Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Skip It

This morning I’m just going to skip it.

I’ve been trying to keep everything in tact, maintaining as much of my usual routine as possible throughout the swirl of random chaos.  I think in the process, I’ve become just plain petered out.

These past few mornings I’ve had 30 minutes to brew a cup of coffee and post something to the Archives before rousing Jeb from slumber.  I’ll have just enough time to herd him to the car with some popcorn in a Tupperware container, tossed in a tote bag with his hand-held video game.  We make our way to yoga class (where it’s true, I receive great benefit and mental sanity) as I offer sun salutations while he battles Star Wars clones.

This regimen has continued with us coming home, me throwing together some fruit or cereal for his breakfast and then diving straight into work at the computer for the rest of the day.  I’m still digging paperwork and pencils out of the moving boxes that surround my desk, as I haven’t quite scheduled the unpacking project into my calendar.

But today, it’s Friday.  I have work, but no major deadlines pressing.  I’m rubbing my sleepy eyes and have not yet made that cup of coffee. Jeb’s still in bed.  I’m thinking I’ll forgo that semblance of routine I’ve been trying to maintain.

I’m not slacking.  Just for this morning, I vote to pass.

In the name of moderation we’re going to have a leisurely start to our day.  We’ll make a mango-cherry-banana smoothie and pour the leftovers into popsicle molds.  We’ll eat breakfast next to last night’s puzzle and see if we can fit some more pieces together.  Maybe we’ll take a morning walk.

I’ll table the lists, the requests, the deadlines.  Just for a little bit.  Remember that this is my life.  Our life.  We only have these moments.  Work will get done.  Those yoga postures will unfold.  Boxes will get unpacked.

This morning I get to be with my seven-year old in the height of summer vacation.  Have just a little time to make silly voices and see him laugh.  Sip a smoothie from a straw.  Relax.

Enjoy the beauty found, when once in a while, you just decide to skip it.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Learning to Float

“If you start to sink, just push your heart to the sky.”

I’ve got one index finger on Jeb’s lower back as he stretches out in salty liquid.  We’re in the ocean and he’s trying to find the sweet spot that enables one to float.  Arms outstretched to either side, head back, I can feel him trying a little too hard.  It’s natural to want to help the water hold you, but in truth, if you want to float, you have to surrender and trust it.

His sternum curves and his heart pops through the surface of the water.  His body instantly has more buoyancy.

“That’s it, exactly!  See, you could float there all day, no problem,”  I say, still holding one finger on his back in support.

“Ok, you can let go,” he says, his face earnest, his lips curving in a faint smile.

I release my finger and watch him stay afloat.  I see the water buoy his frame, his body relaxed and calm.

He smiles wide.  “This is better than a couch!”

Jeb’s been in the ocean since he was 17 days old.  He can read the timing of the waves, surf with his body and a board.  But he doesn’t like to go where he can’t touch the bottom.  And he’s never fully grasped the perfect balance that allows his body to be held by the water.

This milestone is monumental.  Its importance is revealed to me even more throughout the rest of the day, as snippets from Jeb hint at bungled lessons from his dad on the art of the float.

“Dad said to hold my breath and keep my feet up…but with you, I could breathe the whole time.  I like your way, Mom.  Now I know for sure, the ocean is my home.”

I get a sense that one of these floating lessons may have occurred this past weekend when Jeb and his dad took an ocean kayak trip to a remote coastline.  It’s an adventure people save for years to experience and Jeb had an amazing time, returning from the journey markedly matured.  An expert waterman, Jeb’s father offers him ocean and boat knowledge I have no clue about.

But sometimes in life we need to learn from someone other than the expert.  Sometimes it’s just a random person with a simple phrase that can shift our understanding and bring a revelation.

In this instance, I am that random person still learning the metaphors of what I’m attempting to teach.

Listening to my own words there in the water, I loved hearing what spilled out.  My suggestion that Jeb reach his heart through the surface, was what enabled him to find that perfect place where he could relax and the water could hold him.

On Independence Day, Jeb has a breakthrough and learns to float.  I’m reminded to keep the heart as my compass and then simply let go.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Inner Compass

On Saturday night, I tried to get out of it.

It wasn’t that I’m not committed to the art form.  Who wouldn’t have loved to gather with the poets in a Hawaiian botanical garden to share a homegrown meal, some wine and verse?  It was just my intuition telling me that I was tapped.  No more reserves.

I’ve been in the midst of moving.  My life is now neatly wrapped in boxes, strewn across my living room floor.  My son is on summer break and his camp session has ended.  I have work obligations to uphold and kitchen cupboards to deep clean.

Poetry seemed like icing for a cake half-baked.  But when I called my friend to politely decline the invite, still assuring her I was a dedicated writer and only on a brief hiatus, she was having none of it.  She pressed, encouraged and hoped that I would come.

So I pushed pass inner guidance and made my cucumber salad with seaweed and sesame seeds.  Packed up Jeb and some prose and made my way to the circle in the trees.

All was picture-postcard beautiful, including a decadent spread of food and beverage.  There was a sunset with a rain shower, an ocean view, all in a tropical paradise setting.  There were writers milling about the damp grass, too.  But the shower became a pour and for the next two hours, Jeb darted in and out of the rain, long into the darkness, soaking his jeans up to his knees and getting good and soggy.  Writers huddled close under the small tent erected for our coverage.  We ate but did not get to poetry.  Not before Jeb began rubbing his wet eyes and my mother instincts told me it was time to get cozy and head home.

In the morning, Jeb feels sick.  He’s slightly feverish and moving slowly.

I know this lesson, but am still remembering it, apparently.

courtesy of calsidyrose

I know.  We all do.  We all know what we need (or don’t need) to do.  It’s that inner compass that points the way.  It may be subtle, but it’s strong and if you go against the direction in which it points, you may find yourself on a rocky side trail trying to find your way back on path.

Poetry, commitment, tropical gardens and the arts all looked inciting.  They lured me into turning from my true north.  Now, Jeb is sick, it’s Monday morning and my clients have more work than I can keep up with, all of which I’m trying to do while taking care of my son from home.  I’ve got appointments but no child care.  There are 10 days before I move and two days worth of house cleaning, top to bottom.  Somewhere in there I was going to try to maintain my yoga practice for my sanity, while hooking my son to his video game in the back corner of the studio while doing sun salutations.

I wake at first light this morning with all of this on my mind.  It conjures a prayer for peace to my lips.

Somehow it will all get done.  One step, one breath at a time.  The quest is in the quality of how it’s done.  With stress or with ease?

If I trust that inner compass, I know my way will be made.  Truly and completely, with clear direction.

Here’s to inner guidance.  Lead the way!