A similar Degas painting hung in my childhood bedroom and now makes me wonder about its influence on my life!

Read Part 1 here

I just don’t like posting every day… but here’s a lasting thought:

Thoughts are like beacons of light to me. I’ve come to rely on inspiration, in the form of thoughts, to guide me to my best self. Early every morning I sit and wait for that ONE that stands out from the rest. The one that has to be paid attention to so that at the end of the day I feel peace.

My life has become extremely complicated, so sometimes I’ll get a thought , or assignment if you will, for a few of my responsibilities. But I typically ignore or save for last the ones that are for me personally.

I’m changing that, and it is a challenge!

I had one thought yesterday: if you don’t get it done by the time you have to leave for the Family History Center, there’s always after. Exercise, that is. Something just for me.

It was a full day yesterday. And James and Kenny were NUTS! I was in the car a lot. I noticed how I kept feeling anxious about fitting exercise in somewhere, sometime, like I’d let myself down if I couldn’t get it done.

It was after 9pm. when my friend and I finished chatting at the Center and I left, leaving her to lock up. It had been a really productive night and we were both physically and emotionally exhausted.

But you know what wears on me more than anything? NOT doing what my mind has reminded me to do all day long. I have a lot of thoughts, distracting ones, mostly. I know the difference between a prompting and a distraction. One serves ME, and the other controls me.

I don’t like being controlled! Who does?

I admitted to my friend that I had to run when I got home. She offered me some chicken (her dinner in the car!) for some fuel. I declined. I suggested that we run before we open the Center on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She laughed.

I met James at the door when I strolled in at 9:30. He gave me a hug and I told him to go to bed, I’d be right back. I threw on my running shoes without changing my clothes, and headed out the door, into the night.

FYI: Sidewalks are bumpier than they seem in daylight, and if there are no streetlights you might want to carry a flashlight next time, Betsy!

I ran and ran, sometimes away from shadows and noises from the bushes. My lungs burned a bit, but I had fun. I like the dark. It’s very quiet and serene.

When I got home I found out that James had been looking for me everywhere! But I’d told him where I was going! I know I had.

My husband asked me where I’d been and what had prompted me to go running at that time of night?

There was no other time all day, I answered. So I took the time when it showed up. He was noticeably baffled. That’s when I realized that nobody needs to understand why I’m doing anything. I really don’t know why either. It’s complicated, yet very simple.

I do it because I can.

I found this quote a while back that I just remembered. Maybe it relates somehow? Perhaps it’s a reminder to just be yourself, no explanation, no apology.

Shine.

]]> http://silentleaves.wordpress.com/2012/06/27/i-found-the-time/feed/ 2 ekcross save http://silentleaves.wordpress.com/2012/06/26/981/ http://silentleaves.wordpress.com/2012/06/26/981/#comments Tue, 26 Jun 2012 10:23:10 +0000 Betsy Cross http://silentleaves.wordpress.com/?p=981 ]]>

Day one was interesting. It was a “James in the Giant Peach” sort of day.

Rhinos in thunderclouds threatening to destroy my resolve came in the form of  doubts and fears about having made this semi-public and feeling a bit exposed. A few times last night I woke up and berated myself at the same time I was telling myself , “Be quiet, this is important! Have some faith.”

But when I woke up and read a few notes from friends I was encouraged and strengthened. Thank goodness for friends who know how important it is to reach out!

So, on with what happened….

The sky was grey and the barometric pressure was dropping. The kids were antsy to get the day going, so I cleaned up the kitchen, threw one of 5 loads of laundry in, and asked, “Who wants to stretch with me?”

James and Kenny got the giggles and Kenny asked, “Where’d you learn THAT? Yoga?” more giggles.

I don’t like talking when exercising or stretching, but went with it and answered, “No. Ballet.”

You’d think I was a stand-up comedian with the response I got!

“You mean you wore TUTU’S?!!” I wish I could have heard their thoughts. They acted as if I was a brand new person to them. It got even better when we moved on to sit-ups and push-ups. You know how hard it is to stay focused with those two buggers laughing? And then I started laughing because they were trying copy me, and they looked so silly!

When we finally got to the Knob, Madeleine, Kenny and James piled out and headed into the woods. As we followed behind I thought about posture and poise. How long had I been slumping? As I straightened up I remembered the visual I was taught and then used on all of my students. You have to imagine a string that comes through the top of your head that is connected to your center, your core. When pulled upwards you become aligned. You spine straightens, shoulders open and relax down, your stomach tightens to support your back, etc., all the way down to your feet. When I pulled that string I felt better, lighter.

Madeleine was horrified when I started doing lunges and stretching squats on the beach. “Mommy! What are you DOING? ” followed with, ” I can’t do that. My muscles break.”

I told her about being her age and feeling the same pain when I stretched, but I did more every day until I could do a split. She wanted to believe me, but the pain was a huge roadblock for her.

I said to her, “You don’t think this hurts me?” What a thought. She assumed that because I was doing something that she found painful, there must be something special about me. An extra amount of resolve or determination, or in this case, more pliable muscles, ligaments, and tendons? What else was she not doing or going to do in her life because the work was too painful?

While thunder and rain started we were already in the car and a thought came to me to visit the Cape Cod Conservatory up the road. I had taken millions of classes there and wanted to go inside to feel what I used to feel. An older gentleman met us at the door and welcomed us in. The kids and I walked tentatively into the expansive studio with the mirror-lined wall with double barres lining the three other walls.  I was so happy.

He said to me, “No time to dance anymore?” You’ve got your hands full now.”

“Nah,” I replied. “I’ll dance again.”

The kids were mesmerized. A whole new world had opened up to them A world they could have known about had I not abandoned it. But there it sat. Waiting.

But it was time to go home.

Summer vacation throws a wrench among the screwdrivers of my wanna-be ordered and structured home. But life and commitments call, so I did the dishes again, threw more laundry in and answered the nagging reminder of the barre exercises that needed to be addressed. Everyone was in the living room, so I used the bar in the kitchen as a ballet barre and did about 10 minutes of exercises while ignoring calls from the bathroom nearby where James was struggling and need me NOW!

This morning I’m dealing with feeling happy and calm…and that not being enough for me. So, I can’t sit here much longer or I’ll run for the caffeine. I wonder if it’s going to be hard to get used to the calm?

Today there’s a lot of driving to do, and the chores need to be done. That giant peach feels like it’s getting away from me already, rolling away while I try to catch it.

In less than an hour the family will get up and they will own me until I leave at 6 for the work at the Family History Center. I’m wracking my brain trying to think how I can get in shape faster by using my time better.

Today I’ll just have to pay attention to promptings that say, “Do it now.” instead of planning it all out and waiting for the time to come.

I think you need a lot of support to live (change) a life!

The Knob, Cape Cod, Massachusetts

On Saturday afternoon, Kenny, James and I picked up my husband, Frank, from his last dialysis appointment of the week, stopped at home for a minute so that he could get a bite to eat, and headed for a walk through the woods to the Knob.

We came out of the thick vegetation and I remembered that I’ll be 51 soon. 18 days from now.

What could I accomplish in 18 days? There’s so much that interests me, but what I really want is to feel like I’m on my way to being in shape like I was when I danced…ballet.

I’m one of the lucky ones who looks the part on the outside, but whose lungs struggle mowing the lawn, whose muscles and tendons scream when stretched, and whose brain is clouded from misuse and abuse.

And that’s not okay with me.

My youngest sons, Kenny (6), and James (3), talk about “walks to nowhere for no reason” all the time. The walks are fun, enlightening, and very rewarding. And even though we start out without any purpose, we always manage to have an adventure.

That’s sort of where I’m at with my 18-day journey to my 51st birthday. I’m willing to start walking, but open to getting somewhere else.

Yes, I’m scared to death of commitment! But, on July 13th I’ll be celebrating something. I may as well start doing things that dancers do even if my body doesn’t cooperate like it used to.

I know exactly what to do-what to start and what to stop doing. It all starts with awareness and honesty. Right?

I sleep very little and live on caffeine. Not coffee. But wherever I can get that high that mimics the feelings that endorphins give when I dance, THAT’S were I go. Whenever I dance, those cravings go away. I know that. But I’m lazy. I do a lot of running around for the house, the children, for life, but not for me – my soul.

Can I commit to changing that? I don’t know because I’ve never tried. I’ve started jumping rope, doing Yoga, and running. But dancers are different. I’ve tasted that level of fitness and nothing comes close. It’s a wonderful feeling to own every muscle of your body and not have them own you. And I’m one of those who needs extreme exercise to feel a shift in brain chemistry. Ballet is the only thing that has ever given that to me.

So the goal is really two-fold: get in ballet-shape for my mind AND body.

I hate pain, discomfort, fatigue and failure. But that comes with the territory. That’s what I face for the first few weeks.

I’ve wondered for a long time if it’s possible for a woman my age- having given birth to 9 children who still need to be loved and nurtured, living a very uncertain future that messes with my head every other minute by throwing distractions and obligations like spaghetti to the wall of my life, hoping to keep me stuck- if a woman like that can succeed? Success to me means the dream is out of my head. It’s no longer a wish. It’s a part of my life, however that looks.

I’m ready to start.

I’ll post daily. Wish me luck? Off to stretch, take a walk with the kids. Madeleine missed going to the Knob, so that’s where we’re going. When we get back I’ll do a simple ballet barre. We’ll see if I stayed committed to all of that!

]]> http://silentleaves.wordpress.com/2012/06/25/can-an-almost-51-yr-old-dance-again/feed/ 13 ekcross http://silentleaves.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/hes-not-heavy-hes-my-brother/ http://silentleaves.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/hes-not-heavy-hes-my-brother/#comments Thu, 10 May 2012 17:25:18 +0000 Betsy Cross http://silentleaves.wordpress.com/?p=957 ]]>
I hear  a lot of talk about the purpose of life, and what it means to people from different cultural, familial, and religious or non religious backgrounds. I listen to the questions “What do you hope to accomplish in your lifetime? What matters to you?” and wait to hear the answers, hoping to see patterns in the responses. And I do.

I see two things. First, people want to be true to themselves, to live the life that comes from an inner joy or bliss. It’s almost as if there’s a collective journey of self-discovery.

I call it remembering who you are.

Second I see a desire to use who you are to make a difference in the world.

To matter.

Some of us want our legacy to be a happy family, a novel, a collection of artwork or symphonies that will be enjoyed for generations, research resulting in discoveries and inventions that benefit humanity somehow, or a life of service in our particular niche or specialty, lightening the burdens of our brothers or sisters.

But in the grand scheme of things do these things really constitute a life fully lived? Can any of us really say that we won’t still wonder if there was more?

My question has always been, if you know who you are and you feel like what you’re doing with your time is making a difference in the world, is there an ingredient that if added would give you a sure knowledge that you’ve lived a fulfilled life? That you would be at peace leaving when your time was up?

I believe there is. And I believe you can learn it very well using social media.

It’s empathy, “the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thought or attitudes of another”, coupled with compassion, ” a feeling of deep sympathy or sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering.”

I’m reminded of a race my oldest daughter ran when she was in the fifth grade, 14 years ago. Every runner was out for himself when the shot rang out startling each into action. Half a mile into the race another runner started to struggle and we watched our daughter from the stands as she slowed her pace and then turned around to run beside another fifth grade girl, a stranger, and stay with her until she made her way to the finish line. She filled no apparent need other than camaraderie. She may have even made the girl feel conspicuous and a bit embarrassed by being singled out instead of ignored. But when I asked her why she did it, she answered, “I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

Another time I asked my oldest son what he’d done at school that day, to which he responded that he’d sat on the school steps during recess. I asked why and he said because there was a boy who wasn’t playing because he had a broken arm. So he sat with him for the hour. Apparently they didn’t know each other well, and didn’t do much talking. I scratched my head and wondered what caused him to be that kind of a boy? I had no answers. I don’t think he did either.

But what of social media? What do these examples have to do with how we approach each other in social media and how that relates to the purpose of life? And how do empathy and compassion develop to benefit all?

I’ll try to be clear.

If I know who I am and I know why I’m here and forget that there is a natural rythymn to my life, ups and downs, peaks and valleys, where others’ kind acknowledgement, easy banter, helpfulness and wisdom sees me through the dark days that come to everyone, and that my up days are an opportunity to lift another, if I forget that, well, good luck to me on feeling at peace or fulfilled for long. Good luck to ever feeling truly connected. Because it’s in our relationship where we strengthen each other and become more human and humane.

Social media is nothing if it’s not a symbiotic, or interdependent relationship.

It’s in another’s joys and success, in their smiles and their relief, that I find my deepest value. It’s where my edges are softened and my supports are strengthened.

When I see you with empathy and compassion in my heart I think about your comfort before or instead of mine. I further your cause before my own. I do that because I know that everyone, friends and strangers who are fast becoming friends, have prayers in their hearts as do I. And none of us know if we are a leg up or a helping hand to each other at any given moment. Do we? Why risk missing the opportunity to find out?

What do you think?

Pick-up sticks (or pick-a-stick) is a game of physical and mental skill. A bundle of  sticks, between 3 and 8 inches long, are held in a loose bunch (see the picture) and released on a table top, falling in random disarray. Each player, in turn, must remove a stick from the pile without disturbing the remaining ones.  (Wikipedia)

So, we’re all a bunch of sticks. And if social media (aka Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, blogging, and commenting on blogs,etc.) is played according to the rules of THAT game, if we want to win the game and go home with the most sticks, we’d better not “move” anyone.

I’ve learned the opposite is true and a lot more fun!

I WANT you to move me! I want to laugh and cry. Your life and what interests you matters to me. Let me help you move your cause, your book, your project along. There’s nothing more rewarding than seeing another person succeed.

What are we here for if not to brighten someone’s day by asking what they’re up to and finding out how we fit into their plan?

My mom asks me some really hard questions sometimes. She always gets me thinking! The other day she asked me to tell her what my business goal was? What did I want to move people to DO? I thought I knew. I sort of did. I can tell you what I’m working on and what I like to write about. But in the grand scheme of my life – that thing that breaks down into clumps of time spent doing stuff - I had a really hard time coming up with a clear and concise explanation of who Betsy “is” and what she’s up to. It’s all in my head, and I assume you’re a mind-reader or a guru of knowing what’s going on under and between-the-tweets!

But you know what? THAT’S exactly what I want from YOU! I may love what you write and tweet about. I can appreciate how you make me feel. But what I really want to know is twofold: I want to know what moves you in your life, and what moves you about mine.

Where we connect is where the magic happens!

I’ll get it “wrong” sometimes because of my assumptions about what I see when you show up. But I’ll search your site and try to figure out what you’re doing and if there’s a way I can advance your game. And I won’t be bashful about sharing it or asking you those difficult questions that my mom asks me either!

I’m off to play. Here’s to us shaking things up in each others game today!

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child;

Turn back the clock. It’s August 2010. My days are full of joy. I’m happy and managing life and its stresses peacefully, wisely. I read a lot, take long walks with my children, garden in the warmer months and enjoy friends and family more intimately when the cold weather keeps me indoors more often. A lot of my time and energy is focused on my passion for family history. When I find someone who needs help with their family history research I do what I can.

but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 

Enter social media. New things to see, hear, read and opportunities to grow. I’d only used the Internet to connect me to information up until the point that we moved away from my social connection to family and friends. The only world immediately available to me to replace my social life (or so I thought) was through the Internet.

Problem? I assumed both worlds were the same. They aren’t. One has bodies you can see, smell, touch, and hear. The other only has words and images. Even video is limited to exposing the true essence of who and what is seen. It’s staged. The world that understood who I was, the one that saw me wash dishes, fold laundry, make dinner, and read bedtime stories even though I was exhausted from overwork and battle fatigue, wasn’t invited onto my computer screen unless I wanted it there. Nor could it shout to the new world of cyberspace how much it loved and missed me.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face:

I think I know you. You think you know me. Words express our thoughts, and our desires. We tell virtual strangers stories about our lives, hoping to uplift, inspire and learn. I see pictures of you that you use for your profile, and others that you post on Facebook. I try to discern who you really are. But there is that impenetrable glass that never allows a true understanding or true connection.

I hold in high regard those few who actually go to Blogworld and other social media conferences where there’s an opportunity to see face to face. That’s a healthy way to use and continue in social media. Where there’s a balance between and a link to both worlds. Where fantasies and illusions are replaced by real living, breathing human beings who have hopes, dreams, problems and stresses like everybody else.

Now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

No matter what I’ve said about how I feel, what my dreams, goals, values and standards are, social media is limited to never exposing to you what my life is really like. And that’s not important unless what you’re looking for is a deeper friendship and connection. If you’re quick to judge and slow to discern AND unwilling to find common ground where values and standards are discussed and respected hearts can harden, making relationships difficult. Typed words are very limiting and easily misunderstood. Patience, respect, and a sincere desire to understand another’s words over time with a lot of questions back and forth are required.

And now abideth faith, hope, and charity, these three;

Do I believe there’s value in social media? Yes. I believe it has enormous capacity for good. But what I think I’ve learned is to use it for the good of those whom I can interact with in my family, neighborhood, and community. or for the good of YOUR family and community.

I believe we are the agents of change, the bridge-builders. Anything less than that vision leaves idle minds that could be engaged in service to self-serving relationships that can depress and discourage because they are shadow-like by nature, never really real. My hope is that I can learn how to use these magnificent tools to do a work in the world that is uplifting and inspiring, and tangible. I feel like I’m starting to see clearly how it can work.

Used wisely it will  build connections of trust and usefulness within our real life communities. But if it uses us, it has the capacity destroy us, our families and our other relationships.

but the greatest of these is charity.

1 Corinthians 13:11-13

Charity, the pure love of Christ; the love that allows for understanding of differences, teaches and encourages respect, aspires to everything good and beautiful, and yearns to be the  bridge between the haves and the have-nots are things that encourage me about social media. When we shift our selfish desires that seek our own gratification to magnanimous ones that want to connect for the purpose of helping those who live in our homes and communities, we’ll be the recipients of peace in our hearts, knowing who we really are to the world and in the world and for the world.

And when our focus shifts from what WE need and want to what we can give, we will see so many more opportunities to share WHO we know with those who have a need to know THEM. Our days will feel richer because we’ll have tools at our disposal that can quickly and effectively reach the previously unreachable. Even if only a small percentage of people online use it to promote their neighbor’s cause or business, those threads of activity will slowly wrap around each other and bind us together as brothers and sisters, and will become more easily discerned and emulated by those who are seeking to do good in the world.

Will I continue in social media? A few days ago I would have said no. My strength was gone. I was humbled by my ignorance and naivete.  I had become so inwardly focused that I couldn’t see my value, if that makes any sense at all. But I need to be connected to people to help, to lift, and to inspire, and to BE inspired!

Most of that connection will be found in real life, in my home and community. It’s up to me to set up a system that works efficiently to link both worlds together seamlessly. I will decide how much time I devote to that service, and what my standards are. And my real life relationships will always have to come first. They’ve earned the right and privilege to be the relationships I work the hardest on every day. And if I can’t figure this out for myself, how in the world can I guide my children who will possibly need to use the Internet much more than I have or will?

What in the world? I knew something was wrong immediately. It was 3:30 am., late August, 2005.

Who calls at that time of the morning?  My husband handed me the phone, watching me freeze and melt simultaneously as my mind was being bombarded by news that was too slippery to grasp.

“She’s gone, Betsy.” I heard her say through the controlled sobs.

Kathy? Gone? What did that mean? I asked myself, even though I knew.

The place that feels covered by my face, the mask, that chunk of matter from behind my eyes to the back of my mouth was numb. No feeling.

My husband took the phone from me as I lay my body down, careful not to twist my middle. Maybe I could get a few more hours of sleep. The baby wouldn’t be here for a couple more months. But sleep was rare and uncomfortable at best.

I’ll say it for you. “What normal person goes back to sleep after news like that?”

It took about four minutes before a new thought poked through a chink in the armor of my consciousness, relaying an urgent message from my heart.

“Your sister is dead. Your mother just called crying. This is serious. Get up. Go to her.”

I kissed my children goodbye as I told them one by one that Aunt Kathy had died, leaving my husband to get them ready for school.

Minutes later, hair brushed, makeup on, I lumbered up my mom’s driveway and into her house, obedient to the police’s instructions to look left, not right.

I looked right.

I wanted to touch her and to say goodbye and I love you one last time. But I didn’t want to seem strange.  So I didn’t. I hugged my mom instead as they looked on.

That is one of my few regrets in life.

Who was going to tell Dad? I was. How? Through tears that were for me and him both; his being suppressed for years and unwilling or unable to see the light of day like the dawn that was fast approaching.

His little girl, just 45-yrs-old, his personal shopper, constant companion for Red Sox and Patriot’s games and sole occupant of his living room couch during her all-day visits, wasn’t coming to visit today. He took off his ring and told me to bury it with her. He patted my hand, and assured the both of us that she had been so unhealthy for so long.

He looked at me with big eyes, wondering, “But what really happened, Bets?”

“Either a heart attack or she tripped. Broke her neck. They aren’t doing an autopsy.”

I hugged him briefly, knowing that when I promised to see him soon I’d have to keep that promise or no one would know if he’d run out of food or made it through the night. I crossed his apartment’s threshold wearing the new hat labelled “caregiver”, perplexed with how I was going to find time to wear it.

I made my way back to my mom’s, spending the rest of the day making “final arrangements for the body”.

Moments that morph into “days like that” are on my mind today.

I had been given an opportunity to show up.

 And I had almost missed it. Why?

My mind couldn’t grasp my value in, to, and for the relationships that I had with my mother, my father, and my sister. I had become self-centered and self-absorbed to the point of neglecting the people who were my first link to life and human relationships.

My relationships didn’t grow deeper that day. I did.

I wonder if I’m showing up for ALL of my relationships these days.

I know that sometimes my presence is lacking.

You’re kind to accept my excuses and apologies.

Now when people call, I talk. When I read your blog, I tell you how your post affected me. When you laugh I want to know the joke. When you cry I want to comfort you. If you come to visit you will be welcomed with a hug and a comfy chair to sit in while we talk.

I still have one foot in that world that revolves around me. The one that keeps tripping me up as it drags me away from what’s most important.

And what is THAT, you ask? What is the most important thing?

It’s the thing you just called to tell me. It’s the email you sent last night, and the post you wrote this morning. It’s the project you want to share with me, the one you’ve worked on for so long.  It’s whatever you want it to be.

It’s your soul.

Thank you for sharing.

Of how you’d brighten up my life, and how much you’d mean to me,

I thought of times still future bound, filling holes I never knew

Existed in this mother’s heart, until I witnessed you.

Then I looked up. And much to my surprise I was aglow!

And I believed no one in the world would ever know,

The feelings of one tender heart, stretched to let in blazing light,

Changed forever in one cloudless, starry night.

Then you were here so suddenly, I’d hardly time to breathe,

To take in all your beauty, all the mystery you’d leave.

But now you’re gone, the light grows dim.

Alone I’m left to feel… your presence in my memory

Though far away so real.

Oh, I never knew the emptiness that you would leave for me

Would never leave again, or how hard life now would be.

To live and breathe without you, knowing you’re no longer here,

But brightening another’s sky in some far distant sphere.

But I’ll look up,

Remembering you crossed my life one night.

And I will wish

For strength to make it through another night.

I’ll wish upon five million stars

That you could stay with me,

Knowing that’s a wish that for now cannot be.

 You are my shooting star for now, although that’s hard to bear.

I’ll hold onto what I have of you, and with each breath I’ll dare

To risk to live another day with a leaking, rusty heart,

Holding everything together while it’s falling all apart.

I’ll hope a little longer that the day won’t last too long.

Because the nighttime waits for me. I’ve known it all along.

Each tear I shed makes clearer stars that quietly appear.

Your name I’ll whisper once again with hope that you are near.

And I’ll look up, to trails of glory left as you were passing through.

And I’ll believe

In future worlds where all the shooting stars I knew

Will someday stay

And seeing me will start

Passing to me pieces of my broken heart.

Betsy Cross