Life is Suffering -- By Laura Houston

When I was 20 and studying Buddhism, I decided it was not for me. One of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism states that “Life is Suffering” and this negative kind of thinking just didn’t sit well with my youthful, ignorant, girl-from-Kansas self. Back then I was an optimist. Hopeful. Naïve. When you are 20, have big hair, wear size 8 Jordache jeans, and drive a 1978 Camaro with a killer stereo, there is very little compassion or understanding for suffering in life.

But fast forward only 15 years later, and that same unaware girl had gotten fat, had been married and divorced, hated her career, and drove a four-door Mercury. I was miserable, sad, lonely and afraid. So I turned once again to studying a spiritual way of life to turn my heart back on, and I kept coming back to the phrase, “Life is suffering.”

This is one of my favorite journeys into wisdom. And, no, I won’t tell you the complete lesson. You have to figure it out yourself or it’s no fun for the rest of us who ran around bumping into walls for ten years. But I can tell you this: the recognition of this truth does not bring about sorrow or loss or depression. It brings on freedom.

No matter what choice you make in life, you are going to have to pay a price for it. You cannot escape suffering. This insight is magnified in parenthood. I watch my boys make choices every day in their development that causes them pain and pleasure. I'm learning the lesson all over again. What follows is a very small, simplified example, but when it comes to wisdom, it’s good to start small sometimes:

Lyle and Wyatt both love little girls. They are fascinated by them – drawn to the bright pink clothes, the sparkly hair ties, and the fistfuls of curls on their head. Any girl brave enough to play with my boys will come away sans barrettes, headbands, hats, gloves or anything else that’s shimmering and pink. So on the playground Lyle follows the girls around, hoping for some attention. Sometimes an older girl will take a fancy to him and quickly makes him her baby by swaddling him in her coat and stuffing him into a makeshift crib under the jungle gym. Most of the time the girls scream and squeal and tell Lyle to go away.

Ah. Poor Lyle. He gets his heart broken. But the next day there he is again, trailing after the girls. But maybe this time he has learned something and he chooses not to be so grabby and aggressive. As a result, the girls are not so repulsed by my little boy. They tease him and won't let him on the slide. But then after some clapping and smiling on Lyle's part, the girls come to an agreement: Lyle can come inside their "fort," but only under the slide. He's glad to do this, but he's not exactly cooperating with all of it.

Outside of the female fort, Wyatt is teetering back and forth on his feet, pressing his fist in and out of his mouth, and making his "wubbawubba" sound. He wants to follow his brother into the fort, but he is a little more leery. He has also had his heart broken by a girl in the form of a good shove when he tried to play the wubbawubba song on her arm. And as he stands there rocking and making his strange sounds, the girls begin to shriek at him.

“He’s creepy,” they say. “It’s that creepy baby again.”

Then one of them takes a closer look.

“He’s cute,” she says to her comrades. “This one is much cuter than that one.”

She points at Lyle.

“Let’s take this one, too. He can be our slave.”

So the girls bring Wyatt into their fort and after some discussion that turns into arguing, they decide to kick both boys out.

They shove Lyle and Wyatt out into the bright, warm sunshine of the playground and ban them from returning to the home under the slide. My sons cry a little. They try to get back in. They whine. They push, but the girls push harder. Wyatt falls down, gets up, and starts to play his wubbawubba song. He toddles off in search of me, but detours when a falling leaf skirts across the air and lands close by. Lyle sees a soccer ball bounce across the path, and he gives chase. The girls and their rude dismissal are forgotten.

I hope my children can always recover from rejection so bravely. I hope they understand that if they want to play, they are going to get hurt. They are going to get kicked, bit, shoved, pushed and run over any time they try to have fun or do what’s right for them. And someone will always try to make them a slave. Even in fun. And, yes, it’s going to hurt. Sometimes more than others.

The alternative is to choose differently. They could choose to stay inside, to stay safe, to not take risks, to not chase girls, or balls, or dreams, or anything else that makes life so wonderful. But no matter what they choose, they are going to get hurt. They are either going to cry from loneliness or cry from heart break. They are either going to ache with ignorance or ache with experience.

I cannot always choose for them, and if I did, I may not choose wisely. I want to protect them from mean people. I want to spare them the bullies of the playground. And I will do my best to be a fair and just buffer between them and the world. But in the process of watching them choose, if I am a good mother, I will teach them that they are also learning to live. And it’s hard. Yes. It’s hard. But after all -- life is suffering. And I mean that in the best possible way.

Up, Up and Away (How to Learn Life’s Lessons) by Cyma

My children are five and seven years old. Since early toddlerhood, we’ve taken them overseas a few times, rock climbed, gone to trapeze school, and attended a Circus Yoga class. We regularly climb an 800-foot mountain near our house; we hike, camp, bike ride and walk.

All of these experiences are intended to challenge them, help build character, expose them to experiences, and teach them about their capabilities. We are serious about our ‘fun,’ intending to show them that everything is possible and anything they wish to try is at their fingertips.

However, recently, we realized that our son was frozen with fear while swinging on the swings. He not only couldn’t do it, but wouldn’t do it, and would go out of his way to show us that he was incapable of doing it. What to do?

For three weeks, nearly daily, we took him to various playgrounds in our town. We tried cajoling him, bargaining with him, yelling at him. We took turns schooling him in technique and application; had his sister and various play-friends show him what to do, to no avail. It wasn’t upsetting that he couldn’t do it (although we were absolutely certain that he could); it was unbelievably upsetting that he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t try; wouldn’t even entertain trying it. And, every time he even started the natural motion of up and down, forward and back, he’d overthink it and hang backwards when he was moving forward; thrust forward when he was swinging back. It appeared as if he was talking himself incorrectly through the motions, even though the natural motion would have come, well, naturally! He ended up acting like he was doing it, but, in effect, not moving at all. He was, and we were, stuck.

While we could see that this exercise was setting up a much-unintended power play, it became, in the end, simply that: a power play. We did NOT want to see him replay his internal tapes showing us (and him) that he couldn’t do it; however, he did not want to do it for himself, or for us. Finally, late last week, he did it. We all clapped and screamed and slapped him on the back. We took him out for an ice cream sundae (a rarity); he looked like the Cheshire Cat. Later, he said that he told himself that he needed to focus, and just do it.

All of this brings us to Trapeze Camp, undertaken recently with trapeze artist Peter Gold (owner of Trapeze-Experience) at the Omega Institute, in Rhinebeck, NY. Before climbing the requisite tall ladder to the top, all of us experienced various degrees and elements of fear. My daughter felt that she would break her wrists (her father said a friend had done so, previously) and/or die; my son said that while he was swinging, he was afraid of hitting the ropes. My husband was scared of falling – thinking he, too, could die. Very, very uncustomary, and for one of the first times in my adult life, I was afraid of everything – the height, the swinging, the freefalling, the ropes. More importantly, I refused to listen to any commands, assuming that (as I always think) I knew best. In my case, I missed the all-important timing. It is the barking of commands which provides the foundation for swinging correctly, and in right-time.

During my first swing, although the trainers were shouting commands, I couldn’t hear anyone talking, my voice was screaming so loudly inside my head. On my second swing, and once I realized that I needed to listen to them, I began to slowly allow their voices to override mine.

Only after I was sure I wouldn’t die.
By the third attempt, I did nearly everything right. The problem was that the third attempt was our last try of the day. (Confucius say that those who hesitate lose out in the end).

All of this brings to mind several key points: is it ever possible to do anything in life without safety (emotional or otherwise)? Does imagining or saying you can do something mean that you‘ll actually end up doing it? Does believing you can do it and having safety ensure that you’ll nearly always succeed? Interestingly enough, our daughter, who completed two prior ‘swings’ with little hesitation and with gusto, failed on her last attempt. Accustomed to being ‘held’ by two trainers before her swing release helped her feel safe, and held! With only one trainer available, she began to scream in fear and continued screaming through her jump, swing and eventual landing. She later said that without a second trainer, she couldn’t control herself. Without fear, she would have ‘soared’ beautifully.

I decided to take this straight to Peter, who often refers to himself as a ‘Fearologist.’ “Trapeze is a great metaphor for life,” he states.  “The outer is a reflection of the inner.   The way people respond to a flying trapeze class is a reflection of their beliefs, values, character, and abilities.  Taking a trapeze class takes people quickly, to their “personal edge.”  Beyond the fun and thrill of flying, trapeze seems to activate the emotional baggage that people have physically encoded in their energy system.   Flying on the trapeze with us allows people to move from being “owned” by their experiences, to having more control and “ownership” of their experiences.  

He adds, “Fear keeps people from fulfilling their desires, expectations, and dreams.  Consistently, people who are more fearful on the trapeze are less able to have an accurate read on what’s really happening outside their body.  And, it distracts them from their production, focus, and abilities.  Flying on the trapeze gives people greater ability to stay operational in the present, while fear may be present.”

So, there you have it. I couldn’t have said it better. I’d like another chance to do the trapeze again; it may have a different outcome. However, two things have been gained: 1) We had a glimpse into our son’s playground experience and, 2) hopefully, all of us have learned a thing or two about ourselves. More importantly, we are now more confident, in great shape and………………..ready for more!

It Must Be Spring -- by Jamie

This past week, the temperature rose…not just outside, but figuratively, too. Suddenly, men from my past were popping up everywhere. A guy I know from High School who lives out of town, but has shown interest in me over the years, texted me that he’d be in New York the next day, and wanted to get together. The very same day, a man I went on a handful of dates with about four years ago, but who seems to “check in” with me every year (only to disappear again shortly thereafter), sent me an email asking how Jayda and I were doing. A few days before that, an ex of mine whom I flirt with now and then—but hadn’t heard from in awhile—sent me a flurry of texts telling me I was on his mind. None of these encounters meant much to me—other than giving me a brief ego boost and a few days of fun flirting. But I found the timing interesting. It was clearly spring…and everyone was feeling freer—and flirtier—than they had during the cold, dark winter.

The same held true at the playground. Jayda and I returned to one of our favorite parks this week for the first time in many months, and bumped into a little boy whom Jayda had played with a lot last year. Suddenly, Jayda was following the boy around like his shadow—literally chasing him—while he showed off for her by climbing the jungle gym expertly and performing silly swinging antics. I realized instantly that they were “flirting” in a simplistic, child-like way: smiling happily at each other, holding each other’s hands as they ran around, and, like a true flirt, Jayda seemed to find everything the boy said or did simply hilarious. At one point, Jayda tumbled off of the swing she’d been riding on with her belly, and burst into tears. Instantly, the boy ran over to her, pulled a “fish” he’d created at school out of construction paper and crayons out of his backpack, and presented it to Jayda to soothe her. She accepted it happily, and her waterworks stopped soon after that. She also accepted a packet of cookies which he offered to her—and even gave him a shy hug in return. Yes, spring was in the air…and as young as these three-year-olds are, it amazed me how they instinctively seemed to know how to “do the mating dance.”

Jayda’s certainly too young for a boyfriend, and right now, I personally don’t have the time to pursue one, myself. But, as I’ve stated before, we both sure do like guys. They’re nice to get attention from—and they’re lots of fun to flirt with—and now that spring is in the air, we’re both looking forward to enjoying the weather—and the good times it promises to bring with it.

Rainy Day Fun -- by Liimu

As I sit watching the rain splash against the windows, settling into the idea of a weekend of nonstop rain, it makes me reflect about water, and how important it is to be in the flow of life. When water rushes down along the side of the street, it flows easily around the rocks and sticks that might be in its way. Sometimes, a stick will get carried a long for a bit, and then fall off to the side. The water doesn’t worry about what that means, or how long the stick will go along for the ride. It just flows.

That’s very much how I’ve had to be this past few weeks. As a mother of three young daughters – ages 7, 6, and 3 – and a business owner and budding singer/songwriter, there are a hundred moving pieces to keep track of in any given day. If I get all jammed up about things not going according to my plan, well, then I’m just jammed up. I’m the stick stuck in a crevice of the curb, not allowing the current of life to just take me where I’m supposed to go. If, on the other hand, I’m in the flow of things, then I can often happily see, looking back, how things have gone exactly according to Plan.

Take, for instance, my upcoming trip with my daughters down to see my mother over Spring break. When we started planning our trip, my mom had a ton of commitments to juggle and I could see it was really stressing her out. Rather than get all bunched up about it, I told her if she would be willing to leave us a key somewhere, we would come and hang out in her neck of the woods, whether she’s there or not. This gave her the freedom to do what she really wanted to do, rather than extend any offers out of a sense of obligation. So, when she invited us to come and spend some time with her in Myrtle Beach at a lovely hotel with an indoor pool and lazy river, I happily said yes. That wouldn’t have even been an option if I had gotten all offended and upset, like I used to when I was younger.

I have learned in my years of recovery that when things don’t go according to my plan, it’s always because the Powers that Be have a much better Plan than what my little human brain was able to come up with. I have passed that attitude on to my children and they are growing up to believe that anything is possible, and that change is exciting, not something to be feared.

It’s a rainy weekend. So much for going to the playground or riding bikes, or all the other things we have been dreaming about doing this entire snowy winter. Rather than lament the fact that we can’t enjoy those fair-weather activities, my girls and I will look upon the unexpected showers as God wiping the slate of our weekend plans clean so we can dream up entirely new things to do that will be even more fun.

Playground Pick Up -- by Jamie

It’s a shame I can’t bring my daughter with me to a singles bar—she’s really great at breaking the ice with everyone around us. Sometimes, she’ll just stare at strangers with her big, blue eyes, and get their attention—as well as welcoming smiles. Other times, our conversation will attract someone’s interest. Jayda’s becoming a real chatterbox—and an inquisitive one, at that—and the comments and questions she peppers me with often amuse people who are within hearing range. She’s been obsessed lately with the concept of “buying things,” and actually asked me very loudly the other day, “Mommy, who bought my tushie?” That certainly got a reaction out of passersby! Jayda’s also, simply, a very attractive child, who constantly garners compliments from strangers about her beautiful curls and “Shirley Temple” look. Regardless, when we’re out and about, she always gets attention. And I, in turn, get some, too. Especially at the playground.

During the week, weather permitting, I pick Jayda up from her daycare, and we head out to a nearby elementary school’s playground; it’s close to our house and very age-appropriate. Over time, Jayda has “collected” a group of friends and admirers who frequent the playground, too—and who help keep both of us entertained. When the school’s after-hours program emerges on the playground in the late afternoon, there are two teacher’s aides whom Jayda approaches enthusiastically: One is a middle-aged woman who always hugs Jayda and chats with her about her day, and another is a woman in her late-20s who gives Jayda animal crackers and whom my daughter follows around like a puppy. Many of the kids in this program know Jayda, too, and wave and smile at her in welcome.

There are also a few nannies who frequent the playground with their charges. Jayda knows each of them by name—and often gets treats from them all. Then, there are the newcomers: Mothers whom we’ve never seen before, but who encourage their children to play with Jayda, and who chat with me while our kids swing next to each other, and run around. I enjoy the camaraderie and grown up conversations, and time passes quickly for me, while Jayda plays happily.

Best of all, there are the daddies…but since most “eligible” men are working in the late afternoon, they are few and far between. Once in awhile, however, Jayda will find a man to bat her eyelashes at, and I will have a conversation with him as a result. It would be nice if Jayda would learn to look at men’s ring fingers first, though, since she rarely “introduces” me to a single man!

Lately, I’ve found myself in a completely new situation—spending time with an unattractive, but incredibly friendly (in a non-flirtatious way) married man, whose adorable, incredibly-well-mannered son has befriended Jayda. They look for us every afternoon—sometimes bringing snacks or toys to share with Jayda. I truly adore the boy—but don’t have much to say to his father; most of the time, we just share anecdotes about our kids. However, he just invited us to play at his house one day this week, and I accepted his invitation because Jayda reacted so enthusiastically to it. I trust the guy…and know Jayda will have an amazing time playing in his home. I’m just not all that eager to socialize with him. And isn’t that what play dates are for—fun for Jayda, and good conversation and company for me?! Well, I’ve been through plenty of bad dates in the past, and I’ve always made it through unscathed. I’ve also made plenty of sacrifices for my daughter, before. So, once again, I’ll do what’s good for Jayda—make our plans, prepare for the worst, and hope that I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Stay tuned…

Healthy Habits -- and a Happy Kid -- by Jamie

I was not a very active kid. I preferred cookies to cartwheels, and reading to running. And it showed: I was a rather chubby child, who struggled with a weight problem throughout much of my youth. It wasn’t until my mid-20s that I truly discovered the joys of exercise; I joined a boxing gym, and, as I strived to succeed in the sport, found my endorphins flowing, and my energy increasing. After just a few weeks of boxing, I set off on a quest to become stronger and faster and added running and weight training to my routine. Ultimately, my body became leaner, my heart grew healthier, and I became a gym-rat.

I’m known at my current gym as “the woman who worked out until the day she gave birth”—and it’s true: I exercised about 6 times a week throughout my pregnancy, and would have been at the gym on the day I went into labor, but I had an early OB/GYN appointment that day that deterred me; I gave birth that evening.

Soon after my C-section, I was out walking again, with Jayda strapped to my body in a Baby Bjorn, and I returned to the gym less than a month later. Exercise and eating healthfully are important to me…and I want them to be important to my child. But, as I know from my own experiences, you can’t force exercise on a kid if you want it to become a habit for her; instead, she has to enjoy it.

Like her mom, Jayda has a passion for sweet things. For a long time, I could get away with giving her fresh fruit, Greek yogurt with honey, or homemade zucchini-carrot bread as a treat. But of course, as Jayda grew, her grandparents, daycare friends, and our shopping forays introduced her to cupcakes, ice cream, candy, and other not-so-healthy snacks. I still try to limit Jayda’s treats, and make healthy substitutions whenever I can. (For example, one of Jayda’s favorite places is the “ice cream store” where, unbeknownst to her, we both eat low fat frozen yogurt.) However, since I don’t want to create an eating-disordered daughter and deny her all the foods her contemporaries are eating, I’ve been simply focusing on getting Jayda to exercise more, instead.

When Jayda was about 18 months old, I signed her up for a gymnastics class—and a year later, we’re still attending once a week. She loves it at The Little Gym, and 45 minutes of climbing, swinging, and running around are never enough for her. Weather-permitting, I take her to the playground after daycare as often as I can, and while sometimes she just wants to swing, and sit and watch the other kids play, other days, Jayda is a real little monkey, climbing the jungle gym and racing around in circles. Regardless, the playground is a place she looks forward to going to, and that’s what’s important.

Because my little girl has been begging me to go to “dance school” for months now, I’ve signed her up for a class in January, and she can’t stop talking about it. If dancing brings her as much joy as I think it will, she’ll be twirling around incessantly once class begins. Add to that the yoga class that Jayda’s daycare starting offering a few weeks ago (and which Jayda loves—and constantly practices at home), and it looks like my daughter is turning into a pretty active child. More importantly, she’s enjoying her activities every step of the way.

Recently, I began taking Jayda to my gym with me on the weekends; it has a free daycare center and she adores the woman who watches her there. As soon as she wakes up on Saturday mornings, Jayda asks me, “When is mommy going to exercise?” and “Can I come, too?!” Having a toddler who begs to go to the gym must mean I’m doing something right!