There are some days I have woken up with an intense need to help someone. To feel of service and to feel as if I have some agency over this spinning universe that is presently so uncertain. There are other days, I want to escape, to hide, to shrink because the universe feels, well, so uncertain and vast. Those days, I am not sure what I am in control of nor what is going to feel satisfying or nourishing or helpful.

Last week I started my day around 5 am so that come 6 am, I was to lead a hearty bunch of learners in my Cultivating Calm Micro-class.

Yay! Early mornings the darkest week of the season so far! LOL. It's actually not that bad - especially given this bunch of super-heroes!

Recently someone asked me “why the heck” I still get up so early” despite working from home.  My response was threefold.  

First, my work is flexible, not negotiable.   I still  have a full plate work and life’s obligations and fun. 

Second, it’s a habit that get me up and moving into the day.  

Third, I find something very gratifying in getting up before the sun and have a bit of quiet and one of my core self-care practices of mindfulness.

Despite being clear on “why” my day starts like this, it’s sticky.  Sleep gets interrupted. Bedtime is delayed when I strive to do “one more thing” or get sucked into Netflix or a good book.  It’s simply too easy to get sidetracked with other stuff before I even get dressed.  I have to continually be aware of how I feel and act in my morning routine to see (and avoid!)  the roadblocks to doing what matters.

When I am tempted to listen to the news, check social media, clean up my desk or empty the dishwasher, I stop to think of how I will feel when my day unravels. It’s so easy to feel agitated when I break promises to myself.  That little Heckler in my head starts to criticize. I feel like I did so often as a young mom,  taking on too much not completing anything the way I thought I was supposed to.

Or worse, like a schoolgirl who gets report card comments like this: 

Lisa has the ability to be a good student. At present, she needs help in establishing good work habits, especially those involved with listening and following through on the task at hand…..

A year or so later: 

Lisa is a talented girl who has decided to listen more and slow herself down. This has greatly increased the quality of her work.

As parents and teachers, we know our job is to teach our children how to cope with friendships, exploration, learning, and new adventures. We also model and teach them social-emotional and self-regulation skills like the delicate dance of advocacy and empathy, how to speak up and how to listen, how to explore, and how to (figuratively) color within the lines.

They’ve got a lot to do and it can get overwhelming.

When they're little and tired or cranky, they have naps. In school, we have quiet time so that they can re-set for the second half of the day. When kids act out or lose control, we often use a spot to take a break or the "time out" place.  In my classroom, we also had a "meditation station," a feature I hear about these meditation peace spots now routinely from classroom teachers. It's generally a comfy spot to sit down to breath, relax, maybe draw and or watch fish in a bowl or image of nature. Ah….

We know these strategies help kids re-set when they lose control or feel overwhelmed. It allows them to move from the sympathetic nervous system’s fight-flight-freeze mode to parasympathetic nervous system’s rest-and-digest mode.  Then they are better able to think, reflect, and act from a more calm place.

So why is this so hard to do as adults when we’re cranky and overwhelmed?

Outcries of being "busy" have become the badges we wear and the norm of civilized life. But how utterly uncivilized to run around crazy busy, distracted, and multi-tasking.

Most of us are always on the run. Too many things on our list, too little downtime, and far too little sleep. We have the pressures of family, care-giving, and "doing it all."

• We are frustrated.

• We are lonely.

• We are sad or angry.

• We're disappointed.

• We think we are weird or flawed or most definitely alone.
  

Guess what?

I’ve heard that statement precisely three times in my life. The first two times were for speeding, and I knew darn well why I was stopped. This time, I have to admit, my mind was in so many places, so I actually wasn’t sure.

I knew I had not been on my phone.

I was pretty sure I hadn’t been speeding because I had been in a rotary (for you non-New Englanders, I think you call them traffic circles).

I was stumped, but I knew enough not to argue and being the Obliger* I am, I was smart enough to fess up to making a mistake and begin fumbling an apology.

As I tried to do that, I felt my heart racing. My mind jumped from my heart to my calendar to the look on this cop’s face. Her face said, “LADY. SLOW. THE. HECK. DOWN” and she wasn’t just talking about speeding.

She asked where I was going, and I simply said: “to meet a friend.” Truth: I was meeting a friend who is also my hairdresser for a freaking bang trim.

I then asked if I could call my friend to say I’d be late and my friendly cop said, “Absolutely not. Do not touch anything.”

The Bee Gees.

Weren’t they just dreamy?  Those of us nearly too young to really know the Beatles, hung on the love songs by Barry, Robin and Maurice.  Those outrageous leisure suits and stacked heels (nothing my CPA dad nor friends would ever sport) were fetching!   I remember hearing these lyrics and thinking that my mother really didn’t go anywhere when we were gone to school.

How funny is that?   

Can you imagine your kids thinking you’re just sitting around at home while they are off at school?  As in, on the couch eating bon-bons and watching Netflix?  (Hey - and if you ARE doing that - no judgment, just more power to ya, sister!)

Parenthood by default means juggling work, kids, and that sliver of a personal life. We all question what we are doing and we all see the joy and love and the frustration and struggle. Maybe you're going this parenting route alone or you're often alone. I know what it’s like. When my kids were adolescents, there were months my husband was gone 10, 12, sometimes even 20 days a month. It. Was. Insane.

I was a little insane.