Advent calendars and caroling and "light-seeing" and all of those many things that lead up to the magic that is a candlelit midnight Mass. I've always been incredibly moved by this season in the traditional church... there's something intangibly special about it.

But over the years, the magic has gotten buried in the hustle and bustle. Trying to be Mom and make the holidays as magical for my son as they were for me as a child seems dauntingly important and challenging in the face of adult responsibilities. The demands of school and work and running a household alone pull at me from all directions. The memories of so many heartbreaking events that happened somewhere around the holidays gnaw at my mind... we lost my grandmother, my soul mate, in January of 2004, and I still grieve for her, especially in light of the fact that our enormous, loud, warm, happy family gatherings have all but disappeared since she left us; my husband moved out in November of 2007; our divorce became final in December of 2008; next week marks the 3rd "anniversary" of my sexual assault.

So nowadays, December leaves me conflicted. Dark memories bite at the edges of my mind while I put effort into enjoying the sights and smells and sounds all around me. I put enormous amounts of pressure on myself to make my Munchkin's Christmas special (at age 8, he shows no signs of figuring out who Santa really is, so I am relishing this time while I still have it!). Combine that with the regular pressures of work, finals, housekeeping, etc., and the stress has really been getting to me the last week.

Last night, after I submitted my final paper (I still have a couple smaller assignments due, but that was the last big research assignment), we took a break and went into downtown Indianapolis. There was a Christmas street festival going on, and we thought we'd check out the arts vendors. At one end of the festival, a Catholic church had a live nativity in their parking lot, and were inviting people inside the building to warm up. It had been so long since I'd been in a big traditional church like that. We walked up the aisle to admire the ornate frescos on the walls and ceilings. Candles burned, the altar was covered with pine boughs and the purple tapestries of Advent, and the smell of incense filled the air. Small chapels containing prayer votives and even a few columbaria lined each side of the sanctuary. People milled about, some going about tasks, others just conversing softly.

But then a rather surreal moment began to unfold. As I reached the transept, the pipe organ roared to life. I briefly glanced back to see a choir assembling in the gallery behind me. As they began to sing, I turned forward again. A large creche adorned one side of the bay, an enormous Advent wreath lead up the steps to the altar, the ornately carved dark-wood sedilla sat surrounded by white poinsettias. My eyes took in every inch, memories of my childhood flooding back. I let my gaze travel up the buttresses and into the vault, upon which danced intricate angels painted in rich hues of blue, gold and purple. I was completely absorbed in the moment, so moved by the essence of the place in which I found myself, and the time of year. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I was suddenly filled with a peace I hadn't experienced for a long time. Every other person in the room disappeared, and I just stood there, face to the sky, crying, for what seemed like an eternity.

I don't know how long I stood in that moment of bliss. I gradually became aware of my surroundings again. I smiled at the homeless man who came up to say hello, though my tongue had no words for him or my companion. We walked silently back down the street, just taking in the lights and music. Eventually conversation about dinner and what-happens-next overtook the silence. But that moment of pure holy stayed with me for the rest of the evening.

So this morning, as I yawned myself awake, I let that feeling linger. Instead of jumping out of bed trying to see how much I could accomplish, I decided in that moment to take a different approach to my meditation practice, and just absorb the quiet. Before my mind became fully alert and started racing with to-do lists and homework assignments and fighting the crowds of holiday shoppers, I just let myself be. I was warm and safe in my bed, but more than that, my mind was quiet. I don't remember the last time I felt such a tranquility. Maybe it's the season. Maybe it's the memories of my grandmother nudging me to stop being so hard on myself. Maybe it's God. I'm not sure. But I have to say that this morning's "meditation" session was, by far, the most successful I've ever had.

Do you know that scene in "Eat Pray Love", where Liz is in the meditation room in the ashram of her guru in India, and she is struggling to clear her mind?

I feel like that just about every single time I sit down to practice.

My inner monologue always goes a little something like this:

Okay, I've got twenty minutes or so. Let's meditate. 
I should really change clothes. You're supposed to wear comfortable clothing. Where are my yoga pants? 

Okay, *NOW* I'm ready. Should I lay down? If I lay down I'll fall asleep. But if I sit in lotus position for too long, my feet will fall asleep and that will distract me. Maybe I'll just sit on the bed and prop myself up with pillows. Yeah, that's it. Okay. 

Clear your mind. Ommmmm...what was that noise? Oh, refrigerator. Okay. Ommmmm... am I allowed to say "om"? Does that make me look silly? I don't know if a beginner is supposed to say that. I wonder what "om" means, anyway? Maybe I need one of those meditation phrases like Liz talked about in "Eat Pray Love". What was hers again? Om namah shivaya? Something about honoring the divinity within... I'll have to look that up again... STOP IT, LINDSAY, FOCUS.

Okay... let's just sort of "mmm" for now. Silently. Right, okay. Mmmmmmmmm... when the thoughts come, just register them, and then push them away. Mmmmmmmmmm... speaking of registering, I've got to figure out next semester's cla...oh crap, push it away, it can wait... Mmmmmmmmm... Mmmmmmmmm... Was that my phone? Oooh, text message! Maybe I'll just... NO, it can wait. Focus! Mmmmmmmm..... Mmmmmmmmm...

And on and on, until I either fall asleep or get interrupted.

*sigh* Oh well. I'm trying. That's the important part, right? Not giving up?

I am impatient.

Not all the time. I can often be very patient, depending on the circumstance. But I find I am most impatient with myself when taking up something new. I see if when I don't excel in a new topic at school. I see it when I take on craft projects and they don't turn out perfectly the first time, or when they take longer than I anticipated and I start rushing to finish. I'm seeing it a lot right now at my new job, where - even though I seem to be doing a good job based on all the positive feedback I'm receiving - I'm still getting frustrated with myself for still having to say "I don't know" after just a short month.

And I'm seeing this in my meditation practice. It's only been a few weeks. Due to my hectic life, I've only been able to try and squeeze in meditation a handful of times. And yet, because I haven't become this zen, calm, focused person yet, I find myself becoming frustrated at my self-perceived "failures".

So, like anything else I would take on and need help with, I started searching for what I was doing wrong. The thought process was that I must obviously be doing something incorrectly, thus impeding my progress toward a more mentally balanced state. Right?

As it turns out, what I'm doing wrong is expecting too much too soon. In this piece by Matthieu Ricard, an author and Buddhist monk, he explains that we spend years learning to walk and talk and write or learn other skills, but we mistakenly expect to learn to quiet our minds and achieve balance in a fraction of that time. Research even suggests that even the "short-term" benefits of meditation may take up to eight weeks of regular practice to be realized.

And yet, here I am, beating myself up after about 6 weeks of intermittent practice. Thus showing my impatient side again.

I think I need to realize that I am still very much at the beginning. That the moments I do steal for some quiet contemplation are a gift to myself, no matter how small. And that it's going to take a great deal longer to make the headway that I've been seeking when it comes to "finding my zen".

I feel guilty. I haven't practiced meditation at all this week. At least, not formally. This is part of my big hang up with any sort of spiritual thing I try to take on... I don't get around to it, for whatever reason, and then I feel guilty. I have joked (lovingly) for years that I should have been born either Catholic or Jewish, for the amount of guilt I place on myself for a host on reasons, both real and imagined.

It's not that I don't want to. I am just struggling right now. I just started this new job. I'm engaged in yet another mental, financial, and emotional battle with my ex-husband over parenting and child support issues. I left my home church about a year ago when they started teaching my son things that I could not allow (i.e. intolerance toward homosexuals, etc.), and I've felt lost and disconnected ever since, missing that community. I've been battling some health issues as well, which are getting better, and yet it's tiresome. I get tired of being a single mom. I get tired of struggling to give my autistic son everything he needs to be successful, all the while arguing with my ex-husband who doesn't believe the doctors about our son's diagnosis. I get tired of choosing homework over time with my baby (okay, he's not really a baby anymore), and I get tired of choosing between eating and showering, sleeping and cleaning. Some days I just want to give up on school all together and just go back to the way things were.

But I know that's not the solution. I know that my son needs to see me finish my education. I know that he needs to see me setting a real-life example of working hard to accomplish a goal and a dream, no matter how long it takes. I know that I need this for myself - that after taking eleven years to figure out what I wanted to do with my life and that I actually did want to get an education, that it's too late to look back now. That waiting another 10 or 14 years until my son finishes school is only detrimental to me, and gains nothing for either of us. So I keep pushing forward, even when I don't feel like it.

Do you suppose a night with one's girlfriends could be seen as a form of meditation? I can see it as stress relief, sure. Or how about a couple of hours spent with a mentor of sorts? I'm still sorting out what the definition of meditation is for me. In a very rare instance, I had the time this weekend to both visit my grandfather and get together with my best girlfriends for a few hours. Being busy with kids and jobs, my girlfriends (who all live about 35 minutes away) and I only have the chance to get together a few times a year, so last night was nice. But the two hours prior spent with my grandfather touched a very special place in my heart.

I grew up in the American Episcopal church. It's where my grandparents went, where my mother was raised. My family went there until my parents divorced when I was 15, and I continued attending until I was in my 20's. I got away from it somewhat, finding a different church that had more kid's programming and a more modern worship service, but the traditional liturgy still touches a deep spiritual place in me. I knew that my grandfather had, years ago, studied for the deaconate, and later decided it wasn't right for him. Yesterday, when I stopped by to help him with a computer issue, I mentioned my world religions class, and my planned trip with a Buddhist friend to the local Tibetan Buddhist monastery. He seemed surprisingly pleased. This opened the door to a conversation I never expected to have with him. He told me about his belief in God - though he sees what we call "God" as the "Architect of the Universe" - a force, a spirit, that's too big for us to understand, that spreads across all time and space and religions. He told me all about his lifelong religious studies, his time as a chaplain, the languages he has learned... it was truly fascinating. I have always admired and respected my grandfather - at 85, he has lived a truly incredible life, having run away from his Canadian home as a teenager, served in both the US Army and Royal Canadian Air Force - first as an MP and later as intelligence, survived the Great Depression and two wars, suffered the loss of his parents and most of his siblings, raised a family, buried a wife. But all this time that I've been lost, seeking spiritual truth beyond our Anglican traditions, feeling somewhat existentially trapped in the "White Christian Midwest", wondering if I was the only one out there to identify as someone whose beliefs don't jive with any one specific faith... I found a kindred spirit in this man who, all along, has been spiritually progressive and open-minded well before his time. He seemed somewhat surprised and proud of me for being open-minded to other beliefs and philosophies. It would seem that both of us discovered something about the other yesterday in that short visit: he had no idea of my spiritual journey of the last few years, and I found a peace and comfort in knowing that the man I would probably consider the spiritual patriarch of my family understood me in a way I never would have imagined.

I may not have meditated this week. And I may not get to it yet tonight, as I still have homework to finish up before midnight. But I gained a wealth of peace - and memories - instead. And that's pretty priceless.

"Habit is habit, and not to be flung out of the window by any man, but coaxed downstairs a step at a time." ~ Mark Twain

My attempts at delving into meditation are, sadly, not progressing as quickly as I had hoped...first and foremost because I have barely had any time to stop moving over the last two weeks.

On the 11th, I left  my job. This was a good thing - the situation there, in the midst of a merger, was deteriorating rapidly, and was harshly affecting morale. I was lucky to find another opportunity before I got laid off. But that left me in a transition period of trying to clean things up and finish things out - an obsessive perfectionist, I couldn't bear the idea of leaving anything undone, thereby hoisting it off on whomever was left behind. I also have a severe sense of loyalty, such that even though I disliked the position I was in and my direct supervisor, and even though I knew the position was ending shortly, and even though I knew I was heading to a dream job, I had a hard time making myself walk away.

A few short hours later, my friend and I were in the car and headed to Florida for his sister's wedding where he was serving as a groomsman and I was photographer. A 16-hour drive down, rehearsal dinner, a whirlwind wedding day/night, a day of family activities, and then an 18-hour drive home... we arrived home at 2:30 a.m. on Wednesday, and I started my new job a short 5 hours later. Working and sleeping absorbed the rest of the hours between then and now.

So, obviously, I haven't had much time to just sit and be still. I did take along my guided meditation podcasts and tried a couple of times to relax and listen with headphones in the car. But between getting caught in crazy traffic and it being the first quasi-vacation I've had in about 12 years, I was just too distracted.

I finally got some quiet time this morning. I didn't do the guided meditation this time, though. I put on some soft instrumental music, poured a hot cup of coffee, and just sat - eyes closed - basking in the warm morning sun pouring in through the patio door. It was short-lived... kids and dogs always need attention. But the sun was warm on my face, and just those few moments of quiet, still sleepy and thus not really letting my brain focus on anything yet, felt good. I have read that there is no right or wrong way to meditate; if that's true, I believe I may keep up my "Sunday morning coffee and sunshine" practice. It's a good way to start a weekend day.

Mom.

Single mom.

College student.

Special needs mom.

Any of those titles would lend itself to describing an inordinately busy person with lots of associated stress. But, I come from a long line of stubborn, and my momma always told me to never "half-ass" anything you set out to do. So, it would stand to reason that I would choose to tackle on the monumental task of going back to school after getting divorced and trying to raise a child with PDD-NOS on my own.

But don't go getting any ideas about me being a superwoman. I beat myself up all the time for not being remarkably exceptional at all of my roles. I'm my own worst critic. But when my ex-husband left, it gave me a burning desire to outsmart all of the stereotypes and logic about what ill fates await the son of a single mom. Determined to not just create a better life for us, but also to show my son through my own actions how important an education is, and how to tackle obstacles to achieve dreams in life, here I am.

As you can imagine, my life is crazy. Even good days are hectic. Any down time usually finds me doing something mind-numbing in order to allow my brain a rest. I often lament about needing to reduce my stress, about needing to find a way to organize my thoughts and pull myself back together, as lack of sleep and a never-ending To-Do List are the hallmarks of my life right now.

I've recently been seeing lots of articles like this one that show, time and time again, that one common trait of highly successful people is meditation. I've been on a spiritual journey of my own for some time now, so I had been toying with the idea of trying it out, so this class assignment came along at a perfect time.

Or did it? My busy mind hasn't been able to seem to focus in prayer for several months now. Trying to muddle through an acquisition at work (on which side we were not on the winning team) and dealing with a very difficult boss and discovering some health problems has put my brain in overdrive; even quieting it to sleep at night sometimes requires intervention in the way of melatonin, muscle relaxers, wine...or simply laying in the dark playing solitaire on my phone until I fall asleep, phone-in-hand. So how am I supposed to meditate?

But I figured I'd give it a try. If it's good enough for Oprah and Arianna, then it couldn't hurt me, right?

I decided to start out simply, with a little assistance. I know my mind wanders lately in prayer, so I thought guided meditation might be more helpful to get started. I downloaded some guided meditation podcasts from The Meditation Podcast. For my first time, I retreated to a quiet bedroom (my son happened to be camping with the Cub Scouts this weekend), locked the dogs and cats out, and settled in on the bed. I started in a seated yoga-like position, but eventually just ended up more comfortably leaning back on the pillows. Beginning at the beginning, I turned on "Episode 1: A Basic Meditation", and settled in.

I have to say, I rather impressed myself this time. My mind did start to wander a couple times, but I was more able to just let the thoughts drift by rather than getting focused on them. Toward the end, I started to feel a bit restless: "Geez, how long IS this thing? I thought it was only 20 minutes...surely it's been more like 45!" But I stuck with it, trying to simply focus on my breathing. I kept mentally reminding myself that there was nothing going on that couldn't wait 20 minutes. When the time was up, I did feel pretty relaxed (or, at least, for me). The immediate thing I noticed was that, when I went back to reading my textbook later, I felt more able to concentrate, and that I was retaining the information better.

I think I will enjoy trying out this practice. I'm going to attempt to get in 1-2 sessions per week; I know that if I try to commit to more, I won't be able to follow through, at which point I will get frustrated with myself and probably quit altogether. But I figure if I can get in just a few minutes to myself at least once a week, I'll be the better for it. And that's probably good for everybody in my life as well. Like Grandma always used to say, "If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!"