Learning to Drive: Lesson: Precious Cargo

4/12/18

"Your identity is not equivalent to your biography. There is a place where you have never been wounded, where there's a seamlessness in you, and where there is a confidence and tranquility in you, and I think the intention of prayer and spirituality and love is now and again to visit that inner kind of sanctuary." -John O'Donohue

Some women have a natural gift of mothering. Others (And by that I mean me.) have to develop our skills and pray our children survive the efforts.  There is a consciousness that must be honed in motherhood; to always be aware of, and care for, our precious cargo.

The first time I ever took my sweet daughter Jordyn out in the car alone, she was just over 1 year of age. (If you haven't caught on, I adopted this angel, or rather she adopted me.) I had no idea what I was doing, but I decided to fake it until I made it.  I put the carseat into the back seat of my car, and got her all buckled in, easy peasy!  Feeling proud of my small victory, I proceeded on my merry way, driving to my destination.  I glanced into the rear view mirror. And died a thousand deaths. No Jordyn. Self doubt crept in; had I actually put her in the car, or just the car seat, which was now in the driveway? Why could I suddenly not remember, and come to think of it, did I leave the stove on? Panicking, I looked again... and there she was, on her side, contentedly smiling at me, buckled into the baby seat that I HAD NOT BUCKLED INTO THE SEAT ITSELF.  

Ohhhhhh, so there's another step. 

Step one: Buckle car seat into car.

Step two: Buckle baby into car seat. 

(Hidden step three: Turn the stove off.)

I hadn't taken enough conscious care of my precious cargo. I laugh about this story now, but it was a wakeup call to how much deeper I was going to have to invest myself if I wanted this sweet girl to reach adulthood in one piece.

This is a telling lesson. Yes, my daughter did grow into an amazing adult human; but the other part, being meticulously conscious of and careful with my precious cargo, that is a challenge to this day.  

I very recently took a road trip with a dear friend. It was a chance to visit my alma mater, Colorado State, do some hiking, eat some great food, drink some beer, catch a ballgame in Denver, see friends (old and new) and bond over longs stretches of road with my travel companion.  It was a joy. Traveling is and will always be, one of my greatest joys. And yet, still, sadness waits around every corner. "Another thing you're now doing without your life partner." always tends to ring in my mind as each new adventure- anniversary passes, alone. Fortunately, I'm blessed with such amazing people in my life that sadness can never linger. Jordyn stepped up and helped me get my Yoga Homework remotely turned in via Google (sigh) on time. Dear new friends took such care as to leave me "welcome" gifts at both households I visited in Fort Collins.  I was treated to a Shambhala Meditation Center as a surprise hike. I got to see a ballgame in beautiful Coors Field, under a gorgeous blue Colorado sky. Other dear friends entertained and housed us in their Denver loft with a view of the mountains I miss daily. My friend and I conquered the insanely difficult Manitou Incline hike. (Yes we did get lapped by a 75 year old man, but in our defense he was OBVIOUSLY not a tourist.)

So yes, I know and have known for a while now, what precious cargo I have in Jordyn, my family, my dear dear dear friends, near and far, old and new.

But then, driving home, we heard the poet John O'Donohue speaking on a podcast, and I was struck dumb. His words highlighted the one bit of precious cargo that I've been overlooking; that I have not been consciously tending to.

Me.

I know, I've been traveling, going out with friends, having new adventures, laughing, all of this and more. My life has been a frenzy of fun and friends, and adventure and activity since I emerged from the darkness. And I love it all. But, I have not yet tended to myself, my soul, my heart. I am buckled in to the car seat, but not the car. 

April 13,  my dad would have been 95. I always do something to toast his memory; drink a chocolate martini, listen to a baseball game, listen to a song he loved. But tomorrow, to honor dad, and to honor me, I'm going to start a Sadhana (Sanskrit for "a means of accomplishing something"). For 144 days (ending on Labor Day, another anniversary) I will light a candle, drink my hot lemon water, and do a morning meditation, for me. To form a new positive habit. For my self care. I will dive deep to find that place in me that has never been wounded, that is still tranquil and confident. I'm going to buckle in my precious cargo. I'm going to start recognizing my accomplishments instead of mourning my losses. I'll get stronger eventually at looking back and honoring what was; but for now, I'm going to breathe in the NOW. I'm going to gaze toward the future, my future. I will apply myself and find an  apartment. I will cook again, for myself. I will feed the birds. I will plant a garden, somehow. I won't apologize when I mess up my Google homework and have to ask for help. I won't let myself feel scared because I don't have a "real" job. I will sing. I will travel. I will yoga. I will write. I will grow. I will love. I will laugh. I will be conscious of my self and my care and safety. 

I am precious cargo.