It's Official. I'm the Worst Mother in the World

Two weeks ago I dropped my one and only child off at college and I haven’t looked back. I’ve called him once — just once! —  to make sure he was alive. (He is.) But otherwise I haven’t obsessed or worried or even shed a tear. There must be something fatally wrong with me. Right?

1st day of kindergarten

For years, I dreaded the day Jack would leave my home and go off to college. Sure, I wanted my son to succeed, but the thought of my only kid leaving me made me queazy. 

This was the boy I taught to fish and play tennis, spent untold hours reading bedtime stories, playing Hot Wheels and building elaborate tracks for Thomas the Tank Engine. But thankfully, children grow up slowly -- and there's this thing called puberty that really helps you detach, or at least put some distance between you and your son's stinky feet.

In January, when Jack was accepted to his first-choice college, Auburn, with an academic scholarship to boot, reality kicked in. My son was leaving me behind to begin living a life that largely would not include me. The thought made me sad. 

But then I realized … it was just a thought. And a thought in and of itself  has no power over me — or shouldn’t — unless I give it power. And often I do. 

My thought goes like this: “Jack is leaving me behind! He doesn’t need me anymore. I will be alone.” But that’s not true. Yes, my son is leaving to go to college, and I am not going to move into his dorm room with him. (And everyone is really happy about that.) And he doesn’t need me anymore in the way he did when he was younger. (Thank God.) Nor will he be living under my roof 24/7. (Again, thank you!) 

A more accurate thought is this: “Jack is moving towards his own goals and dreams which don’t need to include me, which is healthy. And I am moving towards my goals and dreams which don’t always include him, which is also healthy.” (The “I will be alone” statement is just over-the-top melodrama. I mean, I could be alone if I want to be alone, but that’s also a choice I make.)

When it comes down to it, all my attitudes are a choice. I can choose to look at a turn of events as a loss or a gain. I can choose to be happy for my son and for myself in this new stage of our lives, or I can choose to be nostalgic and maudlin. Why would I want to choose to be miserable when my son is experiencing a sense of accomplishment? Why would I want to dwell on the negative when it’s just as easy to find the good? 

First day of college

Last Wednesday, as I made the two hour drive home from Auburn after depositing Jack and his worldly goods on campus, I considered how easy it would be to feel sad. But I chose to feel satisfied, contented, even happy for him and for myself. After all, sending a kid to college is a great accomplishment even under the best conditions; and we had, shall I say, our share of challenges along the way. 

So no, I’m not sad about Jack’s departure. I don’t feel lonely or depressed. The dreaded day came and went and I’m relieved and happy that he’s on his way to adulthood. I almost feel guilty for not feeling sad. Almost. Instead I’m happy with the knowledge that our lives are unfolding exactly as they should. This is what Buddhists call non-attachment. Although it may sound crass it is actually a form of unconditional love. Imagine that?

I certainly didn’t always make the best choices as Jack was growing up. In fact, I made some really bad ones along the way. But somehow it seems that maybe, just maybe, I’m not the worst mother in the world after all.

My Do-Over Life: 4 Years Later

Some people believe that four is the number of completion. There are four seasons, four directions, four elements, four cycles of the moon,  four horsemen of the Apocalypse, and, of course, four Hunger Games movies ...  I'm not sure of its karmic significance, but four years ago, I began this blog as a chronicle of my spiritual journey. I wasn't so bold to announce that I was on a quest for spirituality, but that's exactly what it was — and continues to be. And four years later ... here I am. 

I began writing about my interest in Buddhism and how I was incorporating the Buddha's teachings into my daily life as a writer, Mom, friend, sister, etc. I embarked on a new phase of my life and I found writing about it helped. I suppose I shared my experiences as a means of validating them. Some of my blog entries received praise. Some people ridiculed me, pointed out my typos and grammatical lapses, gaphawed at my home-spun Buddhist-Catholic wisdom. (And yes, I do realize that was not a reflection of me as much as it was of these critics.) Accepting this criticism was a gift since it marked a tremendous hurdle to cross as a writer and a person, who used to look to others for my value.

Where it all began ... 

Over the past 48 months, since I launched this blog, I've accomplished a lot. I reported stories for NPR and Marketplace. I attended retreats at Thich Nhat Hanhs' monastery in Mississippi and studied with Rabbi Rami Shapiro in Tennessee.  I stopped smoking after more years than I care to recount of being addicted to nicotine. I joined a 12-Step recovery group. I've met a lot of wonderful people along the way and have been inspired to keep going on my path.

In the past four years, I've also experienced significant loss. My marriage legally concluded, and I had to let go of the dream of having a "traditional" family.  I said goodbye to my friends, Jenniffer Franks and Wendy Rooney Beadle, both of whom succumbed to cancer. I've seen age take the form of wrinkles and jiggles and aches that weren't present in my youth. I've set aside longed for outcomes that I realize (now) were egocentric aspirations. (For example, I will never be Terry Gross' replacement on Fresh Air.)

Of course, I had a lot of starts and stops. Dating again after 15 years of marriage was an eye-opener to say the least. Online dating was a major fail, with the exception of meeting a few really nice guys who are now my friends. Only when I let go of my idea of love and romance did I meet Jason. We've been together now for almost three years. Amazing. I've learned to create a new "traditional" family in a new home of my design.

My career has also seen it's share of twists and turns and continues to unfold in interesting ways. Over the years, I've had to resign accounts and quit jobs to remain healthy spiritually, emotionally and physically. Freelance writing seems to suit me. Although the uncertainty of income is difficult at times, I love the freedom it affords. In the past year, I have written a book (or two), which is the realization of a long-held goal.

I've learned so much over the past four years! That's certainly self-evident in these 120+ blog entires. Recently, I've been asked to share some of my experiences as a teacher for the Institute for Conscious Being. In my workshops, I teach students how to use writing as a tool for spiritual practice. Indeed, I've found writing and meditation have a lot in common when it comes to discerning truth. 

When I consider all that has transpired over the past four years, if feels like a rebirth. I was given another chance by — for lack of a better term —God, who I perceive to be a compassionate power far greater than me and my ideas. 

I believe we all have lives within our lives. Every day, when I wake up I have the chance to respond to life in a healthier manner. And that wake-up call is not just in the morning when I first get out of bed. Waking up can happen at anytime, any minute of any day. At anytime, I can stop and determine to live a healthier and more authentic life. I don't have to wait until 12:01 a.m. on January 1 to give up negative habits or start practicing positive ones. As soon as I discover a motive, intention or response that I'd like to change, I can change it.

In her book, No Time to Lose: A Timely Guide to the Way of the Bodhisattva, my favorite Buddhist nun, Pema Chodron says, "At some point, we need to stop identifying with our weaknesses and shift our allegiance to our basic goodness. It’s highly beneficial to understand that our limitations are not absolute and monolithic, but relative and removable. The wisdom of buddha nature is available to us at any time." 

The Way of the Bodhisattva was written by the 8th century Indian Buddhist scholar Shantideva. It outlines the method for becoming a wisdom being who will return again and again (as necessary) until all sentient beings reach enlightenment. In this way, a bodhisattva is sort of a fire fighter of the Buddhist world. She will will not rest until every cat, dog, fish and cockroach is carried out of the smoke and flames of delusion to spiritual safety. Yes, it's a big job, to set aside my ego and see the perspective of others. But as Chodron puts it, "Life is too short to stay addicted to ego." 

And so I continue on. I have no clue what the next year —let alone next four — will bring. I do know that the seeds of healthy intention planted four years ago will continue to grow and flourish as long as I tend my garden well. Thank you for joining me on this journey and reading along.  

xo -B

Hooked on a Feeling

We were looking for the perfect end-of-the-summer activity and we found it: the latest Marvel blockbuster, Guardians of the Galaxy. I admit, I'd never heard of these heroes before I saw the movie trailer earlier this year—and I was only in it for the smack-talking raccoon.

There's something about hairy ...
Image compliments of Marvel Studios,
 Guardians of the Galaxy

Although this latest cinematic installment of Marvel comic series seems an unlikely place to find Buddhist teachings, as it turns out, we have a lot to learn from a genetically modified, wise-cracking, machine-gun totin' raccoon.  But first, I have to say I haven't been this swept away in the pure fun of a film since George Lucas premiered a little ditty called Star Wars in 1977.  With its overt and subtle tributes to the original space epic and its crazy, perfect soundtrack to my youth, Guardians of the Galaxy transported me back to a time not so long ago but far, far away.

On the surface, the film follows a familiar trope. Boy is tragically orphaned. Boy meets fate. Boy is transformed. In this case, young Peter Quill is abducted by an alien ship helmed by a blue-faced incarnation of Merle from The Walking Dead (both characters played by my favorite anti-hero, Michael Rooker,) and turns up 20 years later as an able-bodied space looter.

We're introduced to grown-up Quill (played by Parks and Recreation's Chris Platt) in a scene that borrows pacing and attitude from another George Lucas classic starring Harrison Ford, Raiders of the Lost Arc, Quill (Chris Platt) is chasing down a very valuable trinket called the Orb when he's set upon by some space baddies. With a heap of Han Solo bravado, Quill makes off with the treasure only to discover that his problems are just beginning. Yes, when he lands in a prison reminiscent of Jabba's basement, things seem to really go down hill, but that's what makes for the best possible epic adventure, right?

Of course, there's no better place than prison to meet up with the other component necessary for epic cinematic swashbuckling: a ragtag team of unlikely co-conspirators. Quill's Fellowship of the Orb includes Rocket, a genetically modified raccoon (voiced by Bradley Cooper,) Groot, a hulking sentient tree (Vin Diesel's best role ever!) , a green hottie assassin princess (Zoe Salanda)—not to be confused with anyone named Leia,—and a tattooed bad ass (WWE champ Dave Bautista.) The ensemble cast—and characters—play well together. But since we're mixing Star Wars metaphors here, actually Rocket and Groot steal the show as the new Han and Chewie. As previously mentioned, I fell in love with Rocket at first sight, and my feelings were not mis-spent.

And then there's the Guardians soundtrack. Quill's beloved Awesome Mixed Tapes pushed all my happiness buttons. I mean, come on! I had an awesome mixed tape of my own back in the late 70s. My prize possession back then wasn't a Sony Walkman (as featured in Guardians) but a Sony cassette recorder. Crazy though it seems today, that hunk of electronics was a phenomenon at the time. I loved that recorder and spent many happy hours poised beside my sisters' stereo waiting for Dream Weaver or I'm Not in Love to come on the local top 40 station and so I could quickly mash down the blue record button and capture the soundtrack to my teenage angst. But I digress ...

It's nice to have a little nostalgia to hang onto because Guardians of the Galaxy has a lot of not so nice villains who could use a pina colada and a walk in the rain. Things start to look very grim indeed when Baddie McBadderton, Ronan the Accuser (Lee Pace), gets hold of the Orb and its powerful contents and sets about the task of micromanaging the galaxy's next Big Bang. In the midst of the imminent galactic destruction, as our heroes—the would-be Guardians—find themselves facing certain death, Quill, digs deep and rallies his companions in a very Buddhist way.

"I look around at us ... you know what I see?  Losers!" he says, sounding like a coach shouting the classic down-by-a-gazillion-to-one  at half-time speech, but he has something else in mind (or the skillful screenwriter does at least.) "I mean, (we're) like, folks who have lost stuff. And we have. Man we have — all of us. Our homes. Our families. Normal lives. And usually life takes more than it gives, not not today. Today it's given us something. It's given us a chance ... To give a shit for once and not run away."

And this is the line in the movie that turns the tide and rallies our heroes. It takes another 45 minutes of crazy CGI action and plot twists and great one-liners, but the unlikely companions do get another chance to right the wrongs done unto them—and by them.

Quill is right. We are ALL losers. We all experience profound loss, sometimes on a daily basis. Sometimes it's big, like the death of a friend or family member or the end of a marriage or demise of a career. But most often it's the small loses, like the passing of a sweet era of childhood. The latter is particularly relevant for me today as Jack enters 7th grade and I relinquish the last of his pre-teen days. As a parent, you look forward to the time when your child will walk and talk and propel himself through the world on his own volition, but when the day comes ... it feels too soon.

And yet, through losses great and small, we experience the death of ourselves (our egos) and this is, ultimately, essential for spiritual gain. Letting go is what allows growth through transformation. Like the Guardians, I have to set aside my resentment and sorrow and self-pity and self-centered interests and let go of my idea of how my life is supposed to go so that I can have that chance to feel the loss and the joy that life provides and not run away from reality. And that requires consciousness.

We live in a society that promotes winning and winners, and to admit that I'm a loser is well, so losery. And yet, in the end, we are ALL losers and this is really, really good news because only when I accept that  loss and death are part of a natural (some might say Divine) process, can I have a chance at true and sustainable happiness. I may not be able to save the galaxy, but everyday—correction—every moment, I have that chance to awaken and right myself. (And to think it all started with a talking raccoon.)

Why I Loved Lucy

Spiritual allegory or vendetta flick? 

 On Saturday night, I wanted to see Sex Tape. Jason lobbied for Lucy. 

We'd seen the trailers for both films  and I had to admit that Lucy looked intriguing. It's actually the latest in the growing genre of "philosophical action movies." (Think The Matrix, Looper and this summer's Tom Cruise confection, Edge of Tomorrow.) Lucy promised a mixture of ingredients to meet both Jason and my weekend entertainment requirements. On the surface, it had lots of shoot-em-up-action-and-adventure and high-speed-car-chase-scenes (that Jason loves,) wrapped around a thought-provoking pop-psychology, gooey center (that I crave.) It seemed the perfect Reese Peanut Butter Cup flick!

The premise of this Luc Beeson (The Fifth Element) thriller is that the heroine, Lucy, (played by Scarlett Johannson) unwittingly becomes a drug mule. When the synthetic uber drug implanted in her gut ruptures, she starts to experience an extreme and immediate expansion of her brain capacity. Her experience is portrayed as the worst-best drug trip ever. Thankfully, we get help from Morgan Freeman's geeky wise neuroscientist character to explain what's happening to her along the way. (It's a sci-fi scientific perspective, BTW).

But what the film actually portrays is ... enlightenment. Yup. I'm not sure of Beeson's religious or spiritual persuasion, but the concepts he portrays in the film are oh, so Buddhist. Perhaps he was influenced by his film The Lady, the 2012 bio-pic about Burmese  leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, who is Buddhist. Regardless, some of Lucy's allusions to Buddha's Four Noble Truths are hard to ignore.

At one pivotal point, Lucy tracks down the evil drug lord who cruelly implanted the deadly drug inside her stomach. As she tortures him (not so Buddhist) to extract the whereabouts of his other drug mules, she tells him that humans are blocked by their perception of experience. She says we are hindered from seeing the truth due our own struggles. "Like right now," she says flatly as she stabs him. "All you can think about is pain." True that.

No matter what you think of Beeson as a screenwriter or filmmaker, that is the first Noble Truth, which says, suffering exists.* Seriously, this is the first step to seeing the truth about life. The sooner I accept that there is suffering, the sooner I can find the source of the discomfort. Of course the Buddha wasn't talking about being tortured physically (although that certainly is painful.) The Buddha was talking about good ol' emotional suffering and dissatisfaction, which I experience just about everyday without benefit of anyone stabbing me with anything.

The second Noble Truth is that we become attached to our suffering. Put plainly, I don't see reality because I'm too caught up in the everyday drama of my life. In fact, I get so accustomed to numbing out reality with drama that I seek out drama when things get too boring. (And this may very well be why Hollywood and films like Lucy exist.)

When I finally perceive that I am the cause of my own suffering, and my attachment to wanting life to be the way I want it to be, then I can finally let go of my attachment—maybe. (That's Noble Truth number three.) Then, I can choose a healthier way to go about my life (Noble Truth 4.)

I'm not sure that Lucy really gets to experience the fourth Noble Truth. She does seem to be freed from suffering and the cycle of human existence that includes suffering. At one point in the film she says, "It's like all the things that make [me] a human are fading away." Before she gains full enlightenment; however, she totally kicks ass. She single-handledly takes out an entire Korean mafia and potentially alters Man's (or at least Morgan Freeman's) understanding of life.

Ultimately, Lucy experiences enlightenment—seeing the truth in everything, 24/7—and it's fascinating to watch what that might look and feel like. At least I think so.

Johannson portrays the newly awakened Lucy with a mixture of white-knuckled terror, feral-cat fearsomeness and wide-eyed wonder. If that is anything near what total enlightenment is like, I can understand why we humans want to stay stuck in our humanity. Having the ability to control matter, energy and time is exhausting—and very hard on the body, apparently.

Lucy wasn't a great movie, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. A lot of reviewers beg to differ and take issue with Beeson's creative license with known science, but for me it was a thought provoking film much in the vein of 2001:A Space Odyssey—with a lot more blood and gore and set on earth and not space, and ... well, it was very different, except for thought-provoking part. And for my money, that's always a thumbs up.

P.S. What's the Buddhist perspective on Sex Tape? I have a feeling it has a lot to do with karma. Stay tuned.

* This is sometimes translated as "Life is suffering," or, as M. Scott Peck understated it in his book The Road Less Travelled, "Life is difficult."