Baby Energy

When I sit down to write something I should write, I inevitably don’t write it. The beginning of a blog post about our glorious backpacking trip in the Sierra Nevada Mountains replete with 25-foot cliff jumping has been lingering in my open tabs for a week now. I felt a duty to report out on what it was like backpacking with a one-year-old. How starry the starry nights were. How I really did spend most of the trip in a patriotic tube top romper, in salute to Fourth of Julys past. I thought I must declare to the world that I achieved a life fantasy… hiking in 3 miles to swim in what seemed to be a secret lake that no one else knew about (ignoring the fact that there had been an article in the San Francisco Chronicle)—no—this lake was ours. At least for nearly the first two hours we were there. On the day we hiked out, it seemed a small community had decided to transplant there. I couldn’t really blame them. I also felt obliged to share about my own physical challenges. Having not backpacked since before my first ACL knee surgery, it felt good to get back out there. Though, of course only with my big brother by my side. So, yea. That was what I was going to write about.

This:

 And this:

And of course this:

But, now, after a week more of California living and pseudo-parenting, there is something else on my mind. Oliver, my 15-month-old nephew. Or more accurately, lessons learned from Oliver. Or still, to be more precise, a key lesson learned from Oliver. I fear this will be a trite post. One we have read before in wellness magazines with pictures of sunsets. One that comes from the wisdom of the Buddhist tradition that my writing could hardly begin to capture. Or maybe one I have even written before after walking along the Oaxacan coast. Still, learning this lesson from a baby somehow feels more poignant. Here it is.

All that matters, really, is right now.

Last April, a friend of mine at school shared a Native American tale with me that he had learned at his previous job. I am sorry to say I do not recall the exact origin of the idea/story and will likely not do it justice in my retelling, but it went something like this… each generation of people has a unique relationship with energy in this world. And we all need each other. Broken down into four distinct groupings. Infants are particularly good at letting go of energy. They do not hold grudges or hold onto excitement. They experience, may be perturbed for a minute or elated for a prolonged second, and then they move on. Adolescents are particularly good at putting energy into the world—they express and emote and create and go, go, go. Adults are good at holding onto energy. On the positive side, they can harness it into more efficient and effective ways of being. They also can bury it within, building deposits untapped. Elderly people are good at taking energy in. Receiving it from others. And the cycle goes on and on and on. This basic storyline has stuck with me since my friend shared it. And, especially now as I watch Oliver, and learn his way.

I have always been aware that babies get over sadness quickly. They hit their head, cry, and then see something shiny and forget their head was ever hit. But, I have also been caught by how babies also don’t hold on to their extreme excitement. Oliver will be on top of the world, arms flailing, laughter booming, tongue hanging wildly out of his mouth, and the next minute he will be in tears. I find myself frustrated at times that I can’t call on him to remember how just a minute ago we were having the best time of our lives together. That minute no longer matters to him. It has made me realize how much of my life with other adults in this world is built on the capital of shared experiences and nostalgic moments. That, we reminisce while we are in the moment, “We are having the best time right now, I can’t wait to post pictures of it on Facebook.” As if we experience the now in anticipation of our future feelings about this moment. Countless times I have thought about how great it will be to tell my children someday about the time I [backpacked around Europe, studied abroad, quit my job, fell in love, lived in California for the summer…]—never mind that I am not even in a relationship.

I am not advocating that we are wrong for holding on to the good so fiercely. But, I also know that we often discuss letting go of the bad, without realizing that maybe that skill of not holding on to the bad is the same skill of not being too attached to the good. That it is all about us controlling the now, taking it in and adding it to our life story—the narrative of the then, now, and future. I don’t think it is realistic to abandon that tendency. There is a lot of good that comes from the stories we create, the memories we make and hold on to and the warning signs we have come to know, understand and avoid. But, I also watch Oliver intently and see that there is something important that he knows and we all once knew. That presence. That surrender. That lack of worry about what your face looks like when you are just too happy or how dirty your knees get upon diving headfirst into a muddy puddle. That being over becoming. 

When I first arrived to California, I think I came with an expectation that Oliver and I would build so many great memories. That I would become his besssst friend. That each day would be more miraculous then the next. Then I realized, he is a baby. And, thus, all we have is the now, together. And some days he will pull in my face and give me a kiss, but it is best not to hold on too tightly to this as the new norm. Because shortly after he will be yanking my hair and then he probably will forget I exist. And all of that is just as it should be.

Because in Oliver’s world…all that matters, really, is now. Thanks for sharing your wisdom, little guy.

Summer Plans

Most people have their place of clarity. The place when whatever confusion was obscuring their mind is magically solved. For some, it is the shower. For others, hiking in the Rocky Mountains. For me, it is on my bicycle.  It is on top of my bicycle that I usually plan meals (or rather get inspired to take on ridiculous creative culinary adventures, usually for one). It is on top of my bike that I envisioned the beginning of this blog post. And it is on top of my bike where I made my most recent “big life decision.”

I was riding to Union Square from Harvard for my weekly acupuncture session. I know, that sounds bougie, but it really works to keep me healthy. Anyway, I was riding my bike thinking about my summer plans. This was nearing the end of May. My original plan was to graduate from Harvard at the end of May (with my Masters in Education for those who may not be totally up to date on my life happenings), and start a fellowship in the Bay Area two weeks later. I would pack up right away, drive to Cincinnati, throw a baby shower, fly to San Francisco, move in with Ben, Katy, and Oliver, and show up for my first day. As I rode and thought about the rapid changes ahead of me, I heard one of those inner voices say, “Do you have to do the fellowship?”

Huh. Hmmm. Interesting. So the thing is I got offered a really prestigious fellowship in March. I had gone through four rounds of interviews to get it (and even bought my first suit). And I of course wanted to live in the Bay Area for the summer to be with my family there. It made good sense to do it. Why wouldn’t I do it? I had not once considered not doing it until I was riding my bike that afternoon. I think part of why bike rides are a good time to face complicated matters is because all I am doing is pedaling. I can’t distract myself with Facebook or text a friend for input. It is just me and my thoughts and the road. So, the question hung for a second. I pedaled a bit more. And then the reasons for asking the question started rolling in.

 “I don’t feel done with my work here in Boston. I want to edit my papers down to be published and that would be easier if I can work with my professors here. I don’t have a good match organization at the fellowship yet, and I don’t want to spend my summer doing work that doesn’t speak to my soul. I might be able to continue working for the National Action Civics Collaborative (NACC) for the summer on a contractual basis. I am not ready to say bye to my friends here. I need more time to transition. I could still come to California for less time. Do I really need this fellowship when I already have a Harvard degree and am going on to Michigan Law? The fellowship will mean I can’t go on my family vacation in Minnesota and that I will work right up until I start law school…”

And then the part of me who had not even considered this question before spoke up, “Wait. But I want to live in California this summer. This is such a special opportunity to spend time with my nephew and be close to my brother and sister-in-law. The fellowship comes with a community and professional development opportunities. I haven’t had a real job in a long time—it would be good to get back into a routine. This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer. You don’t turn down things like this."

And then I got to acupuncture. With the needles in me, I shut everything off, and meditated…err fell asleep. All this to say, I listened to that question, talked to all my most trusted advisors, and ultimately decided to shift my plans. 

So, now I write this from Berkeley, California, sitting on a couch with my feet nestled into my sister-in-law’s side. I arrived here on Saturday night. We woke up Sunday and in typical Ben and Katy fashion, were off to the mountains for a glorious hike full of ocean views and Redwoods. While I am here, I am working as a consultant with NACC doing work I am passionate about for a cause I deeply believe in. I make my own schedule and will be able to go on our family vacation in Minnesota. To get to this place...

Terrible picture, but you get the point. We are a family. We hike.

I stayed in Boston a few extra weeks and was able to close out my time at school and with friends with as much peace as can be had (though I am still reeling a bit from leaving the side of my soul sister friend, Ari, who made my life in Boston so unbelievably rich). I may or may not have made the reservation for that dinner at a restaurant in a different city (I thought the name was Il Posto, it is actually just Posto...my bad).

Amazing goodbye dinner with wonderful friends

I took a two-day road trip with a friend from Boston to Cincinnati full of Subway sandwiches, New York camping, and waterfalls. 

Harvey was a trusted companion for the road trip

I spent a week in Cincinnati to drop off my stuff, go visit the Buffalo Trace Bourbon distillery with my brother Adam, his wife Meredith, and my Dad (worthy of its own blog post), have a moment on my Aunt's farm that is for sale and host a baby shower for my childhood best friend, Hilary.

Bourbon barrels

Aunt Kathy and Uncle Bill's farm

It was an elegant, evening affair

This isn't make-believe anymore

And now, here in Berkeley, we are enjoying the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) strike which has meant that Ben, Katy, and I have all been working from home, having gourmet breakfasts, lunches, and dinners together. Oliver and I are finding our rhythm. I know he really loves me because he can’t stop pinching me.

I am feeling lots of gratitude for bike rides, ah-ha moments, supportive family and friends, and the freedom to ride the unexpected waves of life. This is going to be a great summer. I have decided to pick back up the blogging, because as far as I am concerned, California is a different country. Thus, I am working abroad for the summer. That is the stuff of a good blog.