We gave my nephew a butterfly kit for his fifth birthday.  It’s a bittersweet present.  You watch your tiny larvae hatch, grow into caterpillars, go through a miraculous transformation, take their first flight, and then you have a choice.  Do you let them fly and be free, or do you keep them in their cage, have them longer and ultimately watch them die?

When they were young, my daughters decided to keep their butterflies, and feel the heartache of each life ending. My nephew let all but one be free.  And then deeply experienced the pain from his decision.

These little creatures have very little time on this earth: some species live a week or two; some a year if they are lucky to survive the increasingly difficult migration. It’s a poignant decision for a child to make, knowing that free butterflies live longer than captured ones.  

Don’t we all?  Yes, we should live as freely as we can.  We need to feel the fleeting nature of our own lives; not to despair, but to generate the courage to leave our cage and fly.

I recently attended a writer’s workshop, and was given the prompt:  If I let my life happen . . .

I couldn’t help but think of butterflies.
 
If I Let My Life Happen . . .
There is a butterfly on my shoulder.  Its wings open and close in my ear.  I don’t dare move. Yet, it’s not taking flight. It stays with me up and down the stairs. Not feeling captured or busy but entertained by my running.

Sunshine is a window away.  It knows its direction but won’t go without me. So he is patient.  And I hurriedly finish my work, shortening my list of to do’s enough to fly along.

We touch each piece of God’s beauty that offers nectar.  Feeling into the currents of warm air that take me higher.  No guide needed. Density below, warmth on my wings, and gratitude in my heart.  I take flight before life is over.  It’s fleeting but not too short. No sorrows. No words. No song. No need to despair.

The dust of color from my wings has worn off from full-contact living.  My antennas are slowly losing sensation.  My mouth is dry but smiling.  My flight is sporadic.  I fall away.  

I fall.  
I fly.  
Is there a difference?
Direction is subjective.
I have spread my wings.
My life is whole. 
​

It started with trying to drive my daughter to school with my contacts in the wrong eyes, capped with needing to open the refrigerator three times to get out the salmon for dinner (never seemed to grab the right thing), and ended with my daughter finally finding my cell phone on the trampoline. Go figure.

It was truly a Give a Pig a Pancake, attention deficit, perimenopausal day.  I don’t imagine I’m alone.

Haven’t we all perfected the state of Scattered with increasing life responsibility, logistics overload, lack of sleep, the downpour of social media, and imploding inboxes.

Then there are our hormones. How do we distinguish the cause of Scattered among the possible symptoms of:

• “Decreased alertness” from our monthly cycle
• “Difficulty concentrating and memory lapses” during our path to menopause
• “The inability to cope with stress and fuzzy thinking” from adrenal fatigue
• “Impaired working and spacial memory” of chronic stress
• “Mental fog”, an official symptom of thyroid disfunction, (my personal favorite)

There’s no escaping it!

I know you know this already but as the week continues let’s try to commit it to memory (not an easy task):

• It’s not a personal problem. It’s societal.

• It’s okay to stop.  Literally stop.

• You don’t have to hide when you stop.  You can actually tell your boss, your team, your family what you need. They usually see your short circuit coming way before you do.

• Feeling guilty when you stop is personal. It’s between you and your superwoman self.  No one can squash that feeling but you.

• It doesn’t take much. Five minutes ~ set the timer, often.

• Know what works. Cleaning out your inbox on your “break” doesn’t. Grounding requires going inward, shutting out stimuli, finding stillness, shifting your breath. Try literally getting grounded horizontally. Conference room floors work too!

• Be the change: a cliche, but true. Model the self care that the world needs.  Be courageous at work.  Teach your children the life skill of self monitoring and self care by example.

Today I’m ready for more focus, more tasks, more clarity.  I know another wave of Scattered will arrive in the future.  I also know the more often we identify Scattered, care for Scattered, and give it the space and pace to dissipate, the faster we get back on track.  

By track, I don’t mean the treadmill.  I mean a conscious path of self compassion and resilience.

It happened.  My 12 year old daughter and I were standing at the bathroom mirror together getting ready for the day and I saw it for the first time.

“Eva, I think you are taller than I am!”  I knew it was coming, but it still took me by surprise.

As well did her response, “Yes Mama.  I’ve known for about a month, but didn’t want to tell you.”

A sweet moment of wrestling with growing up, shifting relationships and vantage points. The momentum of life.

I had to wonder what about me invited this milestone to be tucked away. Maybe my wet eyes every time we watch home videos or my promise to be able to always pick her up.  Surely I have many subtle actions trying to keep her little.  

Then I started thinking about my relationship with myself. I’ve done my own growing this past year and haven’t claimed it.  I’ve said yes, when I naturally would have said no.  I’ve taken some risks. I’ve asked for help.

When we follow the traditional exercise of forward goal setting, we miss an opportunity to look in the mirror and see the growth before our eyes.

I just came back from an amazing weekend with the poet David Whyte.  He so wisely shared, “Solid ground is the meeting between what you think is you and isn’t you . . . A narrow definition of self gives us a narrow place to stand.”  

How can you expand the ground of Self you stand on?  Take a look at how you’ve grown.  Give yourself more than a minute. Maybe light a candle, pull up a calendar to review the months of your journey, and honor your own momentum. What would you like to claim?  Send me an email !  I would love to stand next to you on your solid ground, gaze at your beautiful reflection and smile, “Yes, you ARE taller.”

She is 97.  With a beautiful heart, failing legs, and a mind that some would say is failing too.

I see it a little differently.  I see a mind that has loosened its grip in a way we all desire.  Letting go of anxiety, to do lists, the need for comparison, planning for the future, regret.

She’s my grandmother and she has dementia.  It’s a condition caused by the gradual death of brain cells.

The space that has emerged is filled with humor, freedom, candidness, peace, pointed wisdom at times and an innate ability to be in the present.

There is also confusion, the sense of something not being quite right, and a loss of memories.  For those who love her, there's a sadness when they aren't recognized. Yet we always have an intimate visit with my grandmother’s inner soul.

And in her moments of clarity, her most authentic self steps forward loving and appreciating this world.   She now relaxes into daily gratitude. She trusts.  She feels.  She sleeps soundly.  She accepts.

At this point, dementia has removed layers of the mind in my grandmother that bury the soul in all of us.  Layers of thought, personality, memories that become our story, fear of the future.

It’s too early to say it’s a gift, but for sure it’s a lesson in what is pure . . . how beautiful an untethered heart and soul can be.  And, no matter the age, when a soul bares itself, we must hold and love it with the same compassion we hold a child.

Today, maybe we try loosening the grip of our own mind. Let’s relax into the present, allow our emotions to surface freely, let go of self judgement, and rest in a space of trust.

Last night my sister and I talked over dinner about how it is becoming harder to look in the mirror.  It is an exercise I try to do with compassion, but often wish for a dimmer switch.

On my way home, I drove past Victoria Secret in Union Square and had three bigger-than-life images, blond, all-American, dimple clad, full lipped, cleavage baring beauties staring me squarely in the eyes.  For the first time, I looked at these industry standards of beauty and realized they were closer to my daughter's age than mine.

It put me into a slight tail spin of panic . . . sadness . . . depression.  And then there was the invitation.

How am I going to embrace beauty in this next chapter of life?  

We obviously need to redefine beauty as we age.  And embrace it.  Maybe for the first time.  

Our reflection has been a constant companion from the time we learned how to curl our hair to covering our roots.  It’s an exercise of seeing our beauty between our blemishes, finding our unique stamp of feminine, and receiving each new line as a gift of life lived.

As much as I want to refocus my lens, I really want to invite in a new reflection of beauty.  It can best be seen from our connection with ourselves and the world, rather than from our mirror.

It's an exercise that would serve my daughters as much as myself.

How does your beauty come to the surface?  Through your laughter perhaps?  Your love?  Your strong sense of self?  Your passion?  Your ability to help others feel their own?

I invite you to see your beauty touching the world around you. It’s a powerful reflection.  

As you grow in your awareness of your own beauty, hold up a mirror to help others catch a glimpse of their own.