This Blogger Has Moved

I've moved my family to Washington.
I've moved my writing to treesandespresso.blogspot.com
See you there,
Jesica

Last Ride In...

I took that last ride in a few days before getting in the car and heading north to Washington State. It was a beautiful SoCal afternoon, my family was in town for the holidays and I felt like I had all the time in the world. When I got out of the water, I didn't want to go home, so I sat on my board and looked at the water for one last time. And cried and cried.

I cried because I knew I'd miss the ocean.  But I also cried because I realized why the ocean had meant so much to me during these last few years in LA. I hated my fucking life.

I loved my husband. I loved my kids. I loved my friends. I loved the weather, the mountains, the yoga, the  produce, the open-minded people and the sky at sunset. And still, I hated the grind: the sense of barely keeping my head above water financially and the effort it took just to get by. I hated the speed, the constant busy-ness and, as another emigrating friend recently put it, "the constant reminders of the life I could have had if I hadn't made so many mistakes."

As I sat there on the beach, I felt like I'd been ground down and sanded like a block of wood. In my despair, I grew concerned I'd lost something along the way:  the belief that life could be other than a constant struggle to heroically rise above my circumstances.

I write these words from University Place, Washington, a small town east of Tacoma. This will be the last entry of "Surf, Pray, Love" and we will end on a cliff hanger...

What will happen? Will I make the shift I hope to make - from my stressed out, urban lifestyle to one that is  connected to the outdoors, spiritually nurturing and grounded in community? Will Brian get a more challenging, better-paying job and enjoy the crafts-centered life he seeks? Will Trinity's health improve and will she chill the fuck out? And will Ashton emerge unscathed - and even stronger and happier -  from the transition?

Tune in to my upcoming, as of yet untitled blog, for these answers and more.

Love,
Jes

I Love Forests, I Love Espresso & I Love My Mom

I began my surfing journey because I wanted to change my life. I wanted expansion and ecstasy, bliss and transformation, and I wanted it without having to leave my family or my life. I wanted to challenge the fantasy of narratives such as 'Eat,Pray,Love, ' in which a woman's nirvana is achieved through great distance, expense and solitude. I wanted happiness, not a divorce. And I wanted to surf.

Have I achieved what I set out for? I have.

I'm particularly aware of it right now because, in the topsy-turvy reality that's been my life lately, the tumbler has finally set. I'm not going to graduate school. I'm going to Tacoma, Washington. And I'm taking the family with me.

This is a wonderful outcome. I love journeys with undetermined outcomes. I love forests. I love espresso and I love my mom.This adventure will involve all of these. What it will not necessarily involve is surfing. Mountain biking? I hope so. But surfing? I've had to take many deep breaths to say to myself calmly, "Not likely." (Though "surf vacation" has become my new mantra).

When I began this blog, I had no idea it would come to such a natural conclusion. And yet here I am, in the final chapter (if not the final post) with the end in sight. I'm already planning my next blog "Bike, Love, Pray", "Hike, Love, Pray"? It's not quite clear.

I may just call it "Relocate, Love, Pray" and leave it at that.

Either way, the journey will continue even though the surf sessions may not. Stay tuned.

Surfing in the Rain

Random Beach Photo. All my cameras are broken and I didn't want to bring my friend's loaner to the beach  today.

It's been almost a month since I went surfing and even longer since I posted to this blog. Incredible though it seems, I'd even forgotten that I had a blog until I read this post by my friend Lindsay Gallagher, about why she had't posted to her  blog for too long a time.

On the one hand, the days have been getting shorter and colder. Holiday festivities have been underway. Colds have been running rampant. And none of it has been making me want to get in the water. On the other hand, I've  been feeling cranky, hopeless and despairing.

Any connection to not surfing? I had to find out.

When I checked this morning's Venice Beach Surf Report, it said conditions were poor. I could see the evidence (no waves) on the live camera feed. But, struggling against inertia and a natural desire to be warm, I put my board on the wagon and drove to the beach anyway.

It was raining when I arrived and it was only the presence of two ten year old boys suiting up in the parking lot that made me push on. I wasn't going to wuss out if they weren't.

It turned out that there were waves. They were small but perfect, and I caught more of them than I can remember in a long time. And I got to enjoy something available to relatively few people in the world.

I bobbed on a surfboard  in the middle of the water and watched raindrops speckling the surface around me. Under silvery gray light, I saw the sky reflected in waves like abstract photograph negatives. And I felt the peacefulness of pelicans and gulls soaring above me.

Mood check? Much better.

I'm 42 and Full of Gratitude and Appreciation

My wise friend Polly recently informed me that Abraham Hicks makes a distinction between being "grateful" and being "appreciative." "Gratitude" (she paraphrased) implies a comparison with something that is not, but that could be.

I've always had a difficult time with gratitude. That's probably because it's so often used in the context of "things could be worse" AND it usually has a "should" in front of it.  The word "gratitude" makes me remember my Grandma Etta scolding me when I got a birthday gift I didn't like. "You should be grateful..." she would have said, shaking a sharp finger, "some little girls don't even get gifts on their birthday."

(And then they have to walk two miles barefoot in the snow just to go to school, etc. etc.)

As adult as I strive to be, I can still be caught rolling my eyes (inwardly) every time Oprah or some other well meaning person recommends a "Gratitude journal" or some such exercise in giving thanks. But I didn't even realize it until Polly said she'd been practicing appreciation instead. So I tried it too.

Ahh!!! Appreciation! What a way to honor the divine! What a way to get high! What a way to spend a birthday weekend!

Appreciation. It's like smoking the good kind of weed that makes you see the tiniest, most amazing detail in every single thing. Appreciation of the smell of ramen noodles coming from a blue plastic bowl. Appreciation of my daughter's soft voice talking to herself while she plays with clay. Appreciation of my husband for going out to buy bagels for me on my birthday.

Appreciation. It's endless. It's euphoric. And, in my book, it's got gratitude beat by a mile.

After surfing today, I placed my booties on the surf wagon to take a picture. It had been cold enough to wear them, which signaled a definite change of seasons here in "seasonless" LA. True to my blissed-out self, I left them on the roof when I drove away. Two blocks down the street, a car behind me honked  frantically. Then the driver leaned out her window "I think a shoe fell off your roof," she said.

I turned the car around, and there was a man standing in the street, enthusiastically waving my bootie. I pulled up and he handed it to me.  "You are all so BEAUTIFUL!" I beamed and smiled uncontrollably. "Thank you!"

I was so appreciative.  Of everything.

Being Here Now

I've made it a point not to criticize my surfing  and I've grown a lot from giving up the habit of saying "I suck." However, the truth has been that I've watched many a beginner - man, woman and child -  stand up on their board their first time out, when it took me more than a year to do the same. So, even though I gave up saying "I suck," I still couldn't help noticing and then scratching my head in puzzlement.

But, eventually, I was standing - not as much as I'd like, but standing nonetheless - and figuring out what I had been doing wrong that I now was doing right. From the beginning, it was clear that it had to do with my legs and how I placed my weight backwards, instead of forwards. Next it became clear that - due to many years of ballet plies - I wasn't squatting properly.

And then - with the help of a friend who is a seasoned yoga instructor - I got the guidance I'd been seeking. Sonya showed me how to properly distribute my weight and build up the leg muscles that had been long overlooked in my ballet and yoga training. After less than  a week of practicing the exercises she gave me, I can already feel certain muscles strengthening and certain tendons lengthening.

Aside from its potential for altering my stance on a surfboard, this new posture is altering my stance in the world and the very way I relate to the ground beneath my feet. For as long as I can remember, I have rarely felt "connected" to the earth. Instead, I've felt spacey and as if I  might float away. Since I've been focusing on strengthening my adductor muscles and turning my feet straight ahead of me - instead of balletically outwards - I feel  more grounded and HERE.

Again and again, surfing teaches me not to underestimate the degree to which our bodily experiences impact our experience of life in general. Our body is not separate from our mind and not separate from our spirit, so how our bodies feel -  limber, tight, stressed, relaxed, strong, weak, turned inward, turned outward - has a profound affect on how we feel psychologically, emotionally and spiritually. Though the connection may not always be as apparent as it's been for me recently, it's always there.

If you pay attention.

True Love

Photo by  Meaghan Miller Lopez AMMA Photography

That's me, totally loving my surf board. I was walking past it and I couldn't resist giving it a big 'ole hug.
It's brought me so far in the last year or so. It's provided me with a dream come true - riding the waves - standing up (!) - and I'm sure inspired me in my latest adventure-to-be.

If all goes well, in January, 2012, I'll be going back to school. Grown-up school.

Ashton will be in pre-school, Trin will be...we don't know yet what Trin will be doing...and I will be studying for a Masters Degree in counselling psychology with a specialization in treating trauma.

I started surfing because after years of training in other people's versions of personal transformation, I wanted to pursue my own version. I wanted to become something - someone - I never thought I could be. 

On the one hand, I had hoped surfing would turn me into someone completely different. Someone who never gets upset about the small stuff. Someone who never yells at the kids, or gets completely worked up when things don't go her way. I thought it would erase all the things I couldn't stand about myself and make me totally mellow and super "cool." It didn't do that.

But surfing has provided me with more joy than I've known in a long time. It has restored me to myself and made me more of myself than I can remember being. It's made me young again in some ways and also grown me up. And it's made me more capable of dealing with the things that really matter.

I'm so glad I'm doing it. It's one of the great love stories of my life.

First Times Cont'd...

1) Friday afternoon I arrived in Santa Monica at around 3 o'clock. The sun was brilliant (a theme in this blog),  the air was warm. And, I realized, the water probably was too, after this week's crazy mid-October heat wave. By that time, I was already on the beach but I stripped off my wet suit and - inspired by a cute bikini-clad mermaid in the waves -  went into the water with only my bathing suit. No rash  guard. No board shorts.  A first.

2) The water was unusually flat, but the afternoon sun sparkled brilliantly on the surface. It was glittery and gorgeous. There were few waves but there sure was a lot of beauty. When I saw the water level drop and rise to announce an approaching wave, I paddled like hell. It was a miss but the water was warm and I didn't mind getting dunked. I climbed back on my board and blissfully stared out at the beautiful vista, considering myself very blessed. I smiled at the lone surfer on my right who was looking straight at me.

Then I saw it. After he did, apparently.

My right breast. Glistening in the sun. There's a reason why girls like me should wear rash guards.

3) I saw something else, too. A strange cloud in the distance. Like smoke from a fire rising up from the horizon. I watched as it approached and eventually enveloped and surpassed me. It was fog. What had been a sunny day turned gray and cool within minutes, all while I sat on my board. When I turned around, I couldn't even see the guard tower thirty yards away. I had never seen that before.

Another first.

Tired

I didn't go surfing this morning. And I didn't go to yoga class before I didn't go surfing. I stayed in bed while Brian took Ashton to the park to practice Kung Fu. I slept in.

Because I was tired.

Every night I put my kids to bed. And every night, around four a.m., Ashton crawls into my bed and kicks me. It's not an aggressive kind of kicking, just a continual thrusting motion with his legs. He also grabs at my breasts and generally gets all over, under and to the side of me. Trinity sometimes gets in bed with us too. She doesn't kick. But she scratches and it makes a hollow fingernails-on-a-drum-head sound that is maddening.

One thing I've noticed about mothers is that we often feel tired but don't understand why. And then we feel guilty because we don't feel like doing the things we told people we would do. Or  because we have a hard time getting going in the morning. Or because it took us two hours to get the kids out of the house and into the car, when it shouldn't have been such a big deal.

But those nearly invisible sources of exhaustion add up and whittle away at our energy levels and our executive functions.

So I slept in this morning and enjoyed the sensation of being touched by no one, kicked by no one, and interrupted by no one. Even with the giant pee stain Ashton left in my mattress after wetting the bed at 5 this morning.

Courage

There's a lot of talk about courage in my family right now.

Yesterday, Brian and I went to see a movie called "Finding Joe" which explores the ideas contained within Joseph Campbell's "Hero's Journey." To be a hero, of course, one must have courage. But what is courage?

For Brian, it has required courage to be a father. Being a father was something he thought he could never, probably would never, do. Still he does it and the very attempt is making him a hero.

For Trinity, right now, it requires courage to take her daily dose of Chinese herbs - herbs which, we are told, have a very good chance of making her well. She told me today  that it will also require courage for her to be well, because being "sick" (with severe chronic eczema and allergies) is all she has ever known. For her to be well will require her to be a hero.

For me, surfing has required courage, of course. There's the courage it takes to face a big wave (sometimes I wuss out) and the courage it takes to awkwardly wipe out  in front of people who are better surfers than I am.

But what requires even more courage than surfing is being broke. My adult life has been a twenty-year roller coaster between heights of adequacy (sometimes abundance) and depths of scarcity. In the past, I would always take the lean times as a sign that I was on the wrong path. So, along with being strapped, during these periods I would also undertake a frantic search for something I should be doing differently.

For the first time in my life I am able to say, without doubt, that I am not on the wrong path. But I'm/we're broke again, anyway. So I'm standing in a new space, saying to myself that "just because the money isn't there, that doesn't mean I'm doing the wrong thing."

For me, THAT is courage. And I believe it will make me a hero. At least to myself.

I Dub Thee...

Last Sunday it was sunny, the water was warm, the waves were perfect and all was right with the world (actually, all is always right with the world, it's just that we're often unable to see it that way).

Because I surf much better when I've done yoga earlier in the day, or have gone for a run before getting in the water, I brought my sneakers to the beach. I ran for about fifteen minutes and then grabbed my board. The 310 Surf Chics were there and though the water was crowded, the vibe was friendly.

The great thing about being a beginner surfer is the opportunity for so many "firsts" and "bests." Well, Sunday was the first time I caught a wave, dropped in, stood up and rode it all the way to shore. So it was also the best wave I ever caught. By far. It was a sweet little thing, but I was enjoying it so much that I was almost on the sand when I realized I was gonna have to jump off at some point.

So I fell forward. Or backward. I can't remember. Either way, I knew I was falling the way you're not supposed to fall when you jump off your board in shallow water. I knew, because I'd recently eavesdropped on a surf lesson for beginners (see above photo) and I heard the instructor say something about it.

When I fell, I ended up under less than a foot of water. But before I could get up, I felt a hard rap on the head. It was my board. It's foam, so it wasn't that bad, but still...it made an impact. The board rung me like a bell and to get those vibrations out of my body, I found myself "shaking it off."  It was the only way to recover from being so "stunned" and I experienced first-hand that the body needs to discharge energy in order to recover from a trauma.

Afterwards, I considered why this had happened.

From a Mechanical point of view, I knew that, obviously, I had fallen in the wrong direction. But then I looked at it Mythologically. And laughed.

Neptune, King of the Ocean, had seen my victorious wave. And when it was done, he gently tapped me on the head with my board and dubbed me...a Surfer.

Surfing As Spiritual Practice

Back in August, I met a blogger named Rachelle Mee Chapman at the infamous faith-bloggers workshop that gave me so much food for thought. She has a website called MagpieGirl.com and has been running a series about women and their "right" spiritual practice. I was honored when she asked me to participate and write a guest post for her site.

It posted today and here is the link: http://www.magpie-girl.com/

Enjoy MagpieGirl.

The Point. Everybody's Got One.

It's not that I haven't tried to write this blog in the last ten days. I have. I've written drafts. And deleted them. And written more drafts.

It's not that there hasn't been anything to write about in the last ten days. On Sunday, I surfed. Standing up. The whole time. With a smiley face in the sky. Again. And last night I went to an event for surfers in  Santa Monica at the O'Neill store and ate pizza and drank a beer. Then I stopped at a bookstore and found a book I'd been seeking - for five dollars.

Things have happened. I've had insights. For instance, according to this book, "The Life You Were Meant to Live," my life path numbers are 30/3.  And last night someone suggested I create a Kickstart fund * so that I could travel into outer space and write about it.

And yet my whole life (including surfing, parenting, love, spirituality) has lately been suffused by a sensation of awkwardness that makes everything come out wrong. Or not wrong but.... as if I'm not getting to the point.

Despite the fact that there is one. Somewhere. Wanting to come out, but buried beneath layers upon layers of...other stuff.

Sometimes there's no wind and there are no waves. There may be brilliant sunshine, but the water is like glass. And all there is to do is be prepared, be patient and wait for your wave.

*I'd use Indiegogo.com instead (shameless plug for my friend Adam).

Just Do It

I am reading a book I love and I'm not even done with it, but I have to recommend it. Right now. It's called "Just Do It" and it's by Doug Brown, a journalist for the Denver Post.


Basically, apropos of nothing, one day Doug and his wife Annie decide to have sex for 100 days and see what happens. Doug is such a sweet person, so in love with his wife, and so willing to give up his ratty old sweatpants in favor of cuter pajamas, that the book is absolutely irresistible. The fact that he's a very funny writer doesn't hurt at all, either. I keep laughing out loud and all day Ashton's been asking me "what's funny?" The whole thing is, really. And compelling, too.

It's reminding me that there's value in committing to anything - sex, surfing, meditation, love - regardless of whether you ""feel" like doing "it" or not. In fact, feelings are totally overrated. Though, as a poetic-artsy-mystic-shamanic type, I rely on feelings as the basis of my self-expression, they've also been the basis of my undoing more times than I like. Therein lies the rub of my life - and the topic of potentially countless other blog entries.

But all that aside, pick up this book. It's hilarious and sweet and I've never read anyone write about sex in quite this way. And I've read a lot about sex. Cause I'm a Scorpio. Meow!

Smack Down

There's been a lot to write about lately: which, perversely, has made me hesitant to write at all. After all, how could I get it all down?

• There was the day when it was sunny and hot in Culver City, but surprisingly cool and foggy at the beach.
• There was the day when I figured out I needed to lean more weight on my front leg in order to balance better on my board.  
• And then the day when I remembered  to stay in a squat in order to keep my center of gravity low. 
• After catching my best wave ever, I turned around and saw, in the distance, the smiley face on a bright yellow para-sail looking straight at me.
• There have been countless skull-vibrating tantrums from my three year old.
• And seemingly endless fits of  bloody itching and scratching from my eight year old.
• Two of my good friends are currently dismantling their marriage bonds.
• And I keep noticing the five pounds I want to lose.
• So I've been crying a lot.
• Which has made me very grateful for love. 
• The kind of love that isn't based on how much I've accomplished,  proven or impressed. That isn't based on how much I'm worth, how much I weigh or how well I'm doing. But the kind of love that decides, simply, to love. No matter what.  
• Even when I'm down.

Zeal, Compassion and Everything In Between

It was more than two weeks ago when I sat in with a group of "Faith Bloggers" at the BlogHer Conference in San Diego. The conversation was a provocative one, hinging on whether and why the blog-reading public would be biased against a writer who declared herself a "faith blogger" - particularly if she were Christian.

Having only recently had my own encounter with some otherwise lovely-seeming Christian ladies - who politely inferred that I was going to hell unless I took Christ into my heart, etc. etc. - I felt equipped to say why some people may get the wrong idea about some Christians.


Then, on the ride home, I happened upon an interview with anthropologist Hank Wesselman. In "The Bowl of Light:" his new book about Hawaiian shamanism, he explores Polynesian beliefs about the positive and negative polarities of every life path. For the path of the Priest or Priestess, the Hawaiian Kahunas say, those polarities are "compassion" and "zeal".

I believe, when we find ourselves on the receiving end of someone else's religious/spiritual judgment, what we've just experienced is some good, old-fashioned ZEAL: the kind that fueled the inquisition, burned witches and currently inflames impressionable suicide bombers.

But what, exactly, is zeal?

It's the feeling we get when we're so certain we're right, when something feels so true for us, that we seek to prove others wrong or even destroy them because of it. It's a feeling we can get about a movie, a transformational technique, a diet or anything else that inspires us. And because of that, it is a dark side to which everyone is vulnerable -whatever the  belief system or passion.

It is a dark side which has, unfortunately, sullied the reputation of religions around the world and turned many, otherwise compassionate people, against anything that rings of  "faith" or "religion." It is a dark side that has  been propagated not only by unscrupulous leaders but by ordinary people who have too fervently believed that theirs was the only right way.

But where zeal divides, compassion unifies. And as long as someone speaks and writes with compassion - whether they are a Christian faith blogger, a Jew, a Wiccan or a Muslim - I will listen, learn and, hopefully, grow.

Top Ten List About BlogHer 2011 (because people love lists and numbers)

I was so overwhelmed and overstimulated by my experience at BlogHer 2011 (August 5-6) that I was nearly stricken by writer's block. On reflection, however, it wasn't writer's 'block' as much a desire to say so much that I couldn't even organize my thoughts.  In the past, I've resisted straying from my holy trinity of surfing, prayer and love mostly because I enjoy holding forth on so many things, so much, that I thought it wiser to limit myself.

That said, it will only seem like I'm going off-topic for this top ten list. See if you can spot (or feel) all the surf, prayer and love in the following:

1) Most Infuriating 90 Minutes of the Weekend? A panel discussion called "Women: Redefining Success in the 21st Century" (or something like that)  wo/manned exclusively by super-successful women (in the 20th Century way) who had nothing to say about "redefining success" (unless your definition of redefining success includes thinking of your husband as a "puppy"). OMG! I was supposed to LISTEN to this woman? I can't remember the last time so much steam came out of my ears. I'm still having a hard time writing about it.

2) BUT Lisa Belkin from the New York Times was sitting next to me and made a very intelligent comment to the vapid and superficial (but VERY SUCCESSFUL) women on the panel. Yay for Lisa Belkin, real journalism and backing your observations up with sources. You can read her at  Motherlode.

3) THEN I met some other bloggers and am eager to read what they have to say, especially the ones who also had steam coming out of their ears at the "success" panel (Ashley Boyd and Katrina Alcorn).

4) Most Valuable Realization? I wasn't a corporate shill before I became a blogger, I'm not going to become one now. It's nice to get clear on that. Though there are many women who make a living having their blogs sponsored by corporations like WalMart, I don't think I'm the WalMart type...

5) I'm the spiritual type. Which I admitted when I introduced myself to a group of fellow "faith bloggers." Then I declared "faith blogging" a kind of calling and not one to be taken lightly. Since writing about politics or religion is not the kind of thing a woman does when she wants to be liked.

6) Jeez, there was chocolate everywhere. It's sweet (literally), and thoughtful, to provide so much chocolate when there are 3700 women milling about. But, ultimately, that much sugar and caffeine makes women cranky and then they say vapid and superficial things. I would have liked to see the chocolate countered by some kale smoothies or at least  a room dedicated to round-the-clock yoga and meditation. Cause I'm spiritual.

7) Speaking of being "spiritual", many companies wanted me to tweet how great they were during the weekend. I was like "You want me to say wha?? You've got to be effin' kidding me. That's my voice we're talking about."

8) But then I told the rep from Boiron Homeopathics that I'd have no problem recommending their Arnica ointment - because I actually use it. And it works.

9) Biggest Mindblower? When she told me that Hyland's Homeopathics is manufactured by the Bornemann  family! OMG -THAT'S MY FAMILY! I have to meet these people, especially since I love vibrational remedies - i.e., homeopathy, flower remedies and crystal elixirs. It must be my DNA.

10) Best decision of the weekend?   Just one day of this conference was so intense,  I couldn't  bear the thought of going back. So, the next day, I drove to Encinitas where I meditated at the Self Realization Fellowship and watched the surfers from high up on a cliff above the world famous surf spot known as Swami's. Pure Bliss.

p.s. much love to Britt Bravo for inviting me in the first place, spending a hilarious night watching cable in her hotel room and teaching me that people love lists and numbers.

When Dreams Come True

Several events inspired me to reach out to my spiritual mentor last week: the dream about the waves that I shared in my previous post, another dream in which I served pizza to "god" (who was a movie studio executive), and a retreat I recently attended. I arrived at the retreat with the intention of working on my book about mother/athletes. I left, considering that my best contributions may not come  through worldly endeavors such as book publishing, etc., but through  esoteric pursuits such as reading people's cards and being a channel for spirit.

Without giving any details, I dropped her a brief e-mail requesting a phone conversation. As divine grace would have it, she was flying into LA the very next day and I managed to meet with her, in the flesh, yesterday afternoon.

As usual, we talked,we laughed and we inquired into spirit. Less usually, we had pizza.

Even though, as a registered shaman herself, she may have a bias towards seeing me as a fellow person "of the cloth", I also trust her judgment and her discerning nature. She's never led me astray and she confirmed what I'd been sensing. Yes, even though it's scary, counter-intuitive, and financially terrifying, the spiritual path is mine to walk. As much as I've always longed to be an artist, an author, a person of influence in the culture at large, she is not the first person to observe that my path lies elsewhere. And yesterday was not the first time I've said in response "But where's the money in THAT?"

In response, her only instruction was that I make an offering.

Prepared with something I knew I wouldn't want to part with (a pint of raspberries) I arrived at the beach to make my offering. And there, in front of me, lay the waveless expanse of my dream. There was no wind and sunlight glittered gloriously on the water's still surface. I grabbed my camera and took the above photo. And then, as I continued to shoot some more pictures, the tide came in.

Within minutes, where there had been only the lapping of still water, there were now waves.

Doing, Being, Dreaming

Last week I had a surfing dream. I haven't had one of those in a while and this one certainly gave me something to think about. To minimize the bore that it can be to read about other people's dreams, I will be as brief as possible:

1) I paddle out behind a huge pack of men. If we surf in this configuration, someone will certainly get hurt. I  paddle around to the side, so that no one will crash into me.

2) I paddle out between two piers in a marina. Dolphins splash in the water in front of me. Then they start swimming towards shore. One of them almost crashes into me and gives me a very annoyed squeak.

3) My "surf instructor" tells me to surf into an empty house, through open windows and doors. "This is your wave," he says. "Take it."  "Screw that", I say. "This is NOT my wave"

4) Later, my "surf instructor" tries to fit his surfboard through the open windows and doors. Of course they don't fit. But he can't figure out why. He was sure they would.

5) Lastly, I sit on my board in the open ocean looking towards the shore. The water is glassy, not a wave in sight. I bob on the current, going nowhere. It's beautiful.

Sections 1through 4 suggest that - between the danger of other surfers crashing into me, dolphins annoyed at me for being in their way and going against the current, and "surf instructors" ordering me to do the un-doable - there's somewhere in my life that I'm not going with the flow. 

Section 5 suggests that, perhaps, sometimes the only thing to do is just sit.

I don't think there is a single spiritual teacher who would disagree with that message.

Expanding Beyond Balance

A good friend sent me this link today from parenting coach Scott Noelle. To all you mommies and daddies -  and all you children of mommies and daddies out there -  I recommend you read it.

In it, Scott points out that, while the catchword for most parents is "balance" - i.e. how to balance work vs. home, them vs. me, permissiveness vs. boundaries - a more potent kind of  power  is available for parents who explore "expansion": of ideas, of lifestyle, of possibility.

Ever since that day on the beach when I realized that I am not "separate" from my children (or from anyone), I've been exploring the possibilities of expansion. Parenting is not what I thought it was. In fact, I can't even say that I'd really "thought" about what it was at all. Instead, I'd inherited a mass of assumptions - from my own family, from history, from culture - that had gone largely unquestioned until now.

Truthfully, I started surfing to get the hell away from my family. I needed something for "me". Of course, there's nothing inherently wrong with that. Everyone, parents and kids alike, needs some time to themselves. The irony, however, is that the joy I've found in the water is bringing me closer to my family and more willing to spend time with them. And more likely to enjoy it. Not because I've necessarily found  "balance." After all, two hours of surfing a week does not equal the remaining 24/7.

Instead, I've been inspired to expand myself and my vision of what is possible for my family and for all families - including yours. Because  family is the foundation of any society, where families are unhealthy, stressed, and basically dysfunctional, the society that is built on top of them will suffer the same.  But where families are nurtured, functional and at ease - imagine what is possible.