INVESTING IN YOURSELF

So many things to write about.  I've got lists upon lists.  All these blog post themes I keep thinking about, such as: 

Soothe Your Soul

Turn on Your Creative Brain

Find Your Flow

Making Space

Investing in Yourself

The Best Time for New Beginnings

Finding Fresh Headspace

Time to Grow 

All fertile subjects, what I'd like to ponder, look for, find or do and I bet you would too. Who in this world wouldn't?  Hoping to share, to inspire just a little in return for all the inspiration I've received.  To pass on what, over the years, has been given to me.  Such a common goal.  

Lately lists have taken on new meaning in many of our lives.  This is new for me.  Outside of work I haven't been that much of a list maker.  My teenage Diary is more narrative, marked by overstatement and hyperbole. My Prayer Journal has no lists. 

My husband, on the other hand, has kept a red-covered paper date book for each year of his adult life. Everything he's ever done or meant to do--edit a chapter, call the plumber, walk with (name)--is listed, crossed-off or moved forward, a timeline of his existence.  He has a standing order for the same red book every December. The mundane and the private, who he has spent time with or is thinking about, hour after hour, all there revealed.   

But what about lists where nothing has to be scratched off.  I've seen some as writing prompts, some as self-care advice, some in mindfulness workbooks.  These kinds of lists are there for us to retrieve and do with as we will.  Like "Places I want to See" or "Where My Best Memories Were Made" (Ok, on a porch swing--marriage proposal; in Paris--honeymoon; in London--young marrieds; in Blowing Rock, NC--another honeymoon.)  Or "My Favorite Places and Why."  All individualized ways to appreciate our past or plan our future. 

Then there are the more difficult lists, but still helpful.  Lists like "What I Fear" or "Traumas in My Life."  "My Survival Tactics" or "This Helps Me."   I like this last one best.  I'd like to make this list carefully so what helps me will be on mental speed-dial when I need it.  

All these Not-To-Do-Lists not only solidify our memories, but also help us understand ourselves better.  What about this one, "How I Do NOT Want to Be" followed by "How I Want to Be?"  My responses are almost instantaneous for the first list.  I Do Not Want to Be:
Depressed
Anxious
Thoughtless
Unkind

The happier list by far is "How I Want to Be."  This list too comes readily. Because we know how we want our lives to unfold.  For me, I Want to Be: 
Aware
Creative
Peaceful
Grateful
Mindful
Loving
Healthy
Valued
Kind

Helpful
Hopeful

This list is far longer for most of us because it is probably the way we actually are, more often than we always notice.  So, let's pick what we want to list.  If it's not the time to list fears, don't.  If it is the time to list achievements, do.  If it's not the time to face the bad times, don't.  If it is, remember that you are brave, loved, healthy and strong.   

Well, this has turned out to be my Investing in Yourself post.  I didn't know that when I began.  So, I've added the title.  That's what lists can do; help us arrive somewhere. How nice.                                                                                                           Nina Naomi

 

 







    

MINIMALISM FOR ALL

Illustration by Geraldine Sy

Minimalism.   It may mean, as much as possible, removing from your life whatever no longer serves you or brings joy.  We've all read or watched Marie Kondo and know how she unclutters.  But minimalism can be more than less  stuff. Minimalists may want to create physical and emotional space to make room for the people, material goods and thoughts that matter the most. Minimalism certainly includes living with intention. It may include limiting unnecessary spending.  It's a way to be that I'd like to be better at. I like bare wood and furniture clustered for conversation, but sparse--no sidling around tables and chairs--floor space and open windows.  An environment like this creates mental space as well, room for the heart and mind to expand some experts say. 

I'd like to see something fresh and beautiful and admire it without wanting it, whether it's the shiny newness of someone else's house or the lushness of their garden.  I'd like to clear my house (and my schedule) of things that, truth be told, are antithetical to joy. I still have ratty towels, frayed-but-not-loved clothing, too many this or that. Things I don't need, whether neatly stacked behind cupboard doors or not.  Maybe you do too. 

I saw this illustration of a minimalist room by Geraldine Sy and decided to admire it without being envious. Without wanting to take a room of mine and make it more like this one. Or wish that I could draw like a professional illustrator.  Or match colors this well. 


So I'm enjoying the beautiful repetition of shapes, the curve of the vase, the round side table and the yellow lampshade that echoes the flower pot. Looking closer I see more curves.  Her shoulders, her bottom, her head and the little round topknot.  Contrasted with all the rectangular shapes, the ladder rungs, the chest of drawers, the pictures on the wall, the computer screen, the rug and everything on it.  I've been holding on to this picture because I knew I wanted to write about it, so perfectly proportioned, all in fall colors with a touch of black. A mindfully curated drawn room.

It may be a contradiction to want more minimalism, to want more of less.   But maybe not.  That's one way to have a simple life.  Less but just right.  Not as easy to banish thoughts that don't serve as to donate clothes and Aunt Ethel's heavy sideboard.  But that's for another post.  Staying minimal in writing, too. 

THE SUNDIAL

In my side-yard sits a cast-iron sundial.  Our son Adam gave it to my mom, a gift for her garden.  Adam and his wife picked it out, their first gift to her as newlyweds.  She had created what she lovingly called "Adam's Park" by the creek that ran behind her house.  Nina Naomi's first-born grandson was special to her.  He showed his love in an open, talkative, physical way--arm around the shoulders, a hug, a glancing touch of the waist.  I was the recipient of these affectionate moments too, given often and unselfconsciously.  At 6'3", he was strong and graceful; he could lift the heavy sundial with one hand and move it wherever his grandma wished.  She was young when he was born and he called her simply Nina.  

My mom and dad lived near the North Carolina beach.  When Adam would visit he and his grandma would bring plastic chairs out to Adam's Park. It was always in the shade and she had planted hosta and lined the path into the glade with some of her sea shell collection, conchs of various sizes and brokenness.  Sometimes a turtle would crawl up the creek bank or seagulls would fly over.  Conversations were mostly about Adam's future.  It always seemed unlimited.

At age 82 my mom died of cancer.  Adam couldn't visit her because he was immunocompromised from his own cancer treatments. After her death, and then his, shortly thereafter, my father decided to move inland near me.  I went to close up the house and sell it.  There sat the sundial, sturdily marking each hour that passed, as it had been doing for 6 years since Adam and his wife placed it there, in it's spot as sentry to "Adam's Park."  Marking the hours of everyone's lives, my parents happy retirement near the beach, Adam's marriage, his and Nina's illnesses, their deaths and the birth of his daughter. . . . 

I asked my dad, now 84, "Can I keep it?  We can't give away the sundial."  I'd broken vintage plates, worn out family quilts, misplaced jewelry, lost photos--but here surely was the one thing indestructible:  the cast-iron marker of the days of our lives.  So now it sits outside my door.  The grandchildren dodge it when they chase runaway balls.  I haven't moved it in almost 14 years. We are impermanent.  The sundial is as permanent as anything I've seen in my life.  It was chosen by young newlyweds to mark the ending years of beloved grandparents.  But one July it marked another death as well and then a birth and now, in my yard, more griefs and more celebrations.  Moss covers its heavy base. It is indestructible, like love.  

THE TEXTURE OF LIFE

Photo by Shell Royster, www.shellroyster.com

This photo is filled with texture.  I want to touch the objects in the photograph.  The Irish wool plaid blanket, the old metal dish, the rusty tines on the fork with the wooden handle, the slice of split wood used as a 'server,' the brown curly seaweed and few snips of green, the crushed shell-sand, the chewy meat of mussels and clams, the rough shells in black and white.  

I saw this picture in BELLAGRACEMAGAZINE.COM. and was captured by it right off.  It made me think about why texture is important and where else we want it in our lives.  Comparison and contrast.  We don't just compose our photos.  When we can, we compose our days.  Or at least our free-time.  For me, Wednesday's yoga next to Thursday's pottery is a study in textures.  Wednesday's yoga is smooth and stretchy.  We lie down a lot.  We bend and twist and straighten.  We torture our hamstrings.  We move slowly, deliberately. There's an undercurrent of friendship and laughter as poses fail to varying degrees.  

Thursday's pottery is a different texture.  It's a hand-building class, so pounding, whacking, rolling and shaping.  Then dryness, hardness, shine or matte.  Colors all over the spectrum:  arctic blue, art deco green, deep sienna speckle, lustrous jade. . . .  And all that heat by the kilns.  If I were taking hot yoga I could compare.

Tuesday's book group offers more textures, more contrasts. More stretching of the mind than body.  More discussion, different opinions, points of view, negotiating the year's choices.  But again opportunities for friendship.  

And of course the textures of home:  the comfy bed, the view outside of leaves and bark, impatiens and begonias, dragonflies and lightening bugs. Textures from soft to sturdy to delicate. 

I see in this striking photo by Shell Royster a metaphor for our lives and how they proceed, intentional or not.  So many avenues.  How do your days fall?  What textures and contrasts does your job contribute, your home and family, your free-time?  My granddaughter plays soccer and alto sax. Opposites, yes?  I bet you have created a balance you enjoy, a variety that suits, filled with the rough and the smooth, the boisterous and the quiet, the planned and the spontaneous.  Am I right? 
                                                                                  Nina Naomi

NEWS OF THE DAY: THE SLAVE SHIP CLOTILDA AND JAMES BALDWIN

The slave ship Clotilda has been found in Alabama, upriver from Mobile near a place called Twelvemile Island, submerged just five feet under water.  There had been a Federal ban on importing enslaved peoples since 1808, punishable by hanging. But a steamship owner, Timothy Meaher, made a wager he could import human beings despite the ban.  In 1860 he brought 110 kidnapped West Africans, men, women and children, to the heart of cotton country where they joined some 435,000 enslaved people residing in the state of Alabama.  The passage took 45 days.  Then, because the transport was illegal, the ship was burned and sunk. 

Some five years later at the end of the Civil War and after Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, the Africans established Africatown as a thriving community.  It is moving to read about this town's history and the people who live there today.  Some are hopeful that the discovery of the Clotilda, the last slave ship to reach America, lying now underwater in a few feet of mud, could make the town a history hub like Jamestown, Virginia.  Everyone agrees that validation of the town's oral history is to be celebrated. 

The article I chose to read about this subject is in the New York Times.  But Google News, the Washington Post,  the Daily Mail, news media world-wide are reporting on the finding of this "Ship of Horror." It is a sobering thing.  Last year I went to Birmingham and Selma (Posts: "This is Your Kingdom," 6/25/18, 628/18) and saw the sites where black people were confined and auctioned. I was born in St. Louis and learned early about the Dred Scott case (1857, www.history.com), where the Supreme Court held that no black, free or slave, could be a US citizen or sue for freedom. But I had not heard of the ship Clotilda.  

Why did it bring James Baldwin (1924-1987) to mind? Sometimes we can miss the profundity of those long gone.  I thought of this Baldwin quote,

"You think your pain and your heartbreak

are unprecedented in the history of the world,

but then you read." 

The quote applies to his own work as well.  We may think our pain and heartbreak are unprecedented but then we read Another Country or Notes of a Native Son, Go Tell it on the Mountain or The Fire Next Time.  Or we may need inspiration and turn to these books.  Reading for Baldwin stands for learning, connecting, human heart to human heart.  We learn by listening as well, through stories told to us, or through great music (think Puccini, Madame Butterfly or La Boheme).  There are many roads to connection.  

I haven't read a book about the Clotilda, I merely came across an article in my morning news feed.  Then I researched, not in books but online--a source not available to writers and readers of Baldwin's generation.  It brought up pain and heartbreak.  Imagine the terror of being kidnapped, 45 days in that hold, and the life to follow. 

Baldwin also said, 

"It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most

were the very things that connected me with all the people

who were alive, who had ever been alive.

. . . 

I often wonder what I'd do if there weren't any books in the world." 

I am not comparing the daily news with great literature--although I read insightful and important articles every day.  But we can remind ourselves that knowledge is important for its own sake.  Knowing more, even about the sad history of Alabama, makes our world richer, our minds keener, our empathy for others stronger.  The more we know about things that matter, the more we will think about things that matter.  And the more we ponder things that matter, the greater the likelihood we can better the world in our own small (or large) way. It's a kind of cascade isn't it?  

I hope the ship is raised and displayed if the townspeople want, that it brings notice to the town, that it is used to educate.  Martin Luther King once said, "The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." Finding this ship could be part of that arc.  No wonder the world is interested in its discovery.     

              

Nina Naomi

 

SUMMER COZY COMIN' UP

When I was a child our local movie theatre had a sign that read "It's Cold Inside," snow-capped letters in icicle-blue.  This was the draw--keep the kids entertained in icy comfort with a candy bar and a movie.  Frozen Zero bars were a favorite.  By the time I had children those signs were gone.  Now every building I enter is cold, freezing sometimes.  Workers keep jackets, sweaters and even blankets at the office during the summer.  People eat al fresco at restaurants partly to avoid the air conditioning.  Without even getting into the waste of energy, not everyone enjoys recirculating air, winter or summer.  Some of us open our windows whenever the temperature allows. We work outdoors if we can.  We're not adverse to the heat, a good sweat followed by a warm shower.  Not bad.  What's best about summer seems to be the feeling of freedom.  Cooler clothes, ocean swimming, fruity drinks, casual get-togethers, more flexible schedules, vacations . . . lots of loose ends we make the most of.  

But summer is also a good time for cozy, that feeling of being hugged, being wrapped in comfort.  bella GRACE (BELLAGRACEMAGAZINE.COM), a magazine I tout from time to time (theme:  "Life's a Beautiful Journey"), loves lists.  The editors invite people to submit them for publication, lists like "My Flaws Worth Loving and Embracing" or "Small but Significant Reasons to be Grateful."  Nice prompts meant, I think, to help us with our fears, our dreams and our inspiration.  Because I don't want to give up the coziness of winter as spring blooms into the North Carolina summer, I've made my own list for Summer Cozy.  See what you'd add. 

• Picnics on blankets are cozy.
• Cotton sweaters are cozy.
• Late night walks (and cotton sweaters) are cozy.
• Sweatshirts after a swim are cozy.
• Anything after a swim--beach towels, pullovers, blanket-flopping. . . .
• The hot summer sun on our skin is cozy.
• Hot dogs over a fire, steamed clams, jacket potatoes, roasted corn, whatever we cook outdoors is cozy.
• S'mores are cozy, anything chocolate is cozy. 
• Crowding around an outdoor table.
• Porch-sleeping.
• Sleeping-bags are cozy, alone or together.
• Lolling in bed on a morning off is cozy.
• Eating pancakes.
• Snuggling on the couch with your children, or grandchildren.
• My maltipoo fresh from his bath is cozy, dry from rug-wiggling.

Isn't it funny how free and cozy can meld into one mood, one happy atmosphere, one lucky day? I'm not wishing away the spring.  It's too lovely and we've waited for it for months.  Just taking a minute to think about what's coming and how much there will be to enjoy. 
 
 
 
 

THINKING HEALTHIER

I just completed my 3-day Urban Retreat.  It was at Duke Integrative Medicine, down the road from me.  A peaceful center with trails, fountains, rock piles, Quiet Rooms, labyrinths . . . .

We spent 3 days mostly in silence.  I never thought I could do that.  Partway through, during a sharing time, one member said, "Meditation is simple but not easy."  AMEN to that!  I love the mindfulness.  Being present in a non-judgmental way.  Stepping back when thoughts become difficult (intrusive thoughts--the reason I got into this in the first place) and observing.  "Now I am thinking X."  Sometimes I say, "Now I am thinking this thought that is wasting my time."  Not sure how non-judgmental that is, but it definitely gives me perspective.  

We also practiced bringing kind awareness to our thoughts or worries and letting them be--without analyzing, suppressing or encouraging, just letting them run their course.  Shortly they will be replaced by other thoughts and other emotions, maybe pleasant ones.  After all, our mind spends its day thinking.  

One way to think of mindfulness is as prioritizing.  None of us has much problem prioritizing work and family, some days work gets more attention, some days family.  But some experts say that being good to ourselves is a prerequisite to everything else.  Not hedonism or self-indulgence, but self-compassion. Surely nothing in God's Word tells us otherwise. It is not hard to see that being kind to ourselves would be pleasing to God. And that self-acceptance is part of our journey of faith. 

If we treat ourselves as kindly as we do our children or a good friend or even a loved pet, we're also in a way fostering our independence.  I like that idea.  If we can self-soothe--maybe sing to our self, read the Psalms, make our self a warm drink or even rock our self to sleep--it's like being our own care-giver.  

On the retreat we also practiced meditative walking.  Walking and the Lord's Prayer go hand-in-hand quite nicely.  I tried that when walking the labyrinth, then added other prayers.  Or saying the Rosary if you are Catholic.  Or just reciting your gratitude list.  

I've found other repetitive tasks where I can meditate as well.  Sweeping is one, long strokes back and forth on the deck, drive and patio.  Or raking.  Many outside chores. Cooking too--chopping, stirring, kneading, patting, pounding.  My mom used to pat her meatloaf gently, like you would a baby's bottom. I can see her doing it. 

 
I feel like these practices can help us have a healthier mind. And maybe help us be more fruitful in our Christian life. What do you think?