My two teachers

Earlier this week, Elliot met his great-grandmother Elaine for the first time.  This was poignant for many reasons, a key one being that he was named after her (and my grandfather, Enrique) and was due on her birthday (still now, I get confused on whether his birthday is January 17th or 19th).

Difficult to put into words how special it is seeing a 92 year old and a 6 month year old -- both of whom you love so dearly -- playing with and enjoying each other so so much.

As I was watching and admiring the way they interacted, it hit me that a key reason this was so special is that I was witnessing two people who truly live in the present.  You see, Grandma Elaine -- while being fiercely independent and incredibly kind ever since I first met her eight years ago -- now has Alzheimer's.  At first, I found myself wishing "oh, if only she could have met him a couple years ago before Alzheimer's hit her."  Yet then I realized that for all the challenges and difficulties of this disease, it also keeps her (and all of us who spend time with her) in the present.  The past is difficult to remember; the future is tough to predict... so instead, we just spent a few hours living fully in the present, in the loving midst of her and Elliot.

"Live in the present" has become so trite a saying -- we have all heard it, yet it is difficult actually do this in practice.  It means dropping easy stand-bys like: "how have you been? how was your week?" or even bringing up people who aren't in the room (oh, I saw this person last night) -- and instead being fully present with whomever is in the room at this point in time.  It means fully feeling your feelings (like love and pride and even the tough bittersweet ones) without having the easy out of small talk.

Earlier this week, I got a lesson in that from the two best teachers I could think of.  It all boils down to: enjoying who you're with, feeling gratitude for this precious time together, and knowing that this moment is more than enough.

From Grandma Elaine to Elliot: "I am so proud of you already, young man.  You're gonna be something, I tell you.  You will do great things".  You can see the pride in her eyes:

Buddies

Since being in the US for the last five days, the biggest shock value when talking to folks about our trip has not been that we traveled 5,969 miles to attend my long-term ex-boyfriend's wedding (anyone who knows me and Tyler well know how much Brian and his family mean to us), but rather that Tyler traveled that distance alone with Elliot.

Before we left, my friend Olivia and I joked about how accommodating, helpful, and understanding the stewardists and other passengers would be; during travels to Japan earlier this year, I had already learned firsthand the difference that onlookers give you as the mother are carrying your screaming baby ("what's wrong with you?") versus the father carrying your screaming baby ("aw, what a good dad").  Indeed, Tyler and Elliot both made friends during the flight -- Elliot's in the form of a one-year old girl who was very happy to share her toys (up to a point) and help Elliot hold the bottle of milk to his mouth when he got too tired.  (When deboarding at the end of the 11.5 hour flight, the older sister of Elliot's one-year old friend said: "they should get married.")

It seemed like the trip, while certainly no breeze, was really nice bonding... particularly since Elliot is at a delightful age where, when things aren't going well, his default response is: "Let's cuddle."

Now that we're in LA, while there has certainly been great mom-Elliot bonding time (with the grandparents as well; more to come!), there has been no shortage of "like father, like son" moments (my personal favorite is waking up next to both of them with their arms straight up overhead).  Perhaps the most fun (and certainly Elliot's first) over the last couple days has been this:

Checking out the Porsche:

Loading precious cargo:

Tyler's son indeed:

A life lived fully

A few weeks ago, my friend Cari died in a tragic bike accident.  It was sudden, it was senseless, and it took a bright light from this world.  In the days and weeks that followed, I vacillated between being in denial and finding myself lost and immersed in her Facebook page, which had become a living tribute and memorial.  I actually ended up uninstalling Facebook from my phone (hence apologies if it correspondingly seems I have gone AWOL) -- feeling too much of a cognitive dissonance seeing the heaviness of her death and the lightness of all-else-that-is-Facebook.

Like all tragedies, Cari's death forced an internal reckoning and deep introspection.  I realized over the last few weeks that much of the "fun" reading I've been drawn to these last few years has actually been about dying: "Chasing Daylight", "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying," "The End of Your Life Book Club", and quite possibly one of the most impactful books I've read in recent years, "When Breath Becomes Air" -- about a 36-year old neurosurgeon who is diagnosed with stage IV lung caner (our good friend, Terence, recommended this book and I devoured it in one day, doing little else).  Far from a fascination on the macabre, I realize that this focus on death is because the coming of death starts to make life -- and what most matters in life -- perfectly clear.  For someone like me who tends to do one million things (and who tries to do those one million things "perfectly" -- with predictable results), the potential for this type of laser-sharp recognition of what is most important in life is a lesson worth learning.  For it is through death that life comes into sharp focus.

One powerful article I recently came across is called: "Regrets of the Dying", written by someone who worked for many years in palliative care (link here).  Her patients were those who were sent home to die.  She wrote an article about the common themes that came up when questioned about lingering regrets.  The top five:
1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me. -- the most common regret of all
2. I wish I didn't work so hard.
3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

Of course, we all know that we're going to die.  What we don't know is when.  Paul Kalanithi, the author of "When Breath Becomes Air", writes about this in a New York Times Op-Ed, "How Long Have I Got Left?" (as it turns out, he died one year after his diagnosis at age 37):

"The path forward would seem obvious if only I knew how many months or years I had left.  Tell me three months, I'd just spend time with family.  Tell me one year, I'd have a plan (write that book).  Give me ten years, I'd get back to treating diseases.  The pedestrian truth that you live one day at a time didn't help: What was I supposed to do with that day?  My oncologist would say only: 'I can't tell you a time.  You've got to find what matters most to you."

And that's the key question, isn't it?  What matters most to each of us?  After reading "Chasing Daylight", written by a former KPMG CEO told he only had three more months to live, I contemplated and meditated on what I might do in the same situation.  I remember journaling that if I only had one month to live, I would stop working, fly out my family and the people most important in my life and go to El Nido -- possibly my favorite place on earth -- to live out the rest of my days surrounded by those I love.  In fact, it was through a meditation on dying at a silent meditation retreat in NYC that I made the definitive decision to move out to Korea with Tyler (we had been contemplating doing distance for a year so we could each pursue professional goals and ambitions).  We were asked to think about our last breath -- picture where we would be, who we would be with.  And then move back from there: picture our last day, our last week, our last month on this earth.  Each of those answers was "with Tyler" (and none of those included doing work), so it made the decision to come to Korea an easy one.

There's a quote by Mahatma Gandhi I've always liked: "Live as if you were to die tomorrow.  Learn as if you were to live forever."  The learning part I've long ago embraced.  But what I continue to struggle with is the first part and all versions of the mantra: "live like this is your last day on earth."  How does one even begin to execute on that while also being a responsible citizen?

While I don't see myself doing work on my final day, week, or even month, work is something that gives me great joy and enables me to be of service and have an impact on this world.  I am grateful to be able to earn an income for my family and even more grateful to do work I know is having an impact on improving lives.  Stopping this to "live as if I were to die tomorrow" seems excessively hedonistic, as does draining my bank account to live for now, instead of saving for our future.

Over the last couple of days, I seem to have stumbled onto one piece of the answer, when Tyler reminded me (as always) that I tend to way over-plan and over-pack my schedule when I head home to the US.  This time, I massively cut out plans (each day having at most three scheduled events).  But I realized that perhaps even this wasn't enough, as not all events are created equal (e.g. doctor's appointment vs time with parents -- both important, only one that I'll likely remember with fondness).  Inspired by the "bullet journal" that Andrew had introduced me to, I started drawing out a calendar of the next month.  With a hot pink pen (easily found in Korea), I drew out "heart groundings" -- spelling out one key event across most days that had the ability to ground me and connect me to those I love most.  What I realized is that very few of these had huge price tags attached.  There's the house I am renting with my parents in Rhinebeck or the boat we are renting with Katie and Andrew on the lake in WA... but for the most part, they are free or nearly so: sunrise walks with Elliot and Tyler on the Santa Monica beach; long lazy BBQ dinners at Dan and Kris's Christmas tree farmhouse; riding the Central Park carousel with my parents and Elliot in NYC.

The next morning after drawing out these "heart groundings", I got an email about an "algorithm for happiness", in large part inspired by the "Chasing Daylight" book referenced above.  In this, author and coach Robin Sharma, spells out in a very compelling way what I had been trying to do with my "heart grounding".   He calls on us to become "Perfect Moment Creators" -- whether these are multi-hour long family sunset dinners or a trip to Florence "to witness Michelangelo's David before sharing the city's best pizza in an off-the-path trattoria."  In an earlier blog post, I talked about these "kairos" moments of motherhood (inspired by the much-discussed "Don't Carpe Diem" Huffington Post article).  While the recovering perfectionist in me doesn't resonate with the term "perfect moment" ("don't do anything that breaks the perfection of this moment!!!"), this idea for me bridges the gap between "living like you may die tomorrow" and living the rest of your "normal", responsible life.

Because as the tragedy of Cari's early death reminds us, who knows how long we all have.  If there's any silver lining to this, it's that Cari seems to have lived her last year on earth largely as though it would be her last year on earth (of course, without actually knowing this).  About a year ago, she left Google and from what I could see on Facebook, led a life filled with these "perfect moments" and "heart groundings" -- traveling to Myanmar with our friend Noha, walking the El Camino de Santiago pilgrimage, becoming a yoga teacher and Eucharistic minister for the elderly... Close friends shared that in her email announcing her "big news" of leaving Google, she wrote: "Happiness is a state of being; a feeling of calmness and deep inner peace, of feeling rested, grounded and connected to myself.  Happiness is having the time, energy and space to connect more deeply with my family, friends and community."

We miss you, Cari.  There is peace in knowing you lived this life of happiness so fully; as well as inspiration -- even after your death -- in your bringing this message into the hearts of others.

Life is eternal
And love is immortal
And death is only a horizon
And a horizon is nothing
Save the limit of sight.

-- Rossiter Worthington Raymond (quote from Cari's memorial) 
 

"And this life of mine has been blessed"

It's not even one week since Hanoi and already I feel the magic and our resolutions to sustain and protect that magic fading.  The three of us really did fall even more in love with each other last weekend, and it was 100% due to being fully present.  Whatever was happening in the present, that was enough.  Of course, this was easy to do lounging out by the pool and bringing Elliot in for his first swim.  But it also made just lying down with the three of us on the bed magical as well.

The day that we arrived back home, Tyler and I talked about how amazing the trip was and said how much we want to create the "Hanoi magic" as much as we can now that we're back in real life.  Full of resolve and promise (which for me, included a weekly technology-free day) on Sunday... by Monday evening, I was telling Tyler that I was already slipping.  I'd bring Elliot into our big bed and cuddle and play with him... only to reach out for my phone and check email, or think about something that needs to get done and wonder how close we were to nap time.

So like most things I write about on this blog, I don't have the answers.  But I feel like I'm working my way towards them.  Here are three things I'm learning now and continuing to test around staying present with Elliot:

1. Music.  Much less of an a-ha, this one is more like an "um, duh".  There was one month in India where I thought I was depressed, and it turns out I just hadn't been listening to music that inspired me (my brother-in-law had sent a link of a new song he liked, and I was like OH YA, music lights me up).  Listening to the right music snaps my mind back into the present and moves my awareness from my mind to my heart.  It makes whatever I'm doing with Elliot feel like a video montage -- and there's an aspect of me that feels like I'm already watching this from the future looking back, reminding me these are the magic moments.  Top on my playlist of mindful mommyhood:

• Snatam Kaur, "Crimson" (actually, the entire album is an incredible heart opener, but the words of Crimson are especially powerful -- "And this life of mine has been blessed."
• 10,000 Maniacs, "These Are Days"
• Bhakti Bhakti, "Amazing Grace / Guru Om" 
• Ella Eyre, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" (this is what Tyler used to sing to Elliot back when I was still pregnant and we were calling him "Gracie")
• OneRepublic, "Good Life"

2. Two Awesome Hours.  I devoured a book this week that my brother-in-law had just recently read called "Two Awesome Hours."  The thesis is pretty straight-forward and simple: you can structure your day and harness the learnings of cognitive awarenes to make yourself incredibly effective and productive for "two awesome hours."  I realize I'm probably a big part of the problem of the whole phenomenon of productivity meets motherhood (super interesting "Manifesto" about the usage of parenting as a verb in last week's Wall Street Journal here).  But hear me out.  For me, knowing that I've set aside and created conditions for two awesome hours of what I call "real" work (not just responding to emails, but actually creating something of use and impact to the wider world) allows me to be truly present with Elliot during the times I'm not working.

3. Sharing in morning rituals.  To back track, I realized long ago there are certain morning practices and rituals I did that made me feel great and set the foundations to a really amazing day.  And I also realized if I didn't do these consistently... well, it's like not listening to music for a month.  So what ended up happening is that I would hope that Elliot would stay asleep long enough for me to finish these (meditating + yoga + journal)... or that he would take a nap so that I could finish.  Clearly not the best recipe for cultivating joy in the present (ironic, since that's what these practices are meant to do).  So what am I now trying instead?  Doing them with Elliot! -- well, the first two at least.  We've now started "meditating" and doing yoga together in the morning.  By "meditating", I mean putting on a meditation awareness track while we lovingly look at each other in bed (he's become obsessed with our faces and touching them ever so sweetly like a blind person feeling the contours of a sculpture).  And by yoga, I mean that he does his thing and I copy him, laying next to him.  He loves the mutual mirroring.  This morning, we did "happy baby" for about fifteen minutes in bed (this pose name, I now get... but still don't understand child's pose -- what child does that?)

As though on cue, I now hear him stirring from his morning nap... time to start practicing what I preach... let's get some music on!

Sounds of Laughter

Every day since coming home from Vietnam, Elliot has laughed.  Exactly once per day for the last three days.  Still rationing, but we'll happily take it.

His first laugh was a little over one month ago, just shy of his five month birthday.  Of course, we all missed it.  Tyler was at work, I was out... even our incredible nanny, Jhona, missed it.  She was in the bathroom when she heard what sounded like hysterical crying.  She ran into the meditation room where he had been sleeping and saw the tail end of his first laugh... Far from crying, he had an enormous smile on his face and had been laughing by himself into his handkerchief.  He stopped as soon as he saw her, as though he had his own private joke to himself.  What she surmised made him react with such glee was upon waking from his nap, he saw the giant pink yoga ball moving by itself (the fan was on and pushing it around the room).  When Tyler got home that night, he kicked the yoga ball around in an attempt to recreate the scene.  Elliot wouldn't have it.  His next laugh wouldn't come until about three weeks later when he was 5 1/2 months old.

This time, we got it on video.  The cause of his laughter this time?  Jhona opening and closing her hands! (ah to find joy in so much)

Compared to the earlier pace, post-Vietnam the laughs have been quick in coming.  These days, rather than sounding like crying, they sound like a cross between a shriek and gasping for air... before turning into a real laugh.

I'd say we cheated a bit this past Sunday... we were all punch-drunk from a red-eye flight back, cracking ourselves up at the airport when we found a "baby classroom" and pretended Elliot was a judge (anything is funny at 1am). 

Lying on the guest bed when we all got home, Tyler and I were in and out of sleep and Elliot was wide awake.  I started opening and closing my hands like what Jhona had done.... and screaming / gasping / laughing ensued!

The next day, it happened as he was being carried and looking at himself in the mirror.  Jhona carried him and then would "drop" him, bending her knees suddenly.  He loved it!!  Yesterday, it was playing horsey, being bounced on Jhona's knees (yes, she really is like a Filipina Mary Poppins and so much more creative than either of us!)

What will it be today?

5 months!

The only thing preventing me from saying "time has flown" is the resolution I made earlier this spring that I wouldn't say that (though seriously, five months already?!)... Indeed, every day I'm truly feeling like "these are the magic moments".

Like many things, it took flying and getting away to re-remember what's most important (a big reason I love traveling as much I do).  This past weekend, we celebrated our five year anniversary in Hanoi (pics to come soon).  I realize only now that my mental model for the trip was centered around "watching" Elliot, mitigating risks of meltdowns, and leveraging naps as much as possible.  Food tours and dinners were scheduled around when Elliot was least likely to be in "witching hour" and we talked about walks and exploring as likely good times where he would nap in his stroller.

In all of this worrying and trying to mitigate risks, I hadn't considered what actually ended up happening: Elliot was such a joy and a blast to travel with!  He was super fun when we went out and explored... as well as helped us slow down (a lesson we both could use) and really relax at our incredible hotel as well.

A lot of my "before" mind frame stems from our weekends -- where we realized (only recently) that we could get the most done if we took 30 minute shifts of one of us being productive and the other person watching him.  Before that realization, it became more a game of: "let's get Elliot to sleep" so that we could do whatever it is we needed to get done.  You know, "life."

So I suppose the irony is it takes stepping out of day-to-day life to realize what matters most.  And it's pretty cliche to say that it isn't getting that last email out or checking how many facebook likes my last pic generated.  My goal has always been to be more present with Elliot.  But I realize that I was always thinking that was for Elliot's sake -- for him to have my full attention and presence so that he knows at his core he is worthy and loved and accepted.

Instead, what I realized in Hanoi this past weekend is this: Being fully present with Elliot is fun and so so enjoyable for us.  And when we stop trying to "do" things and check items off our Wunderlist, being fully present with Elliot is a complete joy and actually really easy to do -- not something to "check off" in itself.  He has a full personality of his own, and by slowing down and being present, we saw so much more of that this past weekend. 

In fact, I think we all fell in love with each other a little more over the few days.  My favorite memory is of the three of us lying on top of our hotel bed's fluffy white comforter after an incredible dinner outside... Tyler and Elliot had gone up early, and I joined them, with Elliot lying in between us.  When I laid down, he turned to me with the biggest smile.  We looked into each others eyes for a couple seconds, smiling; then he turned to Tyler with the biggest smile.  Then back at me.  Then back to Tyler.  Me.  Tyler.  Me.  Tyler.  Each time with boundless joy and happiness, that of course made us smile even more.

All of this made me realize how indeed quickly things happen and how easy it is to take it all for granted (and why I get obsessed with writing down as much as I can).  Elliot turns six months next week -- so before that, here are a few notes and pics of the last few weeks.

*     *     *

Hooray to five months!  If the first three months were all about survival, nourishment, and flourishing (the "fourth" trimester), the next few certainly seem to be all about learning.  This month, Elliot has learned to:

1. Sit (albeit precariously at first... this is four days after he turned five months):

2. Roll over from his back onto his stomach... Resulting in quite a few nights of waking us up multiple times each might with grunts from him that we turn him over (Tyler said this reminds him of turtles flipping onto their backs and needing to be turned right-side up).

3. ...and from his stomach to his back.  This started last week and was truly exciting because it's meant more sleep for us (see above).

 
4. Hold the bottle on his own (and boy has he been eyeing our food!)

5. Smile at strangers... he's become a big hit with the Korean ajummas along the lake.

6. Laugh!!! -- though we joke he's rationing these (or just clearly not finding us so funny, which is a very real possibility).  He's laughed a total of three times (but who's counting?).  The most hysterical thing to him these days seems to be open and closing our hands, and most recently, clapping.

He also seems to finally like when we kiss him (when he was first born for about three months, he hated being kissed on his face)... month 4 he finally started to tolerate it; now we've finally broken him down into actually liking it (probably realizing it wasn't ever going to stop).  All in all, five has been a pretty fun month indeed.